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revealed-in-a-delusion · 2 days

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One of Us

Part Two

Part one Synopsis: when you were saved from a curse a few years ago, you spent a night with your hero and ended up having your baby son, Yasu. You knew the day would come, but when your son fought a curse that had almost killed you all by himself, you kind of had to face the consequences of your prolonged silnce. One of the consequences happened to be Satoru 'I Had No Clue I Had A Son' Gojo. Tags: Satoru Gojo x f!reader, reader is a mom of Gojo's son, Yasu is a little meanie sometimes, Yasu being mama's boy all the way, still possible angst, mentions of violence, foul language here and there. Notes: guys is it obvious I started writing this because I created Yasu in my head and decided to give him a tumblr community as moms? because I did 🫵🏻😔 also this part has Yasu’s pov in it but it’s just 60% ‘I love my mama’ and 40% yapping ‘cause he takes a lot from the father he doesn’t even know yet

It’s not that he didn’t like unfamiliar places, no, he enjoyed going on little adventures, visiting cities and even countries a couple of times — he loved that one time you took him to Disneyland on his fifth birthday so much he still had all these Elsa (“we look alike”) and Mulan (“she’s a badass like you, ma”; “Yasu!”) merch all over his room.

It’s just this time it was all new, and you were not here with him.

He tapped his shoes in the air as he was sitting on top of the neatly made hospital bed; he didn’t really need any check-ups. Besides the first one they gave him when he was just spotted, covered in dirt, blood and sweat.

…okay, well, maybe he needed help with a little bruise covered with, uh, eyes, but it went away by itself really, and he wanted to finally see his mom, not spend time with doctors and weird teens hanging around like he was some ugly thing himself. He just killed one, wasn’t it enough proof he didn’t need any more grownups’ assistance?

A knock on the door distracted him from rush of rather angry kid’s thoughts. He looked up and saw a young woman slowly coming inside, giving him some time and space to brace himself, but no real option to reject her company. She looked tired, strict and friendly at the same time, and the boy frowned, straightening up. He was afraid of no strict doctor ladies.

“How are you feeling, [Last Name]?” she put a notebook on the light-grey nightstand along with some clipboard. The papers on it seemed important, but adults made all the papers seem important. It could be a lie today, but the woman didn’t look like she would carry around anything useless.

“I’m fine, so can I finally go to my mom?” oh, he was definitely not going to hide his frustration. He was not going to hide his stare either. “If I’m alright and you’re a doctor, shouldn’t you be with my mom? She needs help while you just waste your precious ‘doctor time’ here when I’m obviously good on my own.”

“Says the boy calling for his mom as soon as someone walks in,” since he was trying to act like an adult, neither the woman was going to baby him. She didn’t smirk, but her dark brown eyes certainly did.

He frowned and averted his gaze, now blankly staring at his shoes, still tapping them with the melody only he was familiar with.

She sighed condescendingly and walked towards the bed, surprising him with how naturally she squatted right in front, now looking up.

“My name is Shoko Ieiri,” her appearance was making her look tough, but she grabbed the end of his shoe with such gentleness, such unexpected softness and care — it made him ease his frown. “You can call me Shoko.”

“Why would I do that?” he immediately argued. Sparks of humorous laughter in her eyes became clearer as she noticed he couldn’t help it. His words preceded his thoughts, powered by the way he felt was right. “You’re like five times my age.”

“Oh, gimme a break, boy. I’m not that old,” she shook her head, huffing, and stood up, turning back to the nightstand with all her papers on it.

He looked at her for a moment, considering.

“Yasu,” he almost whispered, but as she turned around, he straightened his shoulders yet again, repeating it louder even though he didn’t need to. “My name is Yasu [Last Name]. And you can call me Yasu, too.”

“Okay, Yasu,” she finally smiled with her lips, not only eyes this time, taking clipboard in one hand and a neat pen in the other. “Glad to make your acquaintance.”

He looked at her carefully, fully taking in her appearance. She felt like a few couple of eyes were watching her at the same time.

Very familiar feeling.

“Mm,” he finally shrugged. “Me too, I guess. And you don’t look like a paediatrician,” he struggled a bit with the big word, but they both pretended it didn’t happen.

“That’s because I’m not one,” Shoko stated simply. “I’m here with you not because you’re a kid, Yasu. I’m quite a special doctor.”

“How modest,” he smirked.

Yeah, Shoko thought, as expected. Never easy with these ones.

“So, Yasu, have you ever seen curses before?” as much as she weirdly enjoyed this kid’s company, she'd got work to be done, so she went straight for it.

“Curses?” He raised an eyebrow, frowning again. He was doing it a lot for his age. “What’s that?” She almost went to write it down on the paper, but eventually he wasn’t done talking. “I only see the ugly things, they are around all the time. They don’t ever touch me or my mom. Well, they didn’t, yesterday was different. It was the ugliest one so far.”

“The ugly things,” Shoko said slowly, “do you see them all the time?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Yasu shrugged like it wasn’t really a big deal. It was though, and since you were not there, he let it slide off his tongue. “Recently they… I was noticing them all over the world, but they started hanging out closer to our house a lot.”

“There were more of them near your home?” Shoko subtly wrote something down.

“Don’t tell mama,” he suddenly blurted out, cautious of Shoko all over again. “She doesn’t need to know.”

“Why? Feeling guilty?” she smirked with her eyes again, and Yasu couldn’t help but notice how good she was expressing her thoughts with just her eyes. Cool.

“Don’t want her to worry. She already worries a lot because of me,” before Shoko even had a chance to ask him to elaborate, he did it himself. “I also scare off her dates.”

Shoko tried really hard not to chuckle loudly. Luckily, she succeeded. “Oh? You scare off other men? Geez, maybe I need a son after all.”

Yasu didn’t get the implied joke, awkwardly rubbing his neck. “Not on purpose. Well, most of the times— anyways, they just often think I’m spooky.”

For some reason, this time Shoko didn’t ask him to specify. Yasu watched her writing quietly, now growing more curious about her. She’s cool, he thought. Not as cool as mama, though.

“Tell me about your family, Yasu. Anything you’d like to share,” she finally spoke again, looking up and tapping her pen on the clipboard.

And she didn’t need to ask twice for this one.

“Oh, my mom is the best. She’s my closest friend, and she’s lovely, and funny, and she’s the prettiest, and I love when I make her smile — and she smiles to me a lot,” it sounded almost like he was bragging. He probably was. “She works a lot, partly because I like sweets and she can never say ‘no’ to me, but once I’m old enough I’ll be the one making all the money for her. Oh, don’t tell her I know she can’t say ‘no’. Although she’s very smart and already knows that, I think? Anyways— when she doesn’t work, because her boss is actually a nice man and gives her days off from time to time, she spends her time with me and we do something fun. Or homework, but that’s not as fun. Not the hardest part though, school is the easy stuff.”

Shoko did not try to stop him, nor did she listen very attentively — she was grasping everything between the lines, in the tones and his big blue eyes. Yes, a spitting image, but his hair are fluffier, and his cheeks are pinker; maybe because he’s yet to be tired. Maybe because she saw you and knew exactly where it all came from.

“Mm,” she nodded. “And your dad?”

“I don’t have one,” he quickly responded. Then added as momentarily. “Technically I do, of course, I kinda know how it works,” oh, he’s definitely proud of how smart he was. “But he’s not around, it’s just my mom and me. I don’t hate him ‘cause my mom told me he doesn’t know and he’s very busy, but my mom is busy too and she knows, right? Also, how can you not know? Don’t you need to love each other to have a kid?”

“Not necessarily,” Shoko hummed, suddenly deep in thought.

“If he doesn’t love my mom, he’s stupid,” Yasu concluded. “Knew I got my smarts all from my mama.”

“Now that’s a possibility.”

He gave you time. You needed a few moments before you could finally sit up, a few more to carefully drink a glass he poured for you — not really in consideration, it would be just odd for him to watch you silently while you struggled to hold yourself together, let alone pick up a whole jug of water.

You felt better now and was almost ready to talk, as much as someone could be ready considering the circumstances. But your mouth was no longer dry, your head stopped spinning (if you stayed still, but hey, it was something) and you didn’t want to puke each time you tried to blink. You still felt like the boiling water tank was aptly thrown in your direction. The arm that was chewed on by the curse was still burning, although not as much, and covered in bandages.

“So, what’s your name again?” you both said in unison.

The room went silent for a really long moment, where you both just stared at each other. As much as a blindfolded person could stare back, but the feeling of being watched never left you in his presence. You were sure he could see you better than you could see him, somehow.

Then you chuckled, shaking your head, and he put his hands to his chest in pretend offence. “You cannot be for real right now,” he gasped, “I just mentioned my last name!”

“Bold of you to assume I was listening,” you chuckled again, making yourself comfortable in half-sitting position. The pillow was nice. “I was kind of trying not to show the world the void of my outwardly turned stomach.”

“It hurts my heart when I encounter the need to introduce myself,” he sighed dramatically, then finally plopped on the chair next to your bed.

“Heart? Is that what sorcerers call their ego nowadays?” you curiously followed his chaotic movements. Now that you were feeling better, you were more open to whatever conversation you two could have. “I’m [Name] [Last Name]. Sorry I don’t remember yours, it was a long time ago.”

“It was,” he nodded, obviously not offended anymore, if he ever was. “Gojo Satoru, the strongest, at your service.”

“No more service from you, sir,” you shook your head. “That’s enough children for the time being.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but it inevitably drew both of you closer to the main topic of the upcoming conversation. Gojo did find your joke funny, but the smile stuck on his face and soon enough became almost unnerving. You could feel his thoughts spinning, curling and link like a tapestry. And this tapestry had your son’s face on it bright and clear. You played with tips of sticking out bandages on your wounded arm, not wanting to look in his eyes, even though they were thoroughly covered.

“If you think I will try and make you feel guilty for anything, then stop. You do it to yourself just fine, no help needed,” he started, and your foggy memories of your past encounter revealed you a piece of memory. Yes, it was always a thing — him going from goofy to insanely serious in the matter of seconds. “I’m in no place to do so, I just found out I’m an absent father. Oh, Megumi would find it so funny,” you didn’t know who the hell Megumi was, but somehow you were certain he would not in fact find it funny. “But were you thinking it was safer to hide him from who he obviously is than to give him a chance to learn how to be stronger? He’s got such a potential.”

You sighed, shaking your head.

“You see Yasu as a subject of your interest, a potentially strong… sorcerer,” you wrinkled your nose, hating to call Yasu that. “But he is my son. I wanted him to have a life, not to live trying to trade it for as much other lives as he possibly can.”

“And that’s why he almost traded it for just yours,” Gojo’s words were like a shotgun. They deafened you so hard and so mercilessly, you heard loud ringing all inside and out of you. Head started pulsating with everything grieving mother could have — and you grieved even the possible thought of your son getting killed; even worse, getting killed because of what you thought was totally right.

He fell silent, giving you some time to get used to the thought he just threw at you relentlessly.

“Yes,” you said after a couple of minutes, firmly. Knowingly.

Gojo perked up, taken by surprise and, because of that, genuinely curious. You were just a non-sorcerer, he met you for the second time in his life, and for the second time you managed to be very, very interesting for him. He was intrigued by you back then — he had a memory not half as bad as he made others think he had — he was intrigued by you right now, and you didn’t know it, but it was showing all the way.

He was still here.

“Huh?” he leaned forward in his chair. “What’s that, [Last Name]?”

“You want Yasu to learn your…” you gestured vaguely, not embarrassed by not knowing what exactly you were talking about, “…ways, right? Do it. I can’t protect him anymore, so it’s finally your job now. At least as a… uh, mentor?”

“Teacher,” he corrected, suddenly proud not as a lion — as a whole pride. “How did you know I am one now?”

“Three teens are stalking us through the window behind you for about twenty minutes now, and one of them looks like he thinks the glass is one-sided,” you looked in the mentioned direction, visibly concerned by both the fact they were watching you and the thought that one of them was leaning on the glass like a detective from a cheap American comedy. If he moved away, he’d probably leave face-printed stains on the poor window separating your room and the hospital hall.

Turning around, Gojo seemed absolutely unbothered. He waved at the glass like it was everyday occurrence. The pink-haired kid either did not care he was actually spotted or instantly forgot about it, happily waving back. These are world’s renowned saviours?..

“I have one condition,” you blurted out, taking all the Gojo’s attention back to you. It was amazing how easily you did so.

“Hmm?” he tilted his head, uncannily, if they were to ask you. Maybe the blindfold did its thing, making all he did seem somewhat mad. Wonderland’s Hatter in negative colour. You remembered how it worked for him back then.

It was amusing as much as embarrassing how you’ve always had a thing for such men. Sigh.

This time you were not going to fall for it, though. You had other matters to worry about, and you now had your son. Priorities. And Gojo Satoru was never one of them, even back then. One-night stand, he gifted you with the best son you could possibly ask for and you were grateful, really. But that was it.

“I get to stay by Yasu’s side while you train him. Take me with you, wherever it is.”

“Out of the question,” he stated solidly, stating his point by leaning on the backrest.

“That is not a question,” you answered as solidly. “You do not understand.”

Mere thought of someone taking away your child made you feel a huge surge of strength, and at that moment you felt like you could take on hundreds of ugliest curses if it meant getting your son back to you. You leaned closer to Gojo, now fearlessly, almost mindlessly staring where his eyes should be.

“You can deny me, you can try and take away Yasu, you can hide him from me and make me believe it’s for the best,” you hiss, throat hurting and you not caring at all, “but I will find every and each one way back to him, and if it means I die, so be it. I'll leave my flesh, my limbs, my insides, my head, heart and soul behind just to be with him. I’ll die and become the most terrifying curse for every leaving and deadly cold thing that tries to lay a finger on my son.”

You might seem like you didn’t really understand what you were saying, but Gojo did hold his breath for just a second there. He slowly, carefully put his hand up and tugged on his blindfold. It helplessly fell on his laps.

His eyes were the brightest shade of blue you could ever meet in person, but you never averted your gaze. You’d never be scared of eyes like these, because you were looking in them and all you saw was not Gojo Satoru.

It was your precious son.

Gojo let out a silent breath. You were not aware of it, but you weren’t lying or exaggerating; he looked at you with all the eyes he had and saw this horrific potential — if you were to die, you would most definitely become a curse.

If Yasu didn’t save you yesterday, you would become a curse yourself.

“It’s a deal then,” in contrast to his thoughts, he smiled as brightly as he could. It didn’t fit the occasion, and he knew it way too well.

“Really?” you blinked, snapped from your stupor, and finally lost all the strength you gathered from your motherly rage. You sighed, relieved, and laid back on your pillow.

“Need to talk to Yaga first, though,” he chirped, putting his blindfold back on. “If he refuses, I advise you killing him first.”

“Huh?”

You didn’t get the chance to question his choice of advice, because as soon as you opened your mouth, the door to your room also shut wide open.

“Mama!” Yasu ran right past the doctor that was escorting him and Gojo who stayed at his place, silently watching you two interact.

“Hey, baby, hey, I missed you too,” you smiled and chuckled as Yasu climbed up your bed and immediately held you in his arms. “Ugh, Yasu, my love, mama may actually pass away if you are going to squeeze her too much—“

“Oh, sorry,” he backed away a little, now inspecting you like he was escorting some doctor here just a second ago, not the other way around.

You looked back at Gojo over your shoulder. He didn’t seem like he had any fatherly feelings instantly clicking inside of him, but that was okay, you thought; in his mind, he was not a father not that long ago (at least, not to this child, his personal life did not concern you in any possible way). But noticing him quietly watching Yasu fixing your unfixable hair — you were glad there was no mirror close enough to check yourself out — you were hoping Yasu’s safety would become one of his biggest concerns.

And Gojo, looking at Yasu and you, caught that for the first time in his life he looked at a non-sorcerer and thought:

“She’s strong.”

Notes: absolutely enjoyed writing Gojo being a bit of a simp already, hehe (he thinks your spirit is strong strong). And look at Shoko and Yasu bonding over bullying Satoru, awwww (do all the sorcerers bond this way?) Also some of the next parts will include flashbacks to the day Gojo and reader met so dw it will be addressed in the story! Thank you for you feedback I was really glad you liked the first part of the fic <3

Taglist: @sad-darksoul @moonlightazriel @megumisthirdog @funtikbehemoth

#jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfiction #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you

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forest-hashira · 20 hours

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Noble Blood - Chapter Nine

…i really have no explanation for this. i would apologize for the long wait again, but this chapter really got away from me so i had to find a place to split it. again. because the events of chs 8, 9, & now 10 were all supposed to be one chapter. but it's already 14k between chs 8 & 9 so that just means more content for you guys! i make no promises for when ch10 will be done & posted, but i hope you guys enjoy this in the meantime! 💜

fic masterlist | read on ao3 | wc: ~6.9k | cw: gender neutral reader, part 2 of reader finding their dragon, satoru's dad being a dick, minor mentions of injury & blood, satoru being a bit of a brat

The demanding voice snapped you out of your near trance, and you stiffened, holding your new dragon a bit closer to your chest and looking over your shoulder at your friends, trying to gauge their levels of concern about all this. You watched as the boys shared a look, then glanced over at you. They didn’t say anything, but neither of them seemed particularly optimistic; Suguru watched the hallway anxiously as the hurried footsteps drew nearer, while Satoru looked around the stall you were all currently in, as if looking for some sort of escape route to miraculously get everyone out of the situation.

“I think if we hurry, we could climb out that window,” he suggested in a whisper, looking back down at you, his eyes wide.

“Toru, I can’t,” you whispered back, glancing down at the hatchling in your arms and then back up at him.

He followed your gaze, and his expression fell instantly. “Shit, yeah, that’s right. Uh, maybe we can—”

“You’re really saying a lot of swear words tonight.”

“First of all, I’ve only said ‘shit’ twice—”

“Three times now.”

“And second of all, that’s really not our biggest issue right now!”

“Guys, please,” Suguru hissed, but before any of you had a chance to say anything else, the light from the lanterns reached the stall you were all in; you were well and truly cornered now.

You clutched your hatchling closer to your chest, and you could feel your heart begin to pound harder against your ribs; you had no idea what was going to happen to all of you now, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to be good.

“Who goes there?” a voice boomed again, and you recognized the head guard when he stepped into view. The man blinked in surprise when he saw your friends in the stall, clearly having expected intruders, but he didn’t send his men away. “Ah, Gojo-dono, Geto-san. What are you both doing here so late?”

The boys exchanged a look, not really sure what to say; apparently you still hadn’t been spotted, but it wasn’t likely that that would last long whether you willingly showed yourself or not.

“We came to see the hatchlings,” Suguru said after a beat; it wasn’t technically a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either.

The head guard’s expression pinched in confusion. “Could you not have waited until morning?” he asked. “One of my men thought you were intruders breaking in to steal the hatchlings. Surely it would have been better to be escorted here in the daylight?”

“I don’t need to be escorted anywhere on my own property,” Satoru bit out, and you blinked in shock at his tone; he’d certainly had his fair share of spoiled or bratty moments over the years, but he sounded genuinely angry as he spoke. “And no, it couldn’t have waited until morning, because we have company.”

He looked over his shoulder at you then, offering a small, encouraging nod when you hesitated. You offered a small nod in return, then carefully pushed yourself onto your feet. It took you a few moments, and it was wobbly and awkward trying to stand without using your hands, but thankfully both boys reached out to help you before you could fall and cause yourself any sort of embarrassment in front of the guards.

Once you stood and were finally in view of the guards that had come storming in, you saw some of them exchange looks; at least some of them certainly knew who you were and knew you weren’t supposed to be there. The head guard looked especially displeased, though when he noticed the hatchling in your hands – a metallic hatchling, nonetheless – he turned bright red, then slightly purple, then some other color you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to describe.

“Put that back where you found it,” he told you, anger apparent in his tone. All you could do in response was shake your head, too scared to speak aloud.

“They will be doing no such thing,” Satoru answered for you, his own anger also clear. “That is their dragon. Suguru and I watched the bond form.”

The guard began to tremble with anger at the words, but instead of saying anything else to you, he turned to his men. “You!” he barked, gesturing to two men in the back, both of whom stood up straighter upon being addressed. “Go and fetch Gojo-sama. Tell him it’s urgent, and has to do with an intruder and the hatchlings!”

“They are not an intruder!” Satoru practically shouted, and even Suguru was beginning to look angry as the men ran off to complete their task. “They are my friend, I invited them here to meet the hatchlings. They didn’t break into the estate.”

“Gojo-sama made it very clear—”

“I don’t care what my father said!” Your friend was actually shouting now, and you could hear dragons waking up in stalls all around you because of the noise. “And besides, the incident that my father is still so upset about was over three years ago, all three of us have grown up a lot since then. So if I want to invite my friend to my home, I’m going to do that, and you aren’t going to stop me.”

Every person in the building went dead silent after that, Satoru’s words and behavior hanging heavy in the air. You stared at him in slight disbelief; you couldn’t remember ever hearing him speak to anyone that way before, even when you were much younger and he was much brattier. You glanced over at Suguru after a moment, trying to gauge his reaction to Satoru’s outburst, but he looked just as shocked as you did when he met your gaze.

The head guard looked like he wanted to argue, insist that his job was to listen to Satoru’s father, not Satoru himself, but before he could say anything that might have escalated the confrontation with your friend, you could hear three sets of footsteps making their way towards you.

“What’s going on here?”

Gojo-sama’s voice was unmistakable, and you felt your blood run cold at the sound of it. He didn’t seem to like you under the best of circumstances, so you were certain he was going to be furious when he saw you.

“Gojo-dono and Geto-san came to see the hatchlings, Gojo-sama,” the head guard explained, giving the older man a slight bow. “And they brought their friend.”

The man arched a brow slightly at the statement as he came into view, and when he turned to peer into the stall, you felt as if you might be sick. You could tell the exact moment he saw you, because his expression tightened, as if he’d bitten into something sour. “Ah,” he sighed. “That friend.”

You wished with everything you had that the floor would open up and swallow you whole right then and there. That feeling only intensified when you saw Gojo-sama’s gaze drop to the hatchling in your hands, his eyes burning with anger at the sight.

“Put that hatchling back at once,” he commanded, glaring at you so hard you wondered if he were trying to incinerate you on the spot.

Despite your fear, you shook your head at him the same way you had the guard. The rage you saw simmering just below the surface of his face sent your whole body trembling, and your friends were quick to step fully in front of you.

“That’s their dragon, father,” Satoru said, calmer than the way he’d shouted just a few moments before. “We were standing here the whole time watching. We saw the bond form.”

Your friend’s father narrowed his eyes at his son, then briefly turned his attention to Suguru, as if expecting him to fold and say it was a lie. Suguru did no such thing, though you knew he was always careful to keep from upsetting the clan patriarch in any way.

“It’s true, Gojo-sama,” he said quietly.

Having clearly not gotten the response he wanted, the man turned to face the head guard. “Confiscate the hatchling and escort the child off my property. Restrain the boys if you have to.”

There were shouts of protest from your friends as the guards pushed forward to follow the order they’d just received, and you clutched your hatchling closer to your chest as the boys were pulled away from you, no match for the strength of the guards that held them even as they struggled to fight them off. Your hatchling let out a high, distressed cry as a guard grabbed your arm, and you swore you could feel her distress amplified a hundredfold in your chest, the feeling so intense it nearly sent you to your knees and drawing a cry from your own lips.

At almost the same moment, the mother dragon behind you roared, standing to her full height and stepping forward until you were beneath her, kneeling on the floor between her front legs. She snapped at the guard who had grabbed you, the man barely scrambling back in time to avoid being bitten, letting out a cry of fear as he retreated. She then set her sights on the four guards restraining your friends, growling at them angrily. You could feel her chest grow warmer above you, and you realized that she was preparing to breathe fire at them. The realization horrified you, yet it also brought you an odd sense of relief; even if it was only because you held her baby in your arms, she wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you.

Gojo-sama, who had turned away and begun to leave before the commotion started, stopped, taking in the scene curiously. He waved off the remaining guards in the stall, taking a few steps closer once they had released the boys. “How interesting…” he said, almost to himself.

As soon as they were free, your friends raced over to you, the mother dragon not even giving them a second glance as they came to kneel on either side of you, looking you over to make sure you were alright. You assured them you were fine, though you were still trembling slightly in your spot on the floor.

“All three of you, on your feet.”

You, Satoru, and Suguru all looked up at Gojo-sama as he spoke; he was clearly speaking to all of you, but somehow it didn’t quite seem like he was.

“Come with me,” he commanded, turning and beginning to walk away again, clearly expecting all of you to follow at his heels. “There is much to be discussed.”

After exchanging uncertain looks, the boys once again helped you from the floor, and the three of you rushed to catch up. With every step, you felt your anxiety grow in the pit of your stomach; you still had your dragon in your arms, which seemed promising, but there was no telling where the Gojo clan head was taking you, or what he would do when you got there.

Despite the late hour, there were still a fair amount of the staff up and about, and you could feel their eyes on you as you walked through the halls, doing your best to keep up with Gojo-sama’s long legs. Their gazes weighed heavily on you, and you could tell when each of them saw the hatchling you carried, their gasps of surprise and whispers between each other unmistakable; it was almost a relief when you were ushered into a private room with your friends, the door clicking shut behind you.

You stood as still as possible, barely daring to breathe as Gojo-sama circled around to stand in front of the three of you. You avoided his gaze, partially out of respect for his high rank of authority in the settlement, partially because the man terrified you more than anything else had up to this point in your life. When he said your name, you flinched, but lifted your head anyways, meeting his gaze with no small amount of anxiety.

“Yes, Gojo-sama?”

“Did you come to my estate tonight on your own?”

You shook your head, unable to find your voice again just yet.

“Who did you come here with, then?”

“S-Satoru and… and Suguru, Gojo-sama.”

“I see. Why did they bring you here?”

“To see the hatchlings, Gojo-sama.”

“Why?”

You could feel yourself beginning to tremble once again, and you burned with embarrassment at his question. “Because my twelfth birthday is in a few weeks and I still hadn’t met my dragon, Gojo-sama.”

“And what makes you think that hatchling in your hands is your dragon?”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, and you blinked dumbly at him as you tried to come up with an acceptable answer. “Because… I felt it, Gojo-sama, in my chest. I know this dragon is mine.”

His expression was displeased as he looked down at you. “You think this dragon is yours just because you feel in your heart that it should be?” The tone he used dripped with condescension, and it sharpened your fear into anger.

“No, not in my heart,” you corrected. “In my chest, exactly as I was told I would when I met and bonded with my dragon. I’m not a baby trying to live out some silly daydream. I don’t want my dragon to be special. If I was going to lie and try to steal a hatchling from you, I would have chosen one that didn’t draw so much attention.” By the time you had finished speaking, your expression had darkened until you were glaring up at the man, still trembling but feeling more defiant than scared.

“Remember who you’re speaking to,” he warned, which only made you angrier.

“I couldn’t possibly forget who I’m speaking to, Gojo-sama. I know that you dislike me, that you think I’m a bad influence on Satoru, but that doesn’t mean you get to bully me into giving you something that isn’t yours just because you want it.”

When the man arched a brow, the words you’d just said fully sank in for you, but you knew there was no taking them back now. Besides that, though, you meant them, even if you were mildly horrified that you’d actually said them out loud. “Why would I need to bully you, a child, into giving me anything when I can just take it from you?” he asked.

Before you fully comprehended what was happening, Gojo-sama reached out and made to grab for your dragon, clearly meaning to take her from you for good. Thankfully, despite not even being twenty-four hours old, she was quick to realize the situation. She hissed at the man, and when that didn’t stop him, she bit down hard on the side of his hand, breaking through the skin and sending blood dripping onto the floor in seconds.

He swore loudly, tearing his hand away and glaring at the hatchling. It was silent for a moment, and you clutched your dragon closer to your chest as you stared at Gojo-sama’s hand, blood dripping slowly from the wound and onto the floor. You could feel how tense your friends were on either side of you, but none of you dared to move or speak.

“Very well then.” By the time you dared to look at Gojo-sama’s face again, he had schooled his features into as neutral of an expression as he could. “It seems you are not, in fact, lying about your bond with this hatchling, as loath as I may be to admit it.” He let out a long sigh, looking you up and down for a moment, before silently making his mind up about something. “All three of you off to bed at once. You’ll remain here for the bonding period, after that we can discuss the possibility of sending you home.”

Not daring to argue, you nodded, bowing to him and chorusing a “Yes, Gojo-sama” with Suguru, Satoru mumbling a “Yes, father,” on your right. The three of you hurried out of the room then, eager to be away from the intimidating aura of the clan head as quickly as possible.

Once the door shut behind you, you let out a long, shaky sigh. “I can’t believe he’s letting me keep her.”

“I can’t believe he’s not letting you go home,” Satoru replied, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the three of you made your way back to the quarters he shared with Suguru.

You couldn’t help but lean into him, all your energy seemingly left in the room with your friend’s father. “My mom’s gonna kill me,” you said quietly. Almost instantly, tears blurred your vision, and you rushed to blink them away; as much as both you and Satoru had insisted that you weren’t a little kid anymore, you certainly felt like one, wanting nothing more than to run to your mother and have her hold you until you fell asleep.

“No she won’t,” Suguru assured quietly, reaching over and gently wiping away a few of your tears as you walked. “You’d be going home right now if you could. We’ll explain that to her, okay? She won’t be mad if it’s not your fault you couldn’t go back home.”

He had his soft, reassuring smile on his face when you turned to look at him, and despite everything that had happened since you’d gotten to the estate, it did make you feel a bit better. You offered a slight nod in return, which seemed to ease some of the tension in his shoulders.

The rest of the walk to the boys’ chambers was quiet, though eventually it occurred to you that something was missing. “Wait, where did—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Suguru opened the door to the room, and you were nearly bowled over by Kenji and Niji. Thankfully Satoru steadied you before you could fall, and both boys quickly called off their companions. The dragons reluctantly obeyed the command, but they sniffed the air around you and stared intently at your hands.

After realizing they wanted to see your hatchling, you hesitated a moment, not entirely sure how they would react to another dragon in their space. You glanced at your friends, trying to see how they wanted to handle this.

“We’ll hold them,” Satoru told you, already stepping away from you a bit and calling Kenji to his side.

“It’s better if we introduce them now, anyways, before we all go to bed,” Suguru agreed, summoning Niji to him.

“If they can’t behave, we’ll send them out for the night.”

With a silent nod, you waited until the boys had a hold on their dragons before adjusting the hatchling in your hands. She made some sort of whine at you, but when Kenji and Niji were within view, she seemed to perk up a bit, her green eyes wide as she stared.

Kenji and Niji froze as they stared at your hatchling, not even their tails twitching for several long moments. Then, completely in sync despite not even looking at each other, they slowly lowered themselves to lay on their stomachs, resting their chins on their outstretched legs, bright eyes never leaving your hatchling.

Once the display of apparent submission was done, you and the boys all exchanged bewildered looks. “That was…”

“Weird,” Satoru supplied, and you nodded in agreement.

“Do you think it’s because she’s metallic?” Suguru asked curiously.

You shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe? I’m too tired to think.”

“You’re right, it’s late,” he agreed softly. “You can sleep in my bed, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor tonight.”

“Suguru, I can’t—”

“Well I’m not letting you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. “And we both know Satoru’s not going to volunteer to sleep on the floor.”

“Yeah, because none of us need to sleep on the floor,” Satoru cut in, turning his attention to you. “You take Suguru’s bed, he can share mine with me. It’s big enough for both of us.”

Suguru whipped his head around to look at Satoru, his dark eyes wide and… was he blushing? “It’s not a big deal, really, I don’t mind—”

Satoru rolled his eyes at his friend’s stammered protests, stepping over their dragons and nudging him in the direction of the actual bedroom. “You’re right, it’s not a big deal. You’ll be more comfortable in the bed and you know it, so stop trying to be all noble and selfless.” He pauses for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at you again. “Do you want something to change into for bed?”

It took you a moment to process his question, but when you looked down and saw the clothes you were wearing – comfortable enough to wear during the day, but now a bit dirty with straw stuck all over them, and definitely not something you wanted to drag into bed with you – you nodded. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

The smile he offered you was so warm you felt your face heat slightly with embarrassment, and all you could do was follow as he beckoned you into the bedroom with them. He dug through his dresser for a moment, then pulled out a long shirt and handed it to you. “Do you want pants or anything? I have some but you don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to.”

“Uh…” you weren’t really sure how to respond to the question; it felt a bit odd to sleep in someone else’s bed without any pants on, regardless of what you usually wore to bed. “Do you have any shorts?”

“I think so.” Once you accepted the shirt from him, he went back to digging through his dresser, eventually presenting you with a pair of what looked like silk shorts – something your family would never be able to afford, but you were too tired to think about arguing about wearing them.

“Thanks. I’ll, uh…” you trailed off as you looked around, trying to find somewhere to change into the borrowed clothes, somewhere you could put your hatchling down without having to worry about her too much.

Noticing your dilemma, Suguru stepped a little closer, his arm brushing yours lightly as he spoke. “My bed is behind that divider screen,” he said quietly. “There’s space for you to get changed, and you can put her on the bed where she’ll be safe.”

“Thank you, Suguru.” Though you weren’t entirely sure what expression you had on your face when you turned to look at him, it was apparently more intense than you thought, because the slight pink tint to his cheeks you thought you’d noticed earlier deepened, and there was no mistaking it now: Suguru was definitely blushing.

The desire for sleep was ultimately what pulled you away from your friend’s side, carefully carrying the clothes Satoru had leant you and your hatchling around the divider screen that separated Suguru’s bed from the rest of the room. Once you were fully hidden from the boys, you set everything down on the bed, letting your hatchling curl up on the pillow while you got changed. Your clothes got left in a haphazard pile on the floor, exhaustion eating at you too much to figure out what to do with them in that moment. A quiet gasp escaped you as you pulled on Satoru’s clothes, for some reason not having expected them to be as soft and comfortable as they were.

Before you allowed yourself to collapse into bed for the rest of the night, you peeked around the edge of the screen just in time to see your friends pulling on their own sleep shirts. “Thank you,” you called softly to them. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Their heads shot up at the sound of your voice, both of them offering you gentle smiles. “You don't have to thank us,” Satoru assured you, Suguru nodding his assent. “We’ve got your back.”

“Goodnight,” Suguru said, his voice muffled around a yawn, hesitantly climbing into bed next to Satoru.

“Goodnight,” you hummed, turning to crawl into Suguru’s bed for the night.

Your hatchling was still curled up on the pillow waiting for you, her copper scales and emerald eyes shining even in the small amount of moonlight that filtered in through the window. You smiled tiredly at her, resting your head on the pillow beside her.

Even as you began to drift off, you knew your new companion needed a name. You stroked the top of her head with one finger, eyes heavy as you tried to think. “Hmm,” you hummed, more to yourself than anyone else. “Emerald?”

The hatchling stared at you, unblinking.

“Guess not. What about… Lucky?”

Again, nothing but a blank stare.

“Be nice to me,” you yawned, voice heavy with exhaustion. “I’ve never done this before, and I stopped thinking of names over a year ago.”

This time, the hatchling made a tiny little mumbling sound, though whether she was supposed to be agreeing or making fun of you, you couldn’t tell.

You fell silent for a few moments longer, still very lightly stroking the top of her head with one of your fingers. “Oh, I got it,” you murmured. “Takara.”

You weren’t expecting the little chirp your hatchling let out at the name, but it brought a grin to your tired face nonetheless, especially when she shuffled closer and bumped her nose against your forehead, right between your eyebrows.

“Takara it is, then.” You let out a small sigh of relief, finally allowing your eyes to close, sleep quickly taking over. “Goodnight, little treasure…”

The next morning you were awoken by sunlight coming through the window and landing directly in your eyes. You grumbled a small protest, rolling over in hope of going back to sleep for just a little bit longer, but in the brief second you opened your eyes, you saw two familiar shapes – one white, one black – hovering at your bedside. In your half-waking state, you were beyond confused – why were your best friends’ dragons in your bedroom? – before the events of the previous night came flooding back, and you sat up with a gasp, turning to see if Takara was still on your pillow.

She was, and she seemed rather displeased at having been woken up. She lifted her head, staring up at you with narrowed eyes and making a little displeased grumbling sound.

“Sorry,” you told her, reaching out and stroking the top of her head lightly. “Last night was just… well. It was a lot. Wasn’t sure if it was all just a dream.”

Seemingly appeased by your apology, Takara pushed herself to her feet, wobbling her way into your lap and curling up once again, as if preparing to go back to sleep. Before she fully settled down, though, Kenji chuffed quietly from his spot beside the bed. When you looked over at him, he was shifting on his feet, practically vibrating, and you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him so worked up before. Niji also seemed a little on edge beside him, but he was sitting, watching Takara intently as if he were waiting for something.

Takara, apparently in no mood for so much attention so early in the morning, flicked her tail in the direction of the other two dragons, chittering out a noise that sounded suspiciously like “go away” before turning her back on them and laying down.

Kenji whined loudly at the greeting from your hatchling, pacing back and forth as he continued to stare at her, clearly eager for her attention. Niji, more willing to take a hint than his friend, stood from his spot and flicked his tail at Kenji to get his attention. When that didn’t work, he huffed, leaning in and nipping at the white dragon’s flank. Though it didn’t come even close to breaking the skin, Kenji was clearly unhappy about being snapped at like that. He growled, whirling around and pouncing on Niji in revenge.

In seconds, the two dragons were practically in full-on brawl, rolling around on the floor, crashing into the wall and the bed multiple times, snarling at each other all the while. All you could think to do was sit completely still, watching them with wide eyes and hoping they would stop soon, or that someone else would come and intervene; Sparrow and Spark would tussle at home sometimes, but both Kenji and Niji were about the size of Spark, possibly even bigger now, and you didn’t think you were capable of separating them on your own, and especially not without injury.

Thankfully, though, the commotion was enough to rouse Satoru and Suguru, the sound of muffled curses and hurried footsteps across the wooden floor giving you a couple of seconds’ head’s up before the boys themselves hurried around the privacy screen.

Ever the impulsive one, Satoru almost instantly threw himself into the thick of the scuffle, grabbing Kenji by the fluff on his shoulders and using all of his body weight to pull him away. At nearly the same moment, Suguru hurried over to Niji, wrapping his arms around the dragon’s scaly midsection and pulling in the opposite direction of Satoru. The dragons still growled and snapped at each other as they were pulled apart, but they didn’t fight against the boys’ holds on them as much as you might have expected.

After a moment, as everyone caught their breath, you realized that some of the fluff that was growing in so thick around Kenji’s shoulders and neck was stuck between Niji’s teeth; it shouldn’t have been a shock, considering how hard they’d been going at each other, but it still caught you off guard, somehow.

“Sorry,” Suguru said, looking up at you guiltily from his spot on the floor. “We didn’t mean for them to wake you up.”

“They don’t usually fight like that in the mornings, either,” Satoru chimed in, scowling down at Kenji, who was now on his back between his master’s legs, tail thumping lightly on the floor as if in apology.

“It wasn’t the fighting that woke me up,” you told them, hoping that fact at least would reassure them a bit. “They were by the bed waiting for me to wake up. They wanted to see Takara, I think.”

“Takara?” Satoru asked, a bit confused, though his eyes lit up with realization as he looked down at the little hatchling in your lap. “Hey, I like it! Very fancy.”

“It suits her,” Suguru agreed, offering you a warm smile. “You made a good choice.”

You felt your cheeks begin to burn at the attention and praise you received from your friends, and by some miracle you were saved from having to say anything else by a knock at the door.

“I got it,” Satoru sighed, pushing himself off the floor and gesturing for Kenji to follow him.

“Did you sleep alright?” Suguru asked, releasing his hold on Niji once Kenji was out of sight.

You nodded, still feeling a bit sheepish about having taken Suguru’s bed from him for the night. “I did,” you said quietly. “Did you sleep alright? I’m sorry you had to share Satoru’s bed with him because of me.”

A soft laugh tumbled from his lips at your words, and that faint hint of a blush you’d noticed the night before returned to his face. “It’s okay,” he assured you. “It wasn’t so bad. He was right, his bed is pretty big, so we weren’t squished together all night.”

“He didn’t kick you or anything?” you asked, partially teasing. “He seems like he squirms a lot in his sleep and takes up a bunch of space.”

“I do not kick in my sleep!” Satoru interjected, walking back around the privacy screen and holding a box out to you. “The servant at the door said to give this to you. From my mother.”

You blinked up at him in shock; you hadn’t seen Satoru’s mother outside of her appearances at the new year’s festivals since you and Satoru were about five years old, so you were more than a little surprised that she had apparently sent something to you. “What is it?” you asked, carefully taking the box from your friend and setting it on the bed in front of you.

Satoru just shrugged. “Not sure. Probably clothes, though. My parents won’t want you wearing your dirty stuff from last night, that much I’m sure of.”

“We’ll let you get dressed,” Suguru added, seeing how hard you were staring at the box in front of you.

You nodded without looking up from the box, only seeing the boys and their dragons step to the other side of the privacy screen out of the corner of your eye. Once you were alone again, you looked down at Takara, curled up contentedly in your lap. “Sorry friend,” you told her, carefully lifting her up and placing her back on the pillow behind you.

When she was settled again, you stood from the bed, lifting the lid from the box as if the box itself was breakable, though it was just an ordinary box. Your eyes widened a bit at the clothes that sat waiting for you, having expected maybe something of Satoru’s he had recently outgrown, but the outfit looked much nicer – and much newer – than some hand-me-downs.

The shirt was soft, made of a slightly more lightweight fabric than the shirt you’d worn to sleep, and was probably the prettiest shade of dark green you’d ever seen. The only actual color you’d ever seen Satoru wear was blue, everything else he wore was black, white, or grey, so this was certainly never his, and you couldn’t recall seeing Suguru ever wear anything that wasn’t black, so you couldn’t imagine this had ever been intended to be his. You guessed it didn’t really matter who it was for in the first place, because now it was yours, even if only for a time.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you were quick to pull your sleep shirt over your head, laying it carefully on the bed, quickly followed by the shorts you’d been allowed to borrow, wanting to make sure they were both still in good condition when you returned them to your friend. You then pulled the green shirt over your head, the fabric so light and soft that it barely felt like you were wearing anything at all, which was a pleasant surprise. Once you had the shirt on, you reached for the pants, a simple black pair that, while clearly expensive, were also made from a soft material.

As you picked up the pants, though, you noticed a pair of underwear at the bottom of the box, and it brought such an odd sense of relief you nearly laughed. You changed into those quickly, too, putting your old pair with the rest of your clothes from the previous night. You weren’t entirely sure what to do with them, so for the time being you left them tucked in the corner, not wanting to put your dirty clothes on Suguru’s bed.

You pulled the pants on quickly after that and, now fully dressed for the day, grabbed the clothes Satoru had lent you and turned to step around the privacy screen to return them. Something caught your eye about the screen, though, and you paused to give it a closer look. It was the first time you were really seeing the screen, you realized, and upon further inspection, you saw that there were dragons and rainbows hand painted around the edges of each frame, with a mountain scene spanning across all of them together. You thought you remembered Suguru saying something about his home village being near the mountains, and it made your heart clench to know he had something like this to remind him of home, even after being away for three years without being able to go back.

You were drawn back to the present when you heard Satoru call your name. “Is it okay if I come around?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

The snowy haired boy stepped around the privacy screen, his hands over his face despite your invitation. He peeked through his fingers in a very unsubtle way, then let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Oh, good, you’re dressed.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but laughed despite yourself. “You really think I would have said you could come around if I was naked?”

“...I guess not,” he admitted after a moment, and he at least had the decency to look a little sheepish about it. You just shook your head at him and handed him back the clothes you’d slept in.

“Thanks for letting me borrow those,” you said. “They’re really comfy.”

“I know they are,” he agreed with a grin. “Now, grab your little friend and come on, it’s time for breakfast.”

As if on cue, your stomach let out the most embarrassing gurgling sound you’d ever heard it make, and Satoru couldn’t help but laugh. You scowled at him, but you said nothing, instead turning back to the bed and lifting Takara into your arms.

You followed your friend as he led you out to the rest of the bedroom, tossing the clothes you’d worn to bed on the pile of his own dirty clothes off in one corner. Then you followed after the boys as they made their way to the dining room. Kenji and Niji kept pace with you, one on either side, neither of them watching where they were going, eyes trained on where Takara laid in your arms.

The dining room wasn’t too far from the boys’ bedroom, thankfully, but even still you could feel the way the members of the staff stared at you and Takara. You took your seat between your friends and, after a moment of hesitation, set Takara in your lap. She seemed more interested in sleeping than anything else, but that was pretty normal; most hatchlings spent the majority of the bonding week asleep with their new masters nearby.

Not long after the three of you sat down at the table, you were being served plates nearly overflowing with food, steaming bowls of miso soup and rice placed on either side of your plates. You stared at the spread wide-eyed for a moment, not quite believing all that food was for you, but you quickly got over that when your stomach growled loudly again. You started shoveling food into your mouth then, bites of eggs and rice interspersed with spoonfuls of soup and sips of the tea you were served, then followed by slices of fruit. You startled slightly when you heard a chuckle from off to your left, and you looked over at Satoru, suddenly embarrassed by your behavior.

“Are, uh… are your parents going to be joining us?” you asked quietly, after swallowing your mouthful of rice. You and your friends were the only ones currently at the dining table, but there was space for several more people to join you.

“Doubt it,” Satoru replied softly, taking a sip of his tea before he continued. “Mom joins us sometimes, but mostly she takes her meals in her room because of her headaches. My father just… doesn’t eat breakfast.”

You blinked in surprise. “Never?”

“Not as far as I can remember.” He shrugged then, using his chopsticks to get another bite of eggs.

Opting not to push the subject, you just nodded, turning back to your plate. His words about his mother seemed to fully register with you after a moment, and it made you feel a bit sad. You knew Satoru sometimes got struck with debilitating headaches, so if his mother’s were anything like his, you couldn’t imagine she spent a lot of time out and about, even on the grounds of the estate.

Breakfast passed in a companionable silence after that, with Satoru and Suguru occasionally offering pieces of egg to Kenji and Niji, who were pointedly ignoring their own breakfasts in favor of hovering as close to you as they could, still completely entranced by Takara. You did your best to ignore them, not because you found the behavior annoying, but because the boys thought it would be the best way to get them to leave you alone.

Occasionally you tried to offer Takara bites of your own breakfast, but she didn’t seem interested in anything except the small piece or nori you offered her, though when you offered a second she turned away and tucked her nose under her tail. You shrugged it off, not particularly worried about it; she would let you know when she was hungry, you were certain of that.

Just as the three of you were finishing up your meal, you heard what sounded like a heavy door slam a ways down the hall. That on its own would have been enough to draw your attention, but it was quickly followed by a familiar voice shouting at the staff.

“Where is he?” your mother demanded, and your eyes widened when you heard how angry she was. “I demand to know what that man has done with my child!”

sorry not sorry to leave you guys on a lil cliffhanger again AHAHA. in my defense Plot Things are happening now so the chapters will probably consistently be a little longer than the first several were and the endings will be more like cliffhangers most of the time. if you hate me for it i'll cry and send kenji to steal your shoes.

taglist: @ghost-1-y @sugurei @whatthefucksatan @mitsuristoleme @lu-dao-writes

@peachdues @here-for-the-tea-baby @staryukis @roselleviennesstuff @witchbybirth

@marinnnnnnnnn @dr-runs-with-scissors @entirelysein-e

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

#fallon's fics #noble blood #dragon rider au #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk au #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jjk gojo #jjk geto #fantasy au

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eub11ss · 1 day

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TRIANGLE OF DESIRES.

warning: this is a series!! this has sexual content so viewer discretion is advised. Also the characters here aren't exactly pleasing i.e. their behaviour is pretty problematic throughout the series. Also lots of cuss words used please don't read if you are uncomfortable with these topics!

synopsis: You live with your two best friends Gojo and Geto. No matter how much others insist so, No, you aren't attracted towards your insanely good looking best friends. You guys have been friends for too long to spark anything up. But one night, everything changes when Gojo suggests something that you guys have never done. A challenge, where the first one to cum while you suck both of them off one after another, looses. Surely a silly game can't ruin anything right?

pairing: Roommate!geto x reader x Roommate!gojo

content: threesome, raw/unprotected sex, praise kink, slight yaoi (between gojo and geto YES), breeding kink, oral, Gojo loves sucking geto's dick, oral (all of them), Geto is very gentle, Squirting, both of them love fucking you all day.

author's note: this will mostly contain threesome. I AM A HUGE GETO GLAZER so the smut might be a little biased... (/j) porn with plot. I might be a little inexperienced when it comes to writing smuts. All the characters here are adult and working in similar fields (will be mentioned later) and only the dilf line from jjk are mentioned throughout the story alongside utahime, shoko and mei mei.

CHAPTER LIST

001. A good fucking mistake 002. We SHOULD NOT pretend like it never happened. 003. My life gave me donuts.

more to be added!!!

COMING SOON.

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damn-stark · 2 days

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Chapter 42 IFHY

Chapter 42 of Sugar

A/N- This mc is one of the most human mcs I’ve written in my opinion and I will miss writing her and her technique so much when this series comes to an end!

Warning- Swearing, ANGST!!!, talks of death, VIOLENCE, SPOILERS!!!!

Pairing- Choso x Gojo!fem-reader, Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader

Episode and or chapters- Chapter 260-261

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

There he is, in all his glory. Standing right across from you. The brother you thought you lost…your hope revived, your joy, and your cure to your solace.

How is it possible that he’s alive after being sliced in half?

Then again, he is Satoru Gojo and Shoko probably had something to do with it too.

Not that it matters now, he’s alive just as you thought you lost everything.

“Satoru,” you whisper breathlessly and step forward with a wobbly growing smile.

Said man draws out a deep breath and stays quiet. He stays where he is and doesn’t greet you with something smug. Which is odd, but considering he was dead his lack of witty comments is not concerning.

However, as you get closer to him he shuffles back and finally begins to lift his head. You watch his face the entire time and notice a rather unusual displeased frown. You want to comment on it and assure him that it’s all fine, but you then notice something trailing on his forehead, something particular that you’ve only seen on one other person.

But it can’t be…

Yet it’s believable. He survived so long for a reason—But it can’t be Kenjaku can it? It can’t be him taking over your brother's body, you killed him with your own hands. It can’t…

But it is.

“No,” you mumble in horror and come to an immediate halt. “No,” you repeat with a flicker of change in your tone.

The man pretending to be your brother doesn’t show smugness, not like when he pretended to be Suguru, he seems rather uncomfortable and still displeased.

“No,” you cry out and step back, making the pretender step forward with his arms out.

“It’s not Kenjaku,” he says in his voice, in that soft yet deep and stupid smug voice Satoru had.

“It’s,” he pauses and glances over at Shoko, but you don’t follow his line of gaze, your eyes stay glued on him as you prepare an attack.

“It’s Yuta…Okkotsu…” he trails off, and you only become more horrified. Perhaps even more so than when you thought it was Kenjaku in that split second because it can’t be the same boy that killed Suguru, it can’t be him who took your brother too, who is using him the same way Kenjaku used Suguru.

It can’t be the boy who Satoru saved from a death sentence. It can't be the boy Miguel vouched for or the boy you forgave. It can’t be him…

“I wish I could explain,” he keeps talking in a stolen voice he somehow manipulated to sound like his own awkward one. “I wish you didn’t have to find out this way. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry? Sorry?

And that’s all he has to say to explain this madness, this…robbery. A crime, a betrayal of the highest offense before he just waltzs off without even meeting your eye?

Why? Why? Why? Why?

You keep asking yourself why him once again. You look to Shoko for the answer, but her attention is on Choso’s body getting picked up by the people helping her, so she misses your cry for help, therefore missing the window she had to talk you down and try and comfort you.

Choso wouldn’t have missed that window, he would’ve clocked your growing anger, and your soul shattering even more at the knowledge that Okkotsu is using your brother's body as if he were some weapon to be picked up and used at his convenience.

Choso would’ve been surprised too at the sight of those stitches but when everything was explained he would’ve heard your silent cry for help, he would’ve stopped your grief from twisting to rage. But he’s not here, and Shoko didn’t catch that window, Kirara was beside you, but they couldn’t read you so deeply, so that grief so obviously painted on every perimeter of your face and body, and every inch of your soul gets tainted by this display of monstrosity and betrayal that only you saw because he had already taken the man you loved last year.

Yuta Okkotsu is the reason Suguru Geto is dead. And now he’s taken your beloved brother only a year later, and all he has to say is sorry…but he didn’t even meet your eyes either, he stood stiffly in that same spot before walking away as if nothing was wrong.

Why is no one reacting? Why is no one as livid as you?

Why? Why? Why?!

You…should've killed him a long time ago. Why did you ever forgive Okkotsu? Why is he using your brother's body the same way Kenjaku used Suguru? Why is this happening again?

Why?!

Why is he getting away? You can’t let him get away, you can’t let him take someone else you love. Satoru was your brother and if no one else will do anything about it, you will.

You will!

So with nothing else in your mind but livid anger, you slowly turn with your hand curling into a fist. You summon fire to start this attack, but as you try to bask your fist with your reliable flames all you get is a spark which has never happened before—well not since you first started training…

Yet, you don’t think too deeply about your complications, instead, you act quickly and dig in your pocket. Your Worm cursed spirit balled up inside doesn’t fail to hand you the blade you wanted, a blade that Shoko doesn’t see since she's lost in her own thoughts, and Kirara doesn’t get to notice because your back is turned, leaving you an opening, letting you dig your heels on the ground before you charge at Okkotsu from behind.

The pretender doesn’t expect you to charge at him so he doesn’t watch his back. He doesn’t even hear you coming right away. Everything is happening fast to everyone else, but for you time moves slowly.

You have time to clench your jaw and twist your face into a wicked sneer. You have time to get near him before you blurt out a broken cry from so deep inside your chest that it hurts your lungs and brings streams of tears to your eyes.

And in your unexpected fit of rage, you actually manage to swing your blade and slash the pretenders back before he spins around and jumps back to dodge your next swing.

“I’m gonna kill you,” you snap at Okkotsu and this time you pretend to swing your blade. Okkotsu swings to the other side to miss being cut, but he steps right into your line of fire so you manage to swing your fist and land a hard jab across his face.

Shoko shouts your name and tells you to stop, but you kick your leg and hurl the pretender back.

“I won’t,” Okkotsu mutters with new blood trickling down his nose and his busted lip. “I won't fight you out of respect for him. He loved you.”

He…loved…you, but now he’s gone too…

And Okkotsu has the audacity to say that so casually while being in his body.

“I hate you,” you snarl and lunge at him again, this time you manage to throw your arms around his waist and tackle him to the ground.

Kirara tries to stop you, but you grab onto the pretender's shoulders and roll your bodies out of reach, and quickly try to make quick work of him before you’re eventually stopped. Even if he doesn’t try to stop you, you slam your fists across his face again and again until he’s bleeding from one eye, and his nose is crooked.

You pull your arm back to swing again, but as Okkotsu watches you with your brother's bright blue eyes that had been so unique, you suddenly halt in your attack and meet his gaze with a sense of guilt.

You see your brother, the only brother you had. The brother who would let you sneak into his bed when you were little kids because you were terrified. You see Satoru Gojo, your daughter's Uncle, your best friend, and the brother who loved you regardless of all you did. You see him and you have the sudden need to stop this foolishness.

But…that ever so heavy grief stabs you in the heart as a flash of him smiling at you like everything was great in the world passes through your mind, and you can’t help but grow rabid almost as if it had been a switch.

“You motherfucker!” You bellow at him as you pick up your blade from the ground and swing up. “You’re going to fucking die!” You cry out of agony and rage and don’t hesitate a moment longer before swinging down.

Satoru once hesitated last year when you fought. He had you pinned and he was going to make a finishing move, but he hesitated. You don’t. You bring the blade down.

Albeit just as the tip nears the pretender’s forehead, a force manages to grab your wrists, stopping you just in time.

“Stop,” you recognize that deep voice.

“Yuta!” You hear a young woman yell.

“Stop it,” the voice beside you whispers sharply.

Choso?

You look over and expect your husband, but you actually see Miguel.

“He has a job to do,” he tries to get it through your head so you’d cooperate, but betrayal blares throughout your head.

“You knew?” You ask, almost frightened.

Miguel scoffs. “No, of course not. I pieced it together just now and even I know you can’t kill him.”

You look back down at Okkotsu in your brother's body and shake your head. “But he’s my brother.” You whisper heartbrokenly.

“And what Okkotsu has to do is much more important than that, don’t you see it? This is not like Kenjaku and Suguru. Focus.”

Strong heart Choso would say.

But you can’t. Not when he’s gone too.

However, Maki walks over and pulls the pretender out from under you so you won't snap again and actually finish the job this time.

“Go,” you hear her tell him. “Who knows how much time you have left now.”

“But…” your whisper quivers, “he’s my brother.”

“Yes, he was,” Miguel corrects you between trying to sound comforting yet affirmative.

Not like it actually eases anything. You don’t continue on your rampage, you just sit there brokenheartedly and watch Okkotsu take away your brother's body with him into the disaster Sukuna made with nothing but his raw power.

It almost feels like your brother is leaving you behind all over again. You’re watching him walk away and it feels like that day 11 years ago when he left you behind. You feel that same ache. You know it’s not the same, not at all, but in the back of your mind it feels like the same thing.

“Get up,” Miguel says a lot kinder than before as he takes the blade away and pulls you to your feet, which would make this the second time someone has helped you up as if you were some wounded animal. You really hate it, it makes you feel so weak, but you also can’t help it, you can’t muster that much strength, not anymore.

“We could both use some rest now,” you hear someone else interject, and when you look over you notice Larue. He’s wounded but alive.

“You’re okay,” you point out with a sense of relief.

Larue narrows his eyes and his eyebrows slowly knit together before he releases a disbelieved gasp.

“Bring her with me,” Shoko interrupts before you can press Larue for an answer about his sudden confusion and then ask if what you asked for worked.

When you look over at Shoko, however, that anger returns. It’s not violent like the anger you had for Okkotsu. it’s livid yes, and blinding too, but filled with nothing else but betrayal.

She doesn’t see it though, she doesn’t hear it in your voice or in the way your body stiffens and stays in place rather than trailing after her.

“Get Choso’s body,” you tell Miguel, who doesn’t fret to follow after the man carrying your husband's body, causing Shoko to stop in her tracks and turn around to face you. However, the moment she does turn you avert her gaze and watch Miguel gently take Choso from the hand of strangers.

“Will we finally leave, I admit perhaps I made a grave mistake by coming,” Larue interjects with exhaustion weighing his voice down.

“Almost,” you assure him, making Shoko probe.

“What do you mean?”

You ignore her and begin to turn, but she strides over in a hurry and grabs your arm to stop you and turn you around to grab your chin and pick your head up, and look into your eyes.

You don’t understand what she’s doing nor do you care to, so you quickly pull yourself away and step back with your face twisting in anger. Shoko doesn’t understand your sudden precaution, she actually finds it hurtful as well as worrying that you were so quick to pull away though.

“Are you okay?” She checks on you, but you let her words be carried away. You have things to say, but you can’t or want to entertain her any longer. It’s petty, you know, you tend to just give people the cold shoulder when they’ve deeply wounded you, but you just can’t help it, or be the better person, your words just get stuck in your heart. And since you no longer feel like you have such a thing, the words fall into the abyss, leaving you silent and angry.

Shoko is quick to grasp what’s happening, she doesn’t know why, but she’s starting to pick up on your silent treatment and that anger embedded in your deep and long frown, as well as your fisted hands. Thus she calls out for you loudly and demandingly.

And this time you react by slowly lifting your head and meeting her worried and puzzled gaze, letting her see once and for all what she suspected in full glory, the eyes of the woman you used to be, the eyes that Satoru claimed were where he found his home. They aren’t infused with flames, not anymore, they’re the eyes you were born with, the eyes Shoko met for the first time when you started school. Only now your eyes are a strangers for a third time.

Albeit this time she won’t let you be estranged.

“I’m sorry,” Shoko finally says out loud as she starts to grasp what’s going on with you. “It hurts, I know, but you can’t walk away. I won’t let you walk away, not again.”

Her words sting. They feel like getting stabbed and or being robbed of breath. But it doesn't stop those words that you had lost find their way back.

“What do you know about my hurt?” You snap back with your eyes narrowing and your brows pinching together. “What do you know about anything I feel? Did you even try to stop them? He was your best friend.”

Shoko’s breath catches but she doesn’t falter, even if her watery eyes say otherwise. “Humanity relies on certain sacrifices. He knew that…Satoru knew that…”

You gasp as if his name coming out of her mouth physically hurt you.

“…that’s why he let it happen.”

You swallow thickly and understand what she says, it sounds like something he would do, but you can’t accept it. Not because you don’t want to believe it, but because you’re angry she didn’t stop him.

“He would do something stupid like that,” you feign a laugh and sniffle. “But that’s when you stop him. That’s when you fight him. Did you even try? Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask with a quivering voice.

Shoko steps forward and doesn’t hide to spare you. “Because he knew how you would react.”

You process her words and think about how considerate your brother was. He never failed to think about you.

Why did you realize that so late into your life?

“Because he knew I would stop him from doing something stupid,” you argue. “This was stupid. He never lived his life, he never actually thought about what he wanted, he always thought about everyone else. It’s why I would’ve stopped him because it’s stupid!”

“And what you’re doing now isn’t stupid?” Shoko quickly counters, making you clench your jaw and exhale deeply with frustration. “People still need you.”

“It’s not the same,” you defend your actions. “You know that, so don’t throw it at my face like it is.”

Shoko sighs deeply and takes another step closer to you, which doesn’t make you move back. You stay put and hold her tear-filled gaze.

“You should’ve stopped him,” you leave no room for her to interject. “You should’ve stopped them from using his body like some kind of tool the same way Suguru’s was. And you shouldn’t have lied to me about why you needed Kenjaku’s brain.”

“You would have understood?” She quickly spats.

You stay calm and shrug. “Kenjaku was Choso’s father, it was for him to decide, not me. And I’m sure he would’ve given it up if you asked. Instead, you lied about it and about Satoru.”

Shoko parts her lips to argue back, but she instead drops her gaze and swallows back nervously. “Okkotsu needed Suguru’s body too,” she throws out rapidly and shakily.

And now for you, it gets hard to breathe. You can’t breathe. Your chest is too heavy.

Suguru was yours. Yours and Satori’s. You just got him back from the clutches of some insane sorcerer. He could finally rest and she…they…

Breathe…

Breathe.

“I’m sorry,” is all Shoko says.

You still can’t breathe. It hurts too much.

Shoko sees that and grabs your shoulder to try and soothe your growing panic.

“Just—”

You cut her off by slapping her hand away and taking a big step back while you look at her as if she had just literally stabbed you in the back. You then point an accusing finger at her, but nothing comes out, you’re crippled with betrayal.

After a second of you and her just growing tension, a shaky breath finally makes it past your lips but words don’t follow. They’re lost for good this time. Shoko calls out to you in an attempt to hear from you, to continue this argument so she could try and mend what she could so you wouldn’t leave, but it’s too late and the wrong choices were made. Choices for the good of humanity perhaps, but you don’t see it that way in your agonizing grief.

You see blaring betrayal and your silence loudly displays it as well as the tears that crawl down your cheeks.

“Kirara,” you direct at the only person you can speak to, someone you don’t blame because they’re young, and they don’t carry that same history with Satoru or Suguru. Perhaps they accepted snatching Satoru’s body, but it’s not the same as Shoko accepting it. Not in your eyes.

“If you need help, call me, I won’t be far. I’ll be watching over Kinji from the broadcast,” you let them know as you step back.

“Where are you going?” They quickly blurt in confusion. “You can't go.”

You sigh and just hold their gaze. “I’ll be close to Yuji. Or as close as I can be.” You assure them and then spare one last glance at Shoko, catching tears rolling down her cheeks and a deep grief that mirrors yours. But you can’t look past your own pain to care. You just let your gaze linger as you ache for things to be different for the sake of your friendship and the love you bear for her, but you can’t…no matter how hard you try, you can’t look past her letting them use Satoru, and taking Suguru’s body from you.

Even if it isn’t her fault, or if it is, you don’t care. You just turn away and leave her behind the same way Suguru did, and the same way Satoru did.

You almost find yourself leaving it all behind and just giving up on everything, it’s what they deserve after dehumanizing Satoru the way they did. And you don’t care if it’s for the greater good, who cares if somehow you would have understood in a different life, you don’t care. Just like you don’t care about trying to understand Shoko. They took something from you, they hurt you, and you can’t look past it, you aren’t that big of a person because he was your brother, and no matter what happened he was always there. Now he won’t, now they’ve taken him, just like they took Suguru.

However, as much as you want to leave, as much as you hate humanity as a whole now, people you still care about are out fighting with their lives. They’re the only reason why you stay behind.

You won’t fight anymore, you’ll just look out for them away from Shoko, and from the depths of your solitude that drowns out the concept of time, the conversation Larue and Miguel hold, and the calamity of battle in the far distance.

Even surrounded by people that loneliness that you so feared still plagues you, how funny is that?

Nevertheless, you don’t break from your trance until Miguel taps your leg. He notices your lack of know-how and sighs before probing, “what did you do?”

There’s no need to ask what he's referring to because you know from the silence of the wind, the coldness that outran the heat that once ran through your veins as if it was blood, the unwelcoming earth that doesn’t eagerly speak to you, and the ignoring water that up and left you from ever feeling its delicate touch, that he’s referring to the binding vow that has yet to prove it worked.

Binding vows aren’t known to fail, but this binding vow is different, you’re exchanging powers for life. It’s different therefore there’s a high chance all you get is played.

“I can still see curses,” you don’t give Miguel the answers he seeks. “I’m not a non-sorcerer.”

“No, but you’re basically nothing now,” he hits you with the truth, something that Larue quickly rebuttals in your defense.

“She’s not nothing, you’re just being cruel—”

“I’m being honest,” Miguel cuts Larue off. “She’s useless in this fight now. What you did was stupid.”

You blink and try to look over at Choso, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You haven’t been able to look at him because if it doesn’t work all you gave up will be for nothing and you’ll end up just repaying for all the evil you’ve done.

“You don’t know what I did,” you retort and slide your eyes up to pierce your annoyed glare at him.

Miguel sighs and glances at the man you left behind you before looking back at you. “I have an idea,” he assumes right. “Giving everything you are for something that has never been done before is stupid. What will you do now?”

You drift your gaze to your hands and mutter. “Nothing. I won’t do anything. Even if I had my technique I wouldn't do anything because I don't care about them anymore. Humanity can die for all I care.”

Larue watches you with pity after knowing how much you deeply cared about the sorcerer side of humanity. He almost doesn’t recognize who you are, but just like Shoko, he knows this is you grieving. You’re at your worst and all the people who could’ve pulled you out of it are gone. You’re alone and he knows it’s drowning you.

Larue almost wants to try and comfort you even if he knows it’d be a useless endeavor, but Miguel pushes off his attempts.

“Why didn’t you ever do it for Suguru then, what you did now for this man?” Miguel asks.

You’ve thought about that too during your time on this roof, and the answer is simple, you had your brother so you weren’t writhing in your loneliness like you are now. You love them both the same way, you just…had…Satoru. Now you don’t.

“Satoru was here. The twins. Nanami. Now I don’t have anyone…” you trail off and fist your hands so hard your nails pierce a layer of skin. Yet it doesn’t hurt like you thought it would, no matter how hard you keep pressing, or if blood spills.

“You have us,” Larue breaks the silence and pulls your eyes away from the blood you spill. You offer him a smile but it’s far too short-lived.

“I’m going to kill Okkotsu,” you blurt with more emotion than you’ve shown over the past several minutes. “And neither of you are going to stop me.”

Both Miguel and Larue look at you with surprise, even if what you want is like you, the way you say it so bluntly and carrying so much pain catches them off guard for a moment until Miguel steps towards your sitting figure and argues back with frustration.

“You’ll doom humanity if you do…” he trails off and you don't care to follow up with what catches his breath, you don’t look at him right away either, but when you do you snap your eyes up and glare at him with a fuming anger that blinds you.

“I told you I don’t care about humanity,” you spat back and don’t get curious about what he and Larue are suddenly lost on. It isn’t until you hear your name being uttered by a familiar voice that your attention is fully captivated, and there in the barren cold relives a warmth you thought was forever lost.

However, you don’t look back right away, you’re too scared it’s your mind tricking you. After all, you've seen an illusion of Suguru before, and as beautiful as it was, it was only an illusion. You don’t want to be let down again. Thus you let him call out to you again to assure yourself that you heard that deep but gentle melody of his voice before you slowly turn with your eyes downcasted but widened and filled with tears.

A part of the spot you left him on was now empty and lacked a part of his body, and there’s no way a dead man could move by himself. But you still don’t face him because now you’re plagued with the thought of what if he’s somehow still dead and your vow was somehow twisted.

You can feel the shocked stares from Larue and Miguel, they fill the silence with disbelief and impatience for you to react, while…Choso…waits, but also finds himself trying to grasp how he’s back and how his heart is beating once again.

“Is it really you?” You have to ask for your own sake.

You hear shuffling before your breath catches at the sound of his voice. “I think. I’m not sure…one thing I do know is that I’m naked under this sheet.”

You muster a breathless laugh while fat tears run down your cheeks and the shattered heart inside you mends together.

“You…” you trail off and he fills your silence.

“Burnt….I remember. I remember it all. I remember you,” he pauses and sighs. You’re tempted to look but you still can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he brings up softly and filled with sorrow that makes your chest tighten. “I’m sorry. I did the one thing I said I wasn’t going to do. I’m sorry.”

You swallow back thickly and sigh deeply. “Then you understand why I can’t bring myself to go over to you, why I can’t look at you? I don’t want this to be a dream and be hurt all over again.”

“I understand,” he assures you right away before you hear him shifting against the roof in the distance.

“We’ll…be back,” Larue excuses himself and Miguel before they climb down, leaving you and Choso alone under the white sky, and occupying the silence with the sound of his unique footsteps approaching you.

“I would understand if you’re mad at me too,” he says and makes your heart ache in a good way because, of course, he would say something so sweet.

“…I really hurt you. And even if I was dying I hated myself for it because as good of a goodbye I had with Yuji, yours was agonizing,” he continues softly as he stops before you and gets on his knees that are covered by the sheet Larue had put over his body. “I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t want to leave you, I really didn’t. I meant what I told you, I just had no other choice and it proved to be worthwhile, you’re here!” He exclaims proudly as you see his large and pale hand reach over for yours clawing the ground.

“You’re alive, and…” he trails off for a long while. He even stops in his attempts to grab your hand, and honestly, his stillness tempts you to finally lay your eyes on his body, but you keep your eyes glued on the ground since your mind is still protecting you from potentially being disappointed.

“…you’re not hurt,” he mutters with a sense of disbelief that he doesn’t actually show because he focuses on comforting you. “My sacrifice worked. That’s all I wanted. I’m sorry it hurt you, I’m sorry I made you feel so distressed, but my love,” he coos and finally places his hand on yours, making you gasp at the shot of electricity that his fingers pass to yours.

It’s all so reallike, his hand feels so soft, and warm. It’s not an empty touch conjured by your heart's deepest desires, it’s heavy but gentle. Real.

“…I’m here,” he proclaims with a honey-dipped voice he’s using to comfort you. “I’m here because of you…I think.”

You scoff in amusement and then blink when he lifts your hand and presses it against his chest, over where you feel the rhythm of his heartbeat racing when your fingertips first make contact with his chest, but then when he presses your palm harder against his chest his heartbeat eases.

This time you can’t deny the instant connection you feel when your palm feels his heart and makes yours run at the calm pace his heart runs, almost as if connecting them once again was the comfort they needed.

“Choso,” you cry happily and focus just for a single second longer on his heart beating under his chest before you slowly trail your eyes up his body, finding it unchanged and still as toned and perfectly sculpted as it was before. However, when you reach his neck you notice a burn scar that wasn’t there before. And you would know, you traced his whole body multiple times in your short time intimately together.

The scar isn’t big from the front, it’s sprawled over as if the tips of the flames had been wrapped around his neck, but it’s because it’s only peeking forward that you know it’s hiding its true result on Choso’s back where the fire hurt him the most. And when you start seeing his face the mark of what happened continues to spread, but now that doesn’t catch your eye the same way his inviting pink lips do.

The mark that came with his technique isn’t there anymore, it’s completely gone from his nose, meaning that he is probably just like you now, but you don’t focus on that matter now, or the fact that a thin line of fire now replaced the blood mark on his nose. You instead put all your attention on those beautiful eyes that were unchanged.

His eyes are still so sweet and the same rich brown that you loved, and that were uncoincidentally the same shade of brown as your favorite color.

You notice the guilt he carries, the disbelief that runs behind them, as well as the softness painted by his love for you, but what you fixate on the most is that lively gleam in his eyes that had left his eyes when he died. That gleam is back and brighter than before.

“Choso,” you muse and slide your hand over to grab his hand whilst you reach your other hand over to feel his face and set it in your mind that the flesh you feel is real, it’s not a trick, he’s real, he’s back, and the binding vow you made worked!

He’s back!

“Choso,” you laugh and cry at the same time but don’t throw yourself on him. You continue to move your hand up until you reach his head that’s missing his hair but doesn’t take away from how handsome he still is. Some men can’t pull off a bald head but he makes it look hot.

“I’m sorry,” he means his apology as he watches your eyes study his head.

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “It’ll grow back. It’s just hair, all I care about is you. You’re back.”

Choso nods his head as a smile spreads on his lips. “I am,” he reassures your worry before he brings his hand up to cup your jaw and look into your eyes, trapping the next words you were about to utter in your throat as you remember the change you went through too.

“The eyes you met in the darkness last year won’t ever return, I’m sorry,” you tell him the truth right away just in case that somehow kills the love he has for you. “I…gave up my technique and yours in order to have you back...I’m sorry Choso. I’m sorry.”

Said man sighs deeply and drops his gaze to ponder and nod softly.

“You are a non-sorcerer, I’m sorry,” you break it to him pitifully only because now he can’t use his technique to protect his brother, or feel the twins.

“Choso?” You press impatiently. “I understand why you’d be mad, and why you wouldn’t love me.”

At the sound of those words his eyes fly up to meet your perplexed gaze and he shakes his head before he leans in. “No,” he whispers and cups your face with both hands to gently caress your cheeks as he looks deep into your eyes.

“The day I saw you and your fire-kissed eyes for the first time is something I won’t ever forget, and it’s a change that I will have to get used to, but sweetheart, just know that as I look at you all I see is my sun, my moon, my stars, and my beloved. You.”

You beam at him and can’t hold back anymore, you throw your arms around him and pull him for a tight embrace to make sure you can feel his heart beating against your chest as you hold him.

“I love you too,” you finally tell him what you didn’t have the chance to say when he was sacrificing himself in that fire. Words that don’t actually hold the true meaning of how deeply and passionately you love him.

“I love you,” you whisper again and sob into the crook of his neck. All while Choso holds onto you as if breathing and his life depended on it, as if he would somehow lose you if he let you go.

“I love you too,” he redirects sweetly before he finally assures you about your previous worry. “And…I’m not angry, I'm nothing more than ordinary now. I’m human now. Truly human because of you, and I will miss my technique because it made me strong, but…I can be human with you, my children, and my brother. So thank you.”

You pull back and look at him with a bright and awestruck smile. “You were human to me before, now you’re just a little bit more fragile.”

Choso chuckles softly and nods before his face falls. “Do you still love me as I am now? I know your feelings towards non-sorcerers.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him as you caress his cheek. “I love you as you are. I don’t care if you're a non-sorcerer and not holding as much power. All that matters is that you’re alive again. That’s the deal I made and my feelings won’t change. Not negatively anyway.” You smile at him.

Choso sighs with relief and just as he’s going to share something you interject coldly. “Besides, I don't care about the sorcerers or non-sources. Not anymore.”

Choso blinks repeatedly in disbelief, and you clench your jaw out of anger while your eyes scream your grief.

“Why?” He asks as he feels thrown off by this sudden change. “You don’t really feel like that do you?”

You clench your fists and scowl as the memory of Okkotsu announcing his identity inside your brother's body plays in your mind and reminds you why your ideals changed so drastically.

“They took the reason why I gave up. They’re using my brother's body like they used Suguru’s. They’re using him and now…” you swallow thickly and huff. “I see Okkotsu in his body and all I hear is the clapping I heard when Riko died. All those people clapped their hands over the death of a little girl…and now that’s all I hear and I can’t care anymore.”

Choso feels a weight over his chest as he hears the cold way you speak. He partially blames himself for the way you think now, even if you just explained the reason why you hate the world, he still finds it in himself to put on some blame because you watched him give up his life to save yours. So even if he was going to help you already, he does it now with more passion.

“No, no, I know that’s not really true. You’re just grieving,” he tries to calm down your anger. “It’s happening again and you’re just using anger to express your grief.”

The creases between your eyebrows crease deeper as your eyebrows pinch further with your heightening anger.

“But whatever they’re doing, they’re doing for the greater good, he would understand that. He would want that.”

“He would want to live and do it himself,” you argue back sharply. “He wouldn't want to get used. He fought the higher-ups for that reason. He wanted to change sorcerer society for that reason!” You exclaim your frustration as you get up and turn to try and breathe as it gets hard to do.

Choso follows you up but doesn't grab you yet, he lets you catch your breath first.

“I would be angry too,” he tries to form some connection since he has brothers too. “I would cry, but then I would think about what they would want. And we as siblings have a better understanding of what they want, don’t you think? Because we have that connection no one else could feel?”

You nod. “That’s why I know he’d want to live…” you trail off and he finally approaches you and grabs your shoulder, making you find your breath and ease some tension off your shoulders.

“You really think that? You don’t think he’d let his students do anything possible so you could all win? Even if not for them then for you and Satori?” Choso pulls right at your heartstrings, causing you to break and sob because in the back of your mind you know that’s all he’d want.

“But,” you try to argue in your brother's defense. “Why did they have to use him like that? Why didn’t he tell me?” You ask softly and then face him.

“Because it wasn’t easy for him either I’m guessing…” Choso coos and gently cradles your face to wipe away your cheeks. “Because he knew if he told you, you’d fight back and it would just make it harder,” he shares because as an older brother that’s what he’d feel.

“I’d fight to keep him alive because that’s what he deserves,” you argue back but that anger you held onto moments ago is faltering. “Because…I wouldn’t want him to leave me alone.”

Choso sighs. “I know, but now you have to support the decisions he made. He’d trust you to do that, right?”

You nod softly even if you don’t want to accept it and the agony in you takes over the next words that come out. “But he promised…he promised to protect me and be with me.”

“He always will,” Choso assures your crying heart. “For as long you live, but now he’ll be closer to you. That’s why you need to have a strong heart, hm?”

And with those beautiful and soft words, the fight you were so stubborn to have falls completely and all that’s left is a grieving woman that’s left small and broken, and that only Choso could comfort.

“Strong heart,” he whispers and places his hand over your heart.

You gently cup his hand and keep it pressed on your chest as you fall to your knees and let yourself cry over the loss of your older brother, Satoru.

“Strong heart,” Choso’s words echo as he falls on his knees with you to be close and comfort you in the way he knew how. In an intimate way that gives you strength to keep fighting no matter how much you lost already because you both know that the fight for life and survival of humanity is not over yet.

At least not for the ones still standing, but for Choso and you without the strength of your techniques, it is…

——

*A COUPLE MONTHS LATER*

A peaceful silence fills the night and you and Choso take advantage of it to find peace and time to relax after being caught up in such a hectic but blissful day.

You find time for your passion that still burns hot after having twins and losing so much, but neither of you struggle to sleep when you can. Not anymore. Those sleepless nights where you admired the serene sky are gone, but, and this is important, the reason why you find sleep so easily wakes you both up with their crying that rings loudly throughout your house.

“It’s okay,” Choso whispers hoarsely. “I’ll go, it’s just Tsukuyomi crying.”

You wipe your eyes and squint nonetheless to look at him through the darkness of the room. “Are you sure?” You probe. “I don’t mind.”

Choso hums and caresses the back of your head so you’d get lulled back to sleep. “Yeah, I’ll go. Go back to sleep.”

You hesitate but your exhaustion wins this fight so you drop your head back on your pillow, letting Choso walk into the twin's room and find his baby boy wailing while his twin sister sleeps throughout it on the cradle beside his.

“Tsu,” Choso coos as he turns a lamp on so the baby can see that he doesn’t need to cry anymore because his father heard his cry.

“What's wrong, hm?” Choso asks as if the three-month-old baby would answer him—well in some ways he does because those sharp cries turn to whimpers the moment Choso picks him up.

“I know you’re not hungry,” he speaks softly but clearly to his baby because he read that’s what’s good for them to hear—“your mother just fed you before bed. And you don’t smell like your diaper is full either.”

The baby boy blinks repeatedly and watches his father with a trembling lip. He continues to breathe heavily, leaving Choso confused about how to comfort him. He knows it doesn’t take much, but he can’t find a way to comfort him, not the way you can.

You were so loving right away—not that he wasn’t, he cried when he saw the twins for the first time, and that need to protect them only heightened when he held them both for the first time. He would die for them, he’d kill for them too if the need arose. It’s just…he doesn’t feel that connection to them.

He doesn’t know why. He aches to feel it, to know right away what it is they need in the same way you know without as much as double thinking, but he’s struggled and it’s killing him.

He thought that he would feel that instant bond with his son at least because all he had was brothers after all, but that failed to manifest with his son.

They also have your eyes and he loves to get lost in them. They share your unique white hair too, he’s failed to hold onto that bond he now aches for. So maybe having you tend to baby Tsukuyomi would be the best thing, you would know how to put him back to sleep. He can’t if it doesn’t involve a bottle of warm milk.

“Why don’t we get your mother,” he tells the baby boy. “Hm?” He hums and doesn’t wait for a response now before turning off the light.

However, the moment the room is dark Tsukuyomi jumps and begins to cry, making Choso quickly turn the light back on so the cries won’t wake Suki up and lead him to more trouble.

“It’s all right,” Choso soothes the baby boy heaving and pouting. “You’re all right.”

Choso wipes away the little tears rolling down his round cheeks before he starts gently rocking him. “See I’m here. Did you have a nightmare?”

Tsukuyomi lets out a shaky breath and Choso now gently caresses his head in the same way he caresses your scalp when you’re cuddling in bed, and that seems to comfort baby Tsukuyomi the same way it calms you down.

“Yeah,” Choso laughs softly. “Your mother likes that too.” He smiles gently and confesses to his son. “Your mother has nightmares too. I’m sure she’ll tell you why she does when you’re older, but as for now, when she has them I caress her head too.”

Tsukuyomi blinks and his pupils dilate while his lips suddenly lift to a gentle smile. Choso can't help but smile proudly over that simple but beautiful gesture before he’s caught by surprise by Tsukuyomi stretching out his chubby arms and grabbing his face.

“Oh,” Choso gasps and holds his son's gaze, while Tsukuyomi coos and smiles brighter as if admiring his father.

Choso’s breath catches and Tsukuyomi refuses to let him go just yet and insists on keeping him close. In that moment sparking that forever bond Choso was aching for.

“You’re one of the best things that’s happened to me,” Choso tells his son with tears running down his cheeks. “You, your mother, your sisters, and your uncle Yuji. I’m grateful every day to your mother for gifting me a chance to be in your life. I love you Tsukuyomi.”

The baby boy drops his arms and wipes his eyes before snuggling his head against Choso’s chest and yawning, leading Choso to rock him back to sleep once and for all.

However, instead of returning him to his crib he picks up baby Suki too and lays the twins on your bed instead to keep them closer, at least for tonight.

“I hope you don’t mind them sleeping with us tonight,” Choso whispers to you, who's only half awake.

“No,” you tell him breathlessly and drag yourself over to connect yourself back to his warmth.

Choso holds you close so you can fall back asleep but as he watches his twins sleeping peacefully he smiles and whispers in your ear. “I want another baby.”

You manage to chuckle and pat his back. “Okay, lover boy let’s first watch these babies grow past two years old, and then we’ll talk. I’m not sure you’ll want more when they’re two.”

Choso’s shoulders shake as he laughs before he contradicts you. “I told you I wanted 10.”

You pull your head back and scoff in amusement. “When you can birth a child then you can ask for ten, as for now let’s stick to our plan, hm? I want more cute babies with you too, but let’s get these babies past two first.”

Choso offers you a comprehensive smile before pressing a reassuring kiss on your forehead and then pressing your head back on his chest. “We can still practice though, right?”

You grin against his chest and nod. “Oh definitely.”

He smiles proudly and returns his gaze to his sleeping twins, finding happy tears return to his eyes, as well as a deep sense of gratitude he can’t hold in. “Thank you,” he shares.

You open your eyes and probe. “For what?”

Choso presses a kiss on the top of your head and responds endearly. “For giving me a second chance at great cost to what you loved.”

You sigh gently and close your eyes before you remind him what you told him several months ago. “I told you I would die for you. It might’ve not been literally at the end but I did mean it and I will never regret it because you are the love of my life. I love you.”

Choso sighs softly and whispers, “I love you too, my love.”

A/N- Two more chapters of domestic Choso and Mc? Also, let’s pretend gege gave them a somewhat good ending to that fight. Yes? Yes!

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa @notsaelty @d4rno @moonnime @kodzukein @yozora7154 @heijihattorisgf @elegantweirdorchest @natakina

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gojonanami · 5 months

Text

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter.

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up.

It was him.

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak.

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises?

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers.

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,”

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment.

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,”

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile.

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped.

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,”

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze.

Fuck.

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,”

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—”

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked.

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break.

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?”

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?”

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks.

“I would,”

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile.

Fuck.

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears.

But how can you be quiet?

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck.

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,”

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass.

He’s huge.

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—”

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,”

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?”

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much.

He was too much.

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,”

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,”

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?”

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—”

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns.

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart.

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up.

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—”

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt.

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store.

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—”

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care.

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump.

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush.

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,”

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?”

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling.

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.”

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern.

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started.

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin.

“What are you—”

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,”

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type.

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?”

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,”

“Mahito—“

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money, “be a doll, won’t you?”

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?”

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?”

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice.

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?”

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.”

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling.

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger.

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods.

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot.

“I will,”

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip.

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,”

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.”

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze.

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—”

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—”

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,”

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—”

“Have another lesson?”

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you.

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue.

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt.

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was.

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—”

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,”

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release.

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure.

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you.

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks.

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much.

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light.

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach.

Your mouth runs dry.

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought.

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you.

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it.

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze.

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch.

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away.

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—”

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal.

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod.

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out.

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!”

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you.

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out, “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?”

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder.

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him.

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—”

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls.

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt.

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick.

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again.

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour.

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise.

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you.

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.”

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?”

You were picking up your boyfriend.

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.”

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

#sab [mlist]#choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo fanfiction #choso kamo x you #choso smut #choso x you #choso kamo fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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daemontargaryenwhore · 1 month

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GURL BYE

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colonelarr0w · 3 months

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“As I’ve already stated,” Nanami pauses to sip at the coffee in his hand, “I’ve no interest in speaking to her.”

Annoyed, Gojo leans back in his seat, casting a glance to the Instagram post that he had shown Nanami — the girl in it was attractive, but somehow it still wasn’t the blonde’s type.

“Hmm, maybe you’re just not into brunettes,” Gojo says dismissively, scrolling through the woman’s Instagram before stowing his phone away into his pocket.

Nanami bites back the chuckle in his throat, masking it by taking another sip of his now lukewarm coffee. A shame that Gojo kept interrupting him just as he wanted to enjoy his break.

“I’m not into anyone,” Nanami finally says, setting down his cup — though he is quite frustrated considering that the coffee had been purchased by someone else for him.

“Oh? What, have some secret girlfriend I don’t know about?” Gojo teases, already laughing at his own joke. Nanami shoots him a pointed glare, subconsciously running a finger over the smooth metal band adorning his left ring finger.

“I don’t see how—“

Nanami’s phone buzzes on the table, its screen displaying your image. It’s one of Nanami’s favorite photos of you, one that he had taken himself during one of your monthly date nights.

Gojo’s eyes flicker down to the flashing screen, his eyebrows raising and his eyes widening in absolute shock. “Who—?”

Nanami is quick to answer the call, pressing the phone against his ear and doing very little to hide the smile that curls his lips upward. “Hi love.”

Gojo’s jaw goes completely slack. It’s an expression that would make anyone laugh — Nanami is honestly shocked at how well he was able to keep his straightforward façade.

“Yes, I should be home soon. I did not forget,” Nanami’s tone is reassuring, one that Gojo had never heard in the stoic man’s voice before. It’s heartwarming, not that he would ever admit it out loud.

“I love you too, bye now.”

The minute that Nanami hangs up, Gojo is practically screaming. Heads turn, and in a fit of both frustration and embarrassment, Nanami attempts to diffuse the situation.

“You have a girlfriend?!”

“Wife, actually.”

“Are you—?!”

#colonelarr0w #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami fanfiction #nanami kento fanfiction #nanami kento #kento nanami #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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risuola · 7 months

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I — NOT YET // When a guy in the club tries to assault you, you ask a random stranger to pretend to be your boyfriend. Little that you know that out of all people, you chose a mob boss.

contents: smut, mafia!au, briefly mentioned assault and tiny bit of violence, Sukuna (yeah, I consider him a warning), reader discretion is advised — 2,7k words

a/n: mada... mada mada~ the very second I heard this menace toying with Panda, Kusakabe and the rest in Shibuya, not allowing them to move unless he say so - my head went straight to the idea of him playing the same game in bed.

ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist

Sukuna never had to get used to being interrupted. Never. Anytime it happened in the past, all he had to do was to glance at the person and it usually got the message across. His gaze has enough power in it to quickly inform the intruder why invading his personal space or cutting him half-sentence is a damn bad idea. One look from him usually was enough to make anyone reconsider if they really want some problems. Sukuna had his eyes trained to be sharp and cold, his body strong and intimidating and his aura dangerous. He spent years building his reputation, earning a position in his world that now guaranteed him calm.

Now everyone and their mothers know that he’s not the one to cross paths with. He’s a VIP, he’s allowed everywhere and he has no qualms about killing someone. Ryomen Sukuna is a brand, he’s a threat, he’s untouchable, invincible. No one in the right mind would ever try to start anything with him at this point. That’s why, when he tried to relax in one of many clubs that he owns in Tokyo, he couldn’t believe someone had the guts to push onto him at the bar.

“Hey, sorry, can you please pretend to be my boyfriend for a second?”, he heard near his ear and following the sound and the soft tug on his elbow, he turned his head towards you. Lucky girl, he thought while quickly assessing the view. You were too god damn pretty to be killed, looking at him with those pleading eyes that glistened in the harsh artificial lights. You were visibly scared of something, or someone, and oddly enough it wasn’t him who brought you to the verge of tears.

“Your boyfriend, huh?”, he mused, allowing his eyes to trail down your figure. The dress you had on left little to imagination and yet he wished to tear it off to see more of you. It hugged the shapes of your body perfectly and the silky fabric betrayed the lack of bra underneath. You were attractive, but clearly not smart enough to think twice before approaching a stranger.

“Please, I beg you, this guy—“, you tried to explain, squeezing your perfectly manicured fingers around his veiny forearm, but your sentence was cut in half when a man grabbed you by the waist, pulling you away just a little and harshly pressing your back against the bar. Sukuna watched as you winced when your spine hit the edge of the wooden countertop, he watched for a moment how you tried to push the guy away. With no effect, you weren’t strong enough to stand against him, you were trapped between the unwanted body and the furniture behind you, fighting the hungry hands that were groping your figure.

“Naoya, get off of me—” you tried, pushing his face away from where he was trying to suck a spot onto your neck.

“Oh, shut up woman, I know you want it,” the blonde-ish idiot grinned, twisting your arm enough to make a space for himself. He wasn’t bothered in the least with the fact he was trying to get between your legs in the very center of a club. Sukuna’s club.

Ryomen zeroed the whisky in his glass and got up from the chair. Usually, he would ignore situations like this. Other people’s problems were none of his business and he had enough his own things to take care of, to bother himself with anything else, but you. You were a problem he was willing to explore.

“Zenin, huh?”, he asked, connecting the name he heard falling from your lips with the wannabe gangster he heard about many times before. There was a certain reputation tied to Naoya’s name, mostly regarding his treatment of women but as long as he wasn’t touching his women, Sukuna couldn’t care less about this trash of a man. You definitely were not his woman. Yet.

“The fuck you want, I’m busy,” Zenin groaned, pulling his nasty mouth away from your shoulder for just a moment, only to shot a glare to the club owner.

“I can tell that you’re busy,” Ryomen grabbed one of Naoya’s wrists. It wasn’t looking like a hard grip, but the face of the blonde betrayed the sharp, bone-breaking pain he felt.

You felt some kind of relief when the stranger you just met stepped between you and your unwanted date. The large body of him towered above you completely, he was bigger than you thought when you approached his sitting form, but you couldn’t think about it for too long when he dealt with Naoya so easily. Once the blonde was gone, he turned to you.

Your heart skipped few beats once you took the image in. The man was huge, way taller than you and built like a greek god. The sharp outlines of his muscled torso beautifully showed through the dark graphite dress shirt. Looking up, you could finally see his face clearly. His features were attractive, dangerous with the black tattooed lines around them. He could easily be a gangster or something.

“T-thank you,” you spoke finally, snapping out from the initial impression of him. He was a red flag, you knew that. If not for the circumstance, you’d probably be the first to run away from him. He was hot. An absolute smokeshow, but he was certainly bad news.

“Was he your date?”, he asked, pulling a chair that he was sitting on previously and twisting it to position, before his large hands landed on your hips. There was no effort whatsoever when he lifted you and sat you down on the seat. He opted to stand next to you.

“No… I came here with a friend, but she left earlier. I was just about to leave as well, but this guy stopped me,” you sighed. “He wouldn’t let me go, I was afraid that he’ll just walk after me to my home. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. The gesture in itself was soft, but you shivered underneath his touch nonetheless. You couldn’t quite tell what made him so… scary. Was it his overwhelming frame? Or maybe the calm, distant demeanor? He had authority, he was expecting submission and when he was looking at you, you felt like a prey of him. Strangely, you were quite fine with that. You had no wish of doing anything with Naoya, but this man… he was different, he was interesting, he made you cross your legs just to feel any kind of pressure between your thighs. “Your name?”

“Y/n,” you replied.

“Y/n. Nice,” he gave it a soft nod and ordered two drinks. “Ryomen is my name. Sukuna Ryomen. Memorize it.”

“Sure…”

At this moment, you had no guts to ask why was it important to imprint the name he told you into your brain, but it all became clear just barely two hours later. You couldn’t exactly recall the moment Sukuna led you out of the club and into his car. There was something so enticing about his entire aura that made you lose your ability to think. He made you break every rule you ever had for yourself – to not talk with strangers, not go with them anywhere. Before that night you were doing exceptionally good in avoiding danger, you somehow slipped through your life up until that point without any major problems, but once you faced the problem, it was a big one.

The talk was good, it flowed easily and the menacing aura that Ryomen had all around him kept you interested. You had no idea that you’re attracted to bad boys, and maybe you were not exactly into school hooligans. Turned out, you’re aroused by the much worse kind – the kind that keeps a gun behind his belt, drinks pure whisky and makes people run away just by shooting them a glance. Yeah, that seems to be the kind of men you are into, because if there was any common sense left in you, you’d be out the door and running towards the safety of your dormitory. If there was any self-preservation instinct in you, you’d be probably anywhere else, rather than in here.

In the most luxurious house you’ve ever seen, not to mention been inside of; somewhere in the outskirts of Tokyo where you were not even sure how you can get back to your home from there. If you were just a little smarter, you’d for sure be in your own bed right now and not on the dark leather couch, with your silky dress scrunched up around your waist and your underwear torn to pieces and laying on the floor. If you had more braincells, maybe you wouldn’t be bouncing on that stranger’s dick right now, gripping onto his muscular shoulders as one of his large hands kept your hip in a dead grip, leading your moves up and down his girthy length and the other one tightly squeezed around the back of your neck, from where he was keeping his head close so he could kiss you so hungrily it took your breath away. But that’s just where you were. And you wouldn’t change a thing.

He felt so goddamn good, filling your tight hole to the very brim, stretching you to the point of delirium and he wasn’t even fully in yet. His moves were aggressive and yet sensual; he made you feel small even if it was you who was on top of him. You had no control, he made it clear with the way he was holding you and every time you tried to dominate him in any way, he quickly showed you your place back. Maybe later, he’ll let you have your way with him, but now, he was in charge.

“Think you can take all of me?” He asked against the delicate skin of your neck, now painted in red and purple marks he nibbed onto it. You could feel him grinning at the way you squeezed your little hands on his clothed biceps. He got you all exposed and yet he only allowed you to free his dick; his shirt was still buttoned up, his pants were still on his legs. There was a certain dominance shown in the way he got you all naked on top of his suit.

“N-no,” you breathed out, “too big.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” Sukuna doesn’t exactly accept no as an answer and he for sure gave you enough time to accommodate to his size. “You’ll take it and thank me for it, yeah?”

“Yes,” was all you could mumble, before both of his large hands landed on your hips. The iron grip, you were sure, was going to bruise you but now, it felt grounding in a way.

“Good girl,” he praised, his purr vibrated against your skin as he sucked yet another mark along your collarbone. It distracted you for a moment before he pushed your pelvis even lower, fully bottoming into you. Your clit made a contact with his lower belly, the harsh brush of his skin against the swollen bud making you moan louder than you were meaning to. You felt like all of your organs were moved out of the way just to make more space for his dick and Sukuna couldn’t be more satisfied by the way you took him in. “See? As if you were made to take this cock.”

Something incoherent left your mouth, a tear stained your cheek and the man was happy to lick it away, tasting the saltiness before he bucked his hips up, keeping yours in place. He took full control, thrusting into you with all the power he had in his muscular body and you held onto his shoulders with your little hands. The filthy, wet sounds were filling the interiors, bouncing off the walls and mixing with all of the whines and whimpers that were leaving your lips. Some grunts added to the melody, but you barely heard any of it, too consumed by the exploding pleasure between your legs.

Sukuna’s name was leaving your mouth like a prayer, you felt so close, you felt like falling and you had no intention to stop. The man grinned, licking a long stroke along your throat, his tongue curling upwards as it reached the tip of your chin. The taste of your skin felt intoxicating to him, he wanted to devour you whole, to keep all for himself.

“You wanna cum, huh?” His voice was taunting. “You’re clenching around me so fucking hard, you’re gonna milk me as well.”

“Yes, yes, please,” you near damn begged, chasing the bliss that you could almost taste on your tongue right now. It filled all of your body cells, rushed through your veins in ecstatic waves of lust.

“Not yet,” he ordered and it felt almost painful to force yourself back from the state of climax. You could tell he was playing with you, toying with his dominance, reminding you that it’s him who pulls the strings in here. And yet, he was still rutting into you, his movements completely different to what he was saying, he was fucking you like he wanted you to cum in that very moment. “Still not yet,” he teased, feeling your little fingers digging onto his shoulders, your manicured nails nearly making holes in his shirt as your eyes fell shut.

“Oh god, Ryomen, please,” you whined. Your thighs were shaking, your spine arching and the incredible tension below your stomach threatened to burst any second now.

“Now,” he ordered and just like that, all inside of you snapped. You came all over his dick, and you came hard. It felt like nothing you’ve ever experienced, like you were suddenly shot into another dimension and if not for the way he sped up his movements, you’d probably just get lost in the lustful feeling. Ryomen came just few moments after you, wrapping his arms around your waist and painting your walls white. You felt him throbbing, spasming inside of you, the hot seed gushed out of you as he was pumping it in, staining your thighs and the bottom of his black shirt. Then he pushed you down, fully onto his cock, plugging the way out for his cum.

You found his lips, swallowing his quickened breath as you kissed him with desire and he gave in, quickly dominating the kiss. You were tired, the muscles in your legs were burning from the intense exercise, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling of still wanting more. He made you hungry, he made you unsatiated and you were sure, you won’t be able to recognize yourself after you’re done with him. You were never such a greedy lover but frankly, you never had a chance to feel that good with anyone. The boys you’ve been with had no skills and if not for the orgasms you gave yourself with your fingers, no one else ever brought you over the edge like Sukuna.

“Can you undress?” You asked him, your lips brushing against his as you mouthed the question and he chased your kiss with his head, grabbing your lower lip between his teeth. There was a certain expression painted all over his dangerously handsome features, the menacing aura amplified as he took his sweet time before replying.

“I can undress,” he began, yet there was a but hanging in the air. He had conditions and you were open to hear them. “I’ll give you two options, little kitten. Wanna hear ‘em?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t undress. You can pull yourself together and I can drive you back to your home now. But I can also take the suit off, carry you to my bed. Then you’ll stay with me till morning, but don’t have any hopes for a calm sleep, no. The night will be as filthy as it can get. You’ll be sore tomorrow, most likely exhausted.”

You blinked hearing the options. It was clear as day, stop there or continue? You knew the answer already, your body decided for you even before he came up with an offer.

“Will you drive me home as well if I pick the second option?”

“Of course.”

“Then let’s get you naked.”

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teamatsumu · 5 months

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Thinking about Alpha!Sukuna who thinks all humans smell disgusting. He just cannot stomach their scent. To him it’s like smelling farm animals. Whether it was years ago during his time or now, while he inhabits the body of this pink-haired brat, humans still smell like cow manure. Overbearing and disgustingly heavy. He cannot stand it.

But when your scent hits his nose for the first time, he can’t help but stiffen. It’s…. light. Fresh. He smells coconut and citrus. It reminds him of the shrine made for him by the townspeople centuries ago, where they would offer him fruit and worship him. When he was revered and feared all the same.

He sees you then. Feisty little thing despite being an omega. You are a good sorcerer, filled with potential that he recognises even if your peers don’t. And Sukuna is hit with the overwhelming urge to scent you. In a way that the Alpha in him has never acted out before.

And it shocks him that you’re a human. A mere human who somehow fills him with intrigue. How dare you? But also, he needs you. Carnally. Now.

Once the King of Curses sets his eyes on you, good luck trying to escape him. You’re his forever. For the rest of his life.

#💭 late night ruminating #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #a/b/o dynamics #alpha sukuna #omega reader #jjk x reader #jjk a/b/o #jujutsu kaisen #omegaverse #alpha x omega #jjk fanfiction

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chuluoyi · 7 months

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Hi, I had this idea where gojo is shaving his face then his son comes in with the reader and wants to help gojo shave his face as well or even want to shave his own face. and it’s just a huge amount of fluff❤️

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 06:27 A.M 」

what a cute ask!! i tweaked it a bit to put some dad!gojo who is just so soft for his baby

a part of gojo's love entries

there was always this indescribable feeling inside satoru whenever he looked at his child. his chubby cheeks, grabby hands, eyes that eerily are just like his—

today he had woken up early for a mission, unwillingly leaving the bed you two shared as you were still vast asleep after shenanigans you were up to last night. his plan was to take his bath and leave the house, but then he passed by his son’s crib, hearing his squirms and babbles—which escalated into picking him up and bringing him along to the bathroom.

that was how he found himself now staring at his ten-month-old baby, and what he had on his little pair of hands—his razor.

satoru couldn’t hold back the urge to grin.

“c’mon buddy. that’s not for you to play with. give it back, hm?”

his cute baby merely blinked, as if not understanding what he meant at all. in response, he tightened his grip on the instrument and pulled it closer to his little chest.

satoru heard his own laugh echoing in the bathroom. he could’ve just taken it away from his baby’s grip, but no way, that would be too cruel.

“you’re so, so unbelievably adorable,” he pinched the baby’s face. “just like your mama.”

this child was his in every way, there was no paternity doubt there. his hair, eyes, and you would say, even his pout. but the abundant innocence and curious gleam behind those little eyes was definitely yours.

half his and half yours.

just how many years had gone by? last he remembered, he was begging for your love, then suddenly you gave birth to his son, and here he was.

“okay, little man. papa really needs it now,” he prodded, still grinning. he patted the boy in the head and extended his palm in front of him.

your little munchkin still didn’t comply though, as he hugged the razor tight. it seemed like he had watched satoru shave many times already, with how he gained this understanding: he positioned the sharp edge on his plump cheek, and a second too late would mean—

satoru forcibly plucked the blade, barely missing the soft surface of his son’s face. and in the next second, the quiet wonder on his baby's face transformed into a look of betrayal, his face scrunching up.

and he wailed.

his inconsolable cries woke you up as you stumbled in panic towards the bathroom. “gods, satoru! what did you do this time?”

“wha—! he was about to scratch his face! i saved him!”

and so holding your son in your arms, you watched as your husband shaved his face, while your little boy eagerly reaching out in his direction with satoru’s dullest razor—one he didn’t use anymore—that you gave him to play with.

“you wanna help papa, huh?”

“hey, uh… why are you aiming at my throat?!”

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celestie0 · 19 hours

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch2. you may now kiss the bride!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his early 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)

a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 (pending)

“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”

“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”

Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.

Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.

And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.

“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.

“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”

“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”

“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”

The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.

You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.

“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you, “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”

“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand.

“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!

You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.

“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”

You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”

“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing.

“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”

“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”

You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips.

“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement.

“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.

You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously.

“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”

Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation.

“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”

Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—

“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up.

Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?

“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”

“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”

“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”

“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”

“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”

You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.

“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”

You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.

“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”

The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief.

“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”

You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.

“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”

They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.

Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”

“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”

It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”

“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”

Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.

“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite.

You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.

The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.

“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”

His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.

“Okay,” he says, and quietly.

Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.

“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short.

“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”

A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”

You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”

He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.”

“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away.

You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.

“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”

The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine.

“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.

“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.

It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean.

“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.

“So, logistics,” you say.

“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug.

“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”

“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip.

“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.

“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”

You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”

“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”

“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.

“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”

“What???”

“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”

“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.

“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”

“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”

You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”

He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation.

“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.”

You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.

You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.

“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”

“Forever,” you say. To scare him.

“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively.

You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”

“More plausible.”

“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”

He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”

Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”

His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”

You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.

He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think.

“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”

“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”

“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”

You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”

“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”

While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.

And then that’s when it hits you.

How you can help pull yourself out of debt.

You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.

“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”

“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”

“A shitty catalog.”

“Did you need to specify?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”

He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”

A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.

“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”

“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees.

“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”

“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”

“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”

He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens.

“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.

Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.

She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.

“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”

You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.

“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.

Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.

“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”

“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”

You smile up at her. “You did.”

“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”

She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.

“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”

“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.

You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.

“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”

“Are you my nurse?” she asks.

You breathe in deep. “Yes.”

“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”

You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”

“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”

“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.

Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.

You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.

48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl!

46’’ seven yrs. big jump

41’’ six yrs.

37’’ five yrs. my little princess

…

–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears.

This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.

And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.

Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.

In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.

Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.

But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.

You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?”

“Mhm,” you say.

“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”

You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”

“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it.

“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”

“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”

You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”

“You should really…get more organized.”

“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”

“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”

Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”

“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”

You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”

“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”

“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”

“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”

After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you.

“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”

You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”

“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”

You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him.

“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”

He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs.

Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from???

But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door.

He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—

“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”

You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”

“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”

“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”

He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”

“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.

“I live next door,” you remind him.

His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”

“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.

His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”

You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.

“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”

“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”

You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).

“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.

6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time

“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara.

“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.

“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”

“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”

She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too.

Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.

Well, second worst as of right now.

The worst person title was reserved for someone else.

Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by.

She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–

“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”

“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”

“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.

“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”

“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.

“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.

“But–”

“Now!!!!!”

Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles.

The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces.

Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it.

But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.

There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon.

“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.

“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.

“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.

He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail.

You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.

“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence.

“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?”

“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar.

Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”

“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”

Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.

Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.

Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.

But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated.

So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.

“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”

“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”

“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”

He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”

“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.

“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”

Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.

“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.

He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll.

“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.

“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round.

“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”

“Nope.”

He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him.

“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”

Damn it, he said it.

Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years.

But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.

“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”

His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?

“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”

“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie.

He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”

His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.

His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.

But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”

“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.

“My neighbor.”

His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”

You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”

“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”

“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”

“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”

He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”

“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”

“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?”

“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”

“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him.

“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”

“He’s in love with you?” he asks.

“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”

“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”

You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.

“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”

“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”

Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.

“I left it at home,” you mumble.

“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”

That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did.

“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store.

You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish.

Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle.

You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.

“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.

“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”

He nods. “Yes, I did.”

Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.

Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.

“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments.

“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”

“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”

You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”

His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”

“Are you…new to town?” you ask.

He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”

“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.

His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.

“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily.

His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”

You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.

Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.

The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it.

Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave.

A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.

It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.

Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again.

He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.

But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you.

He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.

You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance.

Fuck.

The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.

You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.

You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.

“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?

First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?

|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?

You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.

|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me

It takes him a whole minute to respond.

|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?

You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?

You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.

You pick your phone up again.

|| 11:41AM You: yes

It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance.

You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”

You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is.

He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more.

“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat.

“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word.

“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.

Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”

A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”

“But–”

“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.

“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.

“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”

“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs.

One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.

“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”

He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.

“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”

“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”

He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.”

“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience.

You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion.

He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.

“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”

“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up.

He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”

“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.

“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.

“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.

Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.

His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”

“Just don’t look,” you say simply.

You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.

“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.

He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”

You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease.

You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit.

He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says.

“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”

“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you.

His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.

You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.

Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome.

You must be ovulating.

No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.

Oh god.

Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?

There was simply no way.

You refuse to believe it.

You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.

“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”

You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.

“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.

“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.

“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.

You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.

“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.

He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”

Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.

“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.

“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”

“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.

Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.

Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.

Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.

You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.

“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.

“Hi Judge Jun,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”

6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jun is a 72 y/o man with a past medical history of hypertension, hypercholesterolemia, hyperglycemia, GERD, liver cirrhosis and COPD, who endorses a social history of frequent tobacco usage and occasional alcohol consumption. Patient presents to the ED with chief complaint of chest pain, onset two hours ago after he drank three bottles of beer, and—

“Much better since you took care of me last week!” he humphs, patting his stomach.

You snap out of your automatic charting that was droning on in your head on reflex from how many times Judge Jun has shown up to the ED for acute chest pain which almost always ends up just being beer-induced GERD.

“At the hospital!” you clarify, “for taking care of you at the hospital!”

The man laughs heartily from where he sits up at the raised platform bench. “Yes! And Mr. Gojo! Nice to see you as well.”

You flit your eyes to Gojo, like you know him too? He only briefly spares you a sidewards glance before looking back at Judge Jun. “Likewise, sir.”

You postulate he scammed the fuck out of the man into signing a forty-year lease on a condo in the shady part of town, and you’ll leave it at that.

“I have to say, I am a little shocked by this matrimonial partnership!” Judge Jun chimes in. “But do you both swear to enter this marriage under just circumstances? I will need verbal affirmation from you both.”

Gojo raises his hand up in the air to swear on it, and you remember that he’s possibly done this before. Y’know how people have a courtroom wedding before a real wedding, something like that. And maybe that’s why he knows to raise his hand, because you didn’t even know you were supposed to raise your hand until now.

A real wedding. Something you’ve pictured a lot in your head, and so much more different than the arrangement you find yourself in right now. And because the pain of imagining yourself tying the knot with someone is too much right now, especially when the man you thought you were going to marry stands in uniform five feet away from you and probably doesn’t even recognize the dress you’re wearing right now, you glance over to Gojo and you try to imagine what a real wedding would’ve been like for him. Since he’s done it before.

He probably had a tacky wedding, like in a barn with barrels of beer used as tables with barely flickering string lights hung across wooden planks high on a triangular ceiling. The reception and the ceremony likely happened under the same roof, because he seems like the minimalist type, more focused on the feelings behind it and all, and not the grandeur.

Or maybe he was into the grandeur. Maybe he had a wedding on a skyline penthouse in the city, wearing expensive cologne like the one he’s wearing now, and a Dior suit he got custom made because it was a once in a lifetime occasion so why not? The image becomes a little too vivid in your head now, where you can picture this woman he’s marrying too. Pretty, tall just like him, wearing a ball gown white dress. He would’ve told her she looked beautiful, too. He would’ve told her he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Vows uttered shakingly into the microphone at an altar while the sun is setting far into the sky, shimmering off of high building windows until the air is golden and it reflects off of his and his soon-to-be wife’s face. And when they’ve professed their love for one another, he grabs her by the waist and dips her in a kiss, for the perfect picture against the perfect backdrop in front of all the perfect little people because there probably was a photographer at that event, wanting to capture the moment.

You snap out of the dazed moment when a loud voice calls out your name, and in a shock, you glance back up at Judge Jun who’s looking at you with slight irritation.

“Huh?” you squeak out, and then turn to look at Gojo, who’s got a look of mild concern on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Please swear that this marriage is under just circumstances,” Judge Jun states with a cadence that indicates he’s commanded this of you multiple times already.

“Oh!” you stand up straight, “I—…I’m sorry.” You hold your hand up. “Yes, I swear this marriage is under just circumstances.” Just like Higurama had you practice. He’d be proud. Phew, the hard part was over.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a rather fast blur, and it’s a little awkward when you both have to tell Judge Jun that you don’t have any vows to exchange at the moment when he offers the time for them, but Gojo comes up with some lie about how the real vows will be at our formal ceremony, and Judge Jun seems entirely satisfied and a little too ecstatic by the answer before allowing you two and Hana to sign the marriage certificate.

“And rings?” Judge Jun asks as he peers down through his glasses to the paper he was holding at his desk. “We can now make time for the exchange of rings.”

You’re prepared for Gojo to come up with another lie about how the real rings will be at our formal ceremony, but you see him shuffling with something in his pocket in your periphery. Hm? You glance down at his hip, and you see him pull something shiny out.

He turns to face you, and he holds his hand out to you with an up-facing palm. You blink at him and then glance down at his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then glance down his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then gl—

“Give me your hand,” he says to you, a little hushed and rushed.

“Why???” you ask, baffled.

“So I can put a ring on your finger?” he says, like it’s the most casual thing. Like getting a ring slipped onto your fourth finger is the most casual Sunday for you, when it’s something you’ve dreamt of your whole entire life.

You finally take a long hard look at the ring he’s holding in his right hand. It shimmers with every glint of light in the courtroom off of every angle, no doubtedly precisely cut diamond from a jeweler who really cares about their craft, and you swear you’ve saved a similar looking ring to one of your Pinterest wedding boards before.

You hesitantly bring your hand up and hover it over his.

“Your left hand, silly,” he tells you.

“Oh, right,” you say, and hand him your left one instead.

He holds it in his hand that is much warmer than yours, and it’s so tender, the way he gently slips the ring onto your finger. It fits with ease, perfection actually, and you can’t help raising your hand up in the air, spreading your fingers weakly as you admire the stone now sitting above your knuckle. It’s pretty.

You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as he’s halted in frame, and you glance past your hand to look at his face. You dislike him. You do. You should. He’s your annoying as fuck next-door-neighbor. So then why does your heart feel like it could burst right now?

A glimmer of silver catches your eye, and you look down at his hands as he slips a silver ring onto his left hand while facing you before he turns to face the front again, signaling the end of the ring exchange, except you didn’t get to put it on his hand. He didn’t give you the chance.

“Alright! Wonderful!” Judge Jun exclaims, whose eyesight is probably too poor to have seen that it wasn’t even a proper ring exchange. “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

There is scattered applause across the courtroom, a few cheers as well, as you two stand in front of the court of law in holy matrimony.

Judge Jun glances at Gojo. “Well, young man, you may now kiss the bride!”

“Oh—…that—” you stutter, “that’s not necessa—”

“Okay,” Gojo says, more to affirm Judge Jun than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—

He kisses you.

He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—

And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.

What.

What?

And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.

[end of chapter 2]

a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3

➸ you're all caught up!

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