sukuna's malevolent pizzeria

by wooperlooper

Summary:

“Uh, do you have daifuku?” He asks. You blink at him, incredulous.

“Sir, this is a pizzeria.”

OR

Gojo Satoru is sent to investigate an overwhelming presence of cursed energy at a new pizzeria founded under Sukuna’s name. He arrives expecting to find the King of Curses, conveniently resurrected from the dead after a year of tranquility. Instead he finds you.
He’s not sure which is more dangerous.

Notes:

playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Y2tzLSGq9NWZlzcwtFtva?si=7bc59688401240e9

Chapter 1: the strongest sorcerer walks into a pizzeria

Summary:

“Why am I wasting my time training you?” You groan. “If you’re not going to fuck me or kill me then what are you still doing here?”

Much to your frustration, Gojo only smiles. “Who says I’m not going to fuck you?”

Notes:

This was supposed to be a Gojo x Reader and spiraled out of control. I understand that I have control of what happens in this fic but I am WAY too self indulgent. So, uh, endgame everybody?
Don’t worry if reader lore is confusing, there is a lot of it and it will be slowly revealed trust!!
This is a crack fic but there’s a surprising amount of angst??? I’d say it’s all of the above.
reader is nonbinary and androgynous, not to say that you have to look androgynous to be nonbinary, or the other way around, but this is my fantasy and i love androgyny so much and think it’s so beautiful.

playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Y2tzLSGq9NWZlzcwtFtva?si=9b3e8b02e02e4913

 

Satoru hates staff meetings. They're long, boring, entirely unnecessary, and typically consist of beating around the bush for an hour until Satoru is inevitably sent to handle things, occasionally with his students in tow. All the sorcerers working in Tokyo as well as those staffed in Kyoto sit around and discuss logistics that Satoru only half-listens to, since he’s going to ignore them anyway.

This time around though, an antsy tension settles over all of them. Even through his blindfold, Satoru knows most eyes are on him. He’s been talking about the elephant in the room for weeks now, and only today have they finally sat in to discuss it. It’s a wonder that anything gets done around here. His knee bounces, anxious to finally start this shitshow.

Yaga, just as eager to get this over with, starts speaking as soon as the last chair is filled.

“It appears Sukuna is back,” he stands, expression surly. Everyone waits with bated breath. Rumors have been spreading ever since the first residuals had been traced, all leading back to the same place. “And he’s founded a pizzeria.”

Chatter breaks out, some sorcerers laughing while others make shocked outbursts. Funnily enough, Yaga isn’t kidding. He sends Satoru a weary look —they both had expected the information would go over this way.

“Hey now, don’t laugh. He’s right,” Satoru speaks up, trying to keep his voice cheery despite his own irritation. He and his students nearly lost their lives in his final battle with Sukuna. It had been a miracle that Itadori survived, involving some careful work from Shoko and a loophole in a binding vow by Sukuna himself. He wants nothing less than to go through that again, even if they had come out with minimal casualties. “We’ve traced residuals back to the area. Nothing too concerning yet. I expect the King of Curses is working his strength back up after his resurrection, however that came to be.”

“Are you serious?” Utahime scowls deeply — she’s more transparent about her anger than Satoru is. She’d been there too, boosting everyone in the final moments. Satoru had come a long way from the teenager that looked down on her, and now commends her strength from that day. 

“More than serious,” Satoru replies in his characteristically unserious way. He can’t let them know he’s concerned, even though he’s sure most of them already suspect it. Keeping up morale during times like this is important. “I’m going to investigate tomorrow morning during the place’s hours. Everyone else should avoid those coordinates and be prepared to evacuate civilians. Just in case.”

Nanami scoffs. “What, you expect to waltz in and find him working there? Then what?”

“Well if he’s not there I’ll keep looking, and if he is I’ll kill him,” Satoru says easily. “Simple as that, Nanamin.”

Nanami’s jaw sets at the nickname, and Yaga raises a hand to silence the outburst of protests around the room.

“I know we haven’t discussed it officially, yet, but this really is the best course of action,” Yaga points to Nanami and Utahime. “You both will serve as backup nearby, just in case. I’ll be there too.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I have mixed feelings about bringing the students into this as well, considering what happened during our last encounter with Sukuna. I do think Inumaki’s cursed speech may be of service, as well as Itadori’s strength.”

“I agree,” Nanami says, though his jaw is still tight. “Though they’ll stay outside with me and Utahime until needed. Gojo will go in alone, yes?”

Satoru smiles, this time a little more genuinely. As much as he pretends otherwise, it’s always been very apparent how much Nanami cares about Yuuji. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”

The place looks deceptively normal from the outside, perhaps to the non-sorcerer. The logo of the pizzeria literally has Sukuna’s cursed markings atop a pepperoni pizza pie. The building is shamelessly labeled as Sukuna’s Malevolent Pizzeria. If he’d been aiming for subtlety, he was doing a terrible job. It makes Satoru feel like this is all an obvious trap.

Satoru strides in alone, hands shoved in his pockets as he approaches the register. He almost stops in his tracks though, because it's definitely not Sukuna standing behind the counter.

Instead, this may be one of the most beautiful people he's ever seen, and he knows a lot of pretty people. They present androgynously, masculine and feminine features combining in perfect harmony to create a seriously striking picture. It’s extremely unfair that anyone should look so good in a bright red apron. Their sharp eyes regard him with a level of disinterest that he immediately takes as a challenge.

And yet, the cursed energy surrounding them is almost indistinguishable from Sukuna’s. With his Six Eyes, though, he can tell after a few seconds that there’s something just slightly off about it. Almost like it’s been tinted a different shade.

Satoru cocks his head to the side with a wide smile. “Hey, I’d like to speak with the owner of this place. Think he’d have time for a chat with an old friend?”

“You’re looking at the owner right now.” The cashier responds, quirking an expectant eyebrow. Even their voice is hot, flowing smooth and easy from their lips. “Can I help you?”

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

You’ve always been the type to mind your business. You’ve done it all your life, letting things come and go without too much concern for what's next. This is mostly because you worry things will get more complicated than they already are if you question them.

Like now, the tall guy strutting into your establishment has a blindfold over his eyes yet seems to have no trouble seeing. Actually, it feels like he’s looking straight into your soul. You already know that this is the kind of guy you're better off avoiding if you want to keep minding your business. Alas, since breaking that practice just once, the chance of that happening just seems to be growing further and further away.

Stupid Sukuna, and stupid you for trying to be a good person. Looks like you’ve gotten caught up in something you shouldn’t be. Go figure. 

The guy smiles at you. It borders on wolfish. “Hey, I’d like to speak with the owner of this place. Think he’d have time for a chat with an old friend?”

“You’re looking at the owner right now.” You raise an eyebrow. Sukuna hadn’t mentioned any friends — he isn’t exactly the type to have many of those. “Can I help you?”

“You?” His eyebrows raise, his smile faltering momentarily at the news. It comes back quickly though, with twice as much charm. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

You remain stoic, but you also can’t help the slight lift of one corner of your mouth, betraying your amusement. You know he isn’t just here to flirt. Everything about him screams danger to you. You suspect that if he’s here to “take you out” in any sense, it’ll probably be the assassination type rather than on a date.

Even so, you’re willing to play this game. Ready to go with the flow and whatnot. The longer you can prolong your attempted murder, the better.

“I’m afraid you can’t flirt with the cashier unless you plan on ordering something,” you say, pointing to the sign above your head that reads Don’t Flirt with the Cashier Unless You’re Going to Order Something. “Company policy, hope you understand.”

The guy inclines his head toward it, and he must miraculously be able to read through the blindfold too, because his lips quirk up.

“My mistake.” He says, though he doesn’t sound at all apologetic. “You must have this problem often to make a whole sign for it.”

“Eh, you’re the first in a while.” You wave a hand, even though you’d made the sign last week out of necessity. “What can I get you, then?”

“Uh, do you have daifuku?” He asks. You blink at him, incredulous.

“Sir, this is a pizzeria.” At his baffled expression, you continue in a drawling tone. “We have pizza.”

“Right, sorry.” You seem to have done the impossible task of embarrassing him, and you almost feel bad. He looks thoughtfully at the menu (through his blindfold, of course) before responding. “Uh, just cheese? That's all.”

You bite your cheek against another smile. “You’re going to have to give me a size.”

“Large, then.” He decides after some contemplation. “I’ll bring some back for the kids.”

“Flirting with your local cashier while you have a family?” You tsk. It’s not your business, but you should probably nip that in the bud anyway. It’s the good person thing to do. “I should kick you out of my store.”

The guy raises both hands placatingly, a sly smirk on his face. “Ah, no, you’ve got me all wrong. They’re not my kids. I’m a teacher, see? High schoolers.”

“I see.” You definitely didn’t expect the guy to be a teacher, of all things. Perhaps he leads a double life as a hitman of sorts. “You sure you don’t want another pie? Kids are known to be pretty ravenous at that age.”

He shakes his head, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “Nah, I only have three of them.”

“Private school?” You inquire mildly.

He chuckles. “Something like that.”

“2500 yen for the pizza, then.” You tell him, ringing up the order. “Cash or card?”

“Here.” He hands you his card. It’s black — go figure. “May I resume flirting with the cashier, now?”

The tone in his voice suggests he won’t take no for an answer. It’s not busy, it never is at this hour, and he’s still the only other person in the store, so you shrug.

“Yeah, I’ll bite.” You swipe his card, his order number printing. “You’re lucky it’s a slow day. What’s your deal?”

“Who are you?” He asks, no further elaboration, and lifts his blindfold with a graceful tug of his finger.

“Uh,” you blink in the face of the prettiest pair of blue eyes you’ve ever seen, a stunning shade of cerulean that promises both danger and sanctuary. They’re leaning more toward the former, though, because his gaze is more intense than the glare of a thousand suns. So you introduce yourself, pointing to the name tag on your apron.

However, this doesn't satisfy him. A cool smile stretches his lips as he inspects you. “Well if I wanted your name, sweetheart, I would have just read it. I mean, who are you? What are you doing with all that cursed energy, and why haven’t I seen you before? I know for sure I’d remember a presence like yours and a face like that.”

Your jaw tenses. A sorcerer. You should have realized. Sukuna had warned they'd come after you, but you figured the power would be better off in your hands than his. After all, you could be bargained with — to an extent.

“Ah, I see. You’re a sorcerer.” You regard him with a polite smile. “The short answer is that I’m not from around here.”

You tell him about where you’re originally from, and the university you’d graduated from a year ago. He seems surprised. “Really? Your Japanese is perfect.”

You wave a hand. “I pick up languages pretty easily. Quick learner and all.”

“What about the long answer, then?” He prods. His face is still just inches from yours, clearly having no respect for your personal space. Your earlier suspicions are pretty much confirmed. This guy has ulterior motives, and they probably have to do with your downfall.

“What makes you think you deserve the long answer?” You give him a shrewd look. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Who am I? How refreshing! I’m not used to people asking that, but I’ll cut you some slack because you’re new.” He grins at you again, and you bristle a bit at his audacity. “I’m Gojo Satoru, the Six Eyes, the strongest sorcerer in all of Japan, et cetera. I’ve got a lot of names.”

“Ah.” You murmur. The nickname does sound familiar. You’re sure Sukuna’s said it a few times during his earlier, angrier tirades. “So it’s you, then. I have heard a bit about you, come to think of it. Sukuna hated your guts.”

His grin stretches wider across his face at your mention of Sukuna, like you've said exactly what he wants to hear.

“That’s what I'm here about.” He tells you, snapping his blindfold back into place. His casual facade now feels grating. “I thought I killed that guy last year, come to find out that a pizza place just opened up under his name surrounded by residuals just like his.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Now what do you think of that, hm?”

“Ah.” You say dryly. That does make sense — you’d cleared out quite a few bothersome curses in the area. “Well, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

His smile shrinks into something almost resembling a pout. He tilts his head at you like a curious puppy. “Why do you say that?”

“I took care of it.” That’s the short way of putting it, but you’ve already decided Gojo doesn’t need the whole story. “Do with that what you will. Let me go make you that pizza, now. Shouldn’t take too long.”

You walk through the door leading into the kitchen, shaking your head as you shut it behind you. This certainly isn’t how you expected your shift to go. Then again, you’d known upon moving that there’d be some strange characters here. You should have expected something like this to happen eventually.

“So how’d you meet him?”

Gojo’s sudden appearance behind you startles you so badly that you actually throw a punch at his face. Luckily, your fist comes to a stop just in front of his nose, his blindfold having returned but doing nothing to hide the surprise in the lift of his eyebrows, as well as the glee in his smile.

“Customers aren’t allowed in the kitchen. It’s a sacred space,” you hiss, snapping your fingers at him like you do at your cats when they’ve misbehaved. “Get out, you nosy fuck.”

“Your customer service is terrible, no wonder you don’t have anybody coming in here.” He teases you, and it takes everything in you not to growl at him. “Are you the only employee?”

“Have you seen anyone else?” You say through gritted teeth. “Please get out of my kitchen before I do something drastic.”

Predictably, Gojo takes this as a challenge and only proceeds to lean further into your personal space. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

You flick a finger upward, slicing his blindfold in half with careful precision. It falls away neatly from his face, revealing a pair of now wide eyes. He must have been expecting an actual attack and hadn’t prepared himself for something so minimal. You’re not too focused on that though, because once again you can’t look away from those eyes, holy shit.

You don’t think you ever seen anything so lovely in your life, and they don’t get any less striking the second time — they’re a paradox, equal parts haunting and haunted, both worn and childish. They’re bright like a summer sky and yet hold the depth of a thousand seas. It’s terribly unfair that any human being should possess those.

“Like that, except next time it’ll be that pretty neck of yours.” You say, tearing your gaze away from him. “I don’t trust people when I can’t see their eyes. Don’t take it personally.”

“So you do have his cursed technique.” He furrows his brow at you, clearly inconvenienced by the fact that you can properly read his expression now. “I really can't leave until I get some answers from you. You’re lucky I'm doing this here on your turf and not in the execution room.” He laughs at your horrified expression concerning the words execution room. “That’s what I thought. So? How’d you meet him?”

He asks the way one would ask someone how they met their fiancé, and so your nose impulsively wrinkles. You continue making the pizza to keep your hands busy. You’ve got a feeling this will be a long conversation.

“He showed up in my dreams a lot after I graduated from uni. Pretty much all of last year, that is. I didn’t actually meet him until I moved here and brought him back to life.” You say. It’s the truth. One day he started visiting your dreams and didn't stop until you finally reincarnated him about a month ago. 

Despite your straightforward answer, Gojo seems incredibly confused.

“What does that mean, he showed up in your dreams a lot?”

“That’s exactly what it means. I’d fall asleep and he’d be there and we’d discuss our plans for world domination, the appeal of certain natural disasters, the like.” You shrug. “I moved because I’d made a deal with him recently, and that required me to be in Japan.”

“You made a deal with him.” Gojo says faintly, watching you pick up a fresh block of cheese to grate. “You mean like a binding vow?”

“I don’t remember exactly what words he used,” you wave a hand impatiently. “He wanted to be reincarnated, so I agreed on a few conditions. He wasn’t exactly in a position to argue. I still think he got a pretty good bargain, though.”

Gojo looks like he’s trying to keep calm, and he’s doing a good job other than the way his jaw is visibly tense and his left eye looks like it might be twitching. “Would you care to elaborate on exactly what these conditions are?”

“Let’s see.” You set down the cheese, absently starting to list them off on your fingers. “I brought him back to life on the condition that he became human instead of a curse, that we can’t kill each other, that he shared his cursed technique with me, and also that we opened up this pizzeria together.”

Gojo looks baffled. “Why the pizzeria?”

“Just thought it would be fun.” You answer honestly. “I like making pizza. Needed to make some cash too. These student loans aren’t paying themselves.”

Gojo looks at you like he’s the strangest thing you’ve ever seen. You honestly might be, given how unbelievable your life has been. He doesn’t speak for a disconcerting seven minutes, at which you’ve prepared his pizza and are now putting it in the oven.

“So Sukuna’s alive?” He finally manages, brow furrowing.

“Mhm.” You nod, finally starting to grate the cheese. “He catsits while I work.”

“He catsits-” Gojo starts to repeat, somewhat brokenly, but then shakes his head and snaps himself out of it. “Where is he?”

“That was another part of the pact. I can’t tell you.” You shrug. “But I told you already, he’s not a threat to anybody.”

“I have trouble believing that. Listen,” he gets your attention by using some invisible force to snatch the cheese out of your hand. Your eye twitches. “How do you feel about having another employee?”

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

He has to kill you. Satoru knows this in the back of his mind, he’s been in this position before. He’d been so deeply scarred by the last time he’d actually gone through with a mandated execution that he’d dedicated the rest of his years to teaching and mentoring students so he could avoid having to do it again. Of course, he'd had other reasons before: pissing off the higher ups, changing the system, keeping the next generation of sorcerers safe. But now he also teaches so that none of his students will have to kill their best friends in ten years. 

He could make another bargain, like he had with Yuuta and Yuuji, but that seems extremely unlikely considering you aren’t exactly student age anymore. You’re probably only a few years younger than he is, by the looks of you, and even so you’re as strong as Sukuna himself. You’re far too dangerous to live freely, the higher-ups would never allow it. This time around, he’s not sure he disagrees with them, even when it’s his natural instinct to do so.

He’d seen Sukuna's markings in the few moments you’d used his cursed technique to slice off his blindfold (which, by the way, was extremely inconvenient of you). Seeing them on someone had caught him off guard — he’d hated seeing them on the face of his student, but they mesh naturally with your features (your impossibly perfect features, that is). It brings to mind monarch butterflies having beautiful patterns that promise nothing but a poisonous death.

Even if you don’t seem like a threat on the surface, or even hostile to begin with, he can tell there’s something simmering beneath. After all, you clearly aren’t a normal human, and weren’t even before Sukuna’s influence if you can commune with and resurrect the dead.

A thought strikes him, squeezing at something in his chest before he eventually banishes it. No, that’s not something he should waste his time hoping for.

“Well?” Utahime asks as he rounds the corner with a box of fresh pizza in hand, looking quite miffed that her time has been wasted.

“Not Sukuna,” he answers, and he can feel the relief washing over everyone’s shoulders as they gather around him. The corner of his lip tilts in a smile that overcompensates for how uneasy he actually feels. “Though I’m afraid it might be much, much worse.”

At everyone’s resounding silence, he opens the box with a wide smile. The savory, delectably cheesy smell hits them all full force. “Pizza anybody?”

(He ends up sharing half of it with Yuuji. It’s the best damn pizza he’s ever had.)

“So what do you plan on doing about it?” Yaga asks Satoru after he’d recounted the events later that night. Satoru merely shrugs.

“I’ll be your watchdog.” He says simply. “After school hours I’ll spend time at their little pizzeria. There I can figure out how to divulge Sukuna’s location and the extent of their abilities, though it’s clear they at the very least have Sukuna’s technique.”

Utahime purses her lip and says what she’d been saying all the way back to the school. “Don’t you think that means we should kill them, Gojo?”

Utahime is absolutely right, but Satoru must disagree with her on principle, at least outwardly. Inwardly something else has started to grow too — a little sprout resembling hope that he should probably squash as soon as possible.

“Nah, they could be of some use to us. They seem pretty neutral,” Satoru says easily. “Much better than evil. It wouldn’t be completely out of left field to say that they could make a good sorcerer, given training.”

Yaga looks at him in disbelief. “You’re saying you want to train them to hone their powers even further? Satoru, what game are you playing?”

“It’s not a game. I just don’t want to take another person's life without at least giving them a chance,” he says, his easy tone edging towards dangerous. Yaga seems to understand, because his shoulders fall, and he sighs into his hands.

“I know. I’m not the one asking that of you though, and you know it,” Yaga reminds him. “A deal can be arranged, maybe, if you can make a proper sorcerer out of this person. Do you think they’ll will agree to it, considering their closeness with Sukuna?”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Satoru waves a hand, smiling a sleazy smile that makes Utahime roll her eyes. “I can be very persuasive.”

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

“Fuck no,” you spit a little in his face with the passion at which you say it, angrily wiping your hands on a towel under the sink. You’d been enjoying your semi-quiet life for the last month, and you didn’t want to interrupt it by any means. It seems like you don’t really have a choice though, as things are now spiraling further and further out of your control. 

Gojo Satoru is an enigma to you. You know he has something up his sleeve, some ulterior motives he doesn’t want to share. The only reason you’d accepted him as an employee is because you were so desperate to have another set of hands, and because Sukuna hadn’t approved of any prior applicants. However, when you’d brought it up to him last night he was nothing short of thrilled that he’d have Japan’s most powerful sorcerer working in his pizzeria. 

“Yes, I want my workforce to consist of only the strongest,” he’d said, stroking one of your cats in his lap like a corny comic villain. “Make sure you put that brat in his place.” 

And so now you’re stuck with him. You’re supposed to be training him right now, but you’re quickly finding he’s a selective listener and only wants to talk about Sukuna or the prospect of you becoming a sorcerer. As previously stated, you’re very much against that. 

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not really an option, unless you want to die,” Gojo tells you, leaning back against the counter. You’re livid right now. Livid that he’d ask something like that of you, livid that he’d threaten you to accept, livid that he’s wearing a blindfold again, livid that he looks so damn good in that apron. Seriously, what the fuck.

“Do it, I won’t stop you,” you snap. “But you do that and all my power goes back to Sukuna, he regains his ability to hurt people for funsies, and then you guys are really fucked.” 

Gojo pauses, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against the counter. “You didn’t tell me about the part of the deal.” 

“Well, that’s kind of how two-sided pacts work,” you inform him, kneading the dough quite vigorously with your hands. You sprinkle some more flour in to make it easier. “One side of the agreement disappears, and the conditions are released to the other party. I thought that would be self-explanatory.” 

“I’m sorry, but this kind of pact is pretty unique,” to your amusement, you've gotten him visibly frustrated again. “My apologies for failing to understand breakthrough sorcery.” 

“I don’t really get it either. I just want to make pizza.” You sigh heavily. “Can you at least pretend to pay attention? If you want to keep working here to interrogate me, I expect you to be at least a little useful.” 

“Fine, I’ll bite.” He stands up a little straighter, reminding you how much of a giant he is, and smirks down at you. “Show me how it’s done, sensei.” 

You fight the urge to throw the ball of dough at him. It’s very strong, but you fight it. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

He really should just kill you. It should be so easy for him. Hollow purple, right through your chest while you’re rifling through the refrigerator for ingredients. But then you look up at him suspiciously, and the moment passes. 

“If you want to kill me, then kill me.” You must have been able to tell nonetheless. “There’s more of a point to that than you wasting both of our time.” 

Your words strike him right to his core, makes his easygoing smile freeze on his face. 

If you want to kill me, then kill me. There’d be a point to that. 

But then suddenly you’re shoving a rolling pin into his hand and stepping back expectantly. Satoru blinks out of his thoughts, mystified at this turn of events. 

“You know what a pizza looks like, don’t you?” You ask in that tone he’s come to be familiar with. The one that sounds like it’s meant to be serious but it’s evident that you’re trying not to laugh at him. He kind of hates it. 

“I’m working on it, sheesh,” Satoru rolls out the dough in record time. After all, his strength lets him flatten metal and break through walls. Pizza dough is no problem, and he takes great satisfaction in the stunned expression on your face. “See? You can’t rush greatness.” 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

“You rolled out a piece of dough. That’s nothing special,” you flick him in the arm, and quickly mask your surprise when it doesn’t actually make contact. Right. You still have to get used to this Infinity thing. “The sauce is the tricky part. Watch carefully because I’m going to have you make it after me.” 

You walk him through the process of making the sauce, probably slower than necessary. You’ve got the feeling that Gojo doesn’t have much of an attention span, and you seem to be right.

“Could you repeat that again?” He asks all too innocently after you’ve finished, leaning closer so his breath brushes just against your ear. You have to suppress a shiver at the sensation. “You have very lovely hands, and I got a little distracted.” 

“Nice try, pretty boy.” You step back to glare at him. “Flirting with me is not going to work as a form of persuasion.” 

“Damn it.” He sighs dramatically. “Well, Utahime can’t say I didn’t pull out all the stops.” 

“Why am I wasting my time training you?” You groan. “If you’re not going to fuck me or kill me then what are you still doing here?” 

Much to your frustration, Gojo only smiles. “Who says I’m not going to fuck you?” 

“Please refrain.” You deadpan. “But seriously. I’m not going to train you if you’re not actually going to help.” 

“I need to keep an eye on you regardless if I’m making pizza or not.” He raises both hands placatingly. “Even if I can’t wear you down, you’re too dangerous to be left unchecked, doll. Surely you understand.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” You huff and pinch the bridge of your nose. You’re getting kind of sick of these nicknames. “Do you seriously need me to repeat this to you again?” 

“No, I’ve got it.” He grins and proceeds to rattle off the recipe in formulaic precision. You’re pretty impressed, since it's a tad complicated, but you won’t let that show. It must appear in your face though, because he only smiles wider. 

“What? I didn’t say I wasn’t going to work.” He tells you. “Might as well have something to do while I’m keeping an eye on you, hm?” 

You stare at him momentarily, not bothering to hide your surprise. But then you remember this is Gojo, and the minute he takes anything seriously is the one all hell breaks loose. And so you quickly recover, shaking your head with a laugh. 

“Yeah, okay,” you say, hiding how truly relieved you are. Rush hours have been agonizing the last few weeks. Having another set of hands around will definitely help you out, even if those hands are Gojo’s. 

To his credit, he’s very well behaved for the rest of the instruction. Very perceptive as well, because he knows where things are without you having to tell him. Then again, maybe that’s his Six Eyes or whatever. You’ll have to ask him about them sometime, they sound just as fascinating as his actual eyes are to look at. 

“Until you can perfect your ability to make pizza, your job is to stand here and look pretty.” You say, leading him out to the register. “Smile at customers and take their orders in the system. Then give me the little slips that come out of the printer.” As if on cue, a customer walks through the door, the tiny bell chiming at the top. “Here, let me show you.” 

You walk him through taking an order. Luckily the customer is patient, a sleepy-looking college student with deep bags under brown eyes. She isn’t too chatty, which is nice, because Gojo had been right about your customer service. You’re pretty terrible at it, aside from doing the bare minimum of smiling and being polite. Of course, he takes this as a cue to show you up. 

Fortunately for him, the next customer is another college student, perkier than the last, who bats her eyelashes at Gojo and asks far too many questions for someone just trying to order a pizza. You’re tempted to point at the sign again, but he takes it all in stride. Of course he’s a natural at this too — honestly, what were you expecting? 

“Nice work, rookie,” you go to punch him in the shoulder, but of course you’re met with nothing but air. You frown. “I think we should establish some ground rules. The first being that you’ve gotta turn that off around me.” 

He smiles at you like you’ve made a particularly amusing joke. “Why? So you can slash me to bits? I hope you don’t take me for some kind of airhead, sweetheart, because you’re in for a rude awakening.” 

“Second rule,” you continue, ignoring him. “Stop calling me that. It’s unprofessional.” 

“What’s a more professional thing to call you, then?” He asks. 

“My name?” You drawl, pointing at the tag. “You can read, can’t you?” 

He says it flatly, followed by an exaggerated yawn. “Boring. Ordinary. Uninteresting. Won’t a nickname do?” 

He tilts his head at you and pouts, for fuck’s sake, and you really do want to hit him. 

“Third, you’ve got to take off that blindfold,” you glare. “I know you can still see, but to everyone else it looks like you’re into some weird BDSM shit or you’re a bad Kakashi cosplayer.” He looks offended, but then you add, “You should really show off those pretty eyes of yours. You’ll get bigger tips that way.” 

He pauses, flushes, then crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll have you know that the blindfold isn’t just to bolster my mysterious persona. My sight is just a little too powerful so having my vision unobscured for too long gives me a horrible migraine.” 

You bite back the urge to tell him that he gives you a migraine just by existing, but you shake it off. “Fine, then. Blindfold can stay. Shame about the eyes, though. Can’t you wear like, shades or something?” 

"Oh, I'd be way too irresistible with those on," he grins at you like he's thrilled you mentioned it. “I only whip those bad boys out for dates.” 

“Ah. You go on a lot of those?” You ask with a smirk, wondering how well those must go over for him. There’s only so much terrible humor a person can tolerate because of good looks. 

“Tons,” he says easily, leaning arrogantly back against the counter. 

“And how do those go over for you?” You quirk an eyebrow. 

“They usually start off a little boring.” The corner of his lip ticks up, and he leans forward into your personal space once more. “But the ending’s always satisfactory, if you catch my drift.”

You make a face at him, ducking away because you can’t shove at his chest the way you would Sukuna when he’s pulling the same stunt. 

“You need to be put down,” you murmur, and he laughs, chest shaking with the force of it. 

“You sound more and more like Sukuna every day,” he teases, seeming totally unworried that you probably could go through with the threat if you tried hard enough. “What are you guys, anyway? Best friends? More?” 

“Definitely neither of those things. We’re business partners. That’s all,” you take the new order slips and disappear into the kitchen, rolling your eyes at the notion. Predictably, Gojo follows you, ignoring his register duties in favor of pestering you. 

“Really? How’d you even start this business in the first place? Didn’t you say you were paying off student loans?” He asks. Nosy as always, this guy. 

“It’s all Sukuna’s money. They’re dubious funds. I don’t actually know where he got them from, come to think of it,” you shrug. For once, Gojo seems a bit taken aback. 

“Dubious funds?” He repeats. “What, like he stole them?” 

“Nah. I wouldn’t have let him,” you reply, getting to work on the two pizzas. “Some ancient vault or something under one of his temples? I didn’t get the logistics but now he’s like, super rich.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just take some of it for yourself? Then you wouldn’t have to do all this anyway.” 

“Are you kidding? I can’t just accept that much money from a guy,” you exclaim, scandalized. You also just hate being in debt to people. Gojo must not understand this, because he laughs. 

“Oh, if that guy is Sukuna, you most certainly can,” he insists. “How much are those loans, anyway? I could pay them off right now if you wanted.” 

You gape at him, equal parts at his audacity and how filthy rich he must be. “I’m not asking you to do that. And I like working here, thank you very much. It’s exhausting but it’s fulfilling.” 

Gojo tilts his head at you like he’s truly perplexed. “You don’t feel like you’re wasting your time?” 

You know he hadn’t intended it, but the phrase really grates against your ears. Your expression hardens as you glare at him. “Not at all, but you’re wasting my time by continuing to bother me while I’m cooking.” You point at the kitchen door. “You’d better hope there isn’t a line of customers waiting to be served outside.” 

He stares at you (through the blindfold, which is unnerving) momentarily before turning over his shoulder and leaving. Through the door and the thin walls, you can hear him start to take orders, and finally you exhale. The memories flood through you, making your movements tense and sharp, but making pizza is therapeutic. That’s why you do it. 

You’d be wasting your time, she’d said, staring at you like you’d gone insane. You remember sitting at the kitchen table of your shared apartment, meeting her cold glare with heat in your own. She’d been your best friend all your life and had always wanted what was best for you. 

No, what she thought was best for you. 

And so, when she heard you wanted to quit engineering and escape the rat race, she’d thought it was a joke and laughed. She grew angry when she’d realized it wasn’t. You’d always done everything together and were supposed to for the rest of your lives. She wouldn't get it. She'd always had it all. 

She’d joked occasionally about marrying you, in the way best friends with a little too much tension between them do. You never knew if she was serious or not, because you ran away before you could give her the chance. 

And now this is your life, scratching the surface of a hidden world. You’d seen curses before, of course, but a network of sorcerers like Japan’s didn’t exist in your home country. That’s probably because there are simply so many more of them here. You hadn’t known about the grading hierarchy, about cursed tools, about cursed techniques or any of that until Sukuna showed up one night and didn’t stop bothering you since. 

You’d thought you were going crazy, and it was nice to have somebody there to tell you that you weren’t. Even if you originally thought he was something your subconscious made up to cope. 

Now you’re making pizza with the strongest sorcerer in all of Japan, and that dead guy you’d dreamed about has caused you more trouble than you’d bargained for when bringing him back to life. 

That quiet existence you longed for is looking further and further away every day, though you do get glimpses of it sometimes. Like now, putting pizza in the oven, or walking to Sukuna’s apartment after work to find him fawning over your cats and then freezing up like you’ve caught him doing something wrong. The both of you are also very invested in this season of Love Island, as much as you both initially pretended not to be. 

It’s kind of nice to sprawl on your couch and make commentary over the participant’s drama, with both your cats curled up beside you or in your laps. Occasionally you recall that this guy had massacred thousands of people in a past life, and it’s a strange identity to reconcile yourself with now. 

One of the things you don’t question is why you’re always talking to dead people in your dreams. Usually souls caught between heaven (or hell) and earth, not knowing how to transcend. You figure that these souls probably will serve some greater purpose, and that’s why they’re being denied entry. Either that, or whatever divine force that looks after souls hasn’t decided what to do with them yet. The universe has been playing a sick joke on you your entire life. That must be the only explanation.

(You know now it has to do with your innate technique, but that doesn’t make it any less mystifying.) 

Sukuna had been quite incorrigible for the first month or two after he’d died. Most souls are. You’d watched him go through all five stages of grief, probably twice through, before he was able to hold real conversation that didn’t end in angry ranting. After that, he was quite companionable. You had somewhat concerning but civil conversations, and yeah, perhaps you were some odd version of friends. 

Though, that was also around the time your dreams with him became a bit more — er, intimate. 

You know it’s normal for somebody at your age to have dreams like that, but it’s very different when the other party is also a conscious being and the dream feels way too real. Now that he’s alive again, he’s intent on continuing that trend, especially since you both can feel it all so much more deeply now. 

Now one may be thinking — huh, that sounds suspiciously like the beginnings of a whirlwind romance. They’d be terribly wrong. You and Sukuna are far from exclusive, let alone romantic. Occasionally you can hear him from your apartment directly below his, pounding whatever unsuspecting victim of the night he’s laid eyes on. You think it might be intentional. As sweet as he is to your cats, Sukuna is a depraved fuck when it comes to people. No consideration for others. As always, you mind your business, and you don’t ask questions. 

The timer beeps, and you take both pizzas from the oven, boxing them with practiced ease. You take them out and set them on the counter, taking note of how much busier it seems inside than it had been twenty minutes ago. 

“I’m back. Orders 23 and 24,” you tell him, setting the boxes on the counter. “They’re numbered, so don’t fuck it up.” 

“Ah, good, because I come bearing gifts.” Gojo smiles and holds a thick wad of order forms out to you. Oh, right. It’s rush time. 

“Awwe, just for me?” You coo, smiling sarcastically as your eye twitches. “You shouldn’t have.” 

You are glad to be busy in the kitchen, though. It’s therapeutic for you. The reason you’d started a pizzeria in the first place, of all businesses, is because you like making pizza and you’re damn good at it. You’re an excellent chef all around, but pizza is your specialty. You and Sukuna take turns making dinner on Love Island nights and he’s told you countless times that you’re almost as good a chef as him, which you take as high praise, because you think Sukuna’s almost as good a chef as you. You’ll have to get a third party to decide which viewpoint is correct — preferably one that doesn’t want both of you dead. 

The rest of the shift passes in a flurry of making pizzas, bringing them out, taking orders, and repeating. Occasionally you and Gojo exchange clever quips, and you admit it is much nicer having him around than it had been without him. You’ll never admit this to him, though, you swear it.

Soon enough you’re both clearing off tables and sweeping up. It’s the first time you get to actually talk since he’d invaded and consequently been kicked out of the kitchen, but he’s quiet. You suppose even he isn’t immune to keeping face after waves and waves of customers. 

“So,” you begin as he bends down beside you to pick up and toss something you’d missed. You’re not sure why he does it, since he could probably use his technique, but you don’t doubt a rush like that had made him forget he’s a sorcerer. “How was your first shift?” 

“You do that every day?” He lifts up his blindfold, gracing you with those striking eyes just for a moment before he rubs at them with the heels of his hand. “Fuck.” 

“All day every day, baby,” you give his Infinity a sympathetic pat on the back. He still won’t let you touch him, but that’s fine. If it comes naturally, it comes naturally, and if it doesn’t that’s okay too. “Except occasionally on weekends. We’re a serious business, and I can say we now that it’s more than just me working here.” 

You fish for the key in your pocket, locking the door before pushing it open. The summer night blasts you with warm air, the day having slipped away from you as it always does. It’s a pretty clear night for Tokyo — you can pick out a few stray stars. You almost start walking away out of habit, but realize Gojo hasn’t left yet. He’s staring at you with an expression you can’t read, since he’s put his blindfold back over his eyes. 

You prompt him with a tilt of your head towards the street. “Well, time to go!” 

“Can I walk you home?” He asks suddenly. You blink at him, then laugh. 

“Nice try. I don’t need you stalking me anymore than you already have,” you wink. “Now I mean it. Go home and get some sleep. You’ve got kids to teach tomorrow, don’t you?” 

He chuckles to himself at his own private joke and shakes his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Thanks, very considerate of you,” he leaves, and offers you a cheeky grin and a wave. “See you tomorrow, then.” 

There’s a sharp feeling of static in the air, a faint pop, and then he’s gone. Of course that motherfucker can teleport, of course he can. You roll your eyes and start your short trek back to the apartment, looking forward to a nice night asleep with your cats curled up in bed. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Satoru isn’t surprised that you denied his offer to walk you home, though it does make him feel shittier about what he’s about to do, 

Of course, Satoru hadn’t come without a plan. He was able to plant a small recording device on the back of your shoe — it was too small to take video but could stream audio live. He and Yaga now sit in the latter's office listening to the output. Satoru has a timer set to guard a general radius for how far away Sukuna’s hiding place could be, based on walking time. 

After teleporting back to the school, he’d started it and promptly stopped it after hearing you knock on a door.

"It's me! Open up!” 

There’s the sound of a door opening. Sukuna’s gruff voice answers. “Don’t you have a key?” 

There’s a soft mewling noise from nearby. You chuckle softly. “Too lazy to look for it,” the door clicks shut, and the meowing has dropped to a soft purr. “Hey there, Spinach. Was ‘Kuna good to you tonight?” 

Satoru and Yaga make baffled eye contact at the nickname, which becomes even more baffled when Sukuna doesn’t obliterate you on the spot for addressing him as such. Satoru’s also still grappling with the fact that you’d name a cat Spinach when Sukuna speaks.

“She’s gotten too spoiled. She keeps making that face at me if I neglect her for more than a minute. Can’t get anything done around here.” 

The evident fondness in his tone beneath the irritability has Satoru thoroughly confused. Is this the same Sukuna? The one who’d almost cost him his life? Who had tormented Yuuji for months? Who had killed thousands over his lifetime? It sure sounds like him — maybe this reincarnated version of Sukuna had gone to anger management therapy. 

“You’re the one who spoils them. You have terrible impulse control,” you admonish him teasingly. 

“Mm, says you,” his voice grows softer, a little husky. Satoru physically leans away from the radio, mouth set in a hard line. Thankfully, you’re quick to shut it down. 

“Oh, stop that.” There’s a pause. “I never did ask you. Why did you accept the pact with me?” 

“That's random. Guess I was wondering when you’d ask about that,” Sukuna chuckles darkly. “To be honest, things didn’t go the way I expected. I thought you were going to die. Then I’d get my cursed energy back.” He pauses, his tone becoming accusatory. “Don’t give me that look. I’m not saying I thought you were weak. Most sorcerers can’t handle the strength of my full power all at once. It overwhelms them. You don’t understand how rare it is to find someone capable of that.” 

“Didn’t you get stuck in a teenage boy?” You drawl. He scoffs at that.

“Don’t remind me.” Sukuna grumbles. “With that brat it was … complicated. The chance of something like that happening twice is extremely unlikely. So I guess you’re just very lucky or very unlucky, depending on how you view it.” 

“Huh,” you respond eventually. “I can’t believe you were preying on my downfall,” you say, except Satoru definitely can believe that, because it’s Sukuna they’re talking about here. 

“You make for a loyal servant but I don’t actually like you.” Sukuna laughs. “Especially since you’ve made me look after these troublesome vermin.” 

“Spinach and Mittens are the furthest from troublesome.” You retort, though it sounds like you might be smiling. “I think you’re a bad influence.” 

“I am a fantastic influence, thank you very much.” Sukuna replies. His tone shifts, more serious now. “How was your shift with Gojo? I see he made the wise decision not to kill you.” 

“I could tell he wanted to.” You reply noncommittally. “But he was fine after the first hour. Having an extra set of hands around isn’t so bad. He’s not terrible to look at either.” 

Satoru smirks at that. Yaga gives him the look he used to give him as a student right before he’d knock a fist into his head. 

Sukuna sounds offended. “Are you serious? I’m much better looking than that guy.” 

“I dunno about that one, ‘Kuna.” You tease. “You’ve got him beat in every other department though, including not being a pain in the ass.” 

Funnily enough, Sukuna’s words mirror Satoru’s thoughts. “I’m not sure whether or not I should be flattered.” 

“Definitely not. It’s not a high bar to surpass.” You answer. Satoru is horribly offended. “Anyway, time to go home now, kids.” Your voice softens to a coo. “I know you enjoy your time plotting the reckoning with Ryo, but I’m exhausted and want to go to sleep.” 

“Got room for another?” Sukuna asks, flirty of all things. Satoru makes a face that’s somewhere between stunned and appalled. 

“Nice try.” Comes your droned response. “Not tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Later, Your Majesty.” 

The sarcasm is evident in the way you say the nickname, but the sound of a door closing muffles whatever Sukuna meant to say in reply. Satoru and Yaga stare at each other for a good few moments, both at a loss for words. 

He still has trouble envisioning Sukuna so casually, the King of Curses speaking to you as an equal even if he may call you a servant in pretense. And watching your cats? Seriously? Just what kind of a leash do you have that guy on? How did you make Sukuna, for lack of a better term, your bitch?! His mind lingers elsewhere, too. 

Not tonight, you’d said. What did you mean, tonight?

“Satoru? The timer?” Yaga asks, snapping Satoru back into reality. 

“Oh, yeah.” Because that’s what he’s supposed to be focused on. Not whatever odd relationship you have with Sukuna. “Fifteen minutes. Shouldn’t take too long—”

The radio crackles to life again. The sound of keys jingling and another door opening surprises Satoru enough that he stops speaking. It’s way too soon for you to have gone too far, so it's evident that you must live in the same apartment complex. That complicates things.  

“We’ve got to find a way to scope him out while they’re not home,” Satoru muses, seeing Yaga had reached the same conclusion. “Tomorrow, then. They said they work all day, so we’ll have all day to hunt him down. The kids’ll be thrilled that class is cancelled.“ 

“And what then?” Yaga asks. “Do we kill him?” 

“Probably,” Satoru murmurs. “Depends on what he has to say for himself.” 

 

Notes:

Deceptively innocent first chapter, I know. It starts going downhill from here. It does get good though, occasionally. If you’re not reading for the plot, read for the shits and giggles and the smut ;)).

Chapter 2: so it’s like that, huh?!

Summary:

“I’m not going to get a job just to work with a beautiful person. If that’s what I wanted out of life I’d have gone into modeling.”

Satoru chases after him, falling easily into step. “Really?”

“I did get offers.” Nanami says mildly, selecting an instant capsule and putting it into the machine. “But I’m serious. Find somebody else for it. I enjoy my peace and quiet, thank you.”

Notes:

yeah this one is filthy. my bad guys!!! it’s pretty funny though because im fr just a silly little guy.
even though i'm informally calling this "the nanami chapter" there is some sukuna smut at the end, as a treat. tags for overstim (mentioned) and face-fucking (explicit).
no angst this time around!! saving that for later <3

The answer is not much. He doesn’t even beg for his life, though it's not like Satoru had really expected him to. Even so, Sukuna’s way too calm for someone being ambushed, two cats curled up beside him and absentmindedly watching what might be reality TV.

“Please don’t Hollow Purple me again, I really do like this body.” He drawls. “And the cats. You wouldn’t hurt the cats, would you?”  

One look at them tells Satoru that no, he wouldn’t hurt the cats. They're unbearably cute, one Himalayan and one Scottish Fold, and seem well-behaved considering two strangers had just teleported in unannounced. 

Yaga does not have a similar lapse in attention, a few cursed corpses sprouting from his backpack and hurtling towards Sukuna at top speed. He doesn’t even look up from the TV. He flicks a hand, and the puppets are flying at them instead. Satoru notes that they look a lot scarier when they’re trying to kill you. 

Yaga regains control before Satoru can obliterate them, but he knows better than to strike again.  

“How the hell did you do that?” Satoru squints at Sukuna, fists clenched. His cursed energy is still undoubtedly his own, though he can see now why the residuals had been mixed up. You may have his cursed technique, but his cursed energy remained with him. Satoru can see that now clear as day. Did he have more than one innate technique? 

Sukuna clicks his tongue, finally turning to smirk at him. It’s strange to see him in this form. He looks like a much older, more rugged version of Yuuji. Even their hair is the same, though Sukuna’s is styled a bit sharper. “That’s not how you talk to your boss.” 

Satoru rolls his eyes beneath the blindfold. “In todays economy, you aren’t technically my boss if I’m not on payroll.” 

“Is that how labor works here these days? Unfortunate.” Sukuna waves a flippant hand. “Anyway, to answer your question. You really should know, because I think the guy’s your ancestor, but he was my great-grandfather. I inherited his technique called Mirror.” At the lack of recognition between both men, Sukuna only tsks.

“Basically I can use the techniques being used by other people around me. My ascent into a greater sorcerer allowed me to store these techniques and use them at will, because I’m him. This human form limits me." He shakes his head. "My usual slicing technique is just my personal favorite, so I gave it to y/n as part of the vow. Now I can’t use it unless they do.” He glares at Satoru in particular. “And I can’t use yours either, because I haven’t figured out how to mirror your Six Eyes.” 

“Incredible.” Satoru murmurs. “So I could kill you again pretty easily, right?” 

“You could,” Sukuna shrugs. “But if you kill me, who knows what might happen to the other half of the vow?” The look in his eyes darkens to something more dangerous. “They’ll probably live. But they’ll get the rest of my power all at once, possibly corrupting them into something even worse than myself. They’re far less of a danger with me alive than with me dead.” 

He cocks his head and looks between the two of them with a self-satisfied smirk. Satoru wants to punch it off his face. “Don’t you fools know how pacts work? It’s a balance. I intended for it to keep us both alive — well, in the case they didn’t die immediately. I’m not an idiot.” 

Satoru feels outsmarted, though he really shouldn't. Nobody’s ever seen anything like this before. Now he just feels a bit silly, because there’s nothing else to do here. 

He kills Sukuna, you become corrupted with power and he’ll have to kill you. He kills you, and he’ll have to kill Sukuna anyway. Not to mention he’ll have killed you for no reason, and that’s what he’d wanted to avoid in the first place. 

That’s not to say he’s just going to live and let live, though. He could keep Sukuna in one of the sealed rooms beneath the school. But a voice that sounds suspiciously like yours pleads with him in his head: The cats, think of the cats!

So that’s not really an option either. 

Wait, there’s an opportunity here. One to catch two birds with one stone. 

“You should come to the school,” Satoru blurts. “And train the students.” 

Sukuna and Yaga stare at him with matching expressions of disbelief. Then Sukuna laughs, long and hard, and wipes a tear from his face. 

“I really don’t think they want to see me,” Sukuna mirthfully tilts his head with a smirk. “Especially the emo one.” 

Satoru doesn’t know whether he’s talking about Megumi or Yuuta, but he waves it off either way. “I’ll have them all pinkie promise not to kill you. But I think it’d be good for them. Clearly you’re still very powerful, and it would help them to train with someone at your level -- y'know, outside of you trying to kill each other.”

“While I do think it’s disgustingly sweet that you’re looking out for your brats, I’ll have to pass,” Sukuna chuckles, starting to turn back to the television. “After all, what’s in it for me?” 

“You get to learn some new techniques,” Satoru spitballs. “Maybe even regain your ability to retain them.” 

“Satoru-” Yaga starts, but Satoru raises a hand. Sukuna’s interest has been piqued, as now he’s scrutinizing Satoru with those deep red eyes. 

“Well when you put it like that, it just feels uneven,” he muses. “What else is in it for you?” 

“If I can get you to agree to it, then y/n might as well,” Satoru explains. “And both them and the students could become stronger. They have incredible control over your technique but no combat experience, as far as I know.” 

“They’re stronger than they look,” Sukuna says meaningfully, eyes flashing. “But the answer’s still no. If you can get them to agree, then maybe I’ll consider it. Fat chance of that, though. All they’ve ever wanted in life is some peace.” After a pause, he looks between the two of them again. Nobody speaks, and so he rolls his eyes. “Are we done here? Or are you still going to kill me?” 

Another moment where nobody moves or speaks. Suddenly, Satoru reaches out a hand, using Limitless to summon a pen and a pad of sticky notes toward him from the nearby table. Silence persists as he scribbles out his phone number and tosses the pad to Sukuna, clicking the pen to punctuate. 

“We’ll keep in touch.” 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

You receive a text from Sukuna while at work. He likes to send pictures of your cats when they’re being particularly cute (usually sneaking his muscular arm or his thigh in there somewhere to tease you), but alas this is nothing of the sort. It’s a picture of somebody’s digits scrawled neatly on a pad of sticky notes. You furrow your brow at the image.

 

 

what’s this??? 

 

ryo ٩(๑`^´๑)۶, 16:33 :
Gojo’s number. 

 

why’d he give you that? 

 

ryo ٩(๑`^´๑)۶, 16:35 :
Fuck if I know. Said we’d keep in touch, but
I’m blocking it, so it’s all yours now. 

 

how kind. 

ryo ٩(๑`^´๑)۶, 16:36 : 
≖‿≖

 

add ###-###-#### as ‘least favorite coworker (⌐⎚u⎚)’ in your contacts?  

 

As though on cue, the man of the hour waltzes into your pizzeria, smile far too innocent for someone who’d just broken into another guy’s apartment. You notice he’s ditched the blindfold for a pair of rectangular shades, and though you are grateful you won’t say so just yet. You’ve got a bone to pick first 

“Are you for real?” You ask, holding your phone up for reference. His smile just gets wider. 

“Oh, I’m for real real,” he tells you. “Couldn’t just take your word for it, sweetheart. Had to make sure you actually had things under control. I’m at a loss, really. You two are too clever for your own good.” 

You roll your eyes. “What’d you ask him?” 

“Eh, doesn’t matter, he said no,” Gojo shrugs. At your persistent glare, he acquiesces. “Alright, so maybe I asked if he’d come train my students. He rejected me, of course, but he’ll consider it if you did.” 

“No way,” you drone, and he sighs, sulking. 

“Yeah, he also said you’d say that,” he makes his way into the kitchen and comes out with his apron on. It does sinful things to his waistline and you have to physically tear your eyes away. You sneak a glance every now and then though, because you’re only human. He’s opted for a white t-shirt this time that cuts off along strong biceps and toned forearms. This time he does catch you staring, and visibly preens. 

“Like what you see?” 

You glare at him. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he tugs at the tie of your apron. You really hate that you can’t touch him. The power imbalance pisses you off. “I’m just teasing you. Besides, if we’re going to be coworkers now we should get to know each other!” 

“I think you know enough about me,” you glare at him half-heartedly. He isn’t wrong, but you don’t know anything about him compared to the amount he’d forced you to share. “Spill then. I want your whole life story.” 

“I really don’t think you do,” he counters, his smile growing a bit wry. “Let’s start with something simpler.”

“Alright,” you agree reluctantly, “your childhood.” 

Gojo’s smile flattens into an unamused line. “Simpler.” 

You raise you hands and cock your head helplessly, now grasping at straws. “Your best friend?” 

“Okay, you’re doing this on purpose,” he glares at you over his shades like this wasn’t his idea. “We can start with you, then. Favorite color?” 

“Blegh, that’s so boring,” you groan. “Red, I guess. Yours?” 

“Purple,” he answers stoutly. 

“Why?” You press, smirking at the disbelieving expression he gives you. 

“I seriously dislike you.” He tells you flatly, and you give him a shit-eating grin in return. 

“The feeling is mutual.” You reply. “Okay, since you don’t want to get deep, what do you do in your spare time?” 

“Well now that I’m watching you I don’t have much of that anymore,” he says, voice tinged with accusation. “I used to do a lot of shopping, sightseeing, et cetera. Sometimes my students come along. It’s like a reward for them after missions.” 

This best friend thing must be really complicated, because there’s no way he admitted to hanging out with teenagers. “Your students must really look up to you.” 

“Of course they do. They’ve still got a lot to learn from me of course, but they’re pretty strong already thanks to my guidance.” Though the statement is pretty arrogant, you still catch the subtle fondness in his tone. 

“Do you have a favorite?” You can’t help but ask. He rolls his eyes at you but his smile is very telling. 

“I don’t play favorites. What kind of teacher would that make me?” He does falter a bit when you’re smug expression doesn’t change. You see right through him.

“I won’t press,” you assure him with a wink. “Having a favorite student is totally blackmail material, you know.” 

The bell chimes. You start to back toward the kitchen door, and Gojo takes the spot at the register even as he tries to justify himself. 

“Alright, so maybe I’m closer with a few than with others. That just means I have multiple favorites. You’d understand if you met them.” 

You laugh. “Like that makes it any better.” 

Unfortunately for him, you get the last word because he has to take an order, but he does flip you off behind the counter. You giggle to yourself and disappear into the kitchen. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Satoru doesn’t appreciate your ability to read him. Most people don’t like making eye contact with him, which makes perfect sense given how intense his eyes can be to look at. He has mixed feelings about the fact that you do it so easily and proceed to use it against him. 

He knows they can be his biggest tell to the practiced eye, yet they’re an open book to you even though you’ve just met. At the same time, it’s almost comforting that you can see through his typical front. 

It all reminds him a bit of Suguru, but he banishes the thought as soon as it comes. Luckily, a tidal wave of customers is here to distract him. 

Because of this, neither of you get a minute to breathe for an hour. Eventually you come out of the kitchen with four boxes stacked on one arm and your phone open in your other hand. You set the boxes down on the counter and march over to where Satoru’s standing.

“Shut the fuck up.” You demand, even though he hasn’t said anything. “Wanna see my cats?” 

Satoru doesn’t get a choice, because the phone gets shoved under his nose anyway. In the photo are two familiar cats in a lap that’s clearly Sukuna’s, cuddled up against one another. 

“Aren’t they cute?” You coo at the photo. “I mean, I guess you saw them earlier. But this one’s Mittens,” you point at the Himalayan, then the Scottish Fold “and this is Spinach.”

“Mittens and Spinach?” Satoru pretends like he’s hearing this for the first time. “That’s a pretty unique combo.” 

Luckily, you’re too busy admiring the picture to notice. “I am surprised by my own genius sometimes. They’re best friends, and they love everybody so long as they give them attention.” You then turn back to him, tucking your phone away. “You have any pets?” 

Satoru doubts that Megumi’s Shikigami dogs count as pets, and so he shakes his head. You tsk in disapproval.

You finally call out the order numbers of the pizzas you’d brought out. They’re soon snatched up by customers who seem dazed by your very presence. Though you aren’t outright flirty the way Satoru is, your polite smile and friendly demeanor have a natural sort of charm. He sees past it because he’s been stuck babysitting you, but even he recognizes heart eyes in the unsuspecting people just picking up their pizza. 

“You should get a cat.” You tell Satoru earnestly, continuing the conversation as though you hadn’t just given multiple customers a sexuality crisis. “Maybe two, so they don’t get lonely. Both of mine were strays, so next time you come across one you should just take it home.” 

“Huh, I’ll keep an eye out,” the information is strangely endearing. Both cats looked perfectly groomed and healthy — he would’ve had no idea you took them off the street if you hadn’t told him as much. He smiles. “Maybe I’ll find one that looks like me."

Predictably, you give him a withering look. “You’re such a narcissist.” 

“Don’t you think that would be cool?” He protests. Though he’d mostly been joking, now he does sort of wish he’d had a little furry friend with a white coat and big blue eyes. “It’s like having a mini me!”  

“I think one of you is enough.” You tell him flatly. You pick up the new batch of order forms, but not before getting another dig in. “Would Gojo-cat let people touch him, or is he too good for that too?” 

Satoru rolls his eyes, the jibe pissing him off more than it probably should. “I told you already, it’s for safety.” 

But his protest goes unheard. In fact, you’ve already gone back into the kitchen — he can hear you opening and closing drawers. You’re so efficient it ticks him off. You tick him off, actually. How is it you can be so pleasant one moment and make his blood boil the next?

It’s not that Satoru is too good to be touched. He feels quite the opposite actually, like he doesn’t deserve something so purely human. You can’t seriously expect him to let his guard down around you. As neutral as you might seem, your intense cursed energy sets him on edge, flaring around you constantly like a warning light. You’re still dangerous, still untrustworthy. 

Luckily, you two don’t interact for another hour, allowing him some time to cool off. It feels busier than it had been at this time yesterday, and it’s clear it’s not just his imagination as you reappear with a fresh batch of boxes and pale at the line in front of the register. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

You’d figured Gojo would bring in business -- word gets around in the social circle of single, straight young women that a hot, male cashier is working at the new pizzeria. Gojo appeals to a demographic you hadn’t been able to reach, even for all of your good looks. 

Even so, you hadn’t expected this much business. After rattling off the order numbers, you approach the tip jar, dumbfounded to find it stuffed full and looking ready to burst. 

“Holy shit, we’re going to need another tip jar.” You shake around the contents, extracting a few smaller slips of paper with practiced precision. You eye them with disdain, showing Gojo the various digits people had slipped in with their cash. “And maybe a separate jar just for people’s phone numbers. This is crazy.” 

Gojo smirks as he watches you set the jar down in disbelief. “Hm. You’re just jealous I have a natural flair for being delightful.” 

“Delightful?” You repeat, laughing to yourself. “I mean, I guess you’re delightful to look at until you open your mouth.” 

“You’re not the first person to give me that critique.” He shrugs, leaning against the counter as an easy smile takes over. “Come on, I'm not that bad.”

When he smiles at you like that, appraising you with those eyes over his shades, he isn’t so bad. You’d been right in telling him that a little exposure would earn him more tips, but you hadn’t accounted for the effect it would have on you. 

He might be a pain in the ass, but he is hot. 

“I won’t take you for granted,” you tease. “Your pretty face finally got us some business. Good thing our customers don’t have to talk to you for that long, otherwise they’d see you for what you are.”

Gojo feigns being shot in the chest, dramatic as ever. “Okay, rude. So I’m only good for drawing in business and looking pretty? Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” 

“I’m nothing but honest.” You reply, which you both know by now is a total lie. This is true though, sales have spiked significantly since Gojo started working. “But with all this business, I think we need a new employee. Any of your sorcerer friends want to keep an eye on me during the day?” 

“Unlikely,” he tells you. “You’re kind of insufferable. But I’ll ask around.” 

“How sweet,” you say sarcastically, even though deep down you appreciate it. You hope whoever Gojo picks isn’t as much of a handful as he is. 

The rest of the shift flies by. You don’t get stuck talking to Gojo for too long so you don’t have to engage in any more of that ‘getting to know each other’ bullshit. He only asks about superficial things, and you wanna know what makes the guy tick. Not exactly an equivalent exchange. 

Soon enough the two of you are cleaning up and stacking chairs. You’re pretty eager to go home, but Gojo seems to have other ideas. 

“What if I said I’m not leaving until you agree to train the kids?” He cocks his head at you, standing stubbornly by the counter. Once again, you kind of want to hit him. 

“Then I’d tell you to cope,” you say flatly, setting the broom against the wall in its usual place. “I’m going home, so whether or not you’re doing the same is none of my concern.” 

Gojo honest to God pouts. “You wouldn’t be so cruel as to lock me in here all night, would you?” 

This is true, and it does leave you with a dilemma. Locking Gojo in is probably some kind of crime, and you don’t need a criminal trial on your already busy agenda. You can’t exactly force the guy out of the pizzeria, he’s a sorcerer after all— 

And then it dawns on you, and he must be able to see it because his grin stretches wider. 

“You can teleport, asshole.” You glare at him, promptly turning on your heel to lock the door. “I’m leaving you in here.” 

“Awe, come on,” he moves towards you casually as you take a step outside. “You wouldn’t shut the door in my-” 

You cut him off by shutting the door in his face. The lock clicks shut, and you smile innocently at his stunned expression. Suddenly though, he smirks. He exhales into the glass, making it fog up so he can draw a crude dick on the door of your very respectable establishment. 

You flip him off, telling yourself you’ll make him clean the glass tomorrow, and then you’re walking irritably back to your apartment. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

The following morning, Satoru recalls the radio on his desk. He’s a little curious to see what you might be up to, even if it’s probably just getting ready to go to work.

He really should destroy the thing for the sake of privacy, but curiosity gets the best of him as he flips it on. Predictably, there’s only the buzz of feedback for a few minutes, and he’s about to turn it off when he hears footsteps and a sudden shout (definitely you) followed by a roar of laughter (definitely Sukuna).

“Would you stop letting yourself into my apartment?” Your voice admonishes. A faint meow can be heard in the background. “I really need to take away your spare key.” 

The sound of furniture creaking. Probably Sukuna standing up. “Listen, pet, I was thinking-” 

“Spare me now,” you interject.

“-Why don’t we just ditch this pizza thing and level all of Japan?” Sukuna’s voice grows closer. “These sorcerers won’t leave us alone, and I don’t like them being so close to you.” 

You scoff in time with Satoru on the other end. “You being a little possessive isn’t really a good enough excuse to wipe a country off the map.” You say with the nonchalance of someone discussing the weather. “Really, Ryo. I think normal life would suit you.” 

Something must distract you, because there’s a rustling and you quickly change subjects. “Did you make breakfast?” 

“Maybe.” Sukuna hums. “You don’t eat enough.” 

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh wearily. “Thanks. Just can’t bring myself to be hungry in the morning.” 

“That’s because you’re not working up enough of an appetite at night,” Sukuna’s voice has a lilt to it that makes Satoru grow tense. “And I have a pretty easy fix for that.” 

“You are insatiable.” Your tone makes Satoru feel a bit warm. 

“Yeah, it’s part of the whole Sukuna Ryomen thing.” Sukuna pauses. “You wouldn’t deny me a little snack before you go, would you?” 

There’s the sharp sound of a gasp, followed by a tiny, pleased whimper, and then Satoru is obliterating the radio where it lays on the desk. Scraps of metal fly everywhere but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s not going to get that image out of his head anytime soon, and it’s nobody’s fault but his. Now he has to face you in about eight hours. Go figure. 

So it’s like that, huh? He leans against the wall feeling a bit flustered, the sound you’d made playing over and over again in his head along with the too-vivid image of whatever you’re doing with Sukuna right now. This is what he gets for being nosy, he supposes. 

He takes his mind off of it by recalling his promise to you yesterday, an assurance that he’d find another sorcerer for your day shifts. Unfortunately, most of the capable ones are also teachers, but there has to be at least one who isn’t. 

It comes to him swiftly at the same time his toast pops, making him startle. He’s got the perfect guy for the job, actually — the hard part is getting him to agree. 

___

 

“I’d rather not.” Nanami looks around, trying to sidestep Satoru as casually as possible, but Satoru isn’t having it. He'd ambushed Nanami in his own apartment — the poor guy’s still wearing those atrocious blue pajama pants with little yellow ducks on them. He seems like he’s looking for any excuse not to have this conversation, praying someone else will be his scapegoat. But Satoru’s already thought it through. Nanami truly is the best option. 

“Come on, Nanamin! Who knows what they get up to during the day?” Satoru insists, increasing his efforts in time with Nanami as he continues to block his path. They’re practically jumping back and forth now at a ridiculous pace. “Someone has to be there to make sure they aren’t committing atrocities under our very noses!” 

Nanami frowns. “I think we both know that there isn’t anything to worry about there.” 

He’s right. With each update, Satoru reassures everyone that you don’t seem to be plotting anything nefarious. Therefore, Satoru changes strategies, fishing out his phone and pulling up a picture of you he’d snuck during work. Your hair is a little messy and you’re glaring daggers at the camera, but you look gorgeous, nonetheless. “Does this change your mind?” 

“Oh.” Nanami’s eyes grow fractionally wider. Score! “I see your point.”

But he shakes himself out of it and clears his throat, finally sidestepping Satoru and walking toward his kitchen. “But that doesn’t change anything. I’m not going to get a job just to work with a beautiful person. If that’s what I wanted out of life I’d have gone into modeling.”

Satoru chases after him, falling easily into step. “Really?” 

“I did get offers.” Nanami says mildly, selecting an instant capsule and putting it into the coffee machine. “But I’m serious. Find somebody else for it. I enjoy my peace and quiet, thank you.” 

“They’re wonderful company though! Really!” Nanami gives him a flat look, since Satoru also likes to waste valuable meeting time complaining about how annoying you are. “They’re so lonely during the day, Nanami!”

“It’s not that easy, Gojo.” Nanami frowns at him. “What if I’m needed on a mission? Especially since you’ve been keeping watch in the evenings, we really can’t spare anyone else.” 

He has a point there. But Satoru isn’t about to lose. He will get Nanami working with you one way or another, just to bend you in his favor so perhaps you'll consider his offer a little more seriously. 

“Think of it as an investment, Nanami.” Satoru presses. “We get them to warm up to us now, they’ll want to join us later, and then we’ll have at least one more on our side. And if Sukuna keeps his end of the bargain, we can have him help train the students too!” 

“You want Sukuna to train the students?!” Nanami looks the most horrified Satoru’s ever seen him. The sight of him shirtless, stunned, and clutching an empty mug to his chest is made all the more comical by his ugly pajamas. “Are you out of your mind?!” 

“I know, I know. Take a breath, would you? You haven’t seen him, Nanami.” Satoru wags a finger in his face to ensure he’s listening. “He’s not even a curse anymore. They’re a lot more dangerous than Sukuna is right now, and they have that guy on a leash. He’s probably petting their cats right now and watching reruns of Wipeout, I swear.”

Nanami doesn’t look like he believes it and remains silent. The coffee maker beeps, and he starts to fill his mug. Satoru relents, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. 

“Even I can’t make something like that up. You know I wouldn’t joke about that either.” He says pointedly. This seems to get his attention, as Nanami’s eyes find his and they share a look of mutual understanding. “I wouldn’t pitch the idea if I didn’t think it was a good one. It could be worthwhile.” 

Nanami is silent again. He takes a few sips of coffee to think about it, and though Satoru is impatient he keeps his foot tapping to a minimum. 

“It could be dangerous,” says Nanami finally. “But if you seriously don’t think he’s a threat…” he trails off with a heavy sigh.

“Alright, fine. I’ll consider stepping in during the day. But if I’m called to take care of something, I have to take care of it. They should understand that.” 

Satoru is overjoyed, mentally giving himself a pat on the back for his efforts. You’re going to be so pleased with him later — not that he cares. He just wants to be on your good side so you’ll trust him enough to train you as a sorcerer. 

“I’m sure they will.” Satoru waves a hand, suddenly struck with his second good idea of the day. “Why don’t you two work all the details out at that bar you like so much later tonight?” 

Nanami, always won over by the promise of alcohol after a long day, acquiesces in a long-suffering sigh. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Gojo struts into the pizzeria with a blinding smile. 

“I found you a guy.” He announces, much to your surprise. “Wanna meet him after work tonight?” 

“That was quick.” You muse, impressed with his efficiency. You look down at your white t-shirt and dark-grey cargo pants. “Sure, if he doesn’t mind me in this outfit.” 

Gojo waves a hand, giving you an approving once-over. “Ah, he won’t. He wears the same thing every day. Probably wouldn’t notice if you came dressed in a potato sack.” 

“What’s he like?” You ask. 

“Strong, but a real bore.” Gojo rolls his eyes. He teleports in and out of the kitchen, returning with his apron. “He was my junior when we went to school together. Now he’s a full-time sorcerer, so he’s hoping you’ll be able to work around his schedule.” 

Gojo puts the strap over his head and ties it smoothly in the back. Wow, he’s got nice hands. Smooth, pale, long fingers that move with the grace of a pianist’s. He looks at you to gauge your reaction, and you realize you’ve been staring. 

“Well, I suppose.” You look away. “Having somebody there sometimes is better than not at all. Lunch rush has been awful recently, but I think the customers of your demographic have started to realize you aren’t there during the day.” 

“Oh? And what exactly is my demographic?” Gojo smirks. Ah, fuck, he’d caught you. “Enlighten me, sweetheart.” 

You sigh heavily, tying your hair back to keep your hands busy with something other than punching him. “Pretty young women with terrible taste. The occasional guy too.”

You point begrudgingly to the new jar accompanying the old one. You’d been handed numbers and told to give them to your "super-hot coworker," and so you caved and actually made the thing. The label is an unceremonious “GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER” in Arial font printed on a piece of paper. You’re not even sure the text is centered.

“You’ve already got a few contributions,” you roll your eyes at your own creation. “So knock yourself out.” 

You thought he might gloat or something, but now he’s staring at you, slack jawed. Or rather, at a spot on your neck. 

“Ah, crap,” you slap a hand over it, feeling your face get warm. “Do I need more concealer? I think I need more concealer.” 

You half-sprint into the bathroom, leaving Gojo to stand there in shock. He doesn’t try to stop you, nor does he say anything at all. That’s honestly a reasonable response to the violent hickey you’d forgotten about. Your hair had been covering it before you absentmindedly put it up. In the mirror it stands purple-red and proud against your skin. 

Sukuna had ambushed you in your apartment this morning with the promise of good breakfast (it had been delectable), and then proceeded to sink his teeth into your neck while he finger-fucked you on the kitchen counter. It had felt fantastic at the time, all things considered, but he’d sent you into work with poorly-concealed evidence as to why you’d opened the shop half an hour late. 

You reapply as best you can. It’s still visible, but far less angry. Perhaps like it had been given a few days ago and not this morning. You hope wherever you’re meeting this new employee, it’ll be somewhere dim and that maybe he’s at least a little sex positive. By the way Gojo had described him, though, you should probably give up on that notion. 

Once you regain your pride enough to return, Gojo’s shock has turned into a triumphant smirk. You’ve got a feeling this is going to be a long shift. 

“I thought you said you were going to go home and go to bed last night,” he teases, tilting his head to the side. “Do you have a secret night life I don’t know about? Do I need to supervise you then, too?” 

“Over my dead body,” you gripe. “And I did go to bed last night. It happened this morning.”

Gojo laughs, loud and brash. “My, my, you are a freak.” 

“Don’t call me that!” Your face goes bright red, and you reach for a cup to throw at him. You only get angrier when it stops short in front of his face, and he plucks it out of the air with a self-satisfied smirk. He walks towards you with it, reaching behind you to set it back where it belongs. He doesn’t move, though, pinning you down with his too-hot, too-blue gaze. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” his voice has dropped a little lower with the challenge, the teasing giving way something more sinister. “Go on, say it.” 

You know he’s just trying to get your blood boiling, but you can play at this game too. You calm yourself, schooling your expression into something more neutral. 

“No, you’re exactly right,” you say steadily, basking in the way his eyes widen in surprise beneath his shades. “Would you like me to prove it to you too?” 

The bell chimes, breaking the moment and causing Gojo to step away from you like you’d burned him. You chuckle and retreat into the kitchen, deciding to spare him the mortification of watching him stammer through an order. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Satoru can’t figure out exactly what you’d done to him, what sort of curse you’d cast on him with your words, but he feels hot all over. Not to mention that his mind keeps wandering to places it shouldn’t be while he’s trying to talk to other people. 

Like when you come out of the kitchen and say something that pisses him off, and instead of hollow-purpling you suddenly he wants to put you on your knees and—

He swallows thickly as his mind begs him to shut the fuck up!

Later you roll your eyes at something he does, and he imagines your eyes would roll back like that if he was fucking you good enough. He thinks about how your skin would feel under his hands, the kind of sounds you’d make-

Holy shit, he can’t do this. 

He knows it’s all his fault. He started it with that conversation. Started it by accidentally tuning in this morning to something he shouldn't have been privy too. Now his easily distracted and too-horny brain can’t stop putting you in compromising positions, and it’s terribly inconvenient. One poor customer repeats her order three times because he hears the kitchen door open and can't get himself to focus. 

He catches you staring too, occasionally, a look in your eyes that sends heat straight to his core, but he ignores it. 

The shift feels so much longer than normal. He’s grateful that it’s over when he’s suddenly reminded that you both still have to meet Nanami at the bar. He’s hoping you do something embarrassing while you’re tipsy that might let him snap out of it. 

“Wow, you chose a good place,” you remark. The both of you stand outside the bar now. Satoru pauses to text Nanami that you’re here. 

“Too fancy for your salary?” Satoru teases. “I’ll pay.” 

You wave it off, walking toward the door and holding it open for him.“Nah, they’ll be free for me.” 

Satoru tilts his head, surprised at your certainty. “You get free drinks here?” 

“Mhm.” You hum, giving him another one of those looks. “I had the bartender bent over my kitchen table a few weeks ago and I think she’s hoping I’ll do it again.” As if on cue, the bartender looks up as you enter. You smile broadly at her and wave. “Hey, sugar!”

Satoru chokes, following you mindlessly toward a few open stools. You and the bartender strike up a flirty conversation, but he isn’t really listening. Your thigh is pressed up against his — well, it would be, but he still feels the pressure and the body heat through his Infinity. He’s going to bend you over his kitchen table if you keep swiping the rug out from under his feet like this. 

Jesus Christ, Satoru, you need psychological help.

Though he’d only said it to get under your skin, you’re slowly proving to him that you are someone that has a lot of sex and isn’t ashamed about it. Sukuna this morning, the bartender a few weeks ago… Satoru can’t help but wonder what the qualifications are to get on that roster. 

Don’t even think about it.

“Hey, asshole,” you jerk him out of his stupor by snapping in front of his face. “You want anything?” 

“Hm? No thanks,” he manages. “I don’t drink.” 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

You were going to ask about what weird trance he was in, but his words catch you off guard. “You don’t drink?” 

“Nah, fucks with my Six Eyes.” He seems to return to normal. “I get sick right away. None of the fun alcohol feeling beforehand.” 

You take a pitying sip of your margarita. You could never imagine. “That seriously blows.” 

“It’s not so bad,” he shrugs. “I hate the way it tastes.” 

“Maybe you’ve just never had a good drink,” Lena, the bartender you’d taken home not so long ago, smiles and winks at him. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

You don’t blame her, because he does look awfully good in the expensive grey shirt he’s wearing. Ever since that moment during your shift you’ve felt a sort of tension settle between you, like oil simmering on low heat. 

You’ve started traipsing down the dangerous path of considering how Gojo might look on his knees, when in walks what might be the hottest man you’ve ever seen. One of them, at the very least. His blonde hair is slightly ruffled from what was once a slicked style. He sports a blue button down over a broad chest and pants that should be illegal with the way the fit around his enormous legs. You think you might stop breathing momentarily. 

“Is that him?” You murmur. Gojo suddenly brightens.

“Nanami!” He calls, far too loudly for the bar atmosphere. It’s efficient, though, getting Nanami’s attention right away. “Yeah, that’s him. What’s that look for?”

He must have noticed the way you’re sitting there with your mouth half open, like a fish fallen prey to a very tantalizing, very blonde worm. 

“I’m going to fuck that man.” You tell him sagely. Gojo looks properly scandalized. 

“Excuse me?!”

He doesn’t get the chance to ask for clarification (not that he needed it, you said what you said) because Nanami is already there, sliding into the seat on your other side. Lena is back with a whiskey sour, sliding it into Nanami’s waiting hand with a wink. Nanami thanks her politely, though the way they’re looking at each other is anything but. 

You realize the two of you might already have something in common. 

Nanami greets you with the pretense of a nod, very obviously checking you out. Then he’s glaring at Gojo over a pair of circular glasses. “I didn’t think you were going to be here.” 

Gojo only smiles. “I had to make sure they didn’t kill you.”

“Oh please. Do I really seem the type?” You joke. At their mutual silence and the look they share, you blanch. “Do I?” 

“Not at all.” Nanami finally answers, voice smooth and deep like expensive silk. “Your cursed energy says otherwise, though. So you know.” He eyes you over his drink as he takes a careful sip. “Precautions.” 

You smirk into the rim of your glass. “Ah, precautions.” 

Hearing the tone of your voice, Gojo kicks your leg under the table. 

“Anyway, to kick off this very professional meeting—” 

“Do you model?” You blurt with the sole purpose of interrupting him. Nanami gives you an enterprising smile. 

“I’ve had offers,” Nanami replies easily, keeping his tone light and humble. “Didn’t really seem like my thing, though.” 

“What a shame,” you shake your head in lamentation. “I think you’d do wonders for Calvin Klein.” 

Gojo mimes retching beside you. Nanami’s lip curls into a smirk, and you mirror it. Oh, so he enjoys pissing off Gojo too. This guy just keeps getting better. 

“You know, I was going to tell you something similar.” He tells you, resting his elbow on the bar and tilting his head into his hand. “Are you famous? You look like you’d be famous.” 

“You know, I reckon I have a hidden talent for acting,” you smirk. “Given the chance, I’d probably star in a few movies.” 

Maybe that’s a little too suggestive, but Nanami takes it and returns your energy all the same. You make obnoxious, terrible innuendos for at least an hour under the guise of making conversation. You take pity on Gojo after a while, because he looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die, and you can only wonder how he’s managed to get through this sober. The pained but faraway look in his eye suggests that perhaps he’s dissociating. 

You and Nanami wrap it up, shaking hands and laughing to each other as the three of you finally leave the bar.

“I’m looking forward to having you,” you can’t help but slide one last remark in there. “Are you going to get home okay all by yourself?” 

“It’s alright.” Nanami gives you a meaningful look. “My apartment isn’t far.” 

That’s nice to know. For future reference, that is. You wave him goodbye and Gojo takes you home. Rather, you tell him where you live and he teleports you. If he’s surprised that you live in the same apartment complex as Sukuna, he doesn’t show it. 

“Well that was fun,” you say brightly to the morbid expression on Gojo’s face. “I thought you said he was a bore.”

Gojo’s eye twitches. “In my defense, I didn’t think you would share the same terrible sense of humor.” 

“Come on, you would’ve been laughing it up if I was doing it with you,” you tease. You go to tap a finger on his nose, but all of a sudden he’s grabbing your wrist and holding it next to his face in the air. He’s looking at you with something dark and fathomless, that usual playful spark gone. Your heart catches in your throat as something dangerous stirs in your gut. 

“You’ve seriously pushed my limits today, sweetheart,” he tells you steadily. His other hand comes up, brushing a hair out of your face. His fingertips tease against your skin, tracing agonizingly slowly across your cheek. He cups your jaw now, and you’re frozen in place, unable to do more than just stare back. He doesn’t break eye contact, and his thumb edges toward your lips. “After everything I’ve done for you.”

You think he might press it in, and you imagine the pad of his thumb breaching the space between your lips. You think about what it might be like to taste the tip of it with your tongue, to tease him.  

He looks like he’s debating it too. But then he seems to remember where he is, what he’s doing, and he’s gone in a blink. The air pops and fizzles around where he once was, hastily filling in the space where he’d been. Erasing his presence. 

You’re left standing there alone, confused, and horribly turned on. 

“Sorry I’m late.” You’re pushing your way into Sukuna’s apartment moments later, tugging him to the couch by his arm. Despite his half-hearted protests, you push him hard enough so that he falls into a seated position. He watches mildly as you keep talking, even as you pull your shirt over your head because suddenly everything is just too hot. You scrape the haunting picture of blue eyes from your mind. “We got another one, and this guy is fine. One of those business types that’s also jacked for some reason.”

His mouth ticks down in disapproval. “I swear your standards are getting lower.” 

“You don’t understand, Ryo. You’d do him too if you saw him.” You point a finger at his face as you lean towards him. “I’m gonna fucking ruin that man, I’m telling you.” You set one knee on the couch, swinging the other leg over to straddle him as he looks up at you, clearly very amused by your frustration. “Gonna make him cream in those tight fucking pants. Those can’t be legal.”

“You’re such a menace.” He laughs. His hands automatically find your hips, tugging them against his own. “It’s why you’re my favorite.” 

You pout. “I thought you didn’t like me?” 

“When did I ever say that?” You know Sukuna recalls full well, he’s just pretending not to because he’s an ass. “You’re all worked up now. Let’s blow off some of that steam, hm?” 

You don’t hate the idea of that. It’s kind of why you’re in his lap right now, and so you nip at his ear in the way that makes him shiver. 

“Alright, but go easy on me.” You murmur. “And no more marks. I don’t want Nanami knowing I’m a degenerate right off the bat.” 

Sukuna sighs into your hair. “You’re no fun.” 

Sukuna’s idea of going easy on you is making you come twice with his tongue alone. This is very much in line with his character. If there’s one thing Sukuna loves to do most, it’s to devour. Your food, your pussy, it’s all the same. He takes and takes until you’re trembling and shaking with the aftershocks.

Then he flips your positions and sits you up against the headboard so he can fuck your face. He knows it’s better for you when you’re a little out of your head, so overstimulating you first helps a lot in its own backwards way. 

Sukuna is big. You’re not sure how a curse’s genitalia work — you don’t really care enough to find out — but as a human, Sukuna’s cock is about as same as the rest of him. Which is to say thick and long and pretty fucking impatient. 

He presses the tip between your lips, merciful enough not to just jam the whole thing down your throat. He bottoms out slowly, breathing heavily with the effort, and he tugs at the front of your hair to make you look at him. 

“Good?” He asks, like you can answer. Instead, you hum around his cock and give the backs of his thighs a reassuring squeeze. He groans a bit at the vibration and pets your hair approvingly. 

“Thought so,” he grunts, and now he’s fucking you properly, holding you in place by your hair as he slams in and out of your mouth. You try your best to keep eye contact because you know he likes it, but your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of being used. “You’ve always been so good for me. Made to take my fuckin’ cock, I swear.” 

As independent as you are, the possessive talk really is your guilty pleasure. You moan around his length, which makes him groan in return and start fucking your mouth even harder. You can’t really breathe, the oxygen punched out of you with every thrust, but you don’t mind. Your body does protest, though. Watercolor starts to swarm your vision even when you feel perfectly content. 

“Fuck, you know I love when you do that.” Sukuna releases the headboard for a moment so he can smear a stray tear across your cheek. “So pretty when you cry around my cock. You’re just a mess, aren’t you?” 

Sukuna also likes to degrade you. Usually he’s a lot meaner than this, but tonight he takes you apart slowly. Dismantles you piece by piece before reassembling you into his perfect little whore, and you love it. 

You can tell he’s close by the way he’s breathing ruggedly, the way his hips have started to stutter in their brutal pace. You trail one hand up to squeeze at his bicep, begging him for it with your eyes. 

“Fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he hisses, but then he comes apart with a satisfying groan. Usually he likes painting your face, but this time he wants to watch you swallow. He makes you look at him as he comes straight down your throat, one hand squeezing firmly over your jugular while the other tugs insistently at your hair. 

Your vision goes black for just a second before he’s letting you go and pulling out of your mouth. You fall forward into his chest, gasping for air as he sits to meet you, and he rubs the hand that was previously around your throat between your shoulders. He pets at your hair approvingly with the other.

“Been waiting to do that all day,” he exhales, his soft touches soothing your tired, aching body. “You were so good for me, pet. Fucking perfect.” 

You shiver a little at the praise, and he pulls you closer to him to lay you down beside him on the bed. 

“Oh? Am I sleeping here?” You ask sweetly, voice noticeably a little hoarse. It looks like he’s trying not to laugh as he pulls the covers over you. 

“I won’t make you, but I don’t think you’re in any shape to walk,” he gets up, tugging on his boxers from earlier, and opens his bedroom door a crack. A minute later, your cats scurry in and leap onto to bed. “Besides, your vermin are already here.” 

You snicker. “You can just call them cats.” 

“Vermin,” he sidles up beside you in bed, reaching over you to flick the lamp off. The room falls easily into darkness, just how Sukuna’s arm falls easily around your waist, and your head falls easily into his chest. He’d fucked you so good you’d almost forgotten about Gojo’s little stunt earlier. 

Almost. But you can still feel his thumb over your lips, can still picture that look in his eye with vivid clarity. You hadn’t been able to place it at the time, but in hindsight you know exactly what it had been. Not curiosity. Not frustration. Not even lust. More like something resembling a combination of all three. 

Something like want. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Satoru kind of wants to jerk off and then die. Instead of doing either of those things, he takes a cold shower and gets into bed, throwing a hand over his eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck was that?! 

There's no other explanation. He'd been possessed. Something had taken over his body and made him act completely irrationally. Something had made him caress your face and had urged him to put his fingers in your pretty, loud mouth. Luckily, he’d fought said thing down before it could get too far.

Then again, he’s afraid it already has. His hand is already traveling downward of its own accord, the image of your lips wrapped around his fingers forming in his mind. The stray thoughts from earlier start to join it, a collage of things he shouldn’t be thinking about so late at night, the main medium being you.

Luckily he’s saved by the bell, or rather, his phone buzzing just as his fingertips brush against his waistband. Satoru sits up faster than ever and reaches for his device.  

 

nanamin ヾ(｀ε´)ﾉ, 00:06 :
you seriously owe me. 

when you said they were
dangerous, i thought you
meant the ‘they might try to
kill me’ way. that i can handle. 

you neglected to mention
the ‘bedroom eyes’ way

 

 

i have no idea what you’re
talking about nanamin! 

you must be suuuuper drunk
to be texting me this. 

 

 

nanamin ヾ(｀ε´)ﾉ, 00:10 :
this is an admission i'd make 
stone cold sober.

you’d better not say anything
to them about this, i swear. 

 

i don’t think they’ll be
too upset about it ;)

 

nanamin ヾ(｀ε´)ﾉ, 00:11 :
i’m going to kill you. 

 

Notes:

hope you enjoyed that!! thanks for all the wonderful feedback I’ve been getting. this fic is so fun to write!!! I hope you enjoyed all the references to the dub in the dialogue LOL. also nanami could absolutely model for calvin klein (calling all artists, yk what to do), but i also like to imagine him in his goofy duck pajamas.
btw sukuna's cursed technique is based off of fan theories i've seen and his possible relation to the sorcerer that both gojo and yuuta are related to, which feeds into yuta's copy technique. yes, i did put a surprising amount of research and effort into this LOL
if you notice the word count changing that is in fact me editing the fic after I’ve published it LOL. they’re just minor edits to adjust grammar and wordiness, because I’ve realized I’ve written a LOT of words.
also so sorry for the use of y/n if you’re somebody who HATES that. I do try to avoid it as much as possible for future reference!!

Chapter 3: yelp reviews are not for the weak

Summary:

“Can we go back to talking about how fucking old you are?” You quip, regaining control of the conversation. “I should update the Yelp with ‘recently acquired fossil exhibit’ as a new point of attraction.”

“We have a Yelp?” He asks, easily distracted as usual.

You roll your eyes. “Of course we do. I’m surprised you even know what Yelp is, you geezer.”

Notes:

a little shorter than the prior chapters because the word count is kind of terrifying! sorry guys
this chapter is like 80% fluff and crack to make up for the fact that the next two-ish chapters are like 80% sexual tension and light angst and smut (im sorry).

Your shift with Nanami is actually a dream. He strides in five minutes early wearing a white button down and another pair of sinfully tight beige pants. The definition of his legs and biceps makes your mouth actively water, and it takes all the strength you can muster to act professional. You’re hoping exposure therapy starts to kick in, and soon.

It’s not entirely one-sided, though. His eyes linger on you as he approaches the counter, taking in your outfit under the apron. No thanks to global warming, summer is hotter than ever before and so you’re dressed in a well-fitted tank-top and shorts that cut off above your knees. It’s more skin than you’d usually show at work, but your name is on the lease so technically the dress code is whatever you want it to be.

“Morning,” you greet him, raising a mug from beside you. “I made us some coffee.”

His neutral expression brightens into something a little sunnier. “I knew I was going to like you.”

It’s only 10:30, but it seems Nanami appreciates free coffee like anyone else. You actually open in half an hour (nobody wants pizza before 11:00) but you figured it’d be better to train him without the rush of business you’ve been experiencing lately.

You also want him to yourself for a little bit.

“The feeling is mutual,” you smile at him as he comes to stand beside you. “I appreciate you being timely. You said you might get called out for missions but that’s fine with me. I’m just glad you’re here.”

“It’s not a problem,” Nanami takes a sip of his coffee with a contented sigh. You try not to stare too hard at his sculpture-worthy face, but it’s proving to be impossible. “It gives me something to do with my day while I wait, I suppose. Not like you actually need to be watched.”

“Or so you think,” you joke. He raises an eyebrow at you, intrigued.

“Oh? So I should be worried,” you can tell he’s playing along because he doesn’t sound concerned at all. “I’ll make sure not to take my eyes off you.”

Your stomach flutters, and it doesn’t stop even as you two get to business. You walk him through making a pizza first, but just like with Gojo, you mainly want him for register duty. By the time you’ve finished, a few customers have already started to trickle in, and the flirty camaraderie between you two has only heightened.

You’re not an airheaded person by any means, but every time Nanami looks at you a certain way you kind of want to giggle and twirl your hair.

“You’ve got incredible work ethic.” He says now, regarding you approvingly as you slot the third pizza you’d made into the oven. “Don’t your hands cramp up?”

There’s been a short break in customers, so now he accompanies you in the kitchen. Unlike Gojo, he’s actually helpful, passing you ingredients and rolling out dough for you to make things more efficient. Now, however, you’re both just waiting for the pizzas to finish in the oven.

“Occasionally.” You answer, hanging up your lobster-claw oven mitts. “But I just shake them out. Not a big deal.”

Nanami tsks and shakes his head, holding both hands out in front of him. You recognize it as an invitation, and gingerly place one hand on top of his. His fingers are notably much larger and thicker than yours. They’re rough and warm, gentle but firm as he starts to dig into the flesh of your hand with his thumbs, massaging at the knots you hadn’t known could even form there. You suppress a groan at the mix of pain and relief. He seems quite satisfied with himself, visibly biting back a smirk.

“Make sure you take care of your hands. Especially if you use them like this every day.” He tells you. You sink back against the wall, letting him work the tension out of you. “There are tools for it, but I find it’s better to have someone do it for you.” He turns your hand over, patting the top. “Other hand.”

You obey without hesitation.

“You should think about your feet too, since you’ll be standing all day, but, ah,” he gives you the tiniest of smirks. “Maybe we should get to know each other better before I help you out with that.”

You’re really not sure why sorcerers are so worried about you. This man, with his secretive smiles and firm hands, is clearly an endangerment to society.

“Where have you been all my life? Sheesh.” You groan as he digs into a particularly tough spot. It’s evident that this is your dominant hand. “I needed you back in uni when I was getting mild carpal tunnel every other weekend.” At the raise in his eyebrow, you elaborate. “I was an engineering student.”

“Ah.” He nods in understanding, fingers persevering in their attempt on the knot.  “What was your focus?”

“Electrical.” You inform him. “Needed a lot of precision.”

“I can tell.” Nanami finally works it out, and you audibly sigh in relief. He smooths his fingers gently over your palm, and then returns it to your side. “It rolls over into how you make food, too. You must be an excellent chef.”

You laugh weakly. “You have got to stop flattering me before I do something drastic.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” he smiles, and the distant ringing of the bell pulls him away from you, out of the kitchen and back to the register.

Oh, it’s so over. It’s so over.

The shift is actually over far too soon. Nanami helps you tidy up towards the end of it without prompting. You’re already dreading having to see Gojo later, so you try and make the last few minutes count. You sneak several glimpses at his ass in those criminally tight pants before he suddenly clears his throat.

“You could stand to stare a little more subtly.”

“I can’t help myself.” You flush even as you attempt to put up a casual front. “It’s just so-”

“Don’t.”

“-voluptuous.”

He rubs a hand over his face to appear exasperated, though he leaves it covering his mouth to hide how he’s very clearly trying not to laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You can’t help but smile, shouldering him teasingly. “You’d better.”

You hate to see him go, but damn do you like watching him leave.

___

Gojo struts in a little later than usual, as if to purposefully offset Nanami’s punctuality. He seems normal, nothing at all like whatever happened last night, and so you hope you can put the strange event behind you and move on. 

“Hey. How was your shift with Nanami?” He doesn’t bother to adjust his volume. “Did you guys fuck in the kitchen or what?”

Several customers look up, appalled. You throw an empty cup at him. “Don’t say shit like that so loudly! And no, we did not. The kitchen is a sacred space.”

The cup stops in midair just in front of his face. Of course it does. “Hey, hey, I’m messing with you.”

You jerk a thumb impatiently towards the kitchen. “Go put your apron on and clock in, before you become my least favorite coworker.”

Gojo knows he already has that position, being a total pain in the ass compared to the godsend that is Nanami Kento. He remains in your phone contacts as such.

Still, he feigns disbelief despite knowing he never stood a chance, placing a hand on his chest.

“You’d rank Nanami over me after only one day? I thought we had something special!”

“You might have the biggest ego of anyone I’ve ever met,” you murmur as he teleports in and out of the kitchen, fastening the apron around himself. “Tough luck, I suppose.”

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Whatever had transpired between the two of you yesterday seems to have vanished. If you’re still plagued by it, you don’t show it at all. Lucky you. Satoru’s most dangerous thoughts have died down, though the occasional outlier breaks through his barrier and sends him reeling for a minute or two. Your outfit today doesn’t really help either. 

He notices a customer lingering after you’ve handed over his box of pizza. He’s not a bad looking guy and seems to be around your age. He fishes into his pocket to hand you a slip of paper which you accept with a nearly imperceptible eye roll.

“Oh, there’s a jar over there-” you try to tell him, but he interrupts.

“It’s for you,” he insists with a grin and a wink. You seem surprised, blinking as you look between the guy and his digits for a few moments.

“Oh, thanks,” you eventually smile back, sweet and bashful.

Then as soon as he’s out of sight, Satoru watches in disbelief as you discreetly toss the paper in the trash can behind the counter.

“You’re not even gonna call him?” He asks, surprised by both the quick decision and your acting skills.

“No?” You look at Satoru like he’d asked a particularly stupid question. “I don’t really go out with people.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow. “Why the hell not?”

“Just don’t see a point in it,” you shrug. Satoru latches on to the new information, unable to help himself. He’s always enjoyed dates, even the boring ones. He likes to get to know people on the off chance that maybe he likes them enough to make himself emotionally available again. While he’s almost always disappointed, the sex does typically make up for it.

But he’s intrigued by your reluctance. Even if you’re not the most sociable person, you get along seemingly well with everyone except for him. Not to mention that you look like you might have walked out of a painting. He’s surprised you don’t get numbers more often. Then again, you probably did before he showed up, and put him in front of the register so you wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.

“Seems sad for someone so young,” he remarks. “We don’t stay beautiful forever.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” you remind him flatly, which feeds his ego because he knows full well he’s pushing thirty. “And you do enough dating for the both of us. It feels too rinse and repeat for me, you know? I get why people like it, obviously. It’s just not my thing.”

You run a hand through your hair with a private little laugh, and even Satoru can admit that it’s terribly cute. “I have this working theory that my soulmate will probably hit me with a bus or something.”

Satoru lets himself laugh at this too, the mental image vastly entertaining. You seem a bit surprised, but you’re returning to the kitchen before he can say anything about it.

“I’ve got a few more orders, so I’ll be back soon.” You glance over your shoulder with a devious look in your eye. “Remember, it’s unprofessional to make bedroom eyes at the customers!”

Satoru wants to yell back that it’s unprofessional to make bedroom eyes at your coworkers, but for once, he exercises some restraint. As he takes orders, he finds himself thinking more about your personal life.

Okay so you have two cats with an odd combination of names, you work at a pizzeria you co-own with Sukuna, you live in the apartment underneath his and sometimes you guys fuck. He doesn’t know much about your family or other friends, but that’s because Satoru doesn’t want to answer those questions when you inevitably ask them back.

“Do you know how to make things other than pizza?” He asks you when you finally return.

“Contrary to popular belief, I am a functioning adult.” You give him a withering look that disturb softens as you turn away. “My friends where I grew up used to make me cook for them because I’ve always been the best at it. Pizza’s just my favorite thing to make.”

“Huh. They must miss it.” Satoru takes note of your very poignant silence. “Why did you leave again?”

“Sukuna.” You roll your eyes. “But I, uh, kind of needed to go elsewhere anyway.”

Satoru’s interest is piqued. Were you secretly in trouble with the foreign law? He wouldn’t put it past you to have escaped prison. “Oh? What did you do?”

“Nothing!” You say quickly, clearly having anticipated his thought process. “Well, it was a lot of things. The main reason was I worked really hard for a future I realized halfway through that I didn’t want. And so moving here and making binding vows with the devil felt like my only way out.”

“I see.” In a roundabout way, Satoru can sympathize. “And now you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah, unfortunately.” You give him a suspicious glare. “Why do you ask?”

“I dunno, guess I was just wondering.” Satoru answers truthfully, though he makes up a bullshit excuse that’s less embarrassing than the fact that he was just thinking about you. “Business has been really good tonight.”

“It’s no thanks to my flawless recipe,” you boast facetiously, even though Satoru wouldn’t doubt it in the slightest. “You hook them in with that face of yours and my pizza keeps them coming back.”

Satoru smiles and elbows you playfully. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

“Yeah, guess we-” you’re about to agree, but then your face tightens up and suddenly you’re glaring at him. “This is about that sorcerer nonsense again, isn’t it? That’s why you’re being so nice to me.”

Satoru clams up. Because while you’re not wrong about why he generally wants to be on your good side, you also aren’t totally right either. This is different than the times Satoru has buttered you up. This time, he just wanted to know more about you.

“Got me,” he says instead, because no way is he admitting that even when you look even pissier than before. “I’m serious about the pizza though. As a matter of fact I’m kind of hungry.” Usually you make him go pick something up for the both of you (and make him pay for it as well), but for once Satoru is actually craving pizza. “Would you be so kind-”

You turn away. “Make it yourself, asshole.”

“But you make it so good,” he protests. He almost gets you — almost.

You lean back against the closed kitchen door with a raise of your brow and a look in your eye he thought he’d escaped. “Ask nicely.”

Something stirs in him at the command, but he ignores it. Instead, Satoru rolls his eyes, but his stomach growls as if to mock him. He scowls and drones an unenthusiastic, “please?”

Perhaps you’re hungry too, because this seems to be a satisfactory enough response for you. You smirk at his reluctance as you push the door open with your hip.

“Be right back,” you tell him, and he almost hopes you won’t be.

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

You are actually kind of hungry, come to think of it. The last time you’d eaten had been during your shift with Nanami, but you’d only eaten a few spring rolls because you were so full of nervous energy. As though you’d summoned him with your thoughts (you wish), your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

 

nanami ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ, 18:16 :
hey, hope your shift with
gojo isn’t too unbearable. 

we should go out for drinks
sometime.

just us, that is.

(please don’t bring him)

 

You giggle to yourself, typing out a reply when you suddenly feel a shift in the air behind you.

“Who’re you texting?” Gojo’s looking shamelessly over your shoulder, and once again you go to punch him but are painfully reminded about his Infinity.

“Nobody.” You insist. “Get out!”

“There isn’t anyone outside right now and I got bored!” He smirks knowingly. “It’s Nanami, isn’t it?” He lets out a tch at your lack of response. “Such a shame, wasting your youth on an old timer like that.”

“He’s 28!” You protest. Sure, it’s a four-year age difference, but that’s well within your preferred range. Especially considering your current favorite sexual partner was around during the fucking Heian Era.

“He has the bedtime routine of somebody’s grandfather.” Gojo rolls his eyes. You can’t fathom why he’s so committed to turning you off Nanami, but you already know it’s an impossible endeavor. “Dresses like one too. You should go for someone a little more like me. I'm spontaneous, passionate, and not to mention much better looking — it only makes sense."

“You’re older than he is.” You say flatly. “And your hair is whiter. If anyone isn’t beating the grandpa allegations, it’s you.”

“That’s genetic!” Gojo squawks affrontedly. “But fine, keep your terrible taste! You sure know how to pick ‘em with Scowly McBland over here.”

“Alright then. If you’re going to make fun of me, what’s your type?” You insist. You’re hoping he doesn’t try to avert the subject like every other time you try to pry into his personal life, but he’d honestly set himself up for this.

“Why don’t I let you guess?” He asks, which is almost worse than ignoring the question altogether. You’re sure you’ve played this game last in junior high. 

“Hm, let’s see,” you drawl, pretending to think about it. “I’ll have to go with yourself for 500.”

“Wrong, try again,” Gojo sings.

“Your reflection,” you deadpan.

“C’mon, I’m not that narcissistic.” He rolls his eyes at you, “I’m not sure I actually have a type, to be honest. So sorry, trick question. If I had to pick, though, I’d probably say pretty people with a good sense of humor.” He winks at you, cheerfully tapping the end of your nose with his finger. “Unfortunately for you, you’re missing the sense of humor, so no dice.”

You grit your teeth in a humorless smile. “I should fire you.”

“You wouldn’t, you like me too much.” Gojo hums. 

“Can we go back to talking about how fucking old you are?” You quip, regaining control of the conversation. “I should update the Yelp with ‘recently acquired fossil exhibit’ as a new point of attraction.”

“We have a Yelp?” He asks, easily distracted as usual.

You roll your eyes. “Of course we do. I’m surprised you even know what Yelp is, you geezer.”

Gojo visibly wilts. “I’m not even thirty yet-”

“Let’s look at some reviews!” You scroll through some from the last few days, skimming and reading them off one by one until you get something good. “Hot cashier, cashier is a baddie, cashier can screw me over the counter and give me a taste of that special sauce — Jesus Christ — this one just says ‘smash,’ Oh, here’s a long one from crustcrusader499, let’s see-”

crustcrusader499, ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

this is by far the most scrumdiddlyumptious pizza i ever had. made me bust at first taste. i think i could honeymoon this pizza. i would take this pizza to bed and make sweet, sweet love to it. this pizza makes me want to drool and moan in public like a fucking slut. it’s better than sex, but if the chef or either of the cashiers want to prove me wrong, they’re more than welcome ;).

 

…

Wordlessly, you turn your phone off. You and Gojo mutually agree upon taking a moment of silence to process whatever the fuck that was. You play with the idea of unlisting the pizzeria from Yelp as well.

The oven chimes, and you remove the pizza from inside without saying a word. You slide it onto a tray, and Gojo grabs two clean plates from by the sink as he follows you out of the kitchen. You usually take turns eating at the table closest to the register, but this time neither of you are really in the mood to look any of your customers in the eye.

Any one of them could be crustcrusader499. Nobody is safe. 

You both stare at the pizza in solemn silence with your hands firmly in your laps, refusing to make a move toward the first slice.

“I miss who I was five minutes ago.” You say, finally breaking the silence.

“Me too.” Gojo sighs, and dejectedly goes for the first slice.

Then Gojo does the worst possible thing for the situation at hand and audibly groans at his bite.

Now he’s done it. You initially think he did it to get a rise out of you, but the mortified expression on his face says otherwise. Yours turns bright red in secondhand embarrassment.

“Please, never make that sound in my establishment ever again.” You rub at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“That was an accident!” Gojo cries. “It just came out, I mean-”

The accidental innuendo just makes things worse, and after a short period of bickering and stammered arguments you both decide to just shut up and eat the pizza.

It’s gone all too soon (of course it is, because you made it), and so you both just sit there for another few minutes while you digest, refusing to look at each other.

“Next time I’m adding gasoline to the sauce on your side,” you mutter in a half-hearted threat.

“How gourmet.” Gojo replies dryly. “Can’t say that would be the first time someone’s tried to poison me.”

You sigh in lament. “If only they’d succeeded.”

The bell rings, signaling a new wave of customers and the first trickles of the next rush. You sigh again. “Ah, fuck. Okay, asshole. Please don’t moan at the customers. I do not want a lawsuit because of you. got it?!”

“I’ll behave, scouts honor,” Gojo gives you what you think is the Girl Scout salute (you wouldn’t know, you just like the cookies) and starts to stand.

Your eye twitches. “You’re so lucky I can’t fire you.”

You’re about to leave, but then you catch a hint of red still on his mouth, and immediately tsk. “Come back here, you have sauce on your face.” 

He goes to lick it off and somehow misses, so you shake your head and beckon him forward. You go to grab his chin, and much to your surprise, he lets you. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips — you don’t know why you’d thought otherwise, he is human after all — and his eyes bore expectantly into yours as you’re both frozen in place.

You regain your ability to move first, slowly bringing your thumb to your lips and wetting the tip of it. Then you reach forward even slower, afraid of disrupting whatever moment the two of you are sharing, and gently swipe it along his bottom lip. It’s impossibly soft.

You can’t tear your gaze away. His eyes hold you hostage in their prison of sapphire, glittering with that look you’ve been trying to forget since last night. Not for the first time, you admire the long, white lashes framing now heavily-lidded eyes. The way he’s watching you has stolen all the oxygen from your lungs.

“There,” you choke out. “Got it.”

Then you let go like you’d been burned, and abscond into the kitchen.

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Oh, okay. This is fine. 

Satoru touches his lips against the phantom feeling that lingers there. His head is reeling thinking about the look in your eyes, your slow, gentle touch that he’s still trying to savor. He’s thinking about the fact that you didn’t kill him as soon as he let his Infinity down, and momentarily feels a little bit bad for not trusting you.

But no, that’s not the point here.

The point is you’ve turned the tables on both of you, and Satoru had unknowingly opened the floodgates. After avoiding your touch at all costs, he aches for more now that he’s gotten a taste. He wants your hands on his face, your thumb brushing tenderly against his lip. He wants to press his hands into your skin and feel out every dip and curve. His desires burn like a brand against his mind, even as he tries to keep a straight face for the customers.

You re-emerge after a suspiciously long time, but you seem to have made more pies than usual — six opposed to the usual four. He watches you call out orders, silently begging you to turn around and tell him just what the hell that was. You seem to hear him, and least on the first half, because while you do turn around, you offer no explanation.

“What’re you moping about?” You ask instead, crossing your arms.

“You- you can’t just,” he points furiously to his own lips for lack of words, “and then leave!”

You give him a shrewd look. “Funny. I think I recall you doing something similar not so long ago.” At Satoru’s silence, you sigh and wave a flippant hand. “But fine, next time I’ll make sure to let you walk around with sauce on your lips. I’m sure we’ll get some lovely Yelp reviews about that.”

You take a few steps forward, and the expression on your face is apologetic. Perhaps this is why Satoru lets you take his hand and squeeze it gently in your own. You could so easily cut off all of his fingers right now, but he knows now that you won’t. He’s glad — he likes his fingers, but he's surprised to find he likes yours too. Your touch is soft, warm, tender. A combination he hasn't felt in so long. 

“I’m sorry if I freaked you out.” You tell him  genuinely, but a tiny smile breaks through your features. “Perhaps consider it next time you want to moan like a whore in my restaurant.”

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

When Gojo Satoru first showed up in your peaceful life with the sole purpose of wreaking havoc upon it, you thought you might despise him for the rest of eternity. Always nosing into your business, poking and prodding his way into your personal space while proving again and again that he'd never let you do the same. Setting up physical and verbal barriers you weren't allowed to pass through, a perpetually one-sided wall always between you. 

But tonight he let you touch him; let you drag your thumb much slower than necessary across his soft lips. Let you look into the blue depths of those expressive eyes, basically laying himself bare in front of you. And now you’re entertaining ideas.

You try to keep focus, logging into the computer at the register to check your profits over the last few days. As expected, they’ve been sharply and constantly increasing ever since Gojo had been hired. The difference is staggering. “Hey, come over here and look at this.”

Gojo, now abandoning the broom and emptied dustbin against the wall, does as told. He teleports to stand behind you and peer over your shoulder. He hums like he's taking a good look, but then remains silent for an awkward amount of time. 

"So, uh," he pauses, "what exactly is this?" 

You turn to give him an unimpressed look. "It's Excel, you ancient fuck." 

"I know what Excel is, I'm just not very proficient in it!" He argues, looking at the graph now with a sense of understanding. "These are our sales?" He whistles, leaning in closer. "That’s actually pretty impressive."

He's practically murmuring right against your ear, and you try to suppress a shiver at the sensation. "All thanks to you, of course. What a shame. I truly can't fire you at the rate we're growing."

"Well, what can I say?" He doesn't seem to notice how close he's gotten. You can feel his chest pressing against your back. "I excel in every environment." 

Wanna test that theory out? You want to ask instead of rewarding the terrible pun with a reply. But then he moves to stand next to you, turning you slightly so you'll look at him. Despite his smug expression, his cheeks are tinted light pink. Ah, maybe you said that out loud. Whoops. 

“What was that?” He gives you a smirk that would usually earn him a hand in his face. The two of you watch each other, suspended in some state of in-between, and neither of you quite know where to go from here. You get the feeling that if you take that step forward together, you’ll never be able to go back.

You’re not sure exactly what makes you say it. Maybe it’s the tension that’s been slowly suffocating the two of you. Maybe it’s the way his eyes implore you even when the rest of his face remains neutral. But your fate is sealed in three words.

“Walk me home?”

Gojo only smiles wider, and responds with three of his own.

“Sure, why not?”

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

“You said you live alone, right?” The night is humid and unforgiving. You’re walking closer together than normal, your shoulder brushing against his bicep every so often. It’s driving Satoru a little bit crazy. “Doesn’t it get too quiet? I feel like my place does even with the cats.”

Satoru shakes his head. His living spaces have always been quiet — well, almost always. He recalls a short time when he would purposefully make himself the loudest in the room. Now he accepts silence, especially when there’s nobody there to compete with. “Nah, I’m used to it.”

“You didn’t grow up with any siblings?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m an only child.”

“I should’ve guessed.” You chuckle to yourself. He gives you a blank look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You giggle and elbow playfully at his ribs. He lets you, because it feels nice. “It means you’re needy and self-important and have terrible social skills.”

Satoru scoffs, putting up a front even when you both know it to be mostly true. “I am none of those things.”

“Bullshit.” You call him out on it easily. “Okay, next question-”

Satoru interrupts you. “Is this some kind of interrogation?” Perhaps it’s only fair, considering everything he’d made you tell him on the day you met. 

You roll your eyes at him “No, this is a conversation. It’s what people do when they’re walking somewhere together.” Then, like it’s a totally normal thing to ask:

“Where would you take somebody out if you really wanted to fuck them afterwards?”

“Excuse me?” Satoru blanches. “If this is about Nanami I’m not letting you corrupt him in such a manner.”

“This isn’t about Nanami, and also he’s a grown man so he can fuck whoever he pleases, thank you.” You wag a finger in his face. “Anyway, answer the question.”

Satoru tries to catch you in a contradiction like you’re so fond of doing to him. “I thought you didn’t like dating.”

“I don’t.” You confirm, but then your eyes shift suspiciously to the side. “It won’t be a date, per se. Just somewhere to, uh, get acquainted before..”

Satoru thinks that sounds like it could be a date, but he bites his tongue. “Well since you’re clearly asking about Nanami, take him to that bar we went to. He’s a big drinker, and he has a really high tolerance.” He pauses and tilts his head at you, regarding you over the rims of his shades. “But if you’re asking me, I like places with a view. Doesn’t have to be super fancy, could be a rooftop or a mountain or something. I like to feel like I’m on top of the world.”

You tilt your head back at him to match. “And if your date’s scared of heights?”

“They’re not getting a second date.” Satoru says bluntly. “Most of them don’t anyway.”

“Sheesh, we’ve got a real heartbreaker over here,” you remark. As always, Satoru falls for the bait and lets you get him riled up and defensive.

“When’s the last date you’ve been on? In my experience, you turn everyone down.” He huffs. “At least I give my suitors a chance.”

“It probably two years ago, and I’m not sure that even counted as a date.” You inform him, but don’t elaborate on the details. “I prefer not to lead people on.”

You must be able to tell he’s about to ask, because you rush into the next question. “Best sex you’ve ever had then, go.”

“Seriously?” He asks you flatly.

“Seriously,” you confirm solemnly. “I’ll wait.”

Satoru can immediately picture the sex in question, and it stirs up a plethora of emotions in him that he forces back down. He tries to look at it objectively (which proves impossible) but he can describe it vaguely enough to satisfy you.

“There was this one time I was on a mission in Harajuku,” he exhales. “I was supposed to kill this guy, and ended up fucking him instead.” A flush creeps into his face. “Then it happened a few more times.”

Your jaw drops. “How’s that for a meet cute?” 

“Right?” Satoru laughs, presently unwilling to explain how he knew Suguru long before that. “The higher ups were, uh, not happy with me. But I’m me, so they couldn’t do anything about it.” He shoves his hands into his pockets so you can’t see his fingers fidgeting.  “Anyway, your turn.”

“What did you like so much about it?” You press instead.

That it meant something to me. Instead he gives you a glare. “Why do you want to know that?”

“I’m just curious.” You say innocently. “What kind of thing brings Gojo Satoru to his knees?”

“Fine, if you’re so curious.” He does his best to be objective again. “I like that he let me take charge.”

“Really? You seem the type to lie down and take it.”

Satoru typically was when it came to Suguru, but his departure had been pretty fresh at the time. Satoru had needed to get his anger out somehow, and fucking Suguru till he’d cried had been pretty proficient. That’s how most of his sex goes nowadays with other people, where he’s the one in control and calling the shots. It’s gotten a little bit boring though, since nobody really fights him on it.

Not for the first time, he notices that heated look in your eyes. You seem to be waiting for a rebuttal to your challenge.

“Is that the impression you’ve gotten of me?” Satoru intentionally drops his voice in volume and in octave; standard, formulaic procedure for testing the waters. “Sweetheart, I’m the type to make you beg for it.”

But your reaction isn’t at all what he’s expecting. You don’t look away, or stammer, or even hit him for being so brash. You don’t even blush. You just smile wider, and the heat in your eyes has caught flame, quickly metastasizing into what might be a wildfire. “So am I.”

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

“Is that so? Now I’m curious.” Gojo tells you, seemingly unfazed. “But as I was saying, your turn.”

And then he just looks at you expectantly, the tiniest tilt of his lips the only indication that he can see right through you. Your face feels like it might be on fire.

“Mirrors.” You say tersely, remembering to answer. “I like mirrors.”

Predictably, Gojo laughs. “And I’m the narcissist?”

“It’s not about watching yourself, it’s about the watching other person.” You hesitate momentarily before issuing fighting words. “You should try it.”

Gojo has some of his own. “Are you offering?”

Are you? All signs should point to ‘absolutely the fuck not,’ because in addition to being your coworker, he’s Gojo Satoru — you certainly, definitely, indubitably should not fuck Gojo Satoru.

“It’s past my bedtime.” You’re on autopilot, spewing out excuses that sound lame even to your own ears. “I have work tomorrow.”

“Cancel.” He says sharply, like an order. Then, as though he catches himself, his tone softens into something more teasing. “Don’t you set your own hours?”

This is true. You can get away with opening late. You’ll just have to text Nanami—

Ah, fuck. You don’t want to do that either. You can already see the disappointment in his eyes.

“I have a shift with Nanami-”

“Oh, fuck Nanami.” Gojo rolls his eyes. “I mean, not tonight obviously. You should fuck me instead for sure.”

You’re very tempted. Your thoughts and imagination have been getting away from you lately, especially since last night…

No, you were right. This is a terrible decision.

“This is a terrible decision,” you inform him, and luckily your apartment is close enough for you to speed up towards it.

Not to be deterred, Gojo still follows. “Not even a goodnight kiss?”

You give him a shrewd look. “Do you think you deserve one?”

“I deserve a lot of things.” He says lightly, lowering his shades to give you a cheeky wink. “A kiss is the least of it, don’t you think?”

You come to a stop outside of your apartment complex. You’re grateful nobody’s around on the street to see this. “Does that usually work for you?”

“Usually I don’t have to go through so much effort.” He tells you. “You really should be more flattered. Getting offered the privilege of a goodnight kiss from myself is a high honor.”

“The privilege?” You repeat in disbelief. “It’s a wonder you get any play when you talk about yourself like that.” You grip the front of his shirt to pull him down to your level so you can look him in the eye. He lets it happen, only looking more pleased by the change in circumstance.

“Somebody should seriously put you in your place.”

“That so? And who would be capable of such a feat, hm?” He leans ever so slightly closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You, perhaps?”

You swallow. Shit, this is going to be so, so bad. 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Shit, this is going to be so, so good. Satoru hasn’t been this worked up in a long time. You’ve lit a fire in him that only you can extinguish, and he can see it in your eyes too. Your hips are so close that you can certainly feel how hard he is, and he wishes you’d push just a little further forward to grant him some friction.

 

“I suppose I must,” you hum mildly, staring into his eyes in that shameless way you do. And then the next second, you’re brushing by him and walking back towards the doors, leaving him suddenly very alone. “Not tonight, though. I do have a sense of decency, and my rent isn’t low enough to give my landlord a free show.”

Satoru stares after you, struck still in temporary shock. Then his senses come back to him, particularly the one that’s screaming at him that he needs to fuck you to tears, and his feet chase you of their own accord.

“You’re not going to just leave me here like this?”

“Why not?” You smirk at him, and something dies inside of Satoru that feels suspiciously like his pride. “I thought you were supposed to be the irresistible one. Go find another hot body to take care of you.”

He grits his teeth at your audacity.

“And let you win? Not a chance.” He grabs your arm to stop you from walking further, turning you to face him. “Besides, I already have a hot body right here.”

“Needy are we?” Your eyes glitter with heat and malice, a kind of meanness that truly does remind him of Sukuna. “You want me so badly? Beg for it.”

For whatever reason, Satoru's first instinct is to smile. Maybe he is a little fucked in the head.

“Beg? Me?” He tilts his head, looking down at you over his shades. “I thought we’ve been over this. I. Don’t. Beg.”

He leans a little further down with every word and thinks he might just catch your resolve starting to slip.

“We’ll see about that,” You reply, still stubborn as always. “Whose apartment are we at again? Mine. So unless you plan on doing it outside like an animal, you’re going to beg me to let you in with me.”

Your insistence is just as infuriating as it is hot. It makes him just mad enough that he wants to fuck it out of you. It looks like he’s either going to play by your rules or get kicked to the curb, which is not an option. His body feels like it’s on fire.

“You know what? Fine,” he takes a step closer to you, and you stand your ground. “You want me to beg? I’ll beg.” He lifts your chin so you’re looking into his eyes, and raises his voice to sound just a little more whiny. “Please, stop drawing this out. If it were up to me you’d be tied up in my bed by now.”

You swallow thickly, but you don’t waver. He commends your ability to keep calm even when you’re about to break.

“Not pathetic enough,” you say evenly. “Try again.”

Or not. Gojo’s grip tightens around your face, and you smirk at the increased pressure. Your eyes flicker with something dangerous.

“You’re enjoying this power too much, you know that?” He grits out through clenched teeth. You aren’t put off in the slightest. If anything, Satoru’s frustration just seems to feed into your attitude. He can feel your hands snaking up his sides, to his chest, over his shoulders. His skin feels like it’s sparking beneath his clothes, hot to the touch.

“I’m waiting,” you sing.

He can’t believe he’s actually about to do this. He’s never had to beg before, not like this at least. And yet, something about it is addicting. He wants to see just how far you’ll make him go, because he wants you. He’d do just about anything in this point to quell this insatiable urge to bring you to your most vulnerable.

“Please,” he pauses, exhales. “Please, you’ve been driving me crazy all fucking day. I need you. Need to touch you. Need to taste you.” His hand cups your jaw now, feeling your delicate skin beneath his fingers. “Need you in my mouth, need you around my cock, need you screaming my name like it’s all you fucking know.” 

“Fuck,” you hiss and squeeze your eyes shut, which means he must have done something right. The sound sends heat straight to his groin.

“That was, that was better,” you recover quickly, and reward him with a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. Satoru shudders at the ghost of your lips against his. “So generous of you to give me exactly what I want.”

You regain your sense of authority, and tug Satoru just slightly by the shirt to prompt him to move. Satoru lets you do it without complaint. He decides he’ll let you enjoy your reign over him while it lasts. 

Notes:

it’s about to get freaky deaky up in here guys!! i hope you’re ready for it because it’s about 8k words of pure sin, sorry not sorry. thank you all once again for the silly and sweet comments you’ve left on this fic so far. I’ve enjoyed reading every one of them and I’m so excited to hear what you all think of this one!

Chapter 4: the chapter where they [redacted]

Summary:

You actually shiver, feeling hot and cold all over. Yeah, he’s right, but you won’t let him get one over you so easily. You’re competitive, so you’re not going to just hand over control. He’ll need to pry it from your trembling hands. Two catastrophic words leave your lips before you can reconsider.

“Make me.”

Notes:

this is basically just smut. hoping to keep you guys well fed!! tags for mirror sex, gojo being a possessive mf, and hair pulling.

 

You can feel the reality of what you’re about to do setting in as you walk toward the elevator. Gojo doesn’t stop touching you, the hand on your back drifting brazenly lower. You give him a half-hearted glare and he only smirks at you in return. 

His hand finds your back pocket as you step into the elevator, and suddenly his lips are on your neck. He doesn’t even wait for the doors to close — not that it really matters, since nobody’s around. You can already feel yourself getting wet at how eager he is. You have just enough sense to fire off a quick text to Sukuna as he continues to mouth hungrily down your throat. 

 

heyyyyy  

 

ryo ٩(๑`^´๑)۶, 22:47 :
Oh no. 

What now?

 

sooo you can have the cats
for tonight, OR you can bring
them back to my apartment
but you’ve got about 30 seconds
and you need to make yourself
scarce. 

 

ryo ٩(๑`^´๑)۶, 22:47 :
Looks like I’m keeping the cats. 

Who exactly are you taking
to your metaphorical settlement
tonight, and will they want
another tour after? •̀⩊•́

 

i’ve already told you 

“pound town” is not a
metaphorical settlement,
it’s a lifestyle. 

and no, you can’t have my
sloppy seconds. 

i am the mayor of pound town
and i’m locking you out
for the night. 

 

ryo ٩(๑`^´๑)۶, 22:48 :
Ugh, no fun. 

 

you wouldn’t like the guy anyway. 

 

You pocket your phone at the same time the elevator opens. Gojo pulls off from where he’d been teasing, not really biting but nipping and kissing and sucking in a way that shouldn’t feel nearly as good as it does. 

“Do I have your attention now?” He teases, hand still in your back pocket as the two of you leave. You take him down the hallway towards your apartment, reaching into your other pocket for your keys. 

“You’ll live.” You say flatly. “Had to tell Sukuna not to expect me.” 

His lips find your neck again for the five seconds it takes you to get the door open, and then again when he slams you against the wall inside, flicking a hand to shut the door behind you (how the fuck does he do that). You don’t even get the chance to kick your shoes off before he starts taking you apart for real. 

He bites down hard at the junction between your neck and shoulder, and an embarrassing noise slips out of you that Gojo must like, because he groans against your skin. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna do that again for me,” he says it like an order, one you mindlessly follow as he continues to mark you up. Your hand fists itself in his white hair, finding it unexpectedly soft to the touch. 

“Ah, fuck,” you swear, feeling your control slip away because man that’s a really good spot he’s just latched onto. Your hips press up into his like they’re on autopilot.

“You,” you inhale sharply. “You can’t just do that.” 

You can feel him smiling against your skin, and he continues to maul the spot until you’re sure the bruise’ll last a week. “Why not? You’re so sensitive here.”

His hand has started tracing greedily up your stomach from beneath your tank top, hand splaying possessively across your ribcage. 

“Fuck, I could just take you right here against the door.” He murmurs, breath hot against your ear. “Kitchen table looks promising too. You wouldn’t have to wash your sheets.” 

He nips at your earlobe, desire painting his voice several shades darker than usual. You let out an embarrassing noise at the bite, all the sensations quickly starting to overwhelm you. You grab at his reverent, wandering hands, halting them so you can catch your breath.

“Fuck, you’re so impatient.” You hiss, glaring at him. “At least kiss me first.”

You tug him by the front of his shirt to finally press your lips together. Kissing Gojo Satoru is otherworldly. He groans against you, his lips moving pliantly and eagerly against yours. One of his hands tangles in your hair, while the other drops to squeeze your hip. His tongue licks slow and scalding into your mouth, like flowing lava. The kiss feels so hot it burns you to your very core, setting you ablaze from the inside out. You feel like you might be running out of air, but you don’t dare stop. 

He pulls away just when you think you might pass out, and nips at your bottom lip, his voice suddenly a bit hoarse. 

“If you think I’m being impatient now, just wait. I’m only getting started.”

Then he dives back in, tasting you like he can’t get enough. You whine into his mouth, your hips chasing friction with his, and he moans. His hands resume their exploration, familiarizing himself with the topographical map of your skin beneath his fingertips. He touches you like he’s worshipping you, and the thought makes you dizzy. 

“Shit, Gojo. Do you treat all of your one night stands like this?” You breathe against his lips. 

“Satoru,” he corrects you immediately. He very purposefully avoids your question. “And what makes you think we won’t do this again?” 

You chuckle wryly. “Yeah, yeah, you do recall that we work together, right?” 

Gojo only grins at you, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “That gives us all the more opportunity for a repeat, don’t you think?” 

“Mm, okay.” You murmur against his lips just before being pulled back into his orbit. “Just making sure we’re on the same page here.” 

Gojo has never really struck you as the type to consider the consequences of his actions. Alas, you’ve never really been that type either, so it can only go downhill from here. Even so, it’s hard not to agree with him when he kisses you like you’re made of oxygen and he’s starved for air. 

“Bedroom?” You ask breathlessly. 

He seems almost reluctant to tear his lips away from yours, but you recognize the resolve in his eyes. “Yeah, sounds good.” 

He starts to tug you away, and the hormone-induced film slips away just for a moment because you both realize he has no idea where he’s actually taking you, and it makes you laugh. 

“Don’t pull me around like you know where you’re going, here,” you open the door to your bedroom and tug him through it, closing it behind the both of you.

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Your room is relatively neat, only a few stray garments littered about, and it’s clear there was at least an attempt at making your bed this morning. Various trinkets rest atop your nightstand and dresser, trinkets that Satoru will definitely be sure to ask about later when his mind and body aren’t screaming at him to fuck you silly. 

“Don’t mind the mess,” you tell him, making him raise an eyebrow. If this is messy for you, he’s got a lot of cleaning up to do in his apartment before he ever has you over. If he ever has you over, but he’s already pretty intent on that happening. 

“What mess? The mess I’m about to make of you?” He leans forward, his hands finding your hips once more. They’re soft but solid beneath his hands. “I don’t mind that kind of mess at all, doll.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, though your cheeks grow undeniably darker. Satoru closes the space between the two of you, overly pleased by the way you have to look up at him. “If you think I care about what your room looks like right now, you’ve got my priorities all mixed up.”

“I’ll be making a mess of you, first, thank you,” to his surprise, you yank him down to your lips again, and he meets you with fervor. Your mouth is so hot against his, devouring him ruthlessly. He feels your fingers tug insistently at his shirt. “Take this shit off already, will you?”  

“And I’m impatient?” He tsks, but obliges. “It’s cute you still think you’re the one in charge here. Who said that I’d let-”

Satoru stops short, because you’ve removed your shirt as well, and your body is truly a sight to behold. His palms tingle with the urge to run themselves across your skin, to touch every inch of you and feel you beneath him. He wants to press a hand to your chest and feel your pulse underneath.

He finally tears his gaze away from your torso, but the look in your eyes is just as enrapturing. The first word that comes to mind is hungry.

“Me, I did.” You tell him, suddenly pulling him toward you by his belt loop and latching onto his collarbone, nipping at teasing at the skin there. His head starts to spin.

Yeah, fair point. He thinks to himself. He very quickly becomes putty in your hands at the way your lips press so sinfully against him. It almost feels calculated, how you’ve located and targeted each of his weak points that have him panting and straining against his jeans. 

He lets out a low groan, his head dropping to the side to give you better access. “Damn, you’re good.”

“Right? I know what I’m doing.” You put a hand on his chest, walking him backward until his knees hit the edge of your bed. You keep mouthing at his collarbone and neck until you find a spot that makes him tense beneath your hands, staying there and enjoying the way he writhes beneath you.

He lets out another strangled moan, his hands reflexively reaching out to grip your hips with bruising force. Part of him aches to take control, flip you over and fuck you into the sheets until all you know is his name. But another, newly awakened part is enjoying this very thoroughly, so that can wait a little longer. 

He suddenly feels a heavy, crushing pressure against his cock, and the sensation makes him toss his head back and actively gasp for air. He can’t stop himself from shivering under your touch, sparks of pleasure shooting down his spine. He’s embarrassed to find he’s achingly hard already.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” You simper, removing your heel of your hand to grant him a short mercy. Then you’re pushing him so he lands on his back with a huff. You climb over him until you’re face to face, looking down at him with something almost predatory. 

Suddenly, it’s very believable that you’d made a catsitter out of the King of Curses. You are a danger to humanity, to him, just in a very different way than he’d originally thought. With you above him looking at him like that, he’d probably do just about anything you asked him to. 

Satoru is recently deceased, and you’re purgatory come to decide whether he’s going up or down. 

(After tonight, it’ll definitely be down.) 

“I might go insane if you keep teasing me like this.” He admits finally, finding his fingers have started to tremble.

Your eyes spark for just a second, and a terrifying smile takes over your expression. “That’s kind of the point, baby. I want you to see stars.” 

Then your lips are back on his skin, marking your way down his chest, over his abdomen to the waistline of his pants and leaving a trail of hickeys in your wake. Your mouth sets fire to his skin wherever it touches, branding Satoru as yours. His cock is leaking now, desperate for more. 

Like you’d heard his silent prayer, he suddenly feels the wetness of your mouth through his pants, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to buck into your touch. 

“Fuck, don’t do that,” he hisses, glaring at you. You only smirk at him, looking dangerously sexy with your hair a mess and your eyes bright with mischief. 

You give him a shit-eating grin, then do it again. He shivers, gasping sharply at the feeling of your mouth on his cock through the fabric, his body arching off the bed. Satoru’s hands reflexively clutch at the sheets, desperate to hold onto something, anything, to ground himself.

“You’re so damn cocky,” he hisses, both angry and incredibly turned on at how you’d flipped the tables on him. “Enjoy this while it lasts, because you won’t be in control for long.” 

Predictably, you scoff. “Tough talk for a guy shaking in my sheets.”

You sit up slightly, bracing your hands on either side of his hips so you can stare him down. “Do you want me to suck you off, yes or no?” 

You palm him agonizingly slowly through the fabric, smearing your spit and his precum all over his probably-ruined pants and definitely-ruined boxers. The touch makes his breath hitch, his hips canting almost involuntarily against your hand. He tries to hold himself together, tries to think of something witty to say, but all that comes out is a broken, “fuck, yes. Please.” 

You grin wolfishly, teeth bared with your messy hair falling slightly into your face.

“Good boy,” you purr, sending shivers up his spine. “I didn’t even have to ask you to beg that time.” You hook a finger into the waistband of his boxers, stretching them up, up, along with his pants, and releasing them against his skin with a harsh snap. 

“Do you care about these?” You ask as he hisses at the pain. When the sting subsides, Satoru notices your finger poised and ready, cursed energy swirling excitedly around the tip of it. The implication clicks in his brain. 

“You’re crazy,” he murmurs, but when you only tilt your head expectantly in reply, he exhales shakily. “No, I don’t.” 

He holds his breath, heart racing. It takes everything in him not to let his Infinity take over when you slice slowly and acutely through the fabric. His breath catches as he feels your cursed energy brush just over his skin where he’s most sensitive, searing hot and sharp as a knife. But it’s over just as soon as it started and there isn’t a scratch on him. He only has a few seconds to slow his heart rate before he feels your lips on the head of his cock. 

He outright whines when you kiss the tip, and you must take pity on him because you practically swallow him whole soon after. His mind is a mess, any coherent thoughts replaced by sheer need. It’s all he can do to keep his hips still, though you’re holding them down with strength he wasn’t aware you had. 

“Mm, fuck,” he groans, and puts his hand over his mouth to muffle himself. You aren’t having it, because you take said hand and place it in your hair instead, humming in approval when he immediately grabs hold. You come off to give him a smirk. 

“Want to hear you,” you insist, and then your lips wrap around him once more, now blowing him in earnest. He’s having trouble believing that you’re real, and not one of his teenage fantasies. A plethora of incoherent sounds fall through his lips, shaky breaths and moans that sound vaguely like your name, over and over again like a prayer. 

He can feel the precipice approaching, and he’s almost disappointed in himself. He’s never gotten there so fast — maybe it was all of the buildup beforehand, but he’s actually going to shoot down your throat any second now if he doesn’t say something. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart, I’m close.” 

You must take that as a challenge, because your efforts miraculously double. He tries to warn you, he really does, but then waves of pleasure overtake him and he’s spilling hot and warm in your mouth. The air around the both of you starts fizzing and popping like a soda bottle shaken and opened. He thinks he hears something shatter in the room, and vaguely hopes it wasn’t important. His mind grows a little hazy at the fact that your lips are still there, sucking every last drop from him while your thumbs lazily skate over his hipbones in a way that almost feels intimate. 

You look so fucking good with his cock in your mouth that it makes him go a little lightheaded.  It’s official — you’re going to be the death of him, and he’s going straight to hell. 

When you finally pop off, you look unbearably smug. Your thumbs continue tracing little patterns over Satoru’s hips, easing him down from his high.

“Now correct me if I’m wrong,” you say, your voice steady if not a bit husky from having his dick in your throat. “But I believe I just made a mess of you.” 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Gojo is fucking beautiful when he comes. He’s beautiful all the time, objectively speaking, but watching him throw his head back, feeling his muscles tense beneath your fingertips, hearing the pretty, pretty noises from his pretty, pretty throat — it’s ethereal. His hair is a mess, his eyes are glassy, and his cheeks are flushed beyond recognition. Seeing him in this state does something dangerous to your inhibitions.

He’s flushed in patches of pink across his pale skin, sweat dripping down his face and chest. It’s fine, you were planning on changing your sheets soon anyway. Plus, you expect the night to get a lot messier. You’re hardly finished with him, and by the starved look in his eye, he seems hardly finished with you too. 

“So what’s next?” You tilt your head playfully. Gojo glares half-heartedly at you, slowly sitting up. He beckons you toward him, and you crawl playfully into his lap, relishing in the way he swallows thickly at the sight of you.

“What’s next is that it’s my turn to make a mess of you.” His arrogant smirk has returned. His fingers start to play with the waistband of your pants. 

You challenge him with a raise of your eyebrows. “I’d like to see your best shot.” 

“Careful what you wish for,” he says, leaning toward your neck to breathe hot and wet against your skin. “You just might get it.” 

He helps you slide your pants off fully, his eyes trailing up your bare legs and pausing at your underwear. A playful smile stretches across his face. 

“Oh, so you actually wear Calvin Klein.” He slides a finger between waistband and skin, grazing your hipbone. “Looks good on you, doll. Forget Nanami, if I saw you on an advertisement I’d buy out their whole stock.”

He sits back against the headboard to admire you, and you flush a little under his gaze. His eyes rake up and down your nearly-naked form, and though you’re no blushing virgin he still manages to make you feel vulnerable and exposed. Shy, even. 

“Your work uniform should be just these and the apron.” He jokes. “I think it’d bring in a lot of business, and you make the dress code, don’t you?” He finally stops ogling your body and meets your eyes. “You think they’d sponsor us?” 

“You’d keep the apron?” You make a face at him. “It’s so ugly.” 

“I was trying to spare at least some of your decency, but you’re right. You’d look so much better without it.” His finger finally hooks under your waistband, starting to tug it off. “Though still not quite as good as the whole picture.” 

You shift a little to help him (because unlike him, you do like these underwear and want to keep them), though once you’re completely bare he takes another eternal minute just to look at you. You want to tug him forward to your lips, or neck, anywhere just so he isn’t staring at you with such veneration. It makes you want to tremble, and he isn’t even touching you. 

But his resolve seems to finally snap, and it’s like a switch flips. He actually growls before surging in for the kill. “All fucking mine.” 

He bites down hard on your neck again, and you groan at the feeling. Your hips move involuntarily against his thigh. Still, by some miracle Gojo’s words register in your brain through the haze. 

“Who,” you break off in a short gasp, “who said I was yours?” 

His hands grip your waist impossibly tighter as he continues to nip at your skin. “I decided so the second you walked away from me. Knew I wanted to make you my little plaything for the night.” He plants wet, open-mouthed kisses up your neck and jaw until he reaches your ear, his voice a low murmur. “And I don’t share my toys.”

You’re royally fucked in the head if you like being called a toy this much. You feel yourself getting wetter against his thigh and it’s extremely incriminating, but you’ll stay stubborn as long as you can.

“Possessive, Satoru.” You purr out his name. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

“Probably something about being an only child, right?” He leans back to meet your eyes, and his hand suddenly cracks harshly against the flesh of your ass, making you gasp. “I don’t let my toys talk back to me, either.” 

He gives you a smirk to let you know he definitely didn’t miss how much you’d liked that. 

“Shut me up, then,” you say, and it’s like you’d given him the green light to flip your positions and shove you into the mattress. He has your arms pinned above your head with one hand, his other hand coming up to ghost over your face, tracing your features before tilting your chin up.

“You’ll be begging me to by the time I’m done with you. You’ll be crying out all these embarrassing things, telling me how much you need me, how good I make you feel, how you like being my good, obedient little plaything.” He leans down to whisper again in your ear, the heat of his breath sending tremors down your spine. You bite your lip against a desperate whine threatening to escape. “And you’re gonna moan so, so nicely for me. Aren’t you?” 

You actually shiver, feeling hot and cold all over. Yeah, he’s right, but you won’t let him get one over you so easily. You’re competitive, so you’re not going to just hand over control. He’ll need to pry it from your trembling hands. Two catastrophic words leave your lips before you can reconsider.

“Make me.”

Gojo’s eyes actually go darker at the challenge, pools of blue fire crackling in the forefront of your vision. The air around you is supercharged with energy, and not only in your imagination. You’re sure it’s him, his cursed energy going off the fucking rails, and you’d be proud of yourself for bringing him to this state if you weren’t also a little bit scared for your life. He almost looks feral. 

“Change of plans. I’m going to make you fucking scream.” He dark glare shifts into something wicked, and suddenly the hand caressing your face is gripping your jaw, and its thumb has slotted itself between your lips. “Suck on it, slut.”

Oh God. 

You close your lips around it as though in a trance, doing as your told because you like this so much more than you thought you would. Gojo rewards you with a grin, pressing his thumb down on your tongue and using it as leverage to tilt your head back even further.

“You’ll have to get your neighbors some noise canceling headphones,” he teases you. You glare at him, but the malice is lost in how turned on you are right now. 

“Only if it’s coming out of your wallet,” you try to say, but it comes out a jumbled slur because you no longer have proper use of your mouth. He huffs out a laugh at your pathetic attempt, and presses down just a little bit harder.

“Now, now. No more talking. Words seem a little difficult for you right now.” He slowly pulls his thumb from your mouth, shamelessly smearing spit across your cheek. His hand travels down your neck, the center of your chest, past your stomach, and hovers tauntingly over where you need him the most.

“And don’t you worry about my wallet. I can afford it.”

Gojo finally, finally starts to tease at your folds, and you shudder with need at his touch. The moan he draws out from you is loud and desperate. You find yourself pushing your hips into his hand insistently, but he pulls just out of reach with each attempt. He chuckles, the sound dark and primal.

“There you go, sweetheart. So obedient. You know your place now, don’t you?” He nibbles on your earlobe, his tongue tracing along the shell of your ear before he continues in a whisper. “That’s right, you’re all mine. My toy to play with however I want.”

A sound that closely resembles a whine comes from high in your throat as his thumb starts to tease at your clit. Fuck, he is never letting you live this down — you can feel him grinning against your ear. 

“That’s a pretty sound. Go ahead. Let me hear all of it.” 

It’s like you aren’t even in control of your body anymore, because you’re doing it before you can even stop yourself. You’re sure you sound like a mess right now with all of the desperate noises you’re making, but all that’s going on in your head is touch me touch me touchmetouchme.

“That’s my sweet, needy little toy. You’re being so good for me,” he praises you. His thumb continues to tease your clit as the tips of his finger collects the slick from your folds to nudge its way inside you. It meets no resistance, and the feeling of finally having something inside you comes as a relief. You watch him smile at the sight, staring at his own finger moving in and out of you as though he’s in a trance. “My, my. You’re so wet, I just slide right in. How did this happen?”

You gasp sharply and see stars for a split second as he curls it inside of you, hitting all the right spots. Your walls clench against him as he draws out just to shove it right back in at an agonizingly slow pace. You need more, and you need it fast. 

“Please,” you exhale, and much to your frustration, Gojo stills inside of you. 

“Please what?” He prompts. 

“Need more,” your chest is rising and falling in heavy breaths. “Please.” 

Gojo hums his approval, and slowly starts to increase his pace. He rewards your obedience by slipping another finger into you beside the first one. He scissors them inside you, stretching you open. 

“Tell me how much you like this, and I’ll add another,” he offers. You won’t miss out on that opportunity, your pride be damned.

“Fuck, love, ah, being your toy- wanna be good for you. Please don’t stop, fuck!” Words spill out of you in incomprehensible waterfalls, a mix of swearing and saying please and Satoru and baby. He lets you babble on for a little longer before he makes good on his promise, sliding that third finger home right beside the first two. Your back arches at the stretch, a cry of his name punched out of you at the intrusion. 

“That’s it. My name sounds so good on your lips,” he chides, fucking you at a brutal pace now. You can feel yourself getting nearer and nearer to falling off the edge and into the abyss of those ocean eyes. He must be able to tell, because his fingers quicken, and so does his assault on your sensitive clit. “Mm, you’re so perfect, so good for me. Come for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.” 

The nickname is starting to grow on you, but that’s the last coherent thought you have before you’re gone, mind completely blank as you come. You think your world goes white for a second. You’re shaking with the pleasure wracking through you in waves, moaning something incomprehensible that’s probably supposed to be Gojo’s name as your walls clench violently around his fingers. He continues to fuck you through it, milking your orgasm out of you through the aftershocks. 

You can’t breathe until after you come down, desperately sucking in air to combat the dizziness. Gojo grins at you, proud and smug when you seem to come back to yourself. “That’s my good girl. Look at how perfect you are.” 

He slowly removes his fingers from inside you, bringing them up to his mouth and licking them clean, making it a point to maintain eye contact with you. He hums approvingly at the taste, and you feel a dull sense of pride that’s quickly overcome by exhaustion. You let your head fall back against the pillow, murmuring weakly. “Fuck, don’t call me that.” 

Gojo finally releases your wrists and settles onto the bed beside you. He wraps an arm around your waist, rubbing small, pleasant circles into the bottom of your ribcage. “You know you like it. You took it all so well.” 

His hand traces up your face, turning it so you’ll look at him. “I hope you don’t think we’re done here.” 

“Mm, no, not in the slightest,” you turn your body to face him as well, pressing a soft, almost intimate kiss to his lips before looking him in the eye. “I want to show you what I like so much about mirrors.” 

“Oh?” His cheeks grow a little pink at your sudden gesture, but his eyes keep their teasing spark. “I’m up for a demonstration.” 

The realization hits you suddenly that your closeness here is nice. You like the way his arm feels around you just a little too much, the warmth of Gojo’s body against yours. But that’s dangerous, so you’d better get back to fucking before you can linger too long on it. 

So you give him a cheeky wink. “The bathroom’s connected through that door. I’ll let you fuck me on the sink.” 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

And that’s how Satoru ends up standing behind you in your bathroom, transfixed by the way you both look in this moment. It seems to be the best-kept room in your apartment, and might honestly be bigger than your actual bedroom. It’s complete with both a shower and a bathtub, along with a mirror that stretches across the entire wall and a sink with abundant counter space. 

He currently has you held against his chest, grazing his fingers along your body and admiring the way you shake with want. He understands the hype now, watching your eyes glaze over in the mirror, each of your tiny reactions put on blast by your reflection. 

Inarguably, both of you are a mess. You’re both covered in hickeys, hair mussed beyond recognition, skin flushed and lips swollen. But you look so good together, Satoru has to take a mental step back for a second before he can let the thought get too far. It’s undeniable, though — your features compliment his so perfectly, like you’d been sketched by the same hand, sculpted by the same artist. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Satoru breathes. “You look so good next to me, don’t you think?”

He presses a soft kiss against the skin of your neck, eyes still locked on the two of you mirror.

Your hand flies up into his hair, tightening its hold as you press your hips against his already hard cock. “Come on, Gojo,” you implore him with a groan, eyes fluttering shut as you avoid the question either out of self-preservation or a sense of desperation. “I needed you to fuck me like, yesterday.” 

He chuckles to himself. Your insistence makes him want to tease you, make you work for it, but he decides to be merciful.

“Someone’s impatient,” he murmurs against your skin. “Maybe I just wanted to admire you for a bit.” 

He very pointedly ignores how intimate that had sounded, and nips at your neck again, one hand slowly drifting down your body to rest against your hip. You look like you might want to say something in retort, but Satoru isn’t paying much attention. He’s too busy losing to the intrusive thought that tells him to push his fingers into your mouth. 

You moan around them and he’s hooked, entranced by the sight of you like this. The way your cheeks are blushing, the way your eyes are already glassy and filled with want. He slowly moves his fingers in and out of your mouth, his other hand sliding down to where you’re already dripping for him. He toys with you for a moment before finally sliding a finger in, matching the slow pace his other hand is fucking your mouth with. 

“Mmm, you look so pretty like this. So good for me.” 

You let out another soft moan against his fingers, now wrapping your lips around them like it’s instinct. His dick twitches when he notices how your legs start shaking beneath you. He smiles against your neck again, his lips mouthing against your skin, leaving soft kisses here and there. All you can do is watch yourself be ruined by him, watch you lose your own mind in pleasure. Satoru wants nothing more in this moment than to break you, and he has a feeling that he’s already halfway there. 

“Can you see yourself, sweetheart?” He asks you, knowing full well you can’t respond. “Such a needy little wreck, and I’ve barely even touched you.” 

Satoru uses the other two fingers that aren’t fucking your mouth to gently grab your chin and hold you in place so you can see exactly what he’s done to you.

“Look up. Watch us.”

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

You’re watching. You couldn’t tear your eyes away if you tried. You do your best to focus, you really do, but your mind is so hazy now. 

“Please,” you murmur, not even knowing what you’re begging for. Just that you need more.

Gojo just smiles at you, pulling his fingers from your mouth and letting your own spit drip down your chin in exchange for the small mercy of allowing you to talk. “Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you want.” 

He moves his finger a little faster inside you, another pressing against your entrance to join it. You exhale in a daze. You must become someone else for a moment, you’d swear it, because words start spilling out of you entirely unfiltered. 

“Bend me over the sink and make me watch, please.” 

His fingers still. You chase the friction, but he squeezes your hip in warning. 

“Holy shit,” Gojo stares at you with something like awe. Some suppressed part of you takes a little bit of pride at being able to catch him off guard, but that’s quickly washed over by the rest of you that’s quite literally only thinking about getting railed. 

Gojo sighs in a way that sounds both desperate and defeated. “Since you asked so nicely.” 

He removes his fingers, and you’re whining at the loss until your front is forced against the cold counter. One searing hand rests on your hip while the other grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks it up. You watch his grin widen in the mirror, eyes ridden with something wild and primal. 

“Like this, sweetheart?”

“You read my mind.” You can’t help but groan.

Something is missing though, and that’s the fact that he’s still not fucking you. Instead the hand on your hip smooths up and down your back, branding your skin with his touch, and he’s watching you in the mirror like you’re a cinematic masterpiece. 

“You look so good right now, on display just for me.” He murmurs. You swear you can feel the air pulsing around the both of you. “All marked up and fucked out by me. About to be so full of me.” 

You’re starting to think maybe he really is a narcissist, or he just has some crazy possessive kink, but you don’t get to think about it too hard because then he’s lining up with your entrance, pressing his chest against your back to whisper in your ear. 

“Before that though, I think I’d like to hear you beg for it,” he murmurs, so damn smug you would hit him if you were any less desperate. “Beg for me.” 

You know this is payback from earlier. You know he’s trying to get even. The funny thing is that you don’t care at all, because you’re so wet it’s dripping down your thigh and the urge to get fucked is so much stronger than your pride. 

“Please, baby. Need you inside me. Need you to fuck me, please.” 

You aren’t used to begging either, but you do a decent enough job if the way he shudders and momentarily shuts his eyes is any indication. But then he recovers, starting to lean forward. 

“Mmm, that’s good. But I think I need a little more.” He presses his chest to your back, his lips grazing your ear as he purrs softly. “I’m not quite convinced yet.”

“Fuck,” you hiss, and words start spilling out of you once more, saying anything and everything you can imagine he wants to hear. “Need it like breathing, need it so, so bad. Want you to use me like a fucking toy, please.” 

“So filthy.” He admonishes, though you can tell he likes it because he sounds incredibly pleased as he whispers again. “Just remember to breathe.” 

That’s the only warning he gives you before pushing himself into your sopping cunt. Your mind empties itself of all thoughts once you feel the way he stretches you inside, how his cock pushes against your walls and hits deep just where you need it. You moan out something indiscernible, hands grabbing hold of the sink for purchase. Your mouth is moving against your will again. 

“Fuck, I need you, I need you, Ineedyou, please-“

Gojo groans at the combination of the desperation in your voice and the way you’re squeezing tight around his cock. His hand is gripping your hip with bruising force, now, probably trying to restrain himself from slamming into you right away.

“You feel so good,” he tells you, his head tossed back in pleasure. “Shit, we should’ve been doing this sooner.” 

In answer to your silent prayer, he finally starts to move in and out of you. Slowly at first, probably trying to get you used to the stretch, but while you appreciate the sentiment, you need it hard and you need it fast. You reach up to the hand that’s in your hair, raking your nails down the side of his forearm. 

“If you don’t fuck me like you mean it, Gojo, I swear to God-”

He snaps, now thrusting his hips in and out of you at a brutal pace. He growls low in his throat as you cry out in ecstasy. 

“Satoru,” he corrects you through clenched teeth. “It’s Satoru. Now say it.” 

You’re having a hard time finding your breath because his dick is punching it out of you, but you manage enough to get a few words through. 

“Satoru, ‘need you, ah! Please don’t stop, please!” He moans in approval, continuing to pound the ever loving fuck out of you while he holds you in place so you can watch. If it weren’t for him doing so, you think you might have collapsed on the floor.

His hand suddenly tightens in your hair. “Look at yourself. Look at how wrecked you are.”

You truly are a wreck, tears in your eyes blurring your vision from how good it all feels. The thought crosses your mind that you could seriously let Gojo fuck you forever if this is what it feels like.

“Satoru,” you cry, no longer caring about how loud you are as the sound of your broken moans and skin on skin echo in the bathroom. “Fuck, you’re so deep.” 

His hips stutter in their rhythm, just momentarily. He must have liked that. 

“Mmm, say it again.” His pace quickens impossibly, and the hand that was forcing your hips to stay still now nudges itself between your stomach and the counter. You groan at the new angle, as his cock now hits that spot that sends sparks in front of your vision with every thrust. The added pressure of his hand on your stomach informs you that now he can feel just how deep he is inside you too. “Say my name again.”

“Satoru,” you moan broken, saying it over and over again until it’s just stuttered syllables. “Satoru, Satoru, S-satoru.” 

You’re chanting it like it’s your own personal mantra, screaming it until your voice is hoarse. Gojo’s head drops again as his hips move faster, rougher, just how you like it.

“Mmm, louder, doll.”

“Satoru!” You’re practically shouting now, your insides now rearranged perfectly to fit the shape of him. All the while you can only watch in the mirror while you fall apart with him behind you, hair disheveled, sweaty, eyes dark with lust. He looks deadly like this, so different from the silly, flirty guy you work with. “Satoru! Fuck, Satoru, please I'm so close-”

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Satoru groans, nearly growling into your ear. He lifts his head and looks in the mirror to see you watching, sees the expression on your face, and he curses under his breath. He’s never imagined he'd see you like this, and yet here you are all because of him. It makes him want to break you fully just to reshape you all over again. The way you feel around him is addicting — your warm, wet heat that fits him so perfectly, the way you cry out when he fucks you just right. 

He’s obsessed, which is probably not ideal, but it’s too late to lament now. He’s hooked, and he wants nothing more than for you to cum around his cock. His hips snap forward into you, his pace getting more and more desperate. He’s getting louder too, the sounds of his pants and grunts getting mixed in with your moans. He’s close as well, he can feel it, but he wants to bring you there first. 

“Just, ah, just one more time, sweetheart.” He prompts, though the desperation ringing his words makes it sound like he’s pleading. “Say my name while you come so you know who gave that to you.”

“Ah, Satoru!” You cry out obediently, brokenly, but now you’re coming. Your walls pulse deliciously around Satoru’s cock, refusing to let go. Your slick paints the counter and the insides of your thighs, and your voice is so, so alluring to his ears when you’re crying out his name. 

“Just a little longer,” he grunts out your name through clenched teeth, “almost there-” 

“Inside,” you hiss, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. They’re glazed over, overstimulated, your cheeks are flushed pink, and drool is still dripping from the corners of your mouth. You look so fucked out, so desperate, that the word doesn’t register until you say it again. “Want you to come inside me.”

With a cry of your name, Satoru buries himself deep, his movements becoming erratic and desperate as he comes. Pleasure hits him in waves, making his whole body shake with an orgasm unlike any he’s ever had before — something breaks in the neighboring room again, his cursed energy out of control. He groans low in his chest as he shoots his load inside you, rope after rope of his seed painting your walls to his liking. You help him through it, fucking yourself back on his cock to milk every last drop. 

Just when he thinks it’ll never end, his entire body goes rigid for a moment before finally collapses on top of you, letting your head rest on the counter. His body shakes with the aftershocks, and he can feel his own breath hot against the sweaty skin of your shoulder.

You both just lie there for a minute, Satoru still trying to gather his bearings. Mindlessly, he gives you a soft, appreciative kiss on the shoulder, which seems to bring you out of your trance. 

“Gojo?” You mumble against the sink. His mouth opens impulsively to correct you, but then again, why should he? It’d just been for the sex. It’s not like you need to refer to him so familiarly when it’s over, right? 

So instead he smooths a hand over your hair, and puts on a sleepier version of his usual front. “Yeah?”

“‘m gonna draw a bath,” you inform him. “But you’ve gotta get off of me first.”

Satoru laughs, but he obliges and steps back, pulling out just slightly begrudgingly. Some of his cum spills out of you, dribbling down your leg, and his cock twitches at the sight. He doesn’t think he can go for another round, though. It might kill the both of you.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’m ever recovering from that,” you murmur, stumbling the short distance to the tub to get it started.

“Yeah, me neither,” Satoru agrees, leaning his shoulders against the wall and watching you circle your hand in the bath water to gauge the temperature. “You sound so good when you scream my name.”

“Mm, well don’t get used to it,” you tell him flatly, shutting the water off once it’s gotten full. “Hey, watch this.” You press a button, and the water starts to bubble on all sides of the tub, implying the function of jets. 

“Ta da,” you sing wearily with a poor attempt at jazz hands. Satoru laughs, because even after all that you’re so undeniably you, and he’s quickly starting to realize that he likes you more than he thought he did. 

Oh. Oh no. 

“C’mere,” you wave him over, taking a step into the tub yourself. “When I said I was drawing a bath, I meant you too.” Once you settle in, a satisfied sigh passes through your lips, your eyes fluttering shut. Satoru feels a twinge of something, probably affection, and shakes his head before taking a few steps towards the bath.

Instead of getting in, he kneels beside where you’re sitting, resting his forearms on the edge. While your eyes are still shut and you’re content enough to allow it, he reaches out and runs a hand through your hair. As expected, you don’t try and nag at him like you normally would. Instead you lean into his touch with a hum, and it makes Satoru feel soft all over. 

“What’s wrong?” You tease him gently. “Scared of the water?” 

“Not at all,” Satoru chuckles. He moves his hand from your hair to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. He pauses for a moment as he looks into your eyes, a little afraid to break the peaceful atmosphere that’s settled over you. “You said you’ve been single for a while . . . why?” 

Luckily, you don’t seem angry. Instead you laugh. “You’re asking me all these hard questions after you fucked my brains out? That’s not fair, Gojo.” You lean into his touch again, looking thoughtful. “I guess I’m kind of terrible with people in any way that isn’t superficial. I hate being vulnerable and nobody wants that. Occasional sex is just easier.” 

Satoru blinks. It’s like looking into a mirror. He can see himself in the way you speak about it, in the way you can’t really look at him when you admit to your faults. Like they aren’t what make you human. 

“You don’t think anyone could love you the way you are?” Satoru asks. He understands, he knows exactly how it feels, putting up a front for people to fall in love with because the real thing is ugly and brash and unpalatable.

“No.” You frown at him. “I don’t.” 

“Well I-” 

He breaks off when you roll your eyes, some of your snappishness coming back to you. You push to the opposite wall, leaving Satoru’s hand now cold and empty. 

“Shut the fuck up and get in the tub.” You murmur, looking away again. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

Satoru follows you, letting the hot water lap at his ankles, then his legs, then his hips and waist as he sits beside you. This tub probably isn’t meant for two people, but you make it work, letting your limbs tangle together in front of you. “What did you think I was going to say?” 

“That you disagree? That you think I’m perfectly lovable or some bullshit like that.” You scoff.  “Really, Gojo, there’s no need.” 

Satoru’s hand finds your hair again, now brushing it away from your face. “I was just going to say I feel the same.” 

“Oh.” You finally turn to look at him, blinking at him with wide eyes. “Sorry, then.” 

“It’s fine.” Satoru shrugs, because it is, really. His role has always been to be the strongest sorcerer and to protect humanity from curses, and as long as he can fulfill that role then that’s all that matters. “Sorry to bum you out, we can talk about something happier now. Guess I was just curious since you fuck like that.” He taps his finger against your nose to lighten the mood. “And also because you’re kind of unbelievably beautiful. I’m sure you get that a lot, though.” 

“Yeah, but it means more coming from you.” You lean your head against his shoulder now, the tension falling away from your shoulders. “You’re a shit liar. I know you mean it.” 

“Of course I do, look at you.” He teases. “Anyway, here’s a question that’s a little more pertinent. Are you going to kick me to the curb, or are you a cuddle after kind of person?” 

“Depends on the person. I think you’ve earned the privilege of spending the night,“ you turn your head and press a kiss to one of the hickeys you’d left behind on his neck, “but don’t get used to it.” 

Satoru laughs, because even he knows it’s a ridiculous pretense. “We both know this isn’t going to be a one-time thing, right?”

You hum against his skin. “I hope not. That was some of the best sex I’ve had in my fucking life.” You lean away, then bite your cheek, remorseful. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, though. That’s gonna do terrible things for your ego.”

Satoru laughs, the sound soft and deep in his chest. “Too late now. The damage is done.”

Satoru washes your hair, then his own, and helps you scrub down your body too. He fetches you some towels as you’re draining the water, and you both dry yourselves off. You can barely walk, and so he helps you into the bed, where you immediately collapse. He helps you under the covers, another bout of fondness seizing his heart as you nuzzle into the pillows, asleep even before he gets to flicking the lamp off.

A quick survey around your room informs him that his cursed energy had broken not only an empty vase, but a ceramic coffee mug that you’d had on your desk in the corner. He hopes neither of them were very important to you, and vows to buy you new ones as an apology. 

As he turns the light off, he notices you’d left your phone open and unlocked on your nightstand. Satoru reaches over to turn it off so the light won’t wake you, but a string of messages in your control center catch his eye. 

 

ryo ٩(๑`^´๑)۶, 23:47

I seriously hope my ears
are deceiving me, and you’re
not actually getting railed by
Gojo right now. 

Fuck, you sound good though.
Should be my name. 

 

Satoru’s surprised that he uses proper punctuation. He’d honestly expected the guy to text in all caps. In response, he sends a selfie with the flash on from above, the ends of your hair draped tellingly across the pillow beside him. 

 

they’re busy <3. 
(Seen: 00:26)

 

He makes sure to silence your phone completely before setting it face down back on the dresser (which is good, because Sukuna ends up calling your phone three times after that). He wraps his arm around your waist, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and letting himself bask in the warmth of your body against his. You hum in your sleep, pressing yourself more firmly against him, and he holds you just a little tighter in response. 

As he’s nodding off, he thinks to himself that even if he can’t be loved the way other people can, maybe he can have this, and if this is the closest he’ll get, he’ll take it. 

 

 

Notes:

Wow that was a bittersweet ending to a whole lot of smut huh. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!!

this was supposed to be 2 chapters but i became y/n and said “I’ll make it fit.”
I don’t really know what’s going to happen next chapter. I basically just put fluff or smut or crack or angst on a wheel and spin it (just kidding! This fic is genuinely way more carefully planned than I expected it to be). Let me know what you thought of this one though — I’m kind of awful at writing smut tbh so i hope it was at least readable <3. Thank you all for your support and feedback, as always!!

Chapter 5: angel of small death

Summary:

Gojo rushes over to you, steadying you with a solid hand.

“Are you okay?” His voice drips with worry. “What did you do?”

“Oh, hey,” you manage a smile. Your vision is starting to swim, seeing double of those very intense, very blue eyes of his. “You’re late.”

Then you pass out in his arms.

Notes:

this chapter took me 5ever to write because it’s like all plot and I hate plot bruh why did I make myself do thissss
It’s not like it’s boring though it’s just tedious :,) so hopefully you enjoy!
Also let me know what you think of the new paragraph separators. I feel like they’re fun and will probably go back and change the others at some point.

 

You’re still sleeping peacefully when Satoru slips out that morning. He can hear you breathing softly as he gathers his clothes from various corners of the room. Your eyelashes fan delicately over your cheeks and you look nothing short of serene, hair spread gracefully over your pillowcase. He writes you a note, and savors the picture for a little longer than he probably should before returning to his apartment. 

Satoru is ten minutes late to class. Three minutes off from his standard seven, so of course his students have questions. Rounding the corner, he comes face-to-face with Nobara, who looks unashamed about clearly trying to skip class all while Megumi and Yuuji hold her back from the door. 

“He’ll be here any second, you-” Yuuji breaks off abruptly at seeing Satoru in the doorway, and promptly releases Nobara’s arm. With the release of tension, Nobara swings dangerously toward one of the desks, but Megumi yanks her out of the way just before she can crash.

“Yuuji!” Nobara is quick to chastise. “What the hell-” 

“You’re late, sensei! You said you’d be here early to spar with me!” Yuuji exclaims, fixing Satoru with an accusatory look. The older man blanches, a faint memory of promising to do just that bubbling into the back of his mind. 

“I did say that, didn’t I?” He laughs. “Sorry, Yuuji, that’s totally my bad! What about after school today?” 

Nobara gives him a smug smirk. She still hasn’t stopped making fun of him for working nights at a pizza place. “Don’t you have to go watch over that curse user?” 

“They’ll understand.” Satoru waves a hand. He’ll text you about it after class, if he doesn’t forget. “I don’t think I need to worry about them so much anyway. They’re not really a curse user.” 

“Even after resurrecting Sukuna?” Megumi grumbles. Satoru understands the mistrust of his students. After all, he’d felt exactly the same a week ago when he’d first met you. He figures they’ll understand when they get to know you, and he says as much but is predictably met with more disbelief. 

“I just don’t get why they’d do it.” Yuuji rolls his eyes. “I guess I hated having him in my head, but not enough to reincarnate him or whatever.” 

“I won’t make excuses for them, and I probably couldn’t if I tried.” Satoru tells him honestly. He doubts he’ll ever truly understand the inner machinations of your mind, no matter how close he thinks he is to doing so. “I’ll ask next time I see them, though I can’t promise they’ll give me a real answer.” 

Nobara snorts. “Sounds like somebody we know.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Satoru smiles good-naturedly. He’s only just started to see how similar you are to him after last night. He’d spent most of his morning thinking about it. Well, among other things. “Well, now that I’m here I think it’s about time for class, don’t you think?” 

He’s met with a collective groan. Nobara seems intent on stalling their training as long as she can. 

“Why were you so late anyway?” She asks boredly, resting her chin on her palm. “We thought you weren’t coming at all.” 

Satoru lies. “Well unfortunately, I got a little preoccupied with a curse.” 

“Yeah, right.” Megumi calls him out on his bullshit immediately. “If there was a curse, you’d kidnap us to go take care of it for practice.” 

Nobara suddenly gasps, her lips tilting wickedly into a smirk. Her eyes are caught on something just above Satoru's collar. “Did a curse give you that hickey on your neck, sensei?” 

Satoru slaps a hand over the bruise, but it’s too late. They’ve all seen it, and his hasty reaction proves it even if they hadn’t. 

“Who were you with last night, Gojo-sensei?! Spill!” Yuuji insists, still petty about Satoru flaking on him. “Or else we’ll tell Yaga you skipped out on watch duty.” 

He accepts that he’s trained his students to be too clever for their own good, and sighs defeatedly. “Technically, I was still monitoring them.” 

There’s a moment of short-lived silence as the three of them look between each other. Then it clicks, and Nobara shrieks. It's loud enough to startle people outside the building, and a concerned Maki Zenin makes a bewildered face through the window as the third years pass by the classroom. 

“Are you for real, sensei?!” Yuuji’s voice cracks in shock. Nobara’s gotten over hers, and much to Satoru’s horror she’s laughing.

“No way you got to school late because last night you were out banging your coworker-” 

Satoru cries out as though wounded. “Keep your voice down!” 

Even Megumi betrays him, biting his cheek very tellingly. “Are you going to include that in the report?” 

“That’s none of your business, actually!” Satoru flails an irritable hand. “I think we’ve wasted enough time, now. Everybody out to the training gyms. We’ll get right into it to make up for being late!” 

They don’t even complain, the three of them now giggling amongst themselves even though they know they’re following Satoru to a particularly grueling session. Part of him regrets ever becoming a teacher. He should quit now while he’s ahead — clearly, he’s taught them enough to stab him in the back with no regrets. Still, he can appreciate the moment. After all, he does love his students, even if they choose to torment him sometimes. He’s grateful he still has them, above all else. 

And so he lets a small part of him laugh at himself right along with them.

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

You wake up to an empty bed and a note on your nightstand reminding you that Gojo has to teach, as long as a promise that he’ll buy you a new vase and mug. You giggle in endearment for a few seconds before you catch what you’re doing and stop yourself. No way you’ve actually started to like this arrogant bastard. You won’t believe it. 

You scroll through your messages from last night, wondering why Sukuna called you so many times until you see what Gojo had sent him. You roll your eyes, any and all affection replaced by annoyance. You open a thread with Nanami to let him know that you’ll be a bit late today, and your mood improves when you recall the invitation to the bar. 

You’re going on that not-date with Nanami. You don’t have a choice. Even if you had the most mind-blowing sex of your life, you can’t get attached. You especially can't get attached to Gojo because he’s Gojo and the one thing that everyone knows about him (even you) is that he’s untouchable. 

But fuck the sex had been good. You’re still thinking about it on the walk to work, the way his hands felt against your skin, how he’d kissed you so ravenously, fucked you with the sole intent of making you fall apart, made you drool and beg and cry out his name over and over. And then later, he’d given you his sympathy in the bath. Gojo Satoru, of all people, told you that he understood you, and for the first time, you felt like maybe it could actually be true. 

It’d been the last thing you were expecting, for all of his theatrics and his sizable ego. But then again, it hadn’t seemed like an insecurity for him the way it was for you. More like a fact that he’d long since come to terms with, and you don’t really know how to feel about that. 

Nanami’s already behind the register when you arrive. You’d given him a key yesterday to open up on the occasion you were late — thank goodness for your own foresight. 

“Morning,” he greets you, and lifts a steaming mug in your direction. “I made you coffee.” 

“What a sweetheart,” you sigh contentedly as you take it between your palms. “Sorry for being late. Rough morning.” 

“Ah, is that so?” You raise an eyebrow at his tone, but see his eyes are locked on your poorly-concealed love bites, courtesy of Gojo Satoru. “I couldn’t imagine why.” 

You rub a hand over your eyes, cursing your lack of mental preparation for this. “It was a moment of weakness.” 

Nanami sips casually on his coffee to mask his smirk. “Happens to the best of us.” 

“You still on for those drinks?” You ask instead to change the subject. Nanami perks up at the mention. 

“Of course.” He assures you. “Tomorrow night?” 

“Sounds perfect,” with a cheeky wink, you disappear into the kitchen to grab your apron. 

You and Nanami make idle chatter for the first hour of your shift, resuming your usual light teasing and showering each other in praise. It’s like nothing had happened. You can’t believe he’s being so cool about this, and so finally you break. 

“You’re not going to ask about it?” You question. Much to your amusement, Nanami wrinkles his nose. 

“I don’t wanna know,” he says stonily. “I mean, I figured it would happen at some point. While I do hate the thought of it, it’s nice to know I’ll be 7000 yen richer by the end of the day, once Iori finds out.” 

“Excuse me? You placed bets?!” You pout, placing a hand to your heart like you’ve been wounded. You can’t believe he had so little faith in you. He laughs and ruffles your hair to soothe you. 

“It’s nothing personal. Once we realized you weren’t actually a threat to humanity, we all stopped taking everything seriously. It’s just the higher ups that mandate the reports.” 

“Reports?” You tilt your head to the side. Nanami blinks at you for a moment before the realization comes to him. 

“Oh. Gojo hasn’t told you,” he frowns slightly. “Well, every day he and I have to make reports to the higher ups to promise them that you’re not going to flatten the entire city. I reckon we’ll have another in-person meeting at the end of the week to decide what to do with you.” 

It’s only been a week. Holy fuck. It’s only been seven days since that white-haired asshole strolled into your pizzeria at about this time of day to ruin your life, and you’d let him fuck you silly just last night. 

“To be honest, we were all surprised you lasted so long,” Nanami says placatingly, sensing your despair. “Most people wouldn’t touch Gojo with a ten-foot pole after hearing him actually open his mouth.” 

“He’s not so bad,” you admit moodily, embarrassed by your quick defense of him. “But it’s probably because I’m the same as he is.” 

Nanami scoffs. “I seriously doubt that.” 

But you just shake your head. You don’t know how to explain it in a way Nanami would understand. Gojo has always been very similar to you, you just haven’t been able to look past his abhorrent personality to see it. You’ve always known it was a front but hadn’t recognized its parallels to your own. While Gojo pretends not to have vulnerabilities, you pretend like they don’t affect you. While Gojo has always been isolated by praise over his power, you’ve always isolated yourself for fear of being condemned for your own. And yet the two paths lead to the same final destination: loneliness. 

But then again, you can’t both be lonely if you’re there together, right?

“I’ve just never really felt understood before, you know?” You bite your lip. “And I feel like- maybe he might,” you break off, quickly shaking your head. “Never mind, it’s stupid. I don’t want to talk about him anymore.” 

“That’s fine. Let’s move on,” Nanami soothes you with a large hand on your shoulder, gently smoothing out the skin there with his thumb. His hands are always warm, you’ve realized. He’s the kind of man meant to care for someone. Surely too good of a guy for you, even if you let yourself get attached to anyone.

The rest of your shift goes by peacefully though, and it's a busy day, allowing you to remain in the moment without spacing out due to your miserable thoughts. 

“Need me to sweep?” He asks you as he’s hanging his apron back up. You take a glance at the floor, but it looks miraculously tidy. Perhaps your customers have become more considerate lately. 

“Nah, I’ll make Gojo do it when he gets here.” You smirk. “Tell the higher ups I’ve been good, yeah?” 

As the door swings shut behind Nanami, your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

 

least favorite coworker (⌐⎚u⎚), 16:13 :
hey angelcakes!!

 

ew. 

don’t call me that. (¬_¬")

 

least favorite coworker (⌐⎚u⎚), 16:13 :
you hate all my nicknames (˃̣̣̥ᴖ˂̣̣̥)

anyway i’ve got bad news. 

 

oh no. 

 

least favorite coworker (⌐⎚u⎚), 16:14 :
it's not that bad!! i’ll just be a bit late today!! 

i promised one of my students i’d spar with him
earlier this morning and due to unforeseen
circumstances i forgot about my promise. 

pretty please don’t fire me? • ^ •)人 

 

 

You can’t help but snicker at the message. Unforeseen circumstances? Really? This isn’t the first time he’s texted you, but his rampant use of kaomoji never fails to amuse you. It also helps to emphasize how similarly you two text as well. You’re the one who introduced them to Sukuna after all, and it brings you glee every time he uses them. 

 

yeah don’t worry about it 

the world isn’t going to end just because
you’re a little late 

i’ll make do (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

 

But then a figure walks through your establishment that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. You can sense that he's a curse right away by the way that none of the customers inside seem to notice him. As he grows closer, you notice his greyscale appearance, not to mention the way his face looks like it’s been sewn together. 

“Hey,” you greet the curse with a glare. “You’re not my typical customer.” 

“Right on!” The curse doesn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. His voice is high and whiny with a childish sort of lilt to it. “And you’re not a typical cashier, are you?” 

“Probably not by most standards.” You shrug. “Shall we take this outside? Being seen talking to myself behind the register is probably bad for business.” 

“Ugh, I guess.” The curse sighs petulantly and rolls his eyes. “I was looking forward to repainting the walls of this place with your guts. Your customers might enjoy dinner and a show.” 

“Too early for dinner. That doesn’t start until five p.m at Sukuna’s Malevolent Pizzeria.” You prattle off the script you’d made in a mocking sort of chipper tone. You reach beneath the counter and show the curse your break signs. “How long do you think this will take? Fifteen minutes? Thirty?” You lift one up at a time. When the curse only continues to stare at you, baffled, you shake your head and sigh. 

“Ah, we’ll do thirty. Just to be safe,” you set it down on the counter, then exit from behind the register. You turn and smile to one of your regulars at a nearby table. 

“I’m going on break. Please make sure nobody wreaks havoc in here, okay?” 

She giggles and offers a salute as a confirmation. The curse still looks a bit confused, probably by the fact that you aren’t too worried about him at all. You impatiently prompt him forward with a nod of your head, and make your way for the door. 

"Let's get this over with, shall we?" 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

“Whew, you almost had me there, Yuuji!” Satoru pulls his student back to his feet with a proud smile. Yuuji’s been improving at an alarming rate with all that he’s pushing himself. Even Satoru has started to break a sweat. “You’ve made lots of progress lately. I’m honestly proud to call myself your teacher.” 

“Awwe, I was so close sensei!” Yuuji whines, rolling out the shoulder of his preferred punching arm. “One more time?” 

Satoru shakes his head, though he’s impressed by how much energy Yuuji still has after the training he’d already done today. “I really do have to go-” 

Well, that’s what he starts to say, but he’s cut off by Daddy’s Home playing from inside his pocket. With a surprised blink at the caller ID, he answers his phone and puts it up to his ear with a smirk. 

“What’s the matter, Ijichi?” Gojo asks with his usual teasing lilt. Unfortunately, this doesn’t get the reaction he’d been hoping for. The poor driver actually seems quite worried. Satoru’s heart drops a few inches in his chest at his first words.

“It’s another night parade, though it’s happening in broad daylight, er, at four-thirty?” Ijichi recovers. “Not that it matters. But it’s almost exactly the same as last time. Another attack on Kyoto and Shinjuku. Hundreds of cursed spirits and several curse users, though notably fewer than last time. The higher ups are requesting your help in Shinjuku.” 

Satoru doesn’t respond for a few minutes, frozen to the spot. What could this mean? Because there’s only one person that could be responsible for something like this, and Satoru had killed him a year and a half ago. 

But his body, a horrible, terrible dark part of his mind reminds him. You kept his body intact, didn’t you? Too much of a damn coward to finish the job-

“No way.” Satoru answers finally. If he’s learned anything from last time, he knows this is all some sort of distraction. “Something tells me I’m already exactly where I need to be in Tokyo.” He grits his teeth. “I can send my students. Is Nanami there?” 

Ijichi confirms. “He just arrived.” 

“Good. Make sure he looks after them.” He knows Nanami will regardless. “I’ll have Yaga round everyone up.” 

“I know.” Yaga tells him after he hangs up on Ijichi. “The third years were already with me when I heard, and I’ve called everyone else but Itadori. He’s not picking up.” 

“He’s with me, and he’s sticking with me anyway.” Satoru says, and Itadori’s expression hardens in resolve. “I’m under the impression that they're trying to lure me away, and I should be here watching over our … well, whatever the opposite of the grim reaper is.”

Yaga makes a disapproving noise. “Shouldn’t you be there already?” 

“Er-” 

“Doesn’t matter. I think you’re right.” Yaga interrupts, sensing the need for haste. “Hurry over there now, and be careful.” His tone changes, and Satoru realizes he must be thinking the exact same thing. Yaga, of all people, would know how something like this might cause him to act brashly. “I mean it, Satoru, be careful.”

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

“What’s this?” You look around the dark dome the curse had cast around you both. He seems amused by your lack of knowledge. 

“Oh-hoh, you really don’t know anything do you?” He laughs, and you seriously want to punch him. “It’s a barrier technique to keep unwanted parties out. That way the fight stays fair. Just you and me, hm?” 

He reaches out to touch you, and in a blink you slice his hand clean off. You watch with mild interest as purple blood drips from the wound and his severed hand wriggles on the floor. But then he grows a new one, and he’s looking at you with a new fascination. 

“So it’s true. You do have Sukuna’s cursed technique! How incredible!” He gushes. “And yet you’re just a puny little human. Looks can be deceiving. You must be some kind of monster.” 

He continues to attack you in quick spurts, clearly testing your limits and being surprised each time that you breach his assaults with your own. You’ve got an excellent handle on Sukuna’s technique, but you’ve started to realize that your physical attacks are rendered useless if you can’t directly exorcise his soul. No matter how many tiny pieces you cut him into, he’ll just reassemble. 

Even you can't seem to get a grasp on where his soul actually is. It's everywhere and nowhere all at once, and your heart drops when you come to the conclusion that to truly exorcise him, you'll have to bring him to his true form. The good news is that you know exactly how to do that. The bad news is that you aren't sure if you're capable. 

He spits out a few creatures to distract you, and with wide eyes you suddenly have to switch techniques. You realize that these aren’t curses — they’d once been human. With a swish of your hand, you send their souls into oblivion in hopes that they can pass on. 

“Two techniques?” The curse cries, sounding both thrilled and pissed that his plans have been thwarted. “Somehow, you knew they were transfigured humans. You know the difference between the soul of a human and that of a curse! I was wrong!” He laughs suddenly, diving for your legs, and you slice him in half and let the momentum take him past you. You’ve figured out by now that his cursed technique involves some kind of fucked up transformation, and he can only achieve it through touching his victims. 

“You!” He cries, sending another batch of transfigured humans at you. “You are my natural born enemy!” 

You deal with this new round of humans the same way you’d dealt with the last, and just barely swerve out of the curse’s touch. This curse is fucking crazy — how could you possibly be his natural born enemy? You just met, and you care more about going to back to work than beating him.

“I don’t even know your name,” you huff, knowing that you can’t keep this up forever. You’re going to have to take a risk if you have any chance of surviving. Gojo had been right, as much as you hate to admit it. Without training, you’re not that strong of a sorcerer. Sure, you’re powerful, but if you can’t wield your own technique then you don’t stand much of a chance.   

“How rude of me! You should know the same of the curse who’s destined to kill you,” he cackles, his top half and bottom half running around you in opposite directions after you’d sliced him. Suddenly, his top half springs towards you, hand outstretched towards your face. 

“It’s Mahito.” 

You swerve just in time, slicing his fingers into bits. 

“I suppose it’s only fair you know my name as well,” you duck under yet another attack, cutting his other arm into several pieces while dodging a kick from behind you. You introduce yourself with a huff, running in the opposite direction to put some distance between you. 

“Oh, now don’t run away!” Mahito calls after you, reassembling. “I’m trying to give you a tour of my domain.” 

Fuck. Well, it’s now or never. If Sukuna finds your dead body on the pavement, he’ll probably flatten all of Japan anyway. You exhale, focusing your cursed energy into all the right places. At least, to the best of your memory. You seriously hope you’re doing this right.

“Domain Expansion,” you murmur, lifting your palms to the sky and bowing your head. “Oblivion: Channel of Lost Souls.” 

 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

“A veil,” Satoru curses upon seeing the dark dome around the pizza place and the surrounding street. “I knew it.” 

You’re probably in there fighting for your life. Satoru puts his hand against the veil and isn’t surprised to find it solid beneath his fingers. What’s going on here? 

“Ah, of course. We’re not allowed to join the party,” he grits his jaw despite his deceptively cheerful tone. 

Yuuji leans back against the veil with his arms crossed, a thoughtful and serious expression on his face for all of a split second before he yelps and falls backwards through the curtain. Satoru blinks, not surprised that someone would create a veil only for the sake of keeping him out, but surprised that they’d use it in a situation like this. 

Wouldn’t it be better to keep all sorcerers outside of the veil? Why just him? 

“I can go in.” Yuuji reappears, completely unperturbed by his fall. “I’ll destroy it from the inside.” 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Distantly, a man dressed in ceremonial Buddhist monk robes with stitches across his forehead nods to a cursed spirit whose head is shaped vaguely like Mt. Fuji. 

“Raise the second veil.” 

The cursed spirit nods, opening his mouth and putting his hands in position to do so. But then he suddenly sputters at the scene before him. 

“What— are you seeing — do you see that?!” 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Sukuna had explained to you the ins and outs of a domain expansion before, though you hadn’t bothered to listen at the time. You’re starting to wish you had, though. Now that you’ve successfully summoned one, you’re not sure exactly where to proceed from here. 

Your domain is unique. It’s what comes naturally to you in sleep, tying you to the world of souls you’d named it after. It’s what brought you to Sukuna in the first place. You remember him going on and on about the fact that it was something you did subconsciously, even though you couldn’t give less of a fuck at the time and just wanted this angry guy with the face tattoos to leave you alone. 

The veil shatters around you, but you only know this from the lack of cursed energy you can now feel so much more strongly. You’re hyper aware of the way your own cursed energy ebbs and flows, currently pouring off of you in waves. You can also feel the rotten energy of the curse across from you, shriveled and festering. It helps that there’s not much else to pay attention to here either. You’re surrounded on all sides by a glowing, pulsating white light that expands indefinitely. You can’t tell which way is down or up.

“So this is your domain?” Mahito looks around dubiously. “It’s not very exciting.” 

“I’ll let my interior designer know,” you say flatly. The truth is you don’t know how to customize it yet. This is the most basic form that comes most frequently in dreams. You’re surprised you were even able to summon it on command — this is the first time you’d ever tried. “Yours is probably uglier, no offense.”

To your slightest amusement, Mahito seems to actually take offense to this. “It has to do with my technique! At least mine makes sense. What even is this?!” 

“Basically, you and I have both transcended into a state of nonexistence.” You explain. “It’s my soul against yours, in their purest forms.” 

Mahito moves towards you, and you let him. When he touches you, nothing happens, and he looks dubiously at his hand. 

“Nice try, but we can’t hurt each other in my domain.” You smile, more calmly than you feel. “At least, not in the traditional sense. The effect of my domain is to pass judgement. I get to decide whether souls pass on or are reborn. Since you aren’t actually dead yet, I can send you back without any kind of vow, but I can also just as easily strip your soul from your body and send you on your merry way.” 

“Now let’s wrap this up.” You tilt your head to the side. “Who are you, and why should I let you live?” 

“I-” Mahito starts, but you interrupt him. You don't have the time to listen to his sob story. It had been a rhetorical question anyway. 

“Don’t bother. I can see for myself.“ You press two fingers to his forehead, feeling cursed energy flare sharply around the both of you. “Judgement.” 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Satoru still can’t believe his eyes right now, feeling almost belittled by the sight before him. You and patchface are suspended together in the air, both of you glowing with a halo of white light while your eyes are passively closed. If Satoru didn’t know any better, he’d think you were just asleep in the air. 

Upon seeing the familiar curse, Yuuji leaps and swings with a Black Flash at the ready, but he’s repelled backwards by some invisible barrier that glows gold when he hits it. Luckily he sticks a landing on both feet, though now he’s several feet away. 

“I don’t understand.” Yuuji huffs as he slides backwards “What’s happening?” 

An awed smile stretches across Satoru’s features. “They’re taking care of it.” 

He can’t be sure, but by the flow of cursed energy surrounding you, albeit unusual, he can detect the hint of a domain. Your domain, which he hadn’t even known you could summon. Not to mention a domain without a visible barrier. He puts two and two together that your domain can somehow link your consciousness to the target, and once again the sheer magnitude of your abilities catch him off guard.

It's staggering, honestly, to think someone like you makes pizza day in and day out. He's always suspected that you were powerful, but this? He'd never expected this. Here you go again, sweeping the rug from under his feet and leaving him stumbling and off-balance. And while your power is terrifying, it also comforts him. For the first time in a long time, he allows himself to believe that perhaps he might not be alone. 

“What do we do?” Yuuji looks to Satoru, and for once, Satoru isn’t sure. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

“What do we do?” Volcano-head looks helplessly to the man in robes, who clicks his tongue distastefully. 

“It’s impossible now to isolate Gojo Satoru in order to seal him,” the man frowns at the Prison Realm in his hand. It had been a waste to bring it out, after all, along with the hundreds of cursed spirits he’d sacrificed to the sorcerers in Kyoto and Shinjuku. “With his student there and whatever is happening above, it’ll be impossible to catch them off guard. Not to mention, that sorcerer’s domain could shatter or deactivate at any second. Who knows what else they’re capable of?” 

“Do you think,” volcano-head swallows thickly. “Mahito-” 

“I don’t know,” the man purses his lips, seeming troubled. His flawless plan had been so easily foiled, all by a sorcerer who he’d never heard of until a few weeks ago. A wildcard. A sorcerer just as unpredictable and powerful as Gojo Satoru himself. “I have faith in his abilities, but this sorcerer is something else. I assumed that if they could summon any domain, it would be Sukuna’s, which wouldn’t have been as much of a problem for Mahito. This, though...” 

The man pauses, and his brow creases further. “This may be the worst scenario for his technique.”

“Should we try to rescue him?” Volcano-head worries. 

“We can’t,” the man says flatly, accepting defeat and now allowing his curiosity to guide his decisions. “For now, let’s watch. I want to know what else they’re capable of for next time.” 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Flashes of his life as a curse surge through you all at once. You almost want to vomit by the end of it, watching people transfigure and die in the most gruesome ways. So much blood, so much sadness, poisoned by Mahito's callous enjoyment in suffering. You watch how he’d hurt people, manipulated them, destroyed their lives. When you both come to again, Mahito’s sitting on one side of a classic, golden balance scale. On the other side is a ball of faintly glimmering light. 

“What’s this?” Mahito looks around, unable to escape his prison.

“I weigh your sins and against your potential for virtue,” you click your tongue. “I’m not gonna lie, patchwork. It’s not looking too good for you. I don’t know whether or not hell is real, I’m just the one who decides whether or not your soul passes on. But if it is? I hope it’s extra hot for you.” 

You raise both palms, a practiced gesture that you've repeated several times before. The scale tips, predictably, toward Mahito. It’s not even close, his flimsy virtue seeking to flicker away by the second. With a snap of your fingers, the scales disappear, and Mahito is sitting in front of you like he’d just fallen backwards. For the first time, he looks properly afraid.

“Any final words?” You ask. “Loved ones I should give your regards to?” 

“You’d do that?” Mahito asks, eyes wide. 

“Don’t look so surprised.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not actually a monster.” 

He hesitates for a few moments before deciding to speak. 

“When you meet the others,” he trails off, then resumes. “When you meet the others, tell them to finish the job.” 

“The others?” You repeat. 

Mahito smirks, regaining just a bit of pride even in his final moments. “You’ll know when you see them.” 

You want to press more, but you can feel the strain of keeping up your domain weighing on you. With a heavy exhale, you place two fingers on his forehead and close your eyes. As disgusting as the curse is, how evil and immature and callous, even you have trouble watching a soul die. You see white flash behind your eyelids as the cursed energy around you hums and crackles before dissipating. 

Your domain shatters after the deed is done. You open your eyes, realizing you’re in the air only as you watch the curse disintegrate in front of you. His body falls from the sky as it starts crumbling, and he doesn’t even hit the ground before he gives way entirely to purple dust. 

Then you’re slowly descending yourself, your cursed energy casting a visible golden halo around you. You look at your own hands in amazement, since this is the first time you’ve experienced this while awake.

When touching down on the street, you finally notice that Gojo is there with a pink-haired teenager. You belatedly piece together that this must be his student, but your brain is moving sluggishly, and your body feels like it may have become a liquid. Gojo rushes over to you, steadying you with a solid hand. 

“Are you okay?” His voice drips with worry. “What did you do?”  

“Oh, hey,” you manage a smile. Your vision is starting to swim, seeing double of those very intense, very blue eyes of his. “You’re late.” 

Then you pass out in his arms. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Satoru takes you back to your flat with Yuuji in tow. 

He carries you into your room, still unconscious, and tucks you into bed. Yuuji has no shame in looking around, puzzled by the amount of normalcy in the apartment. He must have been expecting some kind of lair, and the thought makes Satoru grin to himself. 

“I’m going to go get Sukuna to watch over them so we can meet the others in Shinjuku,” Satoru tells him. “Stay here, and yell if they wake up.”

However, even after teleporting upstairs, there’s no sign of Sukuna anywhere. He knows he’s in the right apartment because your cats come to greet him, rubbing up against his legs and ankles. Satoru’s frown deepens. There couldn’t be a chance that Sukuna was in on this, right? Would he have sent someone to kill you to gain back his full power, all while most of jujutsu society is distracted? Satoru chastises himself for not seeing this sooner, but now he’s in a tough spot.

He knows he should go help, but he also doesn’t think he can leave you alone, and he doesn’t want to leave Yuuji here by himself. He knows the kid can handle himself nowadays, but that doesn’t mean he likes the idea of it. 

Satoru teleports to Shinjuku, where the curses still seem to be rampaging. There’s much less damage than last time, but that’s probably because there are more sorcerers there to help this time. He surveys the scene from atop a building, looking for a familiar head of pinkish hair. 

It doesn’t take long for his Six Eyes to spot it on another rooftop nearby — well, more so over it. He’s riding what looks like a more intense version of Megumi’s Nue shikigami, which is now shooting bolts of lightning at nearby curses. 

Okay, so he isn’t actually behind this. Good to know. What Satoru does want to know is how he’d mastered the Ten Shadows technique so quickly. Today has just been full of surprises.

Megumi is close by, dealing with a curse user. Satoru watches with a swell of pride as he performs a combo that not only knocks the guy unconscious but sends him flying into the next building’s fire escape. 

“Nice touch,” Satoru comments after blipping over, applauding cheerfully as Megumi glares at him over his shoulder. 

“You’re late,” Sukuna drawls, and Satoru wishes people would stop saying this to him today. “Where the hell have you been?” 

“Our favorite pizza chef got ambushed at work.” Satoru informs him wryly. “I have Yuuji staying with them in their apartment as we speak.” 

“What the hell?” Sukuna grits out, hopping off of his shikigami in a well-executed somersault. “Are they alive?” 

“They’re fine, I think.” Satoru shrugs. Perhaps he’s an acting little too calm about this, but pretending to be nonchalant does actually help him not to freak out. “Unconscious but definitely alive.” 

“Shit. If only these curses would let up.” Sukuna swears, gesturing broadly to the swarms of curses. “What the fuck is this, anyway?” 

“I don’t know.” Satoru grimaces. “But I’ve got the feeling it’s meant to be little more than a distraction. I did the smart thing and stayed in Tokyo to protect them, although I honestly didn’t do much. I had no idea they could summon a domain.” 

Sukuna’s jaw drops at this, and it would be comical if Satoru didn’t recognize fear in his eyes. It’s frightening enough to see Sukuna might actually be scared of something.

Sukuna recalls his shikigami, jaw set. “I'll be going now. Good luck I guess.” 

And before Satoru can stop him, he practically blinks away. Satoru and Megumi stare blankly at the spot where he’d been, unsure of what had just happened. 

“Since when can he teleport?” Satoru mutters. 

“He’s probably figured out a way to mirror your technique.” Megumi says wearily. “He mirrored mine without a problem. I didn't think it was possible to do so many exorcism rituals in such a short time. Even without his slicing technique, he’s still immeasurably powerful.” He exhales. “Good thing he’s fighting on our side, for whatever reason.” 

Satoru raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think he caused this, then?” 

“I thought so at first, but if he wanted to kill anybody, he would have done so easily,” Megumi grimaces. “Do you have any idea who’s responsible?” 

“Shit, I’ve got at least one. But the idea makes me sick to my stomach.” Satoru swallows. Suguru’s smiling face flashes once in his mind, but it’s followed shortly by the sight of him lying limp in an alley, the life behind his eyes gone but his smile somehow still so gentle. 

Fuck.

“Whoever it is, they tried to kill our new friend at the pizzeria, but clearly they hadn’t expected their technique. I didn’t either, to be honest.” Satoru says, trying to stay rational about this. “For now, let’s do some damage control.” 

The two of them take on curses and curse users for about ten minutes. They pass by Nobara and Ino fighting alongside Nanami, who gives the pair of them a nod before delivering a punch with enough force to make the curse’s head explode around his knuckles.

Not long after though, the curses are retreating. Most of them don’t get very far before disappearing completely, being pulled back into their host wherever he may be. If anything, that just confirms Satoru’s theory that this had all been a distraction. Taking you down had been the real goal. 

“Head with Yaga and the others back to the school, and get some rest.” Satoru instructs Megumi with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go make sure Sukuna and Yuuji haven’t bitten each other’s heads off. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

You slowly come to, a familiar pair of hands on both sides of your head. Warmth and energy filter slowly back into your body as you start to register the things happening around you. The sound comes first, because you can’t yet bring yourself to pry open your eyes.

“What are you doing?” A younger, male voice asks. 

“Speeding up the healing process using reversed cursed technique.” This is evidently Sukuna, the impatience in his tone prominent as ever. 

The other boy gasps. “You can do that like Ieiri-san does?!”

“Of course I can, I’m fucking Sukuna.” He snaps, voice rising in annoyance. “Do they teach you anything at that school?!” 

“Please stop screaming.” Your head is splitting, enough that you finally make yourself move. You try to muffle Sukuna with a hand, but you miss his mouth a few times before making your mark. You blink up at him with a tired smile. “Hey.” 

“Good morning.” Sukuna returns tersely, wrenching your hand away. You feel like you’re two old and ornery best friends arguing over what to get for dinner. “What did I tell you about summoning your domain?!” 

You give him a shit-eating grin. “I don’t listen to half the things you say.” 

“Clearly.” He huffs. “I said you shouldn’t attempt it awake without practice. If these two didn’t pick your sorry ass off the street you’d be dead. What were you thinking?!” 

“It was that fucking patchwork curse. You hate that guy too.” You say sourly, pouting petulantly at him. “Your cursed technique wasn’t enough to kill him on its own, and like hell I was going to try summoning your domain.” 

“Thank fuck you didn’t do that.” Sukuna exhales. He pats your cheek, though his brow is still furrowed disapprovingly. “You lucky bitch. Glad you’re okay or whatever. I’ll make soup.” 

“You have such a way with words.” You watch him go with an amused half-smile, biting your cheek against a full one so as not to spoil your dry remark. He leaves you alone with the student, and he must trust the kid because he closes the door behind him.

“He’s… different.” The student perks up. Getting a good look at him now, he looks strikingly like a much younger, much sweeter version of Sukuna. A little more gangly but not as rough around the edges.

“Yeah. I think being human softens you up a little. Now he has to deal with feelings other than primal rage and insatiable bloodlust.” You joke, earning a small chuckle from the kid. “You’re Itadori, right? It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“Yeah, that’s me!” Itadori beams brightly. “It’s nice to meet you too. Gojo-sensei talks about you a lot.” 

You smirk to yourself. “Does he now?” 

“It’s part of my job.”  

You and Yuuji both jump in surprise. Gojo’s standing just inside your door, looking weary in the way he does after dealing with a particularly terrible rush. What’s different is how his eyes sparkle with the aftermath of adrenaline, and you immediately know that he’d been fighting. 

“What happened to you?” You ask, sitting up a little in your bed. 

“Lay back down!” Sukuna calls from the kitchen like he has some kind of sixth sense, and you settle back into your pillows with a grumble. 

“Ah, right. You wouldn’t know,” Gojo shakes his head. “I still haven’t pieced together exactly what happened, but while you were dealing with patchface, hundreds of curses were unleashed on Shinjuku and Kyoto.” 

“What?!” You cry out. Sukuna kicks the door open and shoves his way past the other two, setting a tray with a bowl of soup in your lap. 

“Don’t stress them out, asshole,” Sukuna fusses, but you wave it off. You aren’t stressed, more so shocked.  What did he mean, hundreds of curses? In both cities? Who could have been capable of something like that?! 

Gojo keeps talking. “They’re all gone now, and the casualties were less than last time-” 

“Last time?” 

“-because they were intended to just be a distraction.” Gojo continues. “Thankfully, you thwarted whatever plans they had by exorcising that special grade.” 

“A distraction? For what?” You frown, and guilt settles in your stomach. “For them to kill me?” 

It's not like it was your fault, but the idea that people had died or been injured purely to serve as a distraction for a bigger scheme surrounding you doesn't sit well with you. It sure makes it feel like it had been your fault. 

“It would make sense,” Sukuna muses. “After all, you die, I get my power back. If a group of curses found that out and banded together, it’s not a terrible plan to just kill you.” 

“How comforting,” you drawl. Sukuna just tsks and pushes your bowl closer to you. 

“Eat your soup, pet.” 

You grumble, but oblige. Fighting and passing out after wrenching someone’s soul from their body does make one quite hungry. Not to mention Sukuna had cooked for you, so it’ll be good soup to boot. 

“That smells good,” Yuuji remarks, wafting the smell towards him. “What is that, turmeric?” 

“Ah, right. We really are related,” Sukuna regards Yuuji with an appraising look. “Good nose, kid.” 

Yuuji looks like he doesn’t know whether to be proud or disgusted by this reminder. You and Gojo exchange a glance, and you bite back a laugh. 

“Back to the subject at hand,” Gojo begins again with an eye roll. “There’s only one person capable of an attack to this extent, and I killed him the winter before last. Which leaves two options,” he exhales, now fixing you with an intense look. 

“Did you happen to resurrect a guy with long, black hair?” Gojo asks, and his expression is uncharacteristically guarded. “Tall, broad, good-looking, purple eyes, probably wearing some kind of monk robes-” 

“I haven’t resurrected any sorcerers except for Sukuna,” you say, rifling through your memory for someone of that description. You resist the urge to make fun of Gojo for calling the guy good-looking, as you suspect that there's history that you're not sure you want to disturb. “Most of the souls I’ve dealt with have been normal humans without enough cursed energy to come back.” 

“You’re gonna explain that to me later,” Gojo instructs, but of course he’s quick to jump to the next thing. “Right. So no Suguru-”

“Suguru?” You prompt, but Gojo talks over you to mask his slip-up. 

“Which means someone must be using his technique through his dead body,” he muses, his brow furrowed. You see through his casual, analytic front easily. He’s trying to sound objective, but you can see the pain in his eyes. For some reason, this hurts him to talk about. 

“Aren’t you supposed to destroy the bodies of sorcerers who died for that specific reason?” Sukuna makes an unimpressed face. 

“Yeah,” Gojo sighs, and he sounds weary. “I kinda fucked up with that.” 

“With what?” Yuuji frowns. “Gojo-sensei-”

“I made sure Geto Suguru’s body was not destroyed after his death,” Gojo tells you all, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking up at the plaster of your ceiling. “And I reckon some kind of curse or curse user has used that to their advantage, allying themselves with the curses that brought Sukuna back the first time.” 

“Ugh, those idiots?” Sukuna gripes. “I thought you took care of them.” 

“No offense, but taking care of you was kind of the priority,” Itadori butts in sourly. “It’s not like we haven’t been trying, but there hasn’t been any sign of them until now.” 

“Which means they finally have another plan,” Gojo continues for him. “Or had one, at the very least, before it was foiled.” He gives you a meaningful look. “Speaking of which, would you care to explain what the fuck that was? You never told me you had a domain.” 

“I didn’t know I could do it until today,” you sigh, draining the rest of your soup before launching into an explanation. 

“I don’t really understand it myself, but the short version is that my domain allows me to interact with souls caught between life and death, and bring them back to life if they can meet the conditions,” you say, rubbing at a spot between your brows. “I’ve never used my domain on command, and it’s only ever come to me in sleep. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I would be able to, I just needed to hold out long enough not to die.” 

“So then what?” Itadori presses. “You … took his soul?” 

“Sort of. It’s more like I passed it on,” you say patiently. “Those within my domain enter that in-between state of life and death, and I decide what happens to them from there.” 

“So basically.”  Gojo looks at you strangely, like he’s seeing you for the first time. “You play God.” 

“Inside the domain, yeah.” You nod. “I couldn’t actually do much to anyone outside of it. Well, I couldn’t before I got Sukuna’s technique. When Mahito released the transfigured humans, I was able to combine our techniques to send their souls painlessly into oblivion in hopes that they’ll pass on naturally.”

”Woah,” you’re not sure that you like the way Itadori is looking at you now with stars in his eyes. “That’s as close to a proper death as they can get.”

“I guess,” you say, raising an eyebrow at Gojo for explanation. But he seems lost in his own thoughts, staring into space with a crease between his brows and a sad, sad look sparkling in those baby blues.

”But then after oblivion,” Itadori regains your attention. “Do you know where they go when you send them on?” 

You shake your head. ”No, but I hope it’s peaceful.” 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Satoru stays silent for a good few minutes. He doesn’t really know what to think. A technique like yours probably puts you right beside him on the level of special grade, even with a lack of convenient combative use outside of your domain. 

Not to mention the implications of your domain itself — one that deals purely with the matters of the soul and the subconscious. A domain with seemingly no barrier but one that somehow provides temporary invincibility to the physical forms to which these souls belong. He’s not sure how one would even go about breaking that kind of barrier. 

And the fact that you managed it within a year is even more remarkable. Though the sheer power of Sukuna’s domain is infamous, there’s only so much coaching someone can do in that amount of time — especially for someone who’d never really tapped into their cursed energy before. It takes most sorcerers multiple years to perfect their domain. 

And yet here you are. Satoru's emotions are tumultuous inside of him. Between these new discoveries about you and the thought of someone using Suguru's body because he couldn't bear to see it destroyed is making his gut twist back and forth. He's never felt so seen, but simultaneously, he's never wanted to hide so badly. Just from your similarities, Satoru suddenly understands so much about you, and yet nothing at all. You both now know too much about each other, and later you will have to cope with what that means. You've been trying to deny it all this time, he's sure, but now there's no pretending. 

“So what did you do about curses before?” Yuuji asks, clearly very curious. Satoru appreciates his presence there, grounding. Also, it's clear you’ve taken a liking to the kid, and that way it doesn’t feel like so much of an interrogation. 

“I used to ignore them as best I could,” you tell him. “But if they were dumb enough to try and attack me or other people, I’d exorcise them.” You shrug. “Mahito was no exception.” 

A solemn silence stretches on from there. Satoru’s thinking about what to do next, and how they can go about tracking down this team of curses. He tries to keep his train of thought linear and focused, but thoughts scratch away at the inside of his mind, grating. He can feel your eyes on him, and when he finally gains enough courage to meet them, he can see it in your gaze. You've realized it too.

Neither of you have to be alone anymore.  

The door creaks open. Everyone whips around in a panic only to find both your cats creeping in, seeming to have sensed a dilemma. 

“Ah, it’s just the vermin,” Sukuna scoops up Spinach from beside his ankles, and the creature purrs contentedly against his chest. Yuuji looks at Satoru with a bewildered expression, and Satoru chuckles to himself. 

“You’ll get used to it,” he tells him. Since everything’s been resolved here, there’s really no more reason for them to stay, as much as he wants to. You're looking at him expectantly, as though you think he has something to say. He has many things to talk about, but can't latch onto any one thing, and if he starts now, he feels like he'll be there talking all night. What you need right now is rest, and so he'll spare you. 

“Sorry I was late today,” Satoru finds himself apologizing, even though he knows you’ll just wave it off because you consider yourself indestructible. It’s an ideology he knows all too well. “You wouldn’t have had to deal with this all if I’d been on time.” 

“It’s whatever, seriously.” You do, in fact, raise a hand and wave it flippantly. “If it makes you feel better, you can have the night off. Just make sure to flip the sign to closed and whatnot.” 

“Will do,” Satoru salutes, making a mental note to stop off at the pizzeria to do so. “Do you need anything before we go?” 

“Ryo will take care of me.” You insist, and Satoru tries not to roll his eyes at the haughty look Sukuna gives him with Spinach in his arms. “I’ll be fine, promise.” 

“It was nice meeting you,” Yuuji chirps, a bundle of sunshine as always. “You should come train with us at the school!” 

Satoru notices a flicker of hesitation in your eyes. You’d been about to say no, he knows it. But even you can’t say no to Yuuji’s puppy eyes, and so you sigh resignedly. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

 

 

Notes:

The idea of Gojo's students teasing him about his dates and hookups will never not be one of my favorite headcanons. None of them take him seriously as an authority figure anymore.
Also, enter: the beginnings of reader lore! Yay! If you couldn't tell, their (your?) techniques are loosely based off of Catholicism and the concept of limbo or purgatory. The reason for this is that it's the faith I know the most about, and because Gege wrote jujutsu in Japan to be based largely off of Buddhism. I just chose another faith since the reader is from a different place, but that doesn't mean the reader is actually written to be Catholic, just for clarification. It's just used as a different theme for sorcery, kind of like Hana/Angel in the manga.
Additionally, if you like Mahito I'm so sorry. I hate him so much and wanted to see him die, so this was actually very indulgent for me!
I hope you enjoyed this chapter either way! Thank you all for your silly comments and lovely feedback!! I promise we'll get back to more crack soon, but a plot break was actually sort of needed to keep the narrative going.

Chapter 6: the author has no impulse control

Summary:

“I thought you said you weren’t coming home tonight,” Sukuna grumbles from inside. Satoru hears him walking to the door, answering it with an irritable expression that only becomes more irritable when Sukuna finds it’s not you outside the door, but the guy that killed him a year ago.

“What the fuck are you doing here.” Sukuna drones. He’s not wearing a shirt, and is only clad in what appear to be Charizard boxers. God, Satoru hates Pokemon fans.

But still he beams back, and the other man winces at the force of his smile. “Let’s hang out!”

Sukuna starts closing the door. “No.” 

Notes:

as the chapter title says, i have no impulse control. so get ready for a quaint little surprise (and i need to update the tags LMFAO). idk if you guys saw the leaks for the most recent manga chapters, so i won't spoil but i will say i am SO SO happy. ALSO here's a playlist with some songs that i think fit the fic (and just like the storyline it's kind of all over the place LOL) so i hope you guys enjoy it!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Y2tzLSGq9NWZlzcwtFtva?si=7bc59688401240e9

be ready for some smut with nanami (FINALLY) towards the end!!

 

Nanami seems surprised to find you at work the following morning. You can understand why he may have believed otherwise, considering yesterday’s mayhem, but since everything is fine and good now you didn’t see any reason not to come in. It’s not like you’re one of those bosses, though. In all fairness, you’d told Nanami and Gojo they didn’t have to come in either, and they'd both told you that you were being ridiculous. So apparently everyone’s just a chronic workaholic. 

“Morning,” Nanami greets you standardly after recovering from his surprise, moving quickly to join you behind the register. He eyes his usual mug of coffee warily, lifting the steaming liquid to his lips. “I didn’t think you’d be here already.”

“Are you kidding? One assassination attempt isn’t gonna stop me from working,” you flash him a playful grin, but he only raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you sure you’re alright enough to work?” He asks, and you appreciate his concern as much as it makes you want to shrivel up. “I heard your day was about as eventful as mine.” 

“I’m glad to be doing something with my hands, honestly.” You say honestly. If you were in your apartment right now, you’d be thinking nonstop about the fact that two cities had to suffer for a failed attempt to wipe you off the face of the earth. You’d be drowning in guilt. “And if anything, this just means I deserve a drink now more than ever.” 

Nanami chuckles at this, shaking his head. “Me too.” 

There’s a slight pause, and then you both burst out laughing.

“We’re just a pair of alcoholics, aren’t we?” He jokes, and everything’s back to normal. You’re both still on for drinks later tonight, which, thank fuck, because the mere thought of a margarita is incredibly encouraging. After confirming that you really are okay, Nanami’s amped up the flirting during the shift and so have you. It's nice to know you're on the same page about that as well. 

You steal each other’s food on your lunch break. He puts his hand on your lower back when he talks to you. In response, you fidget with the top few buttons of his shirt over his apron while you talk to him. Your mouth waters a little at the prospect of getting to unbutton them one by one later. As always, your shift flies by and ends much sooner than you'd like it to, though you're feeling more optimistic than usual. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” he tells you before turning around to set his apron on the hook again. 

“I’ll see you.” You smirk at the stretch of his shirt over the muscles of his back. “Wear something cute.” 

“Oh?” Nanami looks slyly over his shoulder.  “Like what?” 

“Ah, I don’t know. You could walk in with what you’ve got on now and I’d probably take you home either way.” You tell him with a wink. He takes a few steps towards you to close the distance and smooths his thumb over your cheek. 

“Good to know,” he murmurs, and you think for a second he might kiss you. But then he’s left the kitchen, walking the rest of the way out the door and onto the street. What a tease, you think to yourself, shaking your head. 

Gojo is early for once, probably hoping to leave as little space as possible for another ambush attack. He finds you leaning against the counter, spacing out and thinking about your plans for the night. You go to greet him, but your voice swiftly dies in your throat.

He must have done it on purpose to rile you up. He’s wearing one of those criminally tight black compression shirts and a pair of grey fucking sweatpants. You understand that being a sorcerer means you have to be ready to fight, which explains the athleisure. But it doesn’t explain why Gojo had to somehow pick the sluttiest outfit he could to wear into the workplace. 

Forget the shirt for a moment. The pants hug his legs absolutely sinfully. You’re under attack from all angles. You can see his thighs and calves and gloriously perfect ass from one side, and from the other you can plainly see the outline of his dick. Thankfully, the customers will be spared from such a display thanks to the counter cutting off at his waist. You on the other hand are not so safe. 

Nobody is spared from the shirt, though. It fits him like a second skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of it in combination with his messy hair and his blackout shades and the way he looks like fucking sex on legs. One of your customers falls out of her chair and you don’t blame her.

You’ve got to ban this from the dress code. All of it. 

“What’re you blushing about, sweetheart?” He calls to you with his hands in his pockets. You throw a cup at him, even knowing it will be futile. The cup stops in front of his face and he plucks it from the air with ease, his laughter only growing louder.

“Tell me you didn’t wear that outfit to teach,” you give him a shameless once-over with a disapproving frown. 

“Of course not, baby. I changed just for you,” he smiles innocently at you, and you consider putting out a second tip jar just for tonight because you know it'll overflow. You hate pretty people. You hate them so much. 

“You’re a whore,” you grovel as he leans his elbows on the counter to put the cup you’d thrown back where it belongs. 

“Ah, I thought maybe you’d like it enough to take me home,” he gives you a wink. You consider it, truthfully. Telling your customers you’ll be back in an hour or two so you can eat this motherfucker alive, but you feel bad enough for closing on them yesterday. Besides, you’ve got to keep up enough stamina for tonight. 

At your lack of response, something seems to dawn on him. You notice his conflicted expression, but you brush it off as Gojo’s forgetfulness catching up to him, because his normal smugness returns shortly after. 

“Ohhhh right, you’ve got that date tonight with Nanamin, don’t ya?” He prods, teleporting in and out of the kitchen for his apron. You grimace. 

“It’s not technically a date,” you say flatly. “We’re just getting drinks.” 

“But you’re gonna take him home afterwards, no? And he knows that.” Gojo smirks and pokes your forehead with a long, graceful finger. “I’d say that’s a date.” 

“Well good thing it’s not up to you,” you give him an exasperated look. “Mind your business.” 

“Awe, but you two are like, my favorite coworkers,” Gojo pouts. “Let me meddle and be nosy.” He leans closer to you, whispering just against your ear so you can feel the heat of his breath. “After all, I know just what you like, so who else would you turn to for advice?” 

A pleasant chill settles over you, and so you push him away and turn back towards the register. Nope, you're not doing this right now. 

“Sleep with one eye open,” you say flatly, just as the bell rings. You transition into customer service mode at breakneck speeds to take the order of the customer who'd just entered. Gojo doesn’t seem to get the memo. Maybe he does, but he surely doesn’t care about professionalism.

“I'll sleep like a baby if you’ll put me to bed,” he purrs.

Your smile grows strained. Your customer looks between the two of you with a flustered expression, stammering out their order. 

“Don’t mind him,” you tell the customer sagely. “He doesn’t know when to shut up.” 

Gojo only snickers. “Oh, come on now. I can’t help it. You’re too easy to tease!”

“I’m going to kill him one day,” you assure the customer, who looks mildly concerned. “If you see my picture on national news, don’t be too surprised. That’ll be 2700 yen.” 

You’d expected a new awkwardness to take over during your shift with Gojo. After all, you hadn’t had a proper shift together since the night you’d slept together. And yet, conversation flows more easily than before. You still banter back and forth, but that’s all it is. It doesn’t escalate into arguments or sharp comments. Now you understand him, and he understands you, and you know now that you’re much more similar than you originally thought. 

The other thing is that, aside from when you’re throwing things at him, he deactivates his Infinity around you. It only makes sense — if you’d wanted to kill him you’ve have done it as his most vulnerable (though at the expense of your sheets) — so to keep it up would have been unreasonable. Now though, this means your casual touches go through, and you aren’t sure that’s much better. 

You give him well placed flicks between the eyebrow or the shoulders, but you also pat his bicep, or ruffle his hair. You’ve always been a tactile person, even if not particularly intimate. It’s a pretty terrible combo of qualities, you know best out of anyone. Gojo soaks it up though, matching his touchiness with your own. It doesn’t feel particularly charged, though, like before. Just nice. 

You’re not sure how that makes you feel. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

The subject gets back around to the events of yesterday. You’re both in the kitchen, and for once Satoru is actually helping you make pizza instead of snatching ingredients and eating them. Hes in the middle of explaining what your domain looked like from the outside when you interrupt him.

“Aww, were you worried about me Gojo-sensei?” You purr, mimicking Yuuji. When you say it like that though, it sends heat straight through his veins. “How precious.” 

Satoru rolls his eyes at you. He’s not sure even you understand the caliber of your own power. 

“I had every reason to be. I’ve never seen a domain like yours in my life.” He tells you, giving you a wry grin. “You’re kind of scary, sweetheart.” He pauses, a memory coming to mind. “Congratulations, by the way.” 

You turn to look at him from the sink, perplexed. “For what?” 

“You’ve been officially registered as a special grade curse user!” Satoru exclaims, waving his hands in a poor mockery of jazz hands considering they're currently encased in the lobster claw oven mitts. “So, uh, try not to act up or I legally have to kill you.” 

You shake out your hands and wipe them on a towel with a sour expression. “Are you serious? I was defending myself.” 

Satoru only raises his hands placatingly. “I didn’t make the decision. The higher ups-” 

“You and Nanami keep talking about these esteemed higher ups like you aren’t the strongest sorcerer in Japan,” you only roll your eyes at him. “You don’t have to roll over and let them tell you what to do like a dog.” 

“Well, I don't do that for starters.” Satoru replies indignantly. “They’ve begged me to kill, like, two of my students already just for existing. No way would I agree to that.” He huffs, though his irritation is soothed when your expression changes to one of pleasant surprise. He can’t believe you’d thought so lowly of him. “If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t kill you even if they told me to. To be honest, I really only go along with what they want when it’s in my favor.” 

“Oh? And it’s in your favor to spend five hours of your night with me?” You inquire, leaning back against the counter with your arms crossed over your chest. 

Satoru grins. “I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.” 

You don’t respond to this, at least not verbally. But he catches a conflicted look in your eyes, then a frown, and you’ve turned around and left the kitchen, mumbling some excuse about checking for customers. Satoru bites his cheek as you go but removes the pizzas from the oven and boxes them for you. 

He wonders if that’s actually such a strange thing for you to hear — that Satoru would rather be here working this pizzeria than doing quite literally anything else. He thinks about it sometimes — teleporting out for a second to grab a snack or go buy something he’s been thinking about — but even in these fantasies he always comes back here afterwards. Back to you. 

Huh. Maybe that is a strange thing to hear. It’s a strange thing to think about at least, now that Satoru’s actually considering it. 

After he hands said boxes out, he catches you by the register. You seem to have gotten over whatever strange feelings he’d accidentally incited in you, and you’re back to customer service.

“You know, if you let me teach you, you wouldn’t be considered a threat to society.” 

“I don’t care if they think I’m a ticking bomb, they can suck it.” You scowl as you organize the bills in the register. “I’ll think about it, but it’s not because I care about that. I want to be a better fighter, to be honest.” Your brow furrows thoughtfully. “I don’t actually know any martial arts, come to think of it. But Sukuna and I’s combined techniques should be enough to suffice, right?” 

“You’d think.” Satoru chuckles, knowing this thought process all too well. It’s good he knows better now, or he’d probably have been dead a long time ago. “I was the same way. I thought I wouldn’t have to take close combat seriously if I had my cursed technique, but then I got my ass whooped on my first day at Jujutsu High. It’s better you learn in a controlled environment than fighting someone who actually wants to kill you.” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” You hum. After a few moments, you repeat what you’d already said, but with a tone that gives Satoru a little more optimism. “I’ll think about it.”

He finds himself pleasantly surprised at the way his relationship with you is developing. He'd expected that he'd have to bribe you or give up on the idea altogether, but you seem to have changed your mind all on your own. Maybe that means you properly trust him now, which has Satoru feeling like he has a duty to make you aware that he trusts you too.

You suddenly yawn, covering your mouth with one hand and shooing him off with the other. “Go make me a coffee.” 

Satoru fixes you with an expectant look, amused when you groan. “Please?” 

“There you go, sweetheart,” Satoru teases, ruffling your hair because apparently he can just do that now, and walks back into the kitchen. “One coffee for the stunning cashier, coming right up!”

He doesn’t turn to see your expression, but he’s sure you look irritable. Your strange new relationship is uncharted territory. You don’t set each other off anymore. The bickering and teasing stays lighthearted and your conversations remain mostly friendly, occasionally setting foot in flirtatious territory. Not to mention that you’re so touchy, jeez, and Satoru isn’t accustomed to it yet. 

It might be his fault for wearing what he did, but when you’re not actively working you have a hand absentmindedly on his bicep, you tap his shoulder to get his attention, you splay a hand on his back to steer him out of the way when you’re passing through. He’s not used to it — most of the physical touch he receives nowadays is during sparring or sex — but this casual, friendly touch is addictive, and so he returns it as much as he can. It's comforting in a way he can't quite explain. 

He returns with your coffee not long after. You take an appraising sip, then frown at the mug like it had betrayed you. 

“What the hell is in this?” You ask him with a disappointed click of your tongue. 

“Milk and sugar.” Satoru answers honestly. 

Your frown deepens. “How much?” 

“Most of it.” Satoru admits. At your flat look, he quickly tries to make amends. “Come on, the taste of that stuff is terrible on its own.” 

“Maybe if my mouth were desensitized the way yours clearly is,” you glare, taking another hopeful sip like it will taste different the second time. After it goes down, you only sigh and shake your head. You don’t dump it out and make another one, though, so at least there’s that. 

Satoru pouts. “A thank you would have sufficed.” 

You take another reluctant sip from your mug. “Thank you for reminding me to never let you make my coffee.” 

Satoru laughs at his own expense, and you giggle along with him, forcing your way through his sugary coffee concoction. He wouldn’t know how to make coffee. He hates how it tastes to begin with. In his opinion, no amount of milk and sugar can make it bearable. He feels the same way about alcohol, though that’s beside the point considering what it does to his Six Eyes.

Speaking of which, Satoru really hates the idea of you going out with Nanami, even when he'd been the one to suggest it in the first place. It’s not because he’s insecure, or because Nanami’s a bad guy to go out with. He’s sure Nanami is 10/10 date material. Satoru isn’t sure why he hates it so much, and figures he just isn’t used to sharing.

It’s not like he has any sort of claim on you, though. You’ve been a free spirit so long as he’s known you. It’s not like he intends to change that, though the idea of you being his does call his name. It’s weird to think about, but even weirder that he doesn’t dislike it.

He thinks about making your coffee every morning (more suited to your tastes, that is) while you’re still asleep, thinks about holding you every night, thinks about getting to kiss you whenever he wants, and his heart gives a little pang in his chest. He’s not a domestic guy. He’s never had the chance because of the nature of his work and how he was raised to avoid becoming attached to people -- they’d always be used against him. But he enjoys this little fantasy where he gets to be domestic with you, even if just for a while. 

“Hey, space cadet,” you snap in front of his fingers. Somehow time has flown by, and Satoru has found himself standing there with a broom and dustpan. At least you don’t seem too bothered by his temporary absence, because you smile even as you reprimand him. “It’s not professional to ogle your coworkers.”

“I’m not ogling. I’m just looking. Is that a crime?” He tilts his head and smirks at you, pleased by the way you huff and roll your eyes. 

“Feel free to keep looking then, so long as you’re sweeping too,” you tell him. Satoru chuckles at that, but he refrains. After all, he shouldn’t go romanticizing a life he can’t ever have.

He ends up teleporting you back to your apartment to spare you the ten minutes of walking, even though you insist he doesn’t have to. He knows you appreciate it though because you don’t immediately go to shoo him out. 

“I’ll send you what I’m wearing,” you inform him, walking into your room and digging around your closet. “I need you to tell me if I look hot enough to fuck on sight.” 

Satoru’s eyes go wide behind his shades. You always manage to shock him. “Is that what you want him to do?” 

“Of course not, I’m not an exhibitionist.” You laugh, your smile turning somewhat devious. “But I do want to see what kind of reaction I’ll get out of him.” 

“You’re not an exhibitionist, but you are a little bit cruel.” Satoru remarks with a shake of his head. He shoves his hands into his pockets, mentally wishing Nanami strength. “I’ll let you get dressed, I suppose. Text me for my approval.” 

“Right,” you smirk, and it sends an arrow straight through his chest. He blips back to his own apartment a moment later, always feeling its emptiness starting to wear down on him. He makes his way into his room and collapses onto the bed, trying to keep busy while waiting on your text. He redownloads Crossy Road because he’s seen you playing it during shift and now wants to beat your high score.

He’s reached 218 when your message comes through. 

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:50 :
[Attachment: 1 Image]

thoughts? 

 

Satoru stares with his mouth open for so long he almost starts drooling. Forget fucking Crossy Road, you could hit him with a car and he'd thank you. You’re wearing one of those satin v-neck shirts that exposes a tantalizing amount of your collarbone, along with a belt and a pair of wide-legged black pants. You’ve adorned yourself in all sorts of gold jewelry and look nothing short of expensive. 

You’ve done something different with your hair too, and he can’t quite place it because he’s now focused on your subtle, smoky eye makeup and how whatever gloss you’re using is making your lips look particularly kissable. 

It takes an enormous amount of strength to fight every urge telling him to go back to your apartment, insist that you cancel your plans, and let him ruin you instead. Or worship you. He hasn’t decided yet, but forces his efforts on sending a reply. 

 

holy fuck. 

i’d bend you over the bar. 

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:55 :
oh, good. ( ᵘ ᵕ ᵘ ⁎)

i was worried there. 

thanks ˃̵ᴗ˂̵ 

 

Oh, how could he let this happen? He can’t have you going out looking that fucking edible, he’s going to lose his mind just thinking about it. Satoru’s not worried about creepy people trying to take advantage of you, because he knows full well that you can handle yourself. But he’s antsy knowing Nanami is definitely taking you home tonight and he just gets to sit here and pretend otherwise. 

 

make good decisions ^3^

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:56 :
sir yes sir (￣^￣ )ゞ

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

You walk into the bar with your hands shoved contentedly in your pockets, looking idly around for your not-date. You spot him at the bar, already chatting up a cheerful Lena. He’s wearing an outfit not quite so different from yours, though he’d opted for a blue button up instead of the red satin shirt you’re wearing. His pants are a little straighter legged than yours, and as always they hug his thighs and his ass like a dream. 

Lena catches you staring, because she waves you over with a bright smile. Your expression breaks into a grin as you lift a hand in a wave. 

“Hey, how’s it been?” You slide into a stool beside Nanami’s, turning up your charm. She chuckles at your obvious flirtation and tosses her hair. 

“Ah, not too busy tonight. Most people don’t go out drinking on a Wednesday night,” she says with a meaningful look between you and Nanami. “You two out on a date or something?"

“Just getting drinks,” you answer quickly, sharing a quick glance with him. He nods, and so you turn back to Lena with another sly grin. “But if he’s good tonight I’ll let him take me back to his apartment.” 

“You’re shameless,” Lena laughs, shaking her head. “I mean, you both do look dressed for the occasion.” 

“Oh, right!" You turn to face Nanami, preening a little for him. “Do you like my outfit?” 

Nanami definitely likes your outfit, if the way his eyes rake up and down your body is any indication. “Like it is an understatement. Looking at you is making my mouth water.” 

“That’s my cue,” Lena snickers, raising both hands and attending to her other patrons. She calls over her shoulder that she’ll be back with your usuals, though, and you can’t help but be grateful for her. 

“Man, she’s an angel,” you sigh contentedly, leaning your head into your palm. “You fucked her too, didn’t you?” 

“Yep,” Nanami confirms, and though you’d suspected it deep down it amuses you to know that it’s true. “She hands out free drinks to me like candy every time I come here. I think you and I should treat her sometime.” 

You don’t miss the undertones in his voice, and they make something mischievous stir within you. You really are shameless. “I’m sure she’d appreciate that.” 

“How was your shift?” Nanami asks you standardly, like you two hadn’t just discussed having a threesome with the bartender. 

“Long.” You exhale, drumming your fingers on the counter.  “I’ve been thinking about this margarita all day now, seriously. I guess working with Gojo for six hours would do that to a person.”

You're exaggerating, because you truly think it might have been one of the best shifts you two had shared yet. 

“Sounds like torture.” Nanami agrees sagely. “I seriously can’t imagine you subjecting yourself to that of your own volition.” 

You wave it away. “It all blends together after a certain point.” 

Lena returns with two glasses, one for each of you. Your usual margarita sits in yours, but you’re surprised to find a fruity cocktail in Nanami’s. 

“Thanks, doll,” you tell her with a grin, and she blows a kiss in your direction. 

“Sure thing,” she winks. One of her other patrons waves her over, and she turns the full force of her charming smile on them. You greatly admire her customer service, though you’re starting to think that maybe that’s just her personality. People that are naturally charming and sociable have always astounded you, and Lena is no exception. It’s part of why you took her home that one time in the first place. 

“Is that a Mai Tai?” You ask Nanami after she leaves. 

“Listen,” he gives you a pointed look over the rip of his glass. “I’m desperately in need of a vacation, and alcohol is the best I can do.” He hums pleasantly at the taste, now giving you a weary smile. “It’s a little bit your fault, but I can’t blame you for it.” 

“Oh boy.” You drawl, enjoying the sour, then bitter a sip of your drink brings you. “What have I done this time?” 

“Besides officially become a special grade curse user? I’ve had the higher up’s breathing down my neck ever since I volunteered to work days with you.” He rubs at what you presume is a sore spot behind his neck, shaking his head. “Not like you can do anything about that though, and it’s better me than Gojo. He’s insufferable enough as it is.” 

Oh? You’re eager to hear more about this. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“He’s a little smitten with you.” Nanami informs you with the air of one delivering tragic news. “My condolences.” 

“Ah,” you remark. You can’t help but wonder what Gojo’s said and done to make Nanami believe this to be true, but you’re certain he’s just been horribly misled. “You know, I was trying to avoid that happening.” 

“Heart wants what it wants and whatnot.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Or perhaps that’s the wrong organ.” 

The innuendo makes you cackle, forgetting your misery over the higher ups and hypothetical feelings that Gojo may or may not have towards you. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters, really. Right now you’re just having a drink with a friend who you'll hopefully get to fuck later. By now, you're an expert at running away from and forgetting about things that bother you. 

“You’re terrible.” You tease, prodding a finger into his chest. “I can’t believe I was ever misled into believing you were a prude with no sense of humor. You’re just as bad as he is.” 

“I really wouldn’t go that far-” 

You interrupt him by playing with his buttons again like you did earlier today. You slip it out of it’s pocket before replacing it, and repeat the process again. “Do you always wear button downs?” 

“When I’m out of the house.” Nanami says, and though you’re watching his buttons slide in and out of place you can feel his eyes on you. “So yeah, pretty much always.” 

“It’s good that you pull them off, then.” You say approvingly.  “Guess I’ve been on a bit of a fashion kick, lately. The way people dress says a lot about them.” 

“Is that so? And what does the way you dress say about you?” 

You cease your fidgeting for just a moment to finally look up at him, proud of the blush you’ve been able to paint across his face. “That I’m cool as fuck and can get away with wearing sweatpants to work.” 

Nanami chuckles and takes another sip of his Mai Tai. “I think that’s actually because you make the dress code.” 

You make idle conversation as your drinks get drank and refilled. At some point you start talking about books. You learn Nanami’s an Oscar Wilde fan and you talk about the Picture of Dorian Gray while you absentmindedly play with one of the buttons of his shirt, pushing it in and out of place. 

“I do appreciate the story, but Wilde’s writing style is a bit too flowery for me, y’know?” You tell him. “Took me forever to get through that one chapter about all of Dorian’s exploits or whatever. I prefer Stoker. His style’s a bit a quirky too, but very straightforward.” 

“Right.” Nanami seems quite distracted by what your fingers are doing to his shirt. They brush occasionally against the skin on his chest. You’ve left one button tastefully unbuttoned and you’ve started playing with the next. “You might like the Ballad of Reading Gaol.” 

“Why?” You inquire. “Because he wrote that about his time in prison for alleged indecent relations with men?” 

Nanami makes a face like he’s biting back a smile. “No, because the lines are short and they rhyme.” 

“Mean!” You protest, and flick him in the chest as he laughs. You stop playing with the buttons of his shirt eventually, but the tension between you never disappears. You steal his drink a few times, and he takes yours in retaliation. 

“Maybe you should slow down, I’ve got a long night planned for us.” You lean closer and trace your finger along his jaw towards his chin. He damn near chokes on his next sip. 

“You- I,” he sputters, “sorry?”

“Look at you.” You tease. “You can’t even form complete sentences.” 

“That’s not because I’m drunk.” Nanami gives you a half-hearted glare. “You’ve got a knack for making a man forget how to speak.” 

“Sorry.” You giggle at his expression. “I can be a bit blunt. Speaking of which,” you lift an eyebrow. “your apartment’s nearby, right?” 

Nanami tilts his head to the side. “You ready to go?” 

“No rush, finish your drink.” You wave a hand. But then you lean your elbow against the counter, resting your head in your hand as you smile sneakily at him. “Just thinking about sucking you dry.” 

You watch in mild fascination as he drinks the rest of his glass in one gulp and slams it back down on the counter. 

“Shall we?”

Your grin widens. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Satoru is so fucked. At first, he attempts to distract himself. He turns on the television, but finds nothing to catch his interest longer than a few minutes. He opens Digimon for the first time in weeks and even that doesn’t do it for him. He gives up and tries to go to sleep, taking a nice warm shower and settling into bed, but he ends up tossing and turning and trying not to rip his hair out. 

 Satoru’s gravely in need of entertainment. His two usual go-to’s are sitting at the bar together, the next two are in Kyoto at Utahime’s (probably canoodling), and Ijichi’s probably home with his wife. Fuck, he hates couples. Who’s a single person he can pester for a few hours until he can sleep?

Funnily enough, this is how Satoru finds himself outside Sukuna’s door, waiting for a response after knocking thrice. 

“I thought you said you weren’t coming home tonight,” Sukuna grumbles from inside. Satoru hears him walking to the door, answering it with an irritable expression that only becomes more irritable when Sukuna finds it’s not you outside the door, but the guy that killed him a year ago. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” Sukuna drones. He’s not wearing a shirt, and is only clad in what appear to be Charizard boxers. God, Satoru hates Pokemon fans. 

But still he beams back, and the other man winces at the force of his smile. “Let’s hang out!”

Sukuna starts closing the door. “No.” 

“Please?” Satoru wedges his foot in just in time. Sukuna sighs, now speaking to him through the small crack held open by his shoe. 

“Why?” He asks exasperatedly.

“We’re gonna be spending a lot of time together anyway, right?” Satoru rambles. “I mean, they said they’re thinking about coming to train with us and you already said that you’d be in if they were.” 

Sukuna scowls, and starts putting more pressure on the door. “If anything, that just sounds like more of a reason not to be around you.” 

Satoru’s toes are slowly losing circulation, but he pushes back. “Don’t you think we should get acquainted?” 

Sukuna huffs, putting his shoulder into it to match. “I’m already thoroughly acquainted with the feeling of your Hollow Purple through my stomach, thanks—” 

Satoru changes tactics. “We’re gonna break this door if we keep doing this.” 

“We?” Sukuna squawks, which would be funny if Satoru's toes didn't feel like they might fall off. “This is my door! To my living space. It’s not like I’m the one trying to break into my own apartment.” With a great sigh, he relents, and Satoru comes flying in at top speeds and nearly goes careening into the couch. “Fine, you’re in. Happy now?” 

“Very.” Satoru pays his sarcasm no mind, lifting one of the precious cats from the cushions. “Mittens! You’re so soft, my goodness. Uncle Sukuna must be taking such good care of you.” 

The Himalayan meows softly at him in response. Satoru coos and gently runs his fingers through his fur. Glancing at the tag on his collar, Satoru learns that his full name is actually Sir Mittens. 

“I can’t believe this.” Sukuna glares and returns to the couch, snatching something off the table as he passes by. “I just gave them both a bath, so if you’re gonna be here bothering me at least help me brush them.”

Satoru glances to the neighboring brush, a little teal cat brush identical to the red one Sukuna’s holding. He’s now brushing out Spinach’s fur, some of the fury easing out from his face. It quickly returns when Satoru plops right beside him, brushing Mitten’s fur in the same way. 

“You care a lot about these cats.” Satoru remarks. Sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“They deserve the respect.” He declares. “Cats are one of the earth’s greatest creatures, second only to the shark.” 

“Really?” Satoru bites back a laugh. “Do you have a favorite?” 

“Tiger shark, for sure.” Sukuna grins, and Satoru can see some of the evil return to his red eyes. “They’re vicious and bloodthirsty, with a bite strength that rivals even the great white’s. They are ravenous and all-consuming — enormous, muscular machines of consumption.” 

“I bet you were a tiger shark in a past life.” Satoru muses, ignoring the strange look Sukuna’s giving him. “Maybe with four fins instead of two.” 

“You’d be a great white.” Sukuna tells him seriously. “What an overrated species — how suitable for you. Honestly, I have yet to see your appeal.” 

This manages to get a laugh out of Satoru. Sukuna seems confused by his reaction, like he’s expected Satoru to be truly insulted instead. As if this isn’t the most civil conversation they’ve had in their lives. 

“Then you probably never will,” Satoru’s been told he’s whatever the opposite of an acquired taste is. Perhaps an acquired distaste? Not that he particularly cares what Ryomen Sukuna thinks about him, and honestly he’d rather it stay that way. 

“Why don’t you show me?” 

“Excuse me?” Satoru blinks a few times before he manages to say anything else. There’s no mistaking Sukuna’s salacious tone, nor how he’s looking at Satoru now, making warning signals blare in his head. “Are you, are you hitting on me right now?!” 

“We’ve got some time to kill.” Sukuna sits back and licks his lips in a way that does something funny to Satoru’s stomach. He’s not sure if it’s disgust or arousal. “You’re the one who wanted to get acquainted.” 

Satoru grimaces at him. So much for bonding. “That wasn’t really what I had in mind.” 

Sukuna chuckles, tilting his head. “Don’t tell me you aren’t curious, pretty thing.” 

Satoru actually shivers and Sukuna doesn't miss this. He spares Satoru by not mentioning it, but he keeps their gazes locked together in an inescapable stalemate. 

“This can’t be happening.” Satoru drags a hand down his face, feeling hot and cold all over. “I’m not sleeping with you.” 

Sukuna only tsks and sighs, returning to brushing Spinach’s hair. “Boring.” 

Satoru manages to calm his pounding heart rate. Surely Sukuna’s just fucking with him. He couldn’t have been serious. Then again, it’s not like Satoru knows him well enough to put it past him. The words pretty thing echo around in his head in Sukuna's gruff voice. 

“You hungry?” Sukuna asks suddenly, gently moving Spinach from his lap and onto the sofa. He doesn't wait for a response. “I’m hungry. I’m gonna make something.” 

Satoru watches in awe as the man starts to dig through the fridge, taking out the ingredients for a whole meal as if it isn’t bordering on midnight. 

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he says, realizing he is a bit hungry himself. “Can I help?” 

“Absolutely not,” Sukuna shoots him the middle finger, and wonders if you’d been the one to teach that or if he’d learned it from the time he’d spent with Yuuji as his vessel. “This is art in the making, I can’t have you ruining it. Just watch the cats, make sure they’re happy.” 

Satoru won’t complain about that instruction. They’ve already taken to him, cuddling against his thighs with their heads in his lap. He’s going to have a cuteness-induced seizure just looking at them. 

About fifteen minutes later, something starts smelling delicious and Satoru looks away from the cats to see Sukuna hard at work in the kitchen. He looks so focused that he could be fighting, since apparently he does both activities with the same level of intensity. 

“What are you making?” Satoru inquires. Sukuna glares at him over his shoulder at the interruption. 

“Curry,” he says tersely. Satoru accepts the answer without any more prodding, only because he doesn’t want to start an actual fight. He also gets a bit distracted watching Sukuna cook, the way his shoulders move as he chops vegetables and sears them in the pan. Now let's be clear here -- Satoru doesn't particularly like the guy, and there's still a lot of unpacked resentment from Sukuna's time as a curse. But even Satoru can appreciate a beautifully sculpted back. Sukuna doesn’t seem to notice him staring, once again too locked in on the food.

Satoru’s mouth has started watering, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the smell or the chef producing it. 

Another fifteen minutes later has them seated at the table, a steaming bowl in front of each of them. Sukuna doesn’t wait to dig in, unceremoniously inhaling his food. Satoru hesitates only for a moment — the guy could have poisoned him, after all — but he’d watched Sukuna make the food most of the way, and hadn’t caught any suspicious movements. 

Then again, he had been a bit distracted by his very bare, very muscular back, so here goes. 

Satoru takes a bite, lets it sit on his tongue before he chews and swallows. There’s so much flavor he doesn’t know want to do with it, just that he’s got to have another bite, and fast.

“That’s incredible, he remarks with his mouth full, earning him a low chuckle from Sukuna. He swallows his next bite, already readying the next one. “Fuck me, that’s so good.” 

“I thought you were opposed?” Sukuna teases him, his voice falling neatly into the overwhelming sensations Satoru’s feeling right now.  

“It’s an expression.” Satoru drawls, but it’s late, and his resolve has long past worn thin. Nor can he deny the tension that's settled over them ever since they sat down to eat. “But you know what? Sure. Let me savor this meal you made and then maybe I’ll let you put your dick in my mouth as a thank you.”

Sukuna looks just as surprised as Satoru feels, but quickly recovers. 

“You just say the word, then,” he smirks, and stands from the table, taking his bowl to the sink to wash it. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Nanami’s apartment is impeccably clean and organized. He has a few scattered papers on the coffee table but other than that it’s basically spotless. He seems to notice this, moving the papers to a corner to tidy them up. You take the opportunity to let your fingers find his buttons again, now undoing them one by one like you’d been thinking about in the bar, your lips pressed against his neck.

He’s got his hands wrapped around your waist, though they migrate along your stomach and lower back. He gasps and whines when you nip at just the right spots. You’d known from the start that Nanami’s the kind of guy you could get on his knees in no time, but you want to tease him as long as possible before you get there. That’s where the fun is.  

“Fuck, what kind of wet dream are you from, seriously?” He hisses, shrugging his shirt off his shoulders and draping it over a chair. He takes your chin between his fingers, pulling you away from his now-marked neck. “I used to fantasize about somebody like you.” 

“You can’t get a dream better than me, darling.” You grin wickedly at the breathless, flushed expression on his perfectly sculpted face. “Now stop talking. More of those cute little noises you make. I’m gonna suck your dick now, so make sure you let me know how good it feels. I’m very feedback oriented.” 

You hear him swear under his breath when you sink to your knees in front of him, and can’t help but smirk. Looking up from this angle, you can see his gorgeously toned chest filling and emptying with air in heavy breaths. His hazel eyes catch the light as he looks down at you like he’s never seen anything like you before. 

“Don’t look so scared,” you tease, rubbing a soothing hand over his hipbone. “Need me to slow down? I don’t mind.” 

“Please no,” he shakes his head fervently. “I’m painfully hard right now and I need you to touch me.” 

The raw desperation in his voice seems to catch both of you off guard, and in unison you both start to giggle. You fall forward into his pelvis and laugh into his skin while he turns his head away to chuckle. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, still chuckling a little as he looks back to you. He catches your face in his hand and makes you look at him. “I do mean it, though. Please go ahead, if I didn't turn you off.” 

You smile up at him. “Not in the slightest.” 

After unzipping his pants, you waste no time getting him in your mouth. His cock is just as gorgeously girthy as the rest of him, and you lick sweetly at his leaking tip, amused at his earlier honesty. After a few more gentle swipes of your tongue, you swallow down his length, slowly pressing your face closer and closer to his abdomen. 

You hold the backs of his thighs for support, and you love the stretch but your jaw is already aching. It’s well worth it, though. You can see him gripping the marble counter with white-knuckle force, and your goal is to make him break it. 

He’s got his other hand already fisted in your hair for support, and he’s very generously not pushing you. He praises you as you suck him off, lips spilling variations of your name and “yeah, that’s fucking perfect” and “just like that” accompanied by those soft, low groans you love to hear. 

You learn quickly that he likes it messy, likes the way your spit runs down his shaft and across your lips and chin. He likes when you look at him, likes when you hum around him and when you gag on his cock. Though, the first time you’d made him nervous. 

“Fuck, I don’t want to hurt you,” he’d smoothed a hand down your hair, but you’d only shaken your head and pushed him even deeper down your throat. You’d been rewarded with a deep groan and a shaky breath afterward. 

“Oh,” he’d said with a vague look of realization. “You like that. Fuck, you like gagging on my cock?' He'd gripped your chin then, making you look at him as he pressed himself impossibly deeper down your throat, pleased when you moaned around him. "You’re fucking perfect. I hope you don’t mind when I come down your throat because that’s about all I can think about right now.” 

You don’t mind at all. In fact, you’re working hard for that to happen, and by the way he’s twitching you can tell he’s close. He warns you too, a stammered declaration from between gritted teeth, and a hand tugging at your hair. 

You make sure to watch him as he comes apart. You watch how he tosses his head back, how he moans beautifully as he spills hot and warm down your throat, how his chest rises and falls in stuttered breaths and his hand does actually create dents and cracks in the countertop. You lick at his oversensitive member until you’re sure he’s finished, and you pop off with a satisfied smile. 

“I could watch that all day, really,” you tell him, pressing a soft kiss to his abdomen. He shivers at the feeling of your lips, and sweetly, carefully brushes your hair from your face. 

“I think you sucked my soul away,” he says, still catching his breath, and once again you both giggle. He carries you to his bedroom and soon you find yourself with your legs hanging off the foot of the bed, thighs lifted onto Nanami’s strong shoulders as he noses at your dripping pussy. 

“I’m gonna return the favor, because you look good enough to fucking eat,” he exhales, tongue going flat against your folds and licking your juices up to your clit, leaving you shuddering in pleasure. “I’ve had fantastic reviews so far, but please, tell me what you want and I’ll do anything you ask.” 

Nanami is all tenderness and praise, unlike Sukuna who degrades and humiliates you, and unlike Gojo who does a little mix of both. Nanami’s also so much more polite than your previous two partners, it almost makes you want to please him more. Like a reward for not being a depraved fuck like yourself and those who you tend to seek out. 

This is a nice change of pace, though, you think as he flicks his tongue just right against your clit. Really, really nice.

He takes his time taking you apart. None of the desperate, hurried fervor that you’re used to. He laps languidly at you, soaking up all your little shudders and whines. You can feel the heat simmering under your skin, burning excruciatingly slow but just enough to make your head spin. 

“Ah! Nanami,” you cry as you feel his teeth sink into your thigh, but his thumb circles your clit to ease your pain into pleasure. 

“Kento, darling,” he reminds you gently, voice like silk and honey, and you whimper at the mixed sensations of his teeth on your skin and his thumb on your clit. 

“Kento,” you exhale, barely able to speak. “M-more, please.” 

“So polite,” he rewards you by replacing his thumb with his lips, and slipping one of those thick, long fingers into your entrance. You gasp at the feeling, bucking involuntarily into his hand and his face. “You’ve been so good for me, I think you deserve it.” 

He curls it inside you, making you gasp and clutch at the sheets as stars flash behind your eyes. 

“Did you like that? You sound so good,” he does it again, pressing tender kisses to your thigh as a second finger nudges in beside the first. His other hand finds your hip, tenderly smoothing over your skin with his thumb. “You’re so tight, darling, need you to relax for me. Can you do that?” 

You’re actually trembling all over, but you try to do as told, actively thinking about relaxing your pelvis despite how you’re twitching beneath his persistent touches. He hums approvingly and places another kiss on your thigh, now scissoring his fingers inside of you to prepare you properly. A third slips in soon later, but you hardly notice because you’re lost in a haze of lust and Nanami’s sweet words. 

Because all the while he talks to you, kisses your thighs and your clit, tells you how good you look, how lovely you sound, how you deserve to be spoiled like this every night. 

“You’re such a hard worker, you know? It’s why I admire you so much.” He tells you, his voice your rock in the sea of pleasure about to overtake you. “But even you need to relax, let somebody else take care of you. You can come all over my fingers and sheets if you’d like. In fact, I want you to. Make a mess for me, darling, and I’ll clean you up.” 

Yeah, that’ll do it. You hardly even get time to warn him, stammering it out from lips cracked with your own drool. You come so hard you literally squirt, your body obeying his request without any reservations, and his fingers massage your walls throughout your orgasm, helping you feel everything to the fullest. 

By the time you’re done, your world is spinning, and you’re just now finding your breath again. He pulls his fingers out from you and licks them clean, climbing onto the bed beside you and tugging you limp body to rest against his chest. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and runs his hands gently over your shoulders and down your sides.

“You look so pretty when you come,” he murmurs against your ear. “Way better than a dream.”

You giggle a little at this, feeling some life come back into your body. You can feel his cock is rock hard against your back and you want to ride him into the fucking sunset, but you need a minute, shit. What are they feeding these sorcerers that make them so incredible in bed?

Nanami tilts your chin towards him, turning you slightly so the angle isn’t quite so awkward. “Can I kiss you? Is that okay?” 

You nod, feeling breathless. “Please.” 

Nanami kisses like he has all the time in the world to worship you, and it does little to help how gooey you feel all over, like someone’s turned your bones into jello. Slowly, some of your strength comes back to you, and you find the courage to nip and tug at his bottom lip. His hands squeeze your hips approvingly, and the pace naturally starts to pick up. 

You press him down to the bed so he’s resting his head against the pillows, shifting your body over his and fisting a hand in his now-messy hair. Your earlier urgency has returned, and you remind yourself that you’re not leaving this apartment until you fuck this man silly. So finally, you pull away, both of you gasping for air, and you take a minute to recenter yourself.  

“You know you just ate me out, right?” You tease him. “You didn’t have to ask to kiss me.” 

Nanami only shrugs, one hand finding your waist while the other tucks itself behind his head, putting one muscular arm on display for you. “Some people prefer not to. They think it’s too intimate.” 

“I don’t mind if it’s you.” You tell him honestly, making his eyes widen minimally in surprise. “‘m gonna ride you now, is that alright with you?” 

“Fuck, it’s more than alright.” He chuckles dryly, quickly recovering. “Just let me know if you need me to take over. I can tell you’re still tired.” 

You are, but that doesn’t stop you from giving Nanami the ride of his fucking life. You’re sure you’d both continue this cycle of trying to please each other over and over again if you had infinite stamina. But alas, you’re both human, and so after he finishes inside you, you both decide that that’s probably enough for the night. 

You take a shower with him, dutifully washing each other's hair and skin. He tickles your sides and makes you shriek with laughter enough that he threatens to shut you up with another kiss, and ends up doing just that, pressing you softly against the wall and claiming your lips with his own as he shields you from the water. 

“You’re welcome to stay the night.” He tells you afterwards as he dries you off, and you note how soft his towels are. “I know some people prefer not to, but I’d never kick anyone out.” 

“You’re too kind.” You tilt your chin to press a kiss to his jawline. “What a sweetheart you are, Nanamin.” 

He rolls his eyes at you, disappearing for a moment into his closet to grab you a rare t-shirt. “Don’t you start with that or I’ll change my mind.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” You giggle, slipping it on. It sits comfortably around you, reaching just to the middle of your thighs, and smells like his shower gel and maybe a bit of whatever cologne he uses. You watch him pull out a pair of pajamas with little yellow ducks on them and he rolls your eyes at your incredulous look. 

“They’re comfortable,” he insists, which is the same response Sukuna gives you when you ask about his Charmander boxers. He beckons you over to his bed, folding open the comforter so you both can slide in. He falls into it first, taking the far side by the lamp. You're climbing in yourself when he speaks again. 

“You two really are similar.” At your perplexed look, he clarifies. “You and Gojo. As much as it pains me to admit.” 

“Hm? What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask as you settle in. 

As he rests his head on the pillow, he huffs out a low chuckle. “Well, you both are quite, ah, enthusiastic.” 

You lie down on your back in a similar manner, a sly eyebrow raised. “And how would you know that?” 

He side-eyes you with a smirk just before turning to flick off the lamp. “Moment of weakness.” 

A memory flashes through from this morning. Nanami sipping at his coffee and saying, It happens to the best of us. And it all starts to sink in. 

That sly bastard! You know Nanami loves to take you by surprise, but you hadn’t expected him to withhold something like this from you. You’re just as surprised Gojo hadn’t said anything to you about it either, and you make a mental note to chew him out for it later.

“No fucking way.” You feel for his face in the darkness, grabbing his chin between two insistent fingers. “Who was better?” 

He chuckles, taking hold of your wrist and using it to pull you closer to him.

“I’m not answering that.” He tells you with a final kiss to your forehead and an insistent tug of your face towards his body. “Goodnight.” 

“Ah, you’re no fun,” you giggle into the crook of his neck. “Night.” 

 

 

Notes:

I’m tempted to write an actual explicit chapter for gojo and sukuna but i also like the idea of it being up to the imagination LOL. Also just so you all know I’m going to be back in school in a few days so expect some slower updates (my condolences). Thank you all for your support and feedback, I seriously love reading all of your comments!!!

Chapter 7: top ten things that were not supposed to happen, #1

Summary:

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his lap, and Gojo has the audacity to look confused. Even behind that dumb blindfold.

“Am I a dog?” He chastises, setting Mittens on the ground but making no move to get up.

Sukuna finds a smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t know. Would you beg if I told you to?” 

Notes:

hey all! terribly sorry for the wait. i ended up doing sorority recruitment at my college which took away all of my weekends and also im a double major so class work is whooping my ass. I’ve also been so caught up with work and other organizations and I also am recovering from bronchitis! Unfortunately I am a bitch who can and will do it all, but it comes at the expense of my silly little fics (sadly). So without further ado, please enjoy!

This is absolutely sinful btw. Just a warning.

 

 

In case you’re new here, here’s the context: 

 

 

 

Well, actually there is no context. Sukuna’s about to fuck the shit out of Gojo Satoru and it’s gonna take forever to explain why. Sukuna himself would much rather get to the fun, sex part of this. That is, putting Gojo on his knees where he belongs. 

He’s already mostly there, sitting on the floor with Mittens in his lap and his back against the sofa, lean legs stretched out in front of him. In human form, Gojo’s build is a lot more appealing than it had been when Sukuna’s only motivations were to ruin and destroy. Of course, he’d like to ruin Gojo in a different way tonight, but that’s besides the point. 

Being human has taught Sukuna a lot of things, though most of it he owes to you. He doesn’t think you know it, but you helping him adjust to life as a human has done more than he could ever express — not that he’d try. You didn’t only bring him back to life, you taught him how to live, too. 

Of course, he doesn’t want to think about the mushy stuff right now — not when his sworn enemy has just offered his objectively very pretty mouth up for Sukuna’s use, and he can tell Gojo’s waiting for him to break first. That’s just the kind of person Gojo is. And while Sukuna has unlearned his worst habits, he hasn’t quite figured out how to beat around the bush. He’s always been direct, very straightforward with what he wants, and so as soon as he gets bored he sighs dramatically and sets Spinach on the floor. 

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his lap, and Gojo has the audacity to look confused. Even behind that dumb blindfold. 

“Am I a dog?” He chastises, setting Mittens on the ground but making no move to get up. 

Sukuna finds a smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t know. Would you beg if I told you to?” 

Gojo outright grins, and settles himself in Sukuna’s lap without another word. Sukuna moves his hands from behind his head, reaching forward to settle his hands on Gojo’s hips. Of course, they slow just an inch away from his body, and Sukuna glares up at him. Gojo, of course, has the audacity to smirk. 

“We can’t do this if I can’t touch you,” Sukuna reminds him with a scowl. 

“Oh? Were we doing something?” Gojo asks him with a seductive edge to his playful tone. “Enlighten me.” 

Maybe things haven’t changed much after all. Sukuna still wants to kill this bastard. 

…

Perhaps he just wants to fuck him a little bit more. 

“Weren’t you lonely?” Sukuna replies, giving Gojo a grimace. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” 

“Well you don’t have to put it so roughly,” Gojo scoffs, looking affronted. 

“Well you don’t have to sit in my lap if you don’t want it rough,” Sukuna challenges, keeping his gaze steady. “I was under the impression you wanted to be fucked. But if you want to play coy then I’m sure your left hand will do.” 

Scowling, Gojo finally releases his stupid technique, and Sukuna chuckles as his fingers finally make contact. He’s so solid beneath his clothes. Not that Sukuna hasn’t been with muscular people, but he’s gotten used to how soft you are to the touch. This is a nice change of pace. It means he can be a little meaner. 

Sukuna slips his fingers below the other man’s shirt, privately relishing in the way his breath catches as he traces along his abs and obliques. Not to say Sukuna’s physique is any less impressive, but he still finds it worth admiring, especially because he recognizes the power thrumming beneath his skin. Gojo reeks cursed energy like a nuclear power plant — radioactive and dangerous.

“Strip.” Sukuna orders, fingers still tracing shapes along Gojo’s skin. Their current position lets Sukuna know how much the simple touch is affecting him, even when Gojo frowns. 

“You could be nicer.” 

“You wouldn’t be here if you wanted nicer,” Sukuna reminds him, and with a defeated huff Gojo does as told. Sukuna, of course, remains fully clothed and simply watches. Gojo, of course, isn’t shy by any means, and makes quick work of his shirt and pants. After removing his boxers without a moments hesitation, he then reaches for his socks. 

“As much as I’m looking forward to making you my pet,” Sukuna speaks up, “you can tell me if I’m going too far.” 

Gojo pauses in the middle of removing his left sock to stare at Sukuna in surprise (still behind that stupid blindfold). “Wait, really?” 

“Yes, really.” Sukuna rolls his eyes. “Usually it’d be a safe word but I’m going to — as you so eloquently stated earlier — ‘put my dick in your mouth,’ so talking isn’t going to really be an option for you.” He lifts two fingers and taps himself on the thigh to demonstrate. “Do this instead, and we’ll stop.” 

“I didn’t know you believed in stuff like that.” Gojo gives an approving nod as he finally removes his boxers and lets his fucking gorgeous cock spring free. “Good for you.” 

“I gained a few morals after losing my technique.” Sukuna huffs, hungrily eyeing Gojo’s physique from head to toe. “Go figure.” After Gojo makes no move to take off his blindfold, Sukuna nods to it. “That’s gotta go too.”

Gojo pulls one end of it down with a finger so Sukuna gets a glimpse at his crystalline eyes. Those same blue eyes that once crackled with murderous intent and a little bit of insanity now give Sukuna a petulant look. “I’m gonna be bitchy about it. Your place is too bright.” 

Sukuna stands and moves to the opposite wall, reaching for the switch. “Here, then. We’ll keep the lights dim.” He turns the lights in the room down until they’re practically off, only a faint glow coming from the nearby lamps. “Better?” 

Gojo looks uncharacteristically lost, staring at Sukuna like he’s grown a second set of arms (again). “Yeah.” 

Sukuna would otherwise make fun of him, except Gojo Satoru is very beautiful and very naked and, as stated earlier, he would much rather get to the fun, sex part of this. And so he strides over easily, tossing his own shirt on the couch as he does.

“Why do you look so afraid?” Sukuna rests a hand on the side of his neck, feeling his pulse beneath his fingertips. He keeps his voice to a soft, sensual murmur as the other hand lifts Gojo’s blindfold from his eyes, revealing two very wide, very brilliant sapphires staring back at him. “Relax, yeah?” 

And then he attacks. Teeth straight to the jugular, no preamble, he licks and sucks and bites as his fingers rake down Gojo’s chest and sides and back. The other man lets out a startled but very pleased gasp, his hands reaching up on instinct to grasp in Sukuna’s hair. It must be a bit shorter than Gojo’s expecting, because he quickly relocates one hand to Sukuna’s shoulder.

“Mm, gonna make you do that again,” Sukuna hums against his skin, a promise, now finding the juncture of Gojo’s neck and collarbone. “Gonna take such good care of you.” 

His hand finds Gojo’s hard-on without having to do much exploring (he’s fucking huge), and he presses the heel of it against him, relishing in the way Gojo’s hips rut desperately against his hand. 

“Fuck, needy little pet, aren’t you?” Sukuna murmurs against his ear. “Poor thing. Must be so neglected.” 

He uses the precum accumulated at the tip to properly pump Gojo’s cock — the other man still has yet to say a word, breathing rugged and sharp in Sukuna’s ear, broken only by soft moans and grunts. 

“You wanna cum, pet?” At Gojo’s approving moan of response, Sukuna abruptly stops and squeezes the base, hard. “Use your words.” 

Gojo, always one to surprise him, offers an unsatisfactory reply. “Fuck, I hate you.” 

“Sorry?” Sukuna keeps his voice steady, but squeezes even tighter. “Maybe I misheard you.”

“F-fuck. I meant yes, yes I want to cum, please,” Gojo exhales shakily, voice petering off into a whine that stirs heat in the pit of Sukuna’s stomach. “Need it.”

“That’s what I thought,” Sukuna releases him, giving him a few softer strokes at the tip in apology. “You’re gonna suck me off, first, and then you can come on my cock. Yeah?” 

Gojo looks torn. Rock hard, cheeks flushed, bottom lip red from biting it, eyes glassy. And yet Sukuna knows he likes this, likes being denied what he wants. Likes working for it. He’s not quite sure who taught him this, or if earning your own pleasure is just a novelty for people who are born with everything.  

“Did you hear me, slut?” Sukuna’s hand tightens around Gojo’s throat as he leans forward to nip at his ear. “On your fucking knees.” 

Gojo’s body seems to react before he does, falling to the floor in front of him. His back’s practically against the wall, nowhere to go. Seeing the untouchable Gojo Satoru look so trapped is such an enticing scene. Not to say Gojo’s just going to sit back and take it — the heady but heated glare he’s giving Sukuna while on his knees is enough to demonstrate that he’s not typically the one in this position. 

And yet, he seems to like it. How curious. 

Sukuna relishes in the minute widening of Gojo’s eyes as he frees his cock from his (very fashionable Charmander) boxers. Sukuna of all people should be able to tell when somebody looks hungry. Always one to indulge himself, he stops Gojo when he reaches forward. “Ah, ah. No hands.” 

Gojo scoffs. “Are you serious?” 

“So serious,” Sukuna replies easily, letting it slap him on the cheek. “Actually, I’ve got an idea. Stay there.” 

Sukuna moves slightly, bending down to pick up Gojo’s blindfold from the floor. Standing beside him, he digs a heel into Gojo’s shoulder, forcing him to bend forward and laughing at the surprised grunt the other man lets out. 

“Bet you’re not used to getting manhandled like this,” Sukuna teases as he neatly restrains Gojo’s wrists together at the small of his back. “I keep telling them they’re being too nice to you.” 

He punctuates the statement with a sharp tug on the knot — probably hard enough to disrupt his circulation — and yanks Gojo back to a sitting position by his hair as he returns to his previous spot, admiring his handiwork. Gojo looks properly disgruntled, but admittedly beautiful with his body exposed to its fullest and his hands behind his back. 

“Alright?” Sukuna asks, because he’s working on his courtesy. 

“Peachy.” Gojo grits out. Sukuna pays his tone no heed. 

“Good,” he steps closer, dragging a finger along Gojo’s cheekbone. “Then get to it already, sorcerer.” 

Gojo refrains from reminding Sukuna that he too is a sorcerer now, and instead takes to wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. Sukuna hisses through his teeth as the man starts to take him deeper, mildly impressed at the ease of it all. Clearly he’s done this before. 

Well, Sukuna can’t say he’s that surprised. 

“You know what? You are pretty easy on the eyes. At least, when you can’t talk.” Sukuna grunts and bites his lip as Gojo drags his tongue along the underside of his dick. His hand involuntarily squeezes the back of Gojo’s pristine, white hair. “Yap, yap, yap, it’s about time somebody shut you up.” 

Those sky blue eyes glare daggers at Sukuna even when his pink lips are stretched beautifully around his cock and his hands are fastened neatly behind his back. 

“Something about this just feels so right, doesn’t it?” Sukuna continues, starting to move his hips in time with Gojo’s mouth up and down his length. He can tell the other man is waiting for more— anticipating the rough treatment he was promised. 

“Something about putting you in your place is just incredibly satisfying.” Sukuna grins as he manages to fit more of his cock down Gojo’s throat, finding great pleasure in the way spit pools around the base and the other man’s eyes go glassy with tears. “Don’t be shy, take the whole thing. It’s a privilege.” 

Gojo gagging on his cock is such a wonderful sight that Sukuna could come from that alone.

“You’d make the perfect fucking cocksleeve.” He praises, if that could even be considered a compliment, as his pace starts to increase. “Would you like that? Having me put you on my cock whenever I want?” 

Gojo’s eyes actually roll back in his head, and fuck if that isn’t pretty Sukuna doesn’t know what else is. The way he moans around Sukuna’s cock sends electricity sparking up Sukuna’s spine. 

“You’re such a fucking slut.” Sukuna murmurs, now properly face-fucking him. “If only I’d known. I’m sure we could’ve worked something out last year.” He can feel his release building, hurtling towards the edge so much faster than he’d anticipated. “Fuck, I’m close.” 

Gojo somehow manages to relax his throat even further, and Sukuna knows full well that that’s a sign he wants him to cum straight into his slutty fucking mouth. Sukuna actually can’t believe this — this was quite possibly the last thing he was expecting tonight. 

Sukuna can feel his own cursed energy hiss and spark to match Gojo’s as he finishes, spilling hot and wet down the other man’s throat. His orgasm runs through him like a train, but Gojo takes it like he was born to do just that, keeping his lips stretched around Sukuna until he’s swallowed every last drop. 

“Fuck,” Sukuna hisses, releasing his hold on Gojo’s hair, smoothing it out almost apologetically.  “You’re good.” 

“So I’ve heard,” Gojo has enough pride to grin at him, despite the fact that his voice is hoarse and his lips are probably bruised from the rough dicking he’d just received.  He’s flushed pink all over, particularly in the cheeks, and dripping in sweat. And yet he still manages to look like some kind of snow prince, perhaps just flushed from the cold. It’s genuinely infuriating, but even so Sukuna can’t help but laugh. 

“And you’ve still got the capacity to be irritating. I should be impressed, really.” He chuckles, settling himself on the ground and reaching behind Gojo to remove his blindfold from around his wrists. 

“Aww, getting my hands back already?” Gojo feigns disappointment, shaking out his wrists as they’re freed. Sukuna just tsks, setting the blindfold on the table behind him. “I was really enjoying being the one who’s tied up, for once.” 

“Freak,” Sukuna snorts as though it hadn’t been his idea in the first place. “But trust me, you’ll want them. Besides, we’re moving locations. As much as I’m sure you’d like it, whore, I’m not fucking you on my floor.” At Gojo’s infuriating pout, Sukuna scowls. “It’s hardwood and even I’m not that cruel.” 

Luckily, it’s a short trip into the bedroom. Gojo seems quite fascinated by how normal it is — from the traditional lighting and furniture to the four-poster bed with a black frame and purple and gold accents. 

“What?” Sukuna smirks at him as he settles himself on his bed, leaning back against his pillows with his hands behind his head. “Excepting some kind of torture chamber?” 

“Seeing the marks you like to leave on our mutual friend,” Gojo appraises him with a meaningful look. “Sounds about right,” 

Sukuna scoffs, his smirk widening at Gojo's comment. He leans in close, his voice low and gravelly, as Gojo settles himself on top of Sukuna on the bed, straddling his lap. “Jealous, sorcerer? Can't handle the fact that I mark what's mine?”

Gojo’s eyes flash dangerously. “They don’t belong to anyone.” 

“Yeah. And have you considered that that includes you?” Sukuna murmurs, his hand greedily splaying itself across Gojo’s ribs, relishing in the sheer volume of the power radiating from his very skin. “I’m joking, by the way. After all, I’m not attached to them the way you are.” 

It’s not exactly a lie. Sukuna isn’t attached to you the way Gojo is. He doesn’t stare at you with lovey-dovey softness in his eyes or consider you in any particularly romantic sense. He’s not possessive of you anywhere outside the bedroom. 

But he is protective of you. He feels he owes you that, at the very least, but it comes naturally to him too. It’s strange, because he hasn’t felt the urge to protect anyone but himself in so long. And yes, while he isn’t possessive, he also doesn’t sit well with the idea of you walking out of his life. Not that he thinks you would, even if you actually pursued something with Gojo other than whatever game you two are playing, but it does concern him. Only sometimes. 

Of course, the Six Eyes see right through him. 

“Oh? You’re the one who sounds jealous,” Gojo tilts his head and leans forward slightly, his thighs tensing around Sukuna’s with the movement. “No need to get defensive. To be fair, I think they might like you better anyway. You’ll have to teach me how you did it.” 

A playful spark flashes in Gojo’s eye, and Sukuna almost chuckles at the absurdity of this. He can’t believe this asshole is trying to console him right now. He kind of wants to hit him, but maybe he’ll just go back to fucking him instead. 

“Well here’s one thing,” Sukuna’s hand meanders back up to Gojo’s face, a thumb skimming his plush lips. “They really like when I do this.” 

He proceeds to push two fingers into his mouth, and ignores the way Gojo’s eyes flash with the mischief of the phrase I know. Sukuna might have admonished him, but Gojo’s proving to be very skilled with his mouth, and arousal is usurping his irritation. 

“Get them nice and wet, because this is all the lube you’re getting.” He chuckles at the way Gojo immediately starts to get sloppier, spit pooling around his knuckles and the base of his fingers. 

“Eager, are we?” Sukuna grins derisively, taking his fingers away. He derives great pleasure in pushing Gojo by the chest to his other side and climbing on top of him, effectively switching their positions. He lines his slick fingers up with Gojo’s hole, which twitches in anticipation at the pressure. “You okay?” 

Gojo snorts, his tone playful but clearly strained with arousal. “You know, I really didn’t expect you to be so polite.” 

“A shame. You’re every bit as annoying as I thought you’d be,” Sukuna replies, and promptly breaches the tight ring of muscle with one finger. The reaction is immediate — something visibly sparks above Gojo’s chest and Sukuna feels the air pressurize and release in quick succession. Meanwhile, Gojo whines with need at the intrusion. 

“Fuck, move, please,” he groans, pushing his hips toward Sukuna’s knuckle.

“I will, I will, but shit you’re tight.” Sukuna lets out an amused huff, obliging Gojo’s request by curling it upwards. After all, his fingers are pretty thick. He should take his time, as tempted as he is to ruin him right away. “Am I about to take your ass virginity?” 

“Don’t sound so excited.” Gojo glares at him, but the effect is lost in how hard he’s breathing and the prominent flush in his cheeks. “I’ve been fucked before. Just was a really long time ago. Haven’t had anything, ah, up there in a while.” 

Sukuna hums, and presses the second finger in alongside the first. Another pop in the air, a few more sparks, and something audibly shatters in the next room over. 

“Interesting.” Sukuna murmurs, feeling unreasonably turned on by the raw release of Gojo’s cursed energy. “I’ll be nice and prep you properly, but you gotta relax a little, shit. I’m not gonna hurt ya.” He curls his fingers again, rubbing a soothing circle into Gojo’s hip with his free hand. “Too badly, at least.”  

“How considerate.” Gojo drawls, but he interrupts himself with a high pitched whine as Sukuna’s fingers press right against his prostate. Luckily, nothing breaks this time. “Ah! Fuck, do that again.” 

His demand is met with a harsh slap of Sukuna’s palm against his ass. 

“I know you’re used to calling the shots, but you’re not exactly in any position to do so right now.” 

“Says wh- ah,” Gojo’s attempt at a retort is thwarted by another expert curl of Sukuna’s fingers, while the other man repeats the action relentlessly. He starts to stretch him out by scissoring his fingers, unceremoniously spitting on his hole to make room for a third. 

“What was that?” He goads, relishing in the flush of Gojo’s skin, the crackling of his cursed energy around them. “Did you have something to say?” 

“F-fuck you,” Gojo manages, head tossed back while his spine arches off the bed. Shit, he really does look good like this. Sukuna starts to consider that maybe you were onto something. He wants nothing more than to fuck the everloving shit out of this guy, and he can’t believe he’s actually saying this. 

The idea of him succumbing to Gojo’s all-consuming sex appeal infuriates him initially, but now he just wants to fuck him even harder. As much as he could tease Gojo with three fingers all night, he’s now achingly hard again and something needs to be done about it. 

“You're such a brat. Can't even keep that smart mouth of yours shut for a minute, can you?” He tsks, and removes all of his fingers without warning. Gojo actually cries out at the action, looking rightfully furious. His cock is leaking from the tip and drooling onto his stomach. Oh, he’d been close. Poor thing. 

Lucky for him, Sukuna’s done taking his time. 

He shifts forward, grabbing Gojo’s chin and tilting his face towards his waiting cock. “Open.” 

Gojo looks like he might complain for all of two seconds before he must decide that chasing his release at the moment is much more important than his pride. He takes Sukuna into his mouth for the second time that night, already understanding what he has to do. Efficient, as always. 

“Drool on it some more. It’ll make it easier for you.” Sukuna instructs, helping to bring him away from the edge by gently running his fingers through his hair. He can feel the air start to physically settle around them as Gojo relaxes marginally. It’s mesmerizing, actually, how his cursed energy is so tangible, and Sukuna’s experiencing a serious power trip at having the man responsible sucking his dick. 

“Good boy. So well behaved, pet,” Sukuna murmurs as he pulls himself away, settling back to where he’d been. Gojo’s puckered hole twitches in anticipation, and the other man’s breaths are coming shallow and shaky. Sukuna settles both his hands on Gojo’s hips, providing a soothing, grounding pressure. “Now relax for me, yeah?” 

Gojo exhales deeply, and Sukuna begins to press himself inside. He’s met with resistance, but another self-controlled breath allows him further entry. Still, Gojo’s walls pulse tightly around him, practically sucking him inside. It takes longer than he’d like to fully sheathe himself, but he doesn’t want to hurt the other man — for fear of his belongings, if things keep randomly shattering. He wonders how you did this the first time — how’d your apartment stay intact?

“Good?” Sukuna leans forward, cupping Gojo’s face with one hand to get his attention. The gesture might seem intimate, but really, Sukuna just wants this guy’s cursed energy to quit breaking things, as marvelous as it is. 

Gojo’s already panting just from the stretch of Sukuna inside him. Energy is crackling around him, but the soothing contact seems to be working.

“Fuck, you’re so big.” He laughs weakly to himself in disbelief. “What the fuck.” 

Sukuna scowls impatiently. “Would you answer my question?” 

“I’m so good.” Gojo assures him quickly, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “Please fucking move, I’m dying here.” 

Sukuna gives one experimental thrust, and the sound Gojo makes is fucking heavenly. It’s all over from there, Sukuna setting a relentless pace, chasing his own pleasure in tandem with the needy moans coming from Gojo’s throat. He grips the headboard with one hand and uses the other to balance himself so he can bite a new mark into Gojo’s flawless collarbone. Sukuna’s thoughts are consumed by the way Gojo seems to fall apart so beautifully beneath him, his cries sending sparks of pleasure down his spine.

“You're so noisy,” he groans in pleasure, his head falling forward onto Gojo’s chest. “For once it’s music to my ears. Don’t stop — I want you to hear how good I’m fucking you.” 

He grips Gojo’s thigh with bruising force and presses it back to hit a deeper angle. Something else shatters in the other room, but Sukuna can’t bring himself to care. He knows the cats are smart enough to have evacuated the premises, so all he’ll have to worry about tomorrow is explaining away the pile of broken shards to you.

Right now, this is the only thing consuming his thoughts. Gojo feels criminally good around his cock, tight and warm but so pliant, like he’s been craving this. He doesn’t do himself any justice by the incoherent babble now spewing from his lips, especially since Sukuna seems to be hitting his prostate head-on with every thrust. 

“Sukuna, Sukuna,” Gojo chants his name ironically like a prayer, syllables slurred and half-whined. “Feels, ah, feels so good. Fuck, don’t stop, right there, please-” 

And fuck, does Sukuna like hearing him beg. 

“Yeah? You like how I fuck you? You like how I treat you like a toy?” He growls as an idea forms. “Well here, you’re gonna love this.” 

Sukuna flips Gojo around, only having to shift slightly before spearing himself back inside, pressing Gojo’s back down onto the bed in a perfect arch. Sukuna’s brain is barely forming coherent thoughts as he takes Gojo apart, movements rough and demanding. He's vaguely aware of the air shifting around them, filled with the sound of crackling energy on top of skin on skin. It's like a rush of power that has him addicted, and he's all too happy to indulge himself. 

Besides, with the way Gojo’s muffled cries sound against the pillows, Sukuna has a hard time believing the other man isn’t enjoying this more than he is. He’d like to appreciate the biblical implications here — evil incarnate seducing an angel sent from heaven, corrupting him through carnal pleasures and temptation, leading to his fall — but Sukuna knows better. After all, he is a human now, and Gojo Satoru is no angel. 

“Close,” Sukuna warns through gritted teeth. It’s actually taking all of his self control not to snap right now, but the urge to feel Gojo around come him keeps him from teetering off the edge. He can tell the other man is close too merely by the way the air pulses around them like a living, breathing thing. Not only that, but the atoms are getting tighter together. Sukuna’s finding it harder just to breathe, and time feels like it’s speeding up and slowing down around them. He wonders if this happened with you too, or if your cursed energy was strong enough to contend with his.

After all, you’re probably the only one in the world who could truly rival Gojo in sheer power. It’s one of the many things Sukuna likes about you.

Gojo tries to reply verbally, he really does, but the sounds he’s making and the way he’s altering physics is more than enough indication. And so Sukuna prompts him to the best of his ability. 

“Come on my fucking cock like the dumb slut you are.”

Just for a second, there’s a pause. Like the eye of a hurricane, a moment of pure stillness in which Sukuna can see and feel and taste everything around him before it’s all lost to chaos. 

Gojo comes, and he comes hard, tearing up time and space like bits of paper as the elements react to his orgasm. The lights flicker too bright before burning out, the air thrums around them, and Sukuna can feel his ears popping like he’s been ejected five hundred kilometers per hour into space. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying. It’s enrapturing. 

Gojo Satoru is no angel, but he could be god. 

The way his walls pulse around Sukuna’s cock throw him forcibly into his release, and Sukuna might actually see stars. His vision goes white when he comes, like he’s seeing the gates of heaven for the first and last time in his life. 

And then it’s over. As they’re coming down together, heaving, Sukuna climbs off unceremoniously and falls onto his back in a sweaty heap of limbs. Gojo makes no move to change positions, remaining facedown but with his head turned to the side to breathe. Sukuna’s never really noticed how human his eyes really are, having been accustomed to what he’d seen of them as a curse. But here they’re full of life, a cacophony of complex emotions and feeling that Sukuna can’t even begin to unpack. Well, that’s not really his job anyway.

“You alright?” He asks.

Gojo pauses and exhales before responding. “I’m alive.” 

“Good.” Sukuna rolls over and sits up. “You can go home then, I’m taking a shower.” 

Gojo gives him a sly look. “You don’t want me to join you?” 

Sukuna glares. “Fuck no.” 

“You won’t even see me out?” Gojo pouts at him, and it almost works. Almost. 

“You can teleport.” Sukuna huffs, stalking off toward the bathroom. “Goodbye.” 

He shuts the door quickly after, but not before he hears Gojo murmur, “Asshole.” 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Gojo’s hiding something from you. 

You can tell as soon as he comes in, and though he smirks and waves he offers no snarky remark or terrible pickup line. That’s your first sign.

The second sign is how abnormally quiet he is. Not that you mind the peace for a change, but eventually your contentment escalates into worry. He’s too calm, too noncommittal, a bit more fidgety than normal. Something’s up, and you’re going to figure it out,  

“How was your night?” You test the waters as you’re grabbing the new batch of order slips. 

Gojo is uncharacteristically silent, and so you turn to him with a raised eyebrow only to find him blushing brilliantly red and looking steadfastly toward the ceiling. You’ve learned this is his way of hiding his eyes from you since he knows now how well you can read them.

The important part here though is that he’s blushing, the flush creeping steadily down his neck and to the tips of his ears. How curious. A grin stretches across your lips and you don’t bother to stop it. It’s like new material has just been handed to you on a silver platter. 

“Oh?” You start to prod. “And who’s the lucky person? One of your many suitors from the number jar? A stranger you met on the street? I’ve got to know.” 

You can tell something’s off by the ensuing silence that stretches between you. Gojo fidgets with the fabric lining the pocket of his apron, another nervous habit you’ve noticed from being around him for hours every night. He finally looks at you, and for once, you can’t read anything in his eyes. Perhaps a slight panic.

“I don’t think you want to know,” Gojo says carefully, and your smile freezes on your face. You get the feeling that this conversation isn’t quite as frivolous as you’d originally thought. Perhaps learning the identity of this person would effectively ruin your life. So yeah, maybe you don’t want to know. 

“How was your night?” He asks instead to divert the subject. You’re just as grateful for it as you are wary, but you’d much rather discuss your own night of passion than open the potential can of worms surrounding his. 

“Everything I could have dreamed of.” You sigh melodramatically, grinning at the eye roll that it earns you.

“Really?” He asks you in a nonchalant way that sounds just a bit off. Hardly noticeable, to the untrained ear. “You think you’ll get a second date?” 

“It wasn’t a date. I don’t do that.” You clarify, because that’s always been protocol. Even if you’ve been breaking said protocol ever since coming here. You sigh again, more melancholy this time. “Alas, I don’t think Nanami’s the one for me.” 

Gojo snorts. “The sex was that bad, huh?” 

“Oh no, the sex wasn’t a problem at all.” You joke, but it sounds flat even to you. All you can do is hope Gojo doesn’t say anything about it. “I just think we’re just too good of friends, to be honest.”

He doesn’t pry, probably because he’s afraid you will, and you settle into a stalemate. You take up your typical spot in the kitchen while your thoughts wander to this morning. 

You’d woken up in Nanami’s bed, lying on your stomach with your arm strewn over his pillow. The man was nowhere to be seen, but you smelled cooking even in your sleepy state and had followed the scent out to the kitchen. There, you’d found him shirtlessly brewing coffee with a sizable stack of pancakes already on a plate beside him, and one more sizzling in the pan. Quite literally a dream come true.

You come behind him and stand on your toes to peer over his shoulder, grinning into his bare skin. 

“Are you feeding a small army?” You tease him as he refocuses towards the pan from the coffee machine. 

“You’re close enough to fitting that description,” he tells you, wedging his spatula beneath the pancake to flip it. “I hope they’re good enough for you. I’m sure you’ve been spoiled with your own cooking.” 

“You know, I’m not actually that picky,” you assure him, rolling your eyes a bit as you slide into a seat at his kitchen table. “It’s honestly just nice to have someone cook for me for once.” 

He only hums at this, and you glimpse a little side smile of amusement before he’s turning to the cabinet to grab two mugs. Also duck themed, like his pajama pants. You can’t help but wonder where this apparent duck obsession came from. 

After flipping the last pancake onto the stack and shutting off the pan, he returns his bowl of batter to the sink and starts to pour the both of you coffee. You’re just admiring the homey-ness in his kitchen when he says something that makes your stomach drop. 

“We shouldn’t do this again.” He tells you, setting a steaming mug of fresh coffee in front of you, prepared just how you like it. 

“What? Why not?” You try to act unbothered, but you’re genuinely distraught. What did he mean, you shouldn’t do this again?! Was the sex that bad?! “Was the sex that bad?” 

Nanami actually snorts at this as he sets the plate of pancakes in front of you, sliding forth both syrup and butter for your use. Despite your devastation, you’re starving and the promise of pancakes is enough to placate you for now. You serve yourself a few and push the plate back to him as you reach for the syrup. As he starts serving himself, Nanami elaborates in that calm, easy tone he’s always had. 

“Had nothing to do at all with the sex.” He promises you. “Much the opposite. I fear im getting too attached.” 

You frown. “Is that a problem?” 

Nanami tsks and shakes his head, and though he’s smiling it’s just barely. “It’s a problem because if I have you, darling, I won’t be able to share.” 

You actually stop and think about it for a second. Commitment. Being with Nanami for real, waking up with him and having him make you pancakes that aren’t actually half bad and making your coffee exactly how he knows you like it. Having him work out your stress with his hands, soothe your worries, spend his nights spoiling you. Being his partner, exclusively, really doesn’t sound all that bad. 

“Who says you need to?” You ask, testing the waters. 

Nanami sighs your name and gives you a knowing look. And with that, your thinly-constructed narrative falls to pieces. Then he confirms what you know to be true deep down, even though you haven’t truly accepted it. 

“If it’s just anyone, it could never be just me.” 

You glumly take another bite of your pancakes. The syrupy sweetness helps wash down the guilt. Nanami doesn’t seem upset, though. You’re sure he’d prepared himself for this. Maybe he even knew he’d end up doing this all along. He’s always been a man of preparation, of foresight, and you commend him for that. 

“We all can see it.” Nanami speaks up again, taking a sip of his coffee. “I know you can, even if you don’t believe it, and Gojo definitely sees it too even if he’s in denial over it.” 

You swallow. “About what?” 

“That you two are the same. That he isn’t alone anymore.” The words mirror the thoughts that had been ricocheting around your head recebrlu. Ever since that night in your bath, really. “I’m assuming you’ve felt that too.”

You take a sip of your own coffee and swallow down your pride for a minute to give Nanami the honesty he deserves. “Yeah, I have.” 

Nanami just nods understandingly. “I figured as much. There’s something about him I think you should know.” 

“Wait.” You try to cut him off right away, frowning at your mug. “I don’t know. I’ve always minded my business about him, you know? If he doesn’t tell me something I don’t want to invade his privacy.” 

Nanami chuckles humorlessly, though he seems endeared by your respect. “It’s not a private matter. I’m sure it’s just a longer story to tell for him than it was for the rest of us.” His forefinger taps the wood a few times. “But I can fill you in on what I saw, and what I see now. Does that sound reasonable?”

You think about it for a moment. Despite all the time you’ve spent together, Gojo’s past is still a mystery to you. And though yours is to him as well, recent events have made you even more curious than before. So you swallow, and give Nanami a slight nod. “Go ahead.” 

Nanami’s finger taps the table a few more times as he decides where the story actually begins. “Gojo has always been the strongest. They say the day he was born the world shifted to make room just for him.” He fixes you with a look now, very meaningful and serious. “But there was a point in time when we all thought maybe there was someone just as strong as him. He was this random special grade from the sticks nobody had ever heard of. Naturally, they were best friends even when they butted heads.”

“Geto?” You inquire, and Nanami nods his affirmation. “What was he like?” 

“Gentle. Self-sacrificing.” He pauses and frowns. “Well, at first.” He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at you, as though in disbelief. “He really hasn’t said anything?” 

“He doesn’t like to talk about him.” You shrug. 

“I don’t blame him. Geto was probably the hardest loss of his life.” Nanami sighs, looking weary. “It was hard for all of us, but especially him. I went to school with them both. I could see it in his eyes that Geto cared for Gojo more than any of us could ever say we did, and eventually, I saw the same thing in Gojo too. I seriously thought they’d get married out of high school.” 

“So what happened?” You know by now that the mortality rates for sorcerers are quite high, especially when they’re young. “Was he killed?”

“Worse.” Nanami’s jaw sets.“He defected. Snapped one day and never came back. Geto gave us all kinds of hell behind the scenes for ten years before declaring war on the school.” He gives you a minute to process this before continuing. “I wasn’t there the day he died. I was fighting in Kyoto, but Gojo was. He had to kill him himself.” 

“Oh.” You inhale, feeling a phantom pain in your own heart. “Fuck.” 

“He covers it up pretty well, but I think since I knew him before and after, I can tell he’s never really been the same.” The look in Nanami’s eyes is full of both pain and nostalgia. “But since you showed up I’ve been seeing his old self more and more when he’s with you. I don’t know whether it’s hope, relief, love, or some combination of all three. All I know is he hasn’t felt any of them in a long time, and I wouldn’t stand in the way of that.” 

Even after his declaration, you still can’t understand his decision. Maybe you just haven’t known Nanami long enough, but he didn’t seem the type to give something up for somebody he openly hates. Nanami is many things, but self-sacrificing isn’t one of them. It’s one of the things you like about him — that he keeps it real and doesn’t try to play a hero. You’ve always been the same.

“That’s too selfless.” You tell him, furrowing your brow. “Even for you.” 

“It’s not really selflessness.” Nanami merely shrugs. “After all, I know I’m not in love with you.” Ouch. “Yet, at least. For Gojo, it might be a bit too late.” 

You open your mouth to argue — after all, you have trouble believing Gojo could ever actually be in love, much less with you. But again, you don’t know Gojo that well. He wouldn’t let you see this side of him before Nanami laid it out for you on his behalf. Now that perpetual melancholy in his eyes makes sense — you’d never really understood it before. 

Clearly, there are a lot of things about Gojo that you don’t really understand. 

A shift in front of you breaks your train of thought. Nanami’s leaned across the table on his forearm, and you feel his fingertip against your face, brushing away a crumb you hadn’t noticed.

“But of course, it’s not up to Gojo.” Nanami traces your jawline with his thumb to get your attention, bringing your eyes to his. “So if and when you decide for some reason you want me, and only me,” the way he’s looking at you makes you hold your breath, “you let me know, and I can make you forget you ever wanted anyone else. Alright?” 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

You’ve been spacing out a lot lately. Satoru has noticed, but he’s afraid to ask because he doesn’t want you to know about what he’s dubbed as the Sukuna Incident (Hot). Very different than the Sukuna Incident (Catastrophic). What’s even stranger is that you seem to be watching him a lot more than usual too. He’s used to being analyzed, but that’s usually by special grade curses or curse users trying to kill him in battle. Seeing that kind of analysis from you is somehow even more daunting than when he still thought you might kill him. 

“Heyyy,” he waves a hand in front of your face and masks his concern by being obnoxious. “Anyone home?” 

As usual, it seems to do the trick. You furrow your brow at him and bat his hand away in irritation. 

“Go away. Aren’t you meant to be taking orders?” You snap at him. Satoru only clicks his tongue. 

“Aren’t you meant to be making orders?” He contradicts, gesturing to the kitchen with his head. “I know I’m quite enrapturing to the eye, but it’s been ten minutes. I’m starting to think there’s something on my face.”

You give him one of your worst glares and proceed to pick up your foot like you’re going to step on his. But then you freeze, foot in midair, and a strange expression crosses your face. You seem to reconsider, huffing in annoyance, and disappear into the kitchen. 

Satoru watches you go, thoroughly perplexed. To be fair, he’s been spacing out too, and the cause of that seems insistent on reaching him.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and almost immediately he grimaces.

 

suckuna ^(#｀∀´)_Ψ, 16:56 :
How’s the ass?

Walking okay?

 

i hate you. (–_–)

and i’m walking just
fine, thanks. 

 

suckuna ^(#｀∀´)_Ψ, 16:56 :
What a shame. I’ll make sure to
fuck you harder next time.
╮( ˘ ､ ˘ )╭

 

Satoru actually shivers, and not entirely with disgust. How did this happen to him? Well, the answer’s quite simple. See, Sukuna is very good at what he does, and Satoru wasn’t sure he’d ever get fucked in that way ever again. The last time had been, what? Two, maybe three years ago? Definitely not since—

…

Well, let’s just say it had been a while. 

 

how presumptuous!

what makes you think
there will be a next time?(-◡-) 

think i need you that badly?

 

suckuna ^(#｀∀´)_Ψ, 16:58 :
Absolutely. 

You know, you weren’t actually
half bad. I’d be happy to remind
you just how much you needed
me last night.

 

…(¬⤙¬ )

i’m not sure whether or not
that was supposed to be a
compliment. 

anyway, do you know what’s
going on with  our enigmatic
reader-insert?

 

suckuna ^(#｀∀´)_Ψ, 16:59 :
You mean how mopey and
spacey and pissy they’ve been? 

Dunno. They don’t tell me shit
anymore. >(ভ⤙ ভ ")<

I’m guessing something
happened with that other guy. 

 

nanamin??

but they said it went fine. 

 

suckuna ^(#｀∀´)_Ψ, 16:59 :
They say a lot of shit. You
know them.   (¬‚¬)

I wouldn’t worry. I think they’re
just being weird and introspective.

 

…
it’s weird to see you
text so maturely.
(´⊙ω⊙`)

 

suckuna ^(#｀∀´)_Ψ, 17:00 :
What were you expecting? 

YELLING IN ALL CAPS ALL
THE TIME? CONSTANT
SCREAMING? ⁽⁽(੭ꐦ •̀Д•́ )੭*⁾⁾

 

there you are!! that’s
the sukuna i know!!  

 

suckuna ^(#｀∀´)_Ψ, 17:00:
FUCK YOU. ⁽⁽(੭ꐦ •̀Д•́ )੭*⁾⁾

 

 

congratulations!

you already did! (๑>؂•̀๑)

 

 

Notes:

erm ignore inconsistent formatting and severe lack of kaomoji. I WILL edit this chapter but I want to upload it so badly because I know you guys are starved and I am so sorry. Thank you all again for supporting this work and hopefully the next update will not take so long!!

Chapter 8: situationship final boss

Summary:

“Is this about Gojo?”

Your nose wrinkles. “Why would this be about Gojo?”

“You haven’t shut up about him for days.” He turns his attention back to the TV, as his favorite islander has just come back on screen to cause problems. “Why don’t you just fuck him again and figure it out? Get it out of your system.”

You grimace. “I think that’ll make it worse.”

“Talk to him,” he amends.

“Terrible idea.”

“Kill him.”

You frown. “You really tried to just sneak that in there.”

Notes:

erm. sorry for disappearing again. it will be a real miracle if this work ever gets finished i'm ngl. also the editing on this chapter is atrocious but i had a strange spark of motivation around 2 in the morning so here we go! this one is a lot more silly goofy and wholesome to make up for the last chapter but also somehow really sad and angsty?? truly a rollercoaster of emotions this one.

 

You’ve always struggled with your identity. It’s hard not to with an ability like yours. You are but a human with the power of a god, a mere mortal who decides what happens to the poor souls trapped between life and death. And maybe this would be fine with you, if only you understood anything about it. 

You had your first conversation with a dead person around the age of four. It took you until about age twelve to get a grasp on what was actually happening, and only at sixteen did you come to terms with it, in a defeated, accepting sort of way. 

In the time between, you’d been plagued by these souls begging for your help, asking to see their families again, pleading with you to let them come back or at least help them escape this eternal hellscape of nothingness. You shouldn’t be able to pick and choose what happens to these people. 

It’s not entirely up to you, though. After all, you can only revive someone if they have enough cursed energy to make a binding vow, and even then, they also must have the potential to be redeemed. Usually souls have the most trouble with the first qualification — coming back to life means giving up a lot when you don’t have much to offer, like your memories or your loved one’s memories of you. Most souls find that that defeats the purpose and ask you to help them move them along instead. Whenever “along” is, you still aren’t sure. 

Either way, it was something you did, something you were as long as you could remember. All of this happened on top of you seeing cursed spirits everywhere— in dark classrooms, in broad daylight hovering over your classmates, lurking in hospitals, haunting homes. You always took care of the small ones pretty easily, but the larger, more intelligent ones must have known better than to be seen by you. 

You’d tried to make your parents understand, but they instead grew worried about your sanity. You’d always been a smart kid, and they hypothesized that your creativity had quickly spiraled into delusion. They sent you to extensive therapy and were thrilled when eventually you had miraculously “recovered.” In truth, you had just stopped complaining, playing along with your therapist because you overheard them talking about sending you to a mental rehabilitation center. 

The worst part is that they did it all out of love for you. They just couldn’t understand what you were trying to make them see. You couldn’t blame them. Even you thought you were going crazy, and the idea of cursed spirits and lost souls were impossible to reconcile. You didn’t even know they were cursed spirits at the time. In your head you called them demons, devils, etc. Manifestations of evil that plagued humanity and haunted the edges of your vision.

You thought you were some kind of chosen one, some superhuman being meant to regulate the balance of good and evil, and that scared you. Even when you kept quiet, it was something you struggled with all throughout high school and university. 

But then you met Sukuna, and now you know better. 

You know now that curses are manifestations of humanity’s own ugly emotions, that some of the most powerful were once human themselves. It makes you wonder sometimes what there is to protect in a world of such foulness, such hostility. 

You’d originally thought weighing Sukuna’s sins would be a futile task. You’d seen into his past, seen what he’d done and who he’d hurt, seen his gluttony for bloodshed and pain and violence. But the scales never lie, and even they saw potential in him for redemption. Not only potential, but a potential so bright it nearly blinded the both of you. 

And that’s why you spent a year reforming him, teaching him what it’s like to be human again after he’d forgotten. You know you’ve made progress when one day he thinks to ask you why you’re doing this, and you tell him that you don’t really know, and you just want to do the right thing for once. That you’ve lost your purpose and are searching for a new one. 

“That’s pathetic,” he’d told you, and you hadn’t bothered to correct him because you knew it was too. Having the ability to redeem souls doesn’t make you redeemable.

See, you’d left your old purpose at university, hoping to blaze your own trail away from her shadow. But your heart ached with her absence, and at that point in time you just felt completely and utterly lost. 

Her name is Jupiter. Not after the planet, but after the Roman king of the gods, one who is larger than life and births lightning from his fingertips. And sure, perhaps her parents were just eccentric about their only child (or heir, rather), but you couldn’t think of a name more fitting. 

You’re not sure exactly how you became best friends, just that you did in high school and had been up until a few years ago. Looking back on it, you didn’t actually have much in common. You thought she understood your problems to a certain degree, and that, along with her magnetic presence, made you want to stick around her. She nicknamed you ‘star,’ in reference to the North Star. You still don’t know how you earned the title, because she’s always been your guiding light. Not the other way around. 

She came from a wealthy family who loved her potential more than they loved her, and she fell perfectly into the role of a prodigy. She had the technical, intellectual, and people skills to do it. It wasn’t even a front for her, just simply who she was. The greatest. The brightest. The one every major tech company scrambled over themselves to offer internships and job opportunities for. She was a woman every man wanted to either marry or fuck at the very least, because if they weren’t in love with her it was merely because they were intimidated by her. 

Everybody wanted Jupiter, but nobody really knew her. Not like you did. She held you in the highest regard, tugging you up onto the podium beside her to share in her spotlight. You were one of the only people that could ever hold a candle to her brilliance, but even you couldn’t outshine the sun. Because that’s what she was, despite sharing a name with a mere planet, and you basked in her warmth. 

Nobody knew that she was secretly a huge gossip. That she gets flirty and sentimental when she’s drunk. That she doesn’t think highly of people with no creative vision or ambition, and will tell you this about someone in confidence even after smiling to their faces. That she’s a shit cook. That her attention span is too short for long novels. That she loves art museums and aquariums and often donates her hard-earned money to these places because she thinks they deserve it more than she does. That she secretly believes her opinion is always right even when she’ll lie to someone’s face for the sake of networking. 

You knew all these things about her, of course, because you were her best friend. You became quite a renowned pair at your university, partaking in lab research and major studies alongside seasoned electrical engineers. Though everyone usually only wanted Jupiter, people were also quite charmed by your blunt honesty and dry humor, finding it an endearing contrast to your best friend’s pleasant personality. You made quite a name for yourself, and had several careers lined up for you by the end of your final year.

It’s unfortunate that that was around the time you realized that you didn’t actually want any of that. 

Messing with circuits and wires had always been more of a creative hobby for you. Being limited to a specific formula, especially regarding building weapons, slowly started to wear you down. While at first you saw it as an exciting challenge, each task only increased in difficulty until you were consistently reporting that you’d made very little progress. It further de-motivated you to find out that the work you were doing would be used to kill people.

“Give it to Jupiter,” your employer or professor or sponsor would say. “Let her take a stab at it.” 

And she always would, teasing you for making a simple error and explaining to you what she would have done differently. You listened closely to her criticisms at first, before you slowly started to realize that she was outpacing you. Jupiter was made for stuff like this. You were but an anomaly masquerading as a human. 

Eventually, you came to terms with the fact that it wasn’t a cushy tech job you wanted, building circuits for rockets and satellites and high-tech war machinery. It was normalcy. It was a quiet life you didn’t have the privilege of living, despite your refusal to understand that at the time. 

And you could have normalcy doing something else that actually made you happy. The only caveat being that you wouldn’t have Jupiter. 

When you put it that way, it almost didn’t seem worth it. But keeping up your secrets and fronts began to wear you thin. You felt sick and tired all the time, and as much as Jupiter cooed over you and called in takeout for you and pulled you from the couch to your bed, you don’t think she ever saw or understood how much you were suffering. She seemed expectant, certain even, that you’d get over it like a common cold.

And then one day it all blew over. Right after your last final, you’d cooked a celebratory dinner despite feeling anything but. You’d been listless for the past few months, not knowing what to do with yourself or where you’ll even go from here. Just that you can’t keep going in this direction, or it’ll drain everything from you. 

“Hey, you’re quiet.” 

Jupiter kicks you softly from under the table. Her tone is teasing, but you can see the concern in her eyes. When she sees you looking up at her, she tilts her head to the side. “We’re finally done with all this school bullshit. Soon we’ll be doing real world work, yeah? You should be more excited. Have you accepted any of those offers yet?” 

You open your mouth to tell her no, and that the thought of doing said real world stuff kind of makes you want to off yourself. But you hesitate. You take a sip of water from your glass, and return to staring at the table. 

“I,” your voice breaks immediately, and you hate it. You feel like you failed her. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

There’s a heavy, tense silence. But then Jupiter laughs. You look up in horror as she laughs and laughs, slapping the table with her palm and making your plates clatter. 

“Yeah, nice try. You won’t get me that easily,” she grins at you, wagging a finger in your face. Something angry and resentful bubbles up inside you. You push her finger away, and her smile drops instantly.

“I’m serious,” you say tersely. “I don’t want to do this for the rest of my life. I can’t.” 

“But I-” she sputters, brow knitting in frustration. “We- it’s always been us, star.” 

“I know,” you bury your face in your hands. “I’m sorry, I just- this is exhausting. I don’t even feel like myself anymore.” 

“Well what we do is tedious,” Jupiter bites her cheek, keeping her tone even and patient even though she’s looking at you like you’re becoming more and more unfamiliar by the second. “It’s going to bore you to death from time to time-” 

“If only it were that simple,” you interrupt her, feeling your irritation spike at her dismissal. “It’s more than that. I can’t be you, Jupiter. I’ve been compared to you every step of the way, and it’s not even that I care about that. It’s just made me realize that I’m not made for this like you are. I’ve accepted that I’m never catching up.” 

“That’s bullshit,” she scoffs. “You’ve always been the only one smart enough to keep up with me. I would have noticed if you’d fallen behind. I would have helped.” 

“You’d have noticed?” You point meaningfully at the dark circles beneath your eyes, speaking louder to hear yourself over the blood rushing in your ears. “It’s been this way for months, J. It’s not about me being smart enough. It’s about me having reached my limit long ago and being worn down over and over again. I know I’m not stupid. That’s why I’m telling you that I can’t do this anymore. I know what I can handle.” 

“I don’t understand,” she laughs again, but this time it’s cold. “This is ridiculous, star. Deserting everything you’ve worked for because you don’t think you can take it? How will you know if you don’t try?” 

“I have tried,” you retort. “I’ve followed you into every opportunity offered to us, and every time you’ve shown me up. I’ll work on something for weeks and you’ll finish it in twenty four hours. I already know I can’t keep up with you, and if I keep trying it’ll destroy me.” 

“So what, you’re just going to leave this all behind? Leave me behind?” 

“I don’t know, okay?” You run a hand through your hair, fighting back tears threatening to fall. “I don’t know. I think I’m gonna go back home for a bit. Figure it out from there.” 

She hesitates for a moment, and you can see hurt and betrayal in her eyes. It kills you a little, watching her try to be gentle with you, to negotiate with you like she does with potential employers and peers. 

“Don’t you think you’ll be wasting your time?” 

“I’d be wasting my time doing something I don’t actually want.” You say evenly, seizing the little strength left inside you “We have to learn to live separate lives. I don’t know who I am without you but I seriously need to figure that out.” 

You think you can see her heart shatter in the way her eyes grow shiny. “Why should you? I’m not — nobody’s going anywhere-” 

“Because you don’t… you can’t…” You inhale a shaky breath, hands trembling in your lap below the table. You can see your own reflection in the shiny dark wood, and that’s a lot easier to look at than the face of your closest friend when you say what comes next. “I’m in love with you, J. Not in the best friends way, not in that dumb, flirty way that we like to fake when we’re drunk. Actually, genuinely, face-first in love with you. And I know you don’t feel the same way, so I really can’t do this anymore, okay?” You push your chair back from the table, and your feet take you towards the door. “This is me doing something for myself, just this once.” 

And even though you can hear her call after you, it all feels like it’s underwater. You tell her you’re going for a walk, and she doesn’t chase after you. You know she had plans later anyway, it’s not your place to hold her up. Not anymore. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

“Spacing out again?” 

You blink back into reality. Gojo’s there at your side, waving a hand in front of your face — you hadn’t even heard the door open. Nanami had left a few minutes ago, and you hadn’t had any customers since then. Gojo’s pretty terrible at masking his concern — either because he’s gotten used to his blindfold, or because he doesn’t feel it very often — but his eyes glitter with it along with the tiny crease of his brow. 

“Hm? Yeah, just tired.” You’re not even sure what got you thinking about her again, but you're grateful for how quickly the ache starts to pass. “I’ve gotta head out early tonight by the way, so whether or not you want to keep open is up to you.” 

Gojo looks scandalized. “Wait, you’re not going out with Nanami again are you?” 

“What? Nah, that was probably just like, a one and done thing.” You shrug. It does pain you to admit though. “Needed to break the ice or whatever.” 

By the look on his face, you can tell Gojo isn’t amused. “Normal people play like, twenty questions or something.” 

“You know damn well that I am the furthest thing from a normal person.” You tease, falling easily into the familiar banter and letting it carry you away from your darker thoughts. “I might even have you beat in weirdness.” 

“I don’t doubt you.” Gojo grins and digs his finger into the cartilage at the tip of your nose. “Speaking of which, are we close enough of friends now that I can receive a comprehensive list of all of your abilities? It’d get the higher ups off my back.” 

You really ought to meet these "higher ups" and give them a piece of your mind, but you acquiesce. After all, you’ve been having trouble enumerating everything yourself. A comprehensive list could actually be quite beneficial. 

“I guess it couldn’t hurt.” You shrug, shedding your mitts and hanging them on the oven. “You got some paper? It’s kind of a long list.” 

Gojo’s got a pen and a spare order slip ready within a few minutes, and the both of you stand behind the register waiting for rush. You’ve made yourself comfortable on the counter and Gojo’s leaning against it with his hip. He looks extra edible today for some reason — he’s let his hair down for once and his bangs rest artfully across his forehead. It’s a good look. You try not to let it distract you, try being the operative word here.

“Talking to dead people while dreaming, making binding vows with said dead people while dreaming, sending souls into the afterlife, or back to life, Sukuna’s cursed technique, probably his domain too, but I’m not trying that anytime soon . . .” Your face scrunches as you continue to tick things off your fingers. “My domain, obviously. And some kind of special strength, because when I talked to Ryo about it he said I really should have died in the transfer of his power. So you can add ‘built different’ to the list as well.” 

Gojo nods along as he jots all this down. He keeps his tone casual, though the question he asks is anything but. “Is there any kind of rhyme or reason to who shows up in your dreams?” 

You refrain from giving him a look. You know exactly what this is about. 

“Not really. I guess souls just kind of wander into my domain while I’m asleep.” Despite knowing better, you try to ask him a question.. “Why do you ask? Looking for somebody?” 

As usual, he answers with another question. “If I said I was, would you tell?” 

“No.” You reply, keeping your tone light to match his, but just as meaningful. “I wouldn’t blame you either.” 

Gojo shakes his head, ruffling your hair once more before he pockets the order slip and heads for the kitchen. “You would if you knew it all.” 

You decide to leave him be for a while. Sure, you don’t know it all, but you know the gist. You’re not particularly good at lying or keeping secrets, so he must know you know. Still, you can’t help but wonder what else there is to know — a part of you is admittedly curious beyond a normal urge to snoop. What about a perfectly normal, human response is so unforgivable to Gojo Satoru? 

Well that’s just it — Gojo Satoru isn’t allowed to have perfectly normal, human responses. If he does, terrible things happen — case in point: Geto Suguru. 

He returns with two pizzas freshly boxed, his easy air settled over him once more. He must have given himself one hell of a pep talk, because even you can’t trace any stiffness in his features. Maybe he’s just gotten better at hiding it from you. 

You don’t like that. 

“So what’s the occasion, then?” He asks you before you can get a word in. You realize belatedly he’s referring to your early leave. 

“It’s Love Island night.” You explain mildly, returning to what you’d been doing before, which apparently had been sorting cash in the register. “And Sukuna’s cooking.” 

Gojo looks proficiently surprised by this answer. 

“No way you watch that crap.” He laughs incredulously. “With Sukuna too? I don’t believe it.” 

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” You wag a finger in his face. “Maybe we’ll have you over sometime. We’ve been saying that we need a third party to determine who’s the better cook.” 

“I dunno.” Gojo says, turning to hand the boxes to the waiting customers. “I can say with confidence you both cook about as good as you fuck.” 

“Excuse me?” You whirl around, because you’re ninety percent sure you misheard him due to you fidgeting with the change in the register. 

Gojo makes an impatient face at you over his shoulder. “I said you guys probably wouldn’t find anyone else cause you suck.” 

That’s much more palatable than whatever you thought you’d heard, so you’re going to believe it. “Tough talk from a guy that can’t cook at all.” 

“Not true,” Gojo scoffs and adjusts his apron around his neck. “I’m a fantastic chef. That’s why you hired me.” 

“I hired you because you wouldn’t leave me alone,” you remind him flatly, and he scratches at your scalp placatingly. 

“I bet you’re glad I’m persistent.” 

You don’t push him away, and he takes that as a sign to play with your hair some more. He’s gentle in his movements, soft. Already, you feel yourself relaxing against his fingers. 

“Stop that.” You insist, swatting half-heartedly at his wrist. 

“Why? You like it.” He asks you, now twirling a strand with his index finger. 

“I like it too much.” You admit with a surly eye roll. “I’ll keep you here all night.” 

Gojo hums, voice soft and low as he watches your hair fall back to your shoulders. “I wouldn’t mind.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You cannot have feelings for this asshole. Luckily, Gojo ruins his own image by making cliche, overly flirtatious commentary.  “Sukuna might, though. He just doesn’t understand that I’ve already made you mine.” 

You flick him in the shoulder, now turning and ducking under his hand to walk into the kitchen. “You don’t own me.” 

“Ah, not yet.” He grins after you. “You might change your mind.” 

“Yeah right, asshole.” You stalk off toward the kitchen and shut the door in his face. 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

 

Sukuna looks surprised to see you outside his door. “You actually came.” 

You frown at the fact that he genuinely doubted you’d be here. “It’s Love Island night and you’re cooking. I couldn’t miss it.” 

“I never know these days. Feels like I haven’t had you to myself in so long.” He rolls his eyes and opens the door wider to let you in. “Not that I mind sharing, but you’ve been ruthless. You got all these sorcerers under your thumb and now they’re demanding all of your time.” He tsks. “The cats miss you.” 

“Right, the cats.” You give him a knowing smirk as both of your cats leap off the couch to greet you. You kneel down to scratch at their heads, but you watch as Sukuna starts to move plates to the table. “If dinner’s really good tonight maybe I’ll treat you in return. But only when the episodes finished.”

He smirks back at you over his shoulder. “Oh, I think you’ll like it.” 

He doesn’t let you observe as he sets up, hoping to surprise you. The whole apartment smells delectable though, so your mouth is watering regardless. Sukuna never lets you help set up, much less cook, on the premise that he doesn’t want you to ruin anything. By now, however, you’re starting to suspect that he secretly just likes to spoil you.

“Come look,” he says after about ten minutes of you reuniting with Mittens and Spinach, and so you dutifully wash your hands before walking over to the table. 

Your jaw drops. Maybe he intends to feed a small army today. All of your favorite things are on the table right now, a bottle of red wine set in the middle for the both of you to split. You don’t want to leave until all of it has been eaten — perhaps that’s his plan to keep you here for the night. He must have really missed you. Food is truly the key to your heart. 

“Holy shit,” your stomach grumbles in anticipation. “You’re getting your dick sucked tonight.” 

“Damn right I am,” he brushes your hair aside to nibble at the spot just behind the crook of your neck that he knows makes you shiver. “Bone apple teeth or whatever.” 

You snicker as you settle into a chair. “Bon appetít, you mean?” 

Sukuna shrugs. “English is not my first language.” 

You poke his face with your finger and grin. “It’s French, you moron.”

He does something that looks deceptively like a smile at the gesture, but soon the two of you are so busy eating that you don’t remark on it. You make good banter and easy conversation, though your mind can’t help but wander. He’s so different from the belligerent curse you’d met in your sleep last year. You wonder if being human is genuinely changing his temperament. 

Sure he can be a bit sadistic, more prone to violence than most. But he’s far from evil — after all, the scales never lie. 

“What?” He asks you after swallowing a particularly large bite. Oh, whoops. You must have gone silent. There’s a crumb on his face, and you thoughtlessly wipe it off. 

“Nothing,” you answer. “Just proud of you, is all.” 

He scowls down at his plate and stabs vehemently at his next bite, though his cheeks are tellingly flushed. “You’re gonna make me vomit.” 

You only snicker and kick him under the table. “I mean it.”

The rest of the meal continues as such, and the both of you are pleasantly full and bordering on tipsy by the time you’ve finished the food and the wine. You settle together onto his couch just in time for the episode, your cats quick to join you. 

Sukuna’s hand rests lazily over your thigh, thumb tracing your skin in circles. You don’t usually sit so close together while watching TV. The gesture feels intimate, but not unwelcome. You are a little confused though — he’s been extra nice to you tonight. Did something happen? You wish you could read his thoughts as easily as Gojo’s, but Sukuna gives nothing away. Surprising, since you’d spent significantly more time getting to know him. He’d literally lived in your dreams.

The way he is now, he’d probably be a good partner. It makes you wonder.

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” You inquire. A startled cough comes from beside you.

Sukuna looks offended you’d asked. “Who do you think you’re talking to?!”

“Well I don’t know! You’re like a living fossil, weird as that is. And you were human once before this.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Maybe you had a special someone.”

“Quit trying to make me sick.” He scowls at you. “What’s this about anyway?” 

“I dunno. Guess I'm just thinking.” You gesture believably to the television. “Can you fall for somebody after just meeting them?” 

Of course, he sees right through you. “Is this about Gojo?” 

Your nose wrinkles. “Why would this be about Gojo?” 

“You haven’t shut up about him for days.” He turns his attention back to the TV, as his favorite islander has just come back on screen to cause problems. “Why don’t you just fuck him again and figure it out? Get it out of your system.” 

You grimace. “I think that’ll make it worse.” 

“Talk to him,” he amends. 

“Terrible idea.” 

“Kill him.”

You frown. “You really tried to just sneak that in there.”

“It was a real suggestion.” Sukuna returns his attention to you to give you an exasperated glare. “I can’t offer you advice if you won’t take it.” 

“Fair.” You admit. “It’s just — we have this thing, you know?” The look on Sukuna’s face suggests he definitely does not know, and so you acquiesce. “Yeah, never mind. I should have known better than to ask you.” 

Now he’s even more offended than before. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

A bout of bickering becomes both of you half naked on the couch, a fresh bruise already blossoming on your collarbone and his large hands supporting your thighs as he takes you to the kitchen table. A different one than the one you’d eaten on, which is still ridden with empty plates and crumbs. 

You blink up at him, surprised at the choice of scenery. “How do you want me?” 

He hums noncommittally as he fidgets with your belt. “Just like that is fine.” 

You pout. “I thought I was going to be the one treating you.” 

“You are a treat.” He says, sliding it off. “You’re the one on the table, after all.” 

You chuckle and sit back on your palms, opening your legs a little wider to help him get your pants off. Except your hand slips on something — a piece of fabric — and you slide backward just a bit. Curious, you break away to look at it, reacting quickly to the way Sukuna immediately reaches to take it from you by moving it just out of reach. 

“Hm? What is-”

You cut yourself off, because that’s a rhetorical question. You know damn well what it is. It’s a blindfold. 

“Well-”

Gojo’s blindfold. 

You turn to face him again. You’ve never seen him look quite so uncomfortable. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he might be embarrassed. “Ryo, what’s this?” 

Sukuna swallows. “Hear me out.” 

Your expression remains stony. “I’m listening. Loud and clear.” 

He opens his mouth, reconsiders, and then closes it snappishly, his expression doing a complete 180. “I have nothing to say, actually. Why should I have to justify myself to you? You would’ve done the same.” 

You shake the offending piece of fabric as you speak.“That’s not the point!” 

“What is the point? I don’t see a problem with it.” Sukuna huffs indignantly. “We can share now.” 

“I do not want to share Gojo with you-” you cut yourself off again, because that was just as much of a revelation for you as it was for Sukuna. “Oh no.” 

Now he looks like he’s trying not to laugh. To be fair, the situation is quite ridiculous. You’re sitting on his kitchen table with your pants halfway off and contemplating your feelings for your coworker. “Oh no indeed.”

You frown. “I might be screwed.” 

“You might be.” Sukuna agrees. “I’m glad that me fucking him helped you get over yourself.” 

“Oh my God,” your head finds the palms of your hands. “It’s over. I’m cooked.” 

“You’re what?” He repeats, clearly confused by the term. 

“Cooked,” you affirm, though it’s mostly to yourself. Usually you don’t have a problem sharing anyone with Sukuna. 

You stare at the blindfold in your hands. You can’t believe you’d been jealous. That never happens to you, especially not with the way you like to live. Talk about a double standard you need to reevaluate. But what does this mean? The triangle has been officially completed now. Does that make you some kind of throuple?

Not that Sukuna and Gojo are your partners- 

(well, they could be) 

SHUT UP! 

“Hey, moron.” Sukuna snaps in front of your face. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fighting demons,” you tell him sagely. “Worse than you.” 

His lips are a flat line. “I’m literally the worst one.” 

“Nuh uh.” You shake your head. “You’ve got nothing on yearning.” 

He looks at you for a moment like he’s seeing you anew for the first time. And then, like the asshole he is, he laughs and starts prodding you in the stomach. 

“When the hell did you get so mushy?” He teases. It tickles, so now you can’t help but laugh too. Sukuna has a knack for cheering you up — probably because the both of you would rather die than actually confront your emotions. 

“You know what we could do,” he begins, that malevolent smile creeping onto his face. “Is mess with him a little. Would you forgive me, then?” 

“Maybe,” you quirk an eyebrow, resting back on your elbows on top of the table. “What did you have in mind?”

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

Satoru and his students have been called on a late night mission when he receives your text. He's seated in the car with Ijichi while the kids handle the exorcism inside. He trusts they'll be back in about fifteen minutes tops, and if not, he'll go check on them. After all, his second and third years are probably the most qualified sets of kids he's had in a long time. When his phone chimes and he sees your name at the top, naturally, he checks it.

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:15:

you’re fired. 

 

 

what did i do?? 

you should probably reconsider. you can’t
really stand to lose employees right now. 

i’m literally a third of your workforce.
i’m basically indispensable

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:16:

i can’t believe you. 

what is it with you and fucking people
you’ve were supposed to kill?!?!

 

oh 

so you found out about that!

let’s keep the order of events in mind here,
don’t make me sound like a necrophiliac. 

also ouch, too soon. 

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:17:

sorry. 

…

that doesn’t change anything!!

you still fucked sukuna AFTER you killed him. 

 

… 

well, its still up in the air about who fucked who 

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:17:

oh okay so you’ve just BEEN fucked by people you’ve killed 

this is really helping your case btw. 

 

you know i really can’t believe it either. 

how did i ever stoop so low

to be fair this would never have happened
had you let him stay dead 

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:18:

ah but then we would never have met. 

…

actually that probably would have been for the best. 

 

 

why do you hate me. 

 

 

 

You type like you’re going to give him a response (he’s sure you have many), but then the bubble just disappears. There’s radio silence for a few minutes, and so he pockets his phone. Only just as it settles into the fabric does it vibrate, and suddenly he’s opened it to message chain with you before he even knows what he’s doing.

What the fuck.

It’s a good thing he’s in the car, because he actually throws his phone so hard it cracks the windshield. Luckily he’d at least managed to turn it off beforehand so a very concerned Ijichi didn’t see what Satoru just saw. 

That is, one (1) picture of you wearing his only his blindfold and nothing (0) else. 

“Are you alright, Gojo-san?” 

“Definitely not,” Satoru has a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowed at his screen. Ijichi knows better than to pry, very pointedly clearing his throat and making up some excuse to get out of the car. Satoru is internally grateful, because he’s both furious and achingly aroused and he doesn’t want the poor guy to see him in this state. 

Because yeah, you look so fucking good that if he were a less admirable teacher he’d abandon his kids and show up at Sukuna’s apartment. Then again, the idea that Sukuna’s having you like that makes his skin crawl with such fury that if he were a more pathetic man, he’d abandon his kids and show up at his apartment just to beat the shit out of him. Or fuck the shit out of him, maybe. Funny how it works like that, now.

 

 

holy shit

you can’t send this to me right now 

i’m at WORK with my STUDENTS

 

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:25:

whoops 

 

 

sukuna i KNOW this is you. 

i’m going to 

fuck 

i don’t even know what i’m going to do. 

 

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:26:

come over.

 

 

well yes i’ve got that much 

unfortunately i love my kids too
much to ditch them 

but mark my words there will be
vengeance and it will be sweet

 

 

threat to mankind ( ˘ ³˘)♡, 21:27:

oh no! 

a terrifying prospect. 

what exactly does that mean?
i get to lick frosting off your dick?”

 

 

you’re making this so much worse. 

 

 

 

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

 

The next week goes about the same as the last one, minus the attempt on your life and (unfortunately) the sex with Nanami, though you do go out for drinks again — more innocently this time. You meet Shoko, the other heavy drinker at the school who happens to be fine as fuck but is unfortunately taken. Even so, the both of you get on well. She’s more of a listener than a talker but she adds witty commentary to whatever tipsy conversation you and Nanami are having, never failing to earn a loud laugh. You make plans to hang out again, and she says she’ll try to bring Utahime next time. 

You and Sukuna have Love Island nights, though they aren’t quite as intense as the last one. Speaking of which, Gojo is predictably keen to make good on his promise. Though he doesn’t say anything, he makes an even greater effort to get you in bed. This includes standing directly behind you with his chin on your shoulder, placing his hands on your waist or hips, and dropping the filthiest, most sinful lines on you throughout your shift.

Your customers must know by now that something’s going on, but that doesn’t seem to deter them. Instead their aspirations shift, and many of your Yelp reviewers have directly and indirectly proposed a threesome. 

You inevitably break when he wears another compression tank to work (you’ve got to ban those from the dress code). A selfie gets taken of him licking frosting off your chest in your kitchen and that photo may or may not have been sent to Sukuna. He spends the night, and your cats take to him immediately. They curl up on his chest in your bed while you roll your eyes and pretend like you don’t wish you were in their place. Gojo keeps an arm around you though, pulling your face into the crook of his neck and skating his fingers tenderly between your bare shoulders. 

You kind of hate how nice it feels, and really hate how much you like waking up to it. 

You hate the way he smiles at you, hate how bubbly you feel when he laughs at your jokes, hate how when he touches you it’s like your skin starts sparking. You can’t stand any of it. You should have more self-discipline, but clearly you’re so starved for genuine intimacy that the idea of someone possibly being able to get you renders you helpless. 

So you just press on, day after day, pretending like he isn’t slowly driving you insane. You don’t want to ruin this strange and delicate semblance of friendship, but at the same time that’s all you want. 

And one day you’re working the register between shifts, preparing your customer service spiel for the next person in line but then the customer in front of you moves and it’s her. 

Your mask slips, just the slightest bit. 

She’s just as beautiful as you remember her. She’s cut her hair into something shorter, but her bangs still frame her face in that same effortless way. Her spring-green eyes are sharp, those gold flecks scattered inside more prominent than ever. She didn’t used to wear makeup, but she is now. She manages to make it look so natural, though you’ve spent so many sleepless nights working and studying beside her that you’ve memorized the usual contours of her face, and can easily place that they don’t match up. Then again, perhaps you’ve both just grown. 

“Hey,” you greet her, a little strained. Jupiter smiles, wide and sunshiney, though she looks a bit baffled. 

“Hey,” she parrots back to you, a watered-down version of the enthusiasm you remember. It’s been over a year, hasn’t it? You’d honestly forgotten you aren’t really friends anymore.  “I heard rumors that you were working here, but I didn’t believe them. Didn’t seem like your style.”

You know what the underlying meaning of that message is — what the hell are you doing working at a pizza place when you went to the same prestigious university as I did, took the same classes, were offered the same internships, all in a field entirely unrelated to making pizza. 

“My style changes often. You know that about me,” you manage with a wink. She laughs, like she always had, and something in your chest aches a little bit. 

“Yeah, I should’ve guessed,” she tilts her head. “You look great, by the way. Happier. It suits you.” 

“Thank you,” you flush. Wonder why that is. “You look great too. You here for work?” 

“Mhm!" She hums excitedly, like she’s thrilled you’d brought it up. “They wanted me here for this branch collaboration project because I can speak Japanese, so I’m also a sort of translator on top of actually making the tech.” 

She rambles on for a little while, talking about all of the work she’s doing for the company. It was her top pick, so you’re not surprised to find that she’s there now, achieving all of her dreams with the ease and grace of a ballerina. You know she worked hard to get there, though. You can see it in the fine lines beneath her eyes. 

“When do you get off work?” The question snaps you out of your trance. She fishes into her pocket and hands you her business card. “I’d love to catch up while I’m in town.” 

You smile wryly. “Ah, you just missed my break actually. My late shift just started.” 

“Hey sweetheart, who’s this?” 

Gojo has arrived exactly on time, now making haste to join you behind the register. His eyes lock onto Jupiter and something in his tone gets a little steely.  “Oh, hey. Have you seen the sign?” He points, very seriously, to the Don’t Flirt with the Cashier Unless You’re Going to Order Something sign. 

“Oh, I’m not-” Jupiter laughs, a bit higher than her usual one. She’s nervous, understandably so. “That’s not what this is, I swear. We’re just old friends.” 

“Don’t worry, I know exactly who you are.” Gojo’s smile tightens. “So are you ordering or not? You’re holding up the line.” 

“Gojo,” You scold, fixing him with a glare. “behave.” You turn back to Jupiter with an apologetic smile, though she and Gojo are now locked into a stare off. “Don’t mind him, he’s just overbearing. He is right though, there’s a bit of a line behind you.” 

“Sorry.” She breaks eye contact to smile sweetly at you. “I’ll get a small cheese. And then text me when you get off? Then maybe we can go for a drive or-” 

“They’ll be busy-”

The rest of his sentence is interrupted by you stomping hard on his foot. 

“I’m going to kill you.” You hiss. “Go make yourself useful, please. The customers are waiting.” 

Gojo lifts a brow at you above his shades, and you make a shooing motion with your hands. At least, that’s what Jupiter sees. The real exchange is something like Are you sure you’re okay?  and seriously, dumbass, I’m fine. To which Gojo shrugs (whatever you say, but we’ll talk about this later) and disappears into the kitchen. The two of you are practically telepathic, at this point, probably a direct result of working with one another and noticing each other’s discomfort. He has no idea who Jupiter is, of course, but he could tell you were stressed with just a glance. You’re not sure how that makes you feel.

“Again, sorry about him.” You turn back to Jupiter with an apologetic smile. “It’s nothing personal.”

“Ah, I see.” Jupiter observes. “Is he your boyfriend?” 

“He sure thinks he is.” You grumble as her receipt prints. 

She quirks an eyebrow, biting her cheek against saying something else. Her tone stays light. “That might be an important distinction to make.” 

“Eh, we’ll figure it out.” You shake your head. “I’ll text you, okay?” 

“Great, thanks.” Her smile gets visibly brighter. “See you soon, star.” 

After taking a few more orders, you retreat to the kitchen so you and Gojo can switch places. He frowns at you when you come in, large arms crossed over his chest like he’s about to tell you off. 

“Who was that?” He asks, accusatory. He’s probably just upset you didn’t let him help.

“My best friend that I used to be in love with that I’ve now been ghosting for a little over a year.” 

Your answer is met with a long pause. Then, “I see.” 

“I think I’m gonna meet her after we close,” you tell him, rolling out the dough he had made while he was in here. He then turns to look at you with abject disbelief. 

“Seriously?” 

Oh, for crying out loud. There’s no way he’s moping like this over somebody from your past that you didn’t even date. 

“Quit pouting you big baby, it’s not like I’m still in love with her.” You pat his cheek. “She was was never even my girlfriend, and we haven’t talked in a year. This is just me making amends, nothing else.” You’re not sure why you’re reassuring him. Why would he care about something like this anyway? “It’s not like I’m going to let her bed me in her stupid Lexus anyway.” 

He pouts at you, which does detrimental things to your composure. “I have an Aston Martin.” 

“I know you do, Gojo.” You coo, soothing him with a hand between his shoulders. The fact that he even has a car is ridiculous to you — he can literally teleport! “Perhaps I’ll let you bed me in that later. For now, though, you’re still on the clock.”

He seems to get the message, but he hesitates before opening the door. Then, seeming to think better of it, he leaves.

Well, that was strange. 

A few hours later, you’re locking up the pizzeria. She’s waiting for you in the parking lot, leaning against her shiny silver car. You wave Gojo goodbye and try to ignore the mopey look he gives you as he waves back.

The first hour or so isn’t bad at all. It takes a few minutes to get back into the swing of things, but the two of you drive around for a while and just talk. Jupiter talks to you about work, tells you about her family. Apparently she’s picked up the violin again as a form of stress relief. You can’t exactly say much about everything that has going on outside of your job, but you manage to fabricate a believable enough story. She laughs as you complain about Gojo and how your cats have started to like Sukuna more than you, Eventually you come to a stop in front of your apartment building. She puts the car in park and turns they key but neither of you move.

“You should come back, seriously.” She says like she’s been holding it in this entire time. “The market is so open for electrical engineers right now, and you’re literally the brightest I’ve ever seen. I know you said your tastes have changed but you have so much potential! You’re brilliant, I don’t want you to waste away at a job like this.” 

You bite your lip. It had been going so well, too. “Please stop telling me what to do.” 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” To her credit, she genuinely does seem apologetic. “I’m saying this as your friend, you know. We could have been good together.” 

Even so, her words make your blood boil. It all spills over when she reaches forward and touches your hand, the same way she used to when you were upset. It’s so familiar it tears at your heart. 

“Don’t say stuff like that either when you’re the one that didn’t notice I was struggling.” You reply sharply, blinking back the threat of tears as you look at her. “You say I was bright but you were always brighter, always faster. They don’t want smart people, they want geniuses like you. Especially those that won’t burn out.” 

And that can’t be me.

“It’s just not the same when you’re not there.” She admits, looking the saddest you’ve seen her all day. “Won’t you give it a second chance? Give me a second chance?” 

You swallow. “You know I can’t.” 

“I just don’t understand.” Her hand migrates to your shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. “This isn’t who you are.” 

“I'm not who you want me to be.” You amend, heaving a deep sigh. “I know you want the best for me, and you always have, but I promise you that going back into the field will just make me miserable. The truth is I’m happy here, and to tell you the truth I’m a completely different person now.” You give her a forced, reassuring smile. “It was nice to see you again, Jupiter. I hope everything goes well while you’re here.” 

“Thank you,” she smiles back. “You’ll text me from now on though, right? It hurt a bit to see you ignoring my messages.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say honestly, squeezing her hand as you set it back in her lap. “I’m trying to get better at this whole communication thing. If you text me, I’ll reply. I promise.”

Soon, you step out of the car and close the door a little rougher than you should have behind you. You feel all choked up, all of your corked emotions threatening to spill from the bottle. You barely manage to make it into your apartment before you’re in tears, sliding down the wall and burying your face in your hands. It had gone well, all things considered. You didn’t fight, you made a promise that you two could heal from this, it felt just like old times for a little. So why do you feel so hollow now? 

Naturally, you text the first person you think of. 

 

come over? 

 

least favorite coworker (⌐⎚u⎚), 01:33 :

i’ll be right there.

<3.

 

Notes:

so sorry for making you guys wait again!! i really do love reading all of your comments and having you support <3. you have all been so patient and kind! i'll probably go back and add some kaomoji to the texts at some point but for now i really hope you enjoyed this chapter :)!