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taihjj · 4 months

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who’s your (baby) daddy. [4]

╰┈➤ After being dumped by your boyfriend of 3 years, you decide to switch things up and go on your own version of a “hot girl summer”—subsequently finding yourself with a surprise that would arrive in 9 months time. The catch? You have absolutely no idea which of the men you slept with is your baby’s daddy.

𖨆♡𖨆 nanami x reader, gojou x reader, toji x reader, sukuna x reader

# tattoo artist sukuna, talks of pregnancy, semi-public sex, mentions of blood, reader gets a tattoo, mentions of food, fem!reader, pregnant!reader, ieiri is a girlboss, gojo is actually sweet in this, soft!sukuna

‗ ❍ masterlist

If you thought your already wacky life could not get anymore crazier, that was nothing compared to the shitshow that waited for you one fine Monday.

Nothing was out of the blue; it had been two weeks since that altercation in the OBGYN room and you decided that even if Gojo would walk out, at least you still had your job and burgeoning career to support you.

… or not.

“You’re fired.”

For the longest second, you did not speak, swivelling your head to the side to check if there were cameras spotlighting you; whether there was a man in a chicken suit standing in the corner waiting to jump out and yell you’ve been pranked!

But, there were no cameras—not even a goofy dude in a chicken suit—just the strict-faced new HR and Mia’s pinched expression.

You gazed at her in aghast, crying, “Huh? You can’t just fire me for being pregnant!”

The woman with slicked-red lips pouted those obviously fake plumpers at you in an attempt to seem sympathetic yet righteous at the same time. “It’s not because you’re pregnant, Y/N. That whistleblower piece put us in hot water and we have to cut our losses.”

Turning your gaze to your boss, you gesture wildly for her to butt in. “Mia—!”

“Y/N is one of the best and she’s right—she’s pregnant. What would other companies say when they hear how badly we treated someone who has been with us from the very start?” Despite your boss’ furrowed brow and solid argument, Miss I-Have-A-Stick-Up-My-Ass did not seem too pleased.

“I understand that Y/N has been with us for a long time, but trouble is trouble and she is plenty of it.”

Knowing that not even your boss could fight off regional HR if they chose to take action, you stood up, albeit with some difficulty with your four-month baby bump. Sure, you may not have been the model employee; you often stole sachets of coffee from the pantry, occasionally threw up in your waste paper basket because you were too tired to walk to the toilet and even once used Mia’s face spray liberally to cool down your neck in a flash of maternal hormones, but you were an asset.

You were an asset to this company.

Or at least, that was what you had deluded yourself into thinking. Hands cradling your palms, you fixed her with a determined glare. “Look whatever-your-name is—”

“It’s Kuragi-san.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you muttered dismissively. “If being a mother has taught me one thing, it’s that integrity and the truth is very, very important.” You swallowed at the thought of your future now that you were jobless, but the anger forced you to spill out the words you might not otherwise have had the courage to say.

“And if I were to be working for an organisation that does not value the truth—as painful and dangerous as it can be sometimes—then you can keep destroying this once grand company with your narrow-minded, and frankly, cowardly ways.”

You spun on your heel, passing Mia who gave you a high-five. The clacks of your low heels resounded through the halls, and you almost missed how the other staff—from the junior reporters to even the office girls—drew their heads back into the cubicles, chagrined at having been found eavesdropping on your bombastic statement.

But after the high of standing up to Kuwagari or whatever-the-fuck her name was subsided, you found yourself on the roadside curb next to your car, pregnant, jobless and carrying a small box filled with the sparse office mementos you had collected from your decade at Tokyo Today. The building loomed over you, its shadow keeping you cool from the striking sun and you allowed yourself to exhale—to truly absorb the fact that you had done it now.

Did I make a mistake?

There was nothing for you to do but to accept and acknowledge that it was your own doing that led you here today. You palmed your rotund belly, whispering to it softly. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. I thought I could make it better for you but I went and messed it up.”

Okay, new goal in life: no matter what, you were still going to provide for your baby by any means necessary. You still had some savings in your bank and if all else failed, you supposed your parents would rather you home (albeit pregnant and unemployed), than if you were off searching for fast money in clubs and bars to feed your daughter.

The thought alone scared you and for the first time in your life, you came to terms with just how small of a speck of your life was in the great fabric of things. In some ways, you were still that little girl looking both ways before she crossed the street; always ready for the first sign of danger so she could run away and hide.

No. Nope. This was not happening. You would rather trade your left kidney than to be caught crying in front of a company that booted you out heartlessly. Mia had already texted you and left you some numbers that you could call; connections that were searching for a business writer, but you had left her on read to lick your wounds in peace.

Perhaps you would return her messages tomorrow. With any luck, maybe you would sleep past the morning so you would not have to wake up for breakfast—one meal of the day saved from your sheer laziness.

You staggered into your old car and locked the doors, starting the engine and sinking back into the worn leather seats.

This was it. It was time to say goodbye. You glanced up at the place you had paved your career for a good ten years and sighed. Since your pride was already in shambles and you had no one to share your sudden sadness with, you dialled the first number that came to mind.

“Hey, mama,” Gojo’s voice chirped from the other end and you never expected that simple greeting to lift your spirits.

“Hey,” you muttered, tapping your steering wheel with one finger. “Something happened.”

“Damn. Are you going into labour already?”

You scoffed, biting down the urge to grin widely. “Really funny, Satoru.”

“What can I say—I strive to be the best at everything, including cheering you up. So, what’s up?”

Trying hard not to burst into tears, you cursed your raging hormones when wetness trickled down your cheeks, expelling a quick laugh and swiping at your eyes. “I just got fired.”

There was a crackle of silence over the line. “Fired? Why?”

“Apparently we’re getting sued… and I was the cause of it.”

You could imagine cerulean blue eyes lowering and perhaps, his peachy lips would be turned down into a frown. Part of you expected him to mutter some form of half-assed condolences, and not say:

“Stay put, okay?”

“Satoru—”

“I’m coming for you. You’re still at the building?”

You gripped the phone tighter, unable to believe the extent of his kindness. “Mhm hmm.”

“Okay, be there in a flash.”

He stayed true to his word. Gojo arrived in all his glory; a sleek white Aston Martin, neatly pressed suit and shades lowered to hide the twinkle in his eye. He took your keys and tossed it to a familiar woman who smiled at you in greeting.

“Utahime-san, please take Y/N’s car and drive it back to her residence. I’ll take her from here.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was no room for you to gawk at the grandness of the car before Satoru was ushering you in, taking care to brace his palm on your head so you wouldn’t accidentally collide with the low beam.

“This is… wow.” Your murmurs caught his attention and you glanced at him to find a smirk on his face.

“I couldn’t just leave my baby mama all alone now, could I?”

“You’re too nice, Gojo.”

The despondency in your tone was apparent enough for him to detect. He switched gears and the car tore down the street, towards the highway. Gojo had even made sure you wore a seatbelt and despite his hellish speed, he was surprisingly good on the road.

“Say, what about we take a day off? Let’s go to this place I know and get ice cream.”

You perked up at that suggestion—or rather, your cravings did and you nodded enthusiastically.

“That sounds perfect.”

He made small talk with you while he drove you to this little parlour in Odaiba, the Rainbow Bridge never looking this bright until you were sat next to Satoru who made you laugh at every little thing he said because he was too damn charismatic for his own good. Slowly, the dark mood you had on from your sudden change lifted and you followed him, arm-in-arm, into a tiny, spotless café where the owner called out to him in a friendly greeting.

Apparently, the wealthy and famous CEO of Gojo Holdings was a regular in this humble little shop, and the owner didn’t even hesitate to remark on how beautiful the two of you looked as a couple—a statement that Satoru did not deny.

Buying your favourite flavour of that sweet treat, he sat down next to you with his own bowl—chocolate and macadamia nuts with a healthy drizzle of cherry sauce. It was a good choice and he was kind enough to let you sneak a few spoons, sensing it was your cravings that caused this lapse of manners and not your usual shy self.

“So, what’re you gonna do now?” Satoru had this habit of licking his spoon between every mouthful of ice cream and you had to stop yourself from chortling at how that habit reminded you of a little boy. Unbidden, you wondered if your baby girl would inherit his love for sweets as well—if she was truly his flesh and blood.

“I guess I'll live off my savings for a bit. Mia is talking to some publishing companies to see if they would have me. Let’s hope they love sloppy seconds.”

“Mmm, I like sloppy seconds.”

The innuendo hit you a second too late and you pretended to be cross with him. “You’re gross.”

He didn’t find any offence in your quick retort and hummed. “Was I the first one you slept with?”

You hesitated and dropped your gaze to the sundae cup. There was a part of you that had already buried the idea that it could be Nanami’s baby—your ovulation had not begun when you slept with him for the last time… but Gojo did not need to know the full details.

“Yes.”

“So, she must be mine.”

You fought back a smile and busied yourself with another spoon full of ice cream before speaking. “Y’know, you’re taking this very well for someone who just found out your baby mama slept with two other guys.”

“Ah. Crazier things have happened.”

That admission got your eyes widening and you giggled. “Really? Tell me.”

He divulged you with every mind-boggling tale he had in his arsenal—from a psychotic ex-girlfriend who once spiked his drink with Viagra, to his parents’ divorce, the messy custody battle for him, his father’s new girlfriend that was Japan’s first Playboy bunny and his mother’s penchant at sneaking disses at her ex-husband whenever she was interviewed by a lifestyle magazine for her interior designing prowess—Gojo was giving you a front row seat to the mess behind the class.

“Damn. Are you sure you’re not living in a K-drama?”

He gestured to your belly with a wide grin. “At this point—can we say we’re not?”

Satoru definitely had a point. “Touché.”

After dessert, he took you for a walk in Odaiba, pointing out a few cafes that he loved to frequent and even making plans for the both of you to try it whenever he could find a sliver of free time like today. You were coming to discover that Satoru was an impulsive man and had the filter of a seven year old boy who could not control his tongue. That was evident when he hung his long limbs over the metal railing that overlooked the sea, the warm tones of sunset drenching his handsome features and lighting up the blue in his eyes when he grinned at you.

“I like you, Y/N. If you need anything, just let me know, kay? I know this is hard for you and I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Whether from the hormones or the stress of the day, you found your eyes smarting and you dropped your gaze to the gently crashing waves under the floorboards of the bridge, nodding.

“Thank you, Satoru. I’m glad you’re here.”

“No worries.” To your mortification, he got down onto one knee and pressed his face into your belly—in the middle of broad daylight without caring that passers-by glanced at this six-foot-three man making kissy noises into your stomach.

“Satoru,” you giggled, and attempted to bat his face away. “Tickles!”

“There’s that pretty smile,” Gojo said and straightened to touch your swollen belly with his larger palm. “Let’s get you and the pretty baby home, okay? Mama definitely needs her rest after a long day.”

In her life as an OBGYN practitioner, Ieiri had thought she’d seen everything.

From women who were ecstatic at the idea of being mothers, to those who were shocked at the idea of conceiving a life into this world when they weren’t ready, and everything else in between. She had seen fathers who had been there every step of the way for the love of their lives, and sadly, mothers who had to pave the way for their family all alone.

But, she had never seen a case like yours in all her years of experience.

There were some days when the other staff members in the OB GYN department would inquire about the deeper circles under her eyes, the longer smoke breaks, but she couldn’t break patient confidentiality with you and disclose the details of your pregnancy.

Besides, she was also your friend to boot and did not want to betray your trust in any way that was deemed inappropriate.

However, that became hard to do when she felt the presence of someone approaching her. She looked up from her haze of smoke and nearly choked on those nicotine wafts when she recognized who it was.

“Kento?”

Before her, stoic and tall, was your ex-boyfriend. The young doctor lowered her cigarette and forced herself to smile—though with how taken aback she was at the sight of Nanami himself in the flesh, she was pretty sure it came across as a grimace instead.

“Shoko. I’m so sorry to have snuck up on you like this but I’ve been trying to call Y/N and I haven’t heard back from her. She called me about a few months ago but hung up. Is she okay?”

You hadn’t divulged any of this with her and Ieiri was not sure how to respond. She chose a neutral route and diverged the topic back to him.

“Hmm. Aren’t you supposed to be in Malaysia by now?”

It was to her immense surprise when she heard his next words.

“I cancelled it.”

Shoko stared at him, the cigarette in her hand forgotten. Though she had never been close to Nanami Kento, your best friend could not deny that it was the happiest she had ever seen you when you were dating someone. Ieiri had even once jokingly called you a scumbag magnet—if there was a bum within a five mile radius, it was almost a given that you would’ve fallen head over heels for him.

But, Kento was different. He was stoic, aloof and according to you—a genuinely good man who you could envision marrying. That was until he chose his career over you.

Why would he turn down this opportunity of a lifetime? Shoko was familiar with how the Masamichi group was expanding into Southeast Asia because of a bigger demographic and a plethora of opportunities; it would be a chance for Kento to purchase his house on the beach and retire early from the success of this expansion.

So, why was he still here?

Ieiri got her answer not even a second later.

“I’m worried about Y/N. I… I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”

The guilt she felt on your behalf pervaded through her chest and Ieiri coughed lightly, finally putting out her cigarette. Your life was already a mess with the potential of three baby daddies and the new issue of you losing your job. You didn’t need Kento coming back in the fray to give you more stress.

So, Ieiri decided that it was her duty as your friend and a decent doctor to break the news to him.

“Nanami, there’s something you should know about Y/N…”

He had straightened, broad shoulders going rigid. “Is she hurt?”

Far from it. Ieiri decided it was better to rip the band aid off than dance around the issue forever and she took a deep breath.

“Y/N’s pregnant.”

For a long minute, the blonde man did not speak. The hard expression he wore fractured at the edges as he absorbed this information. But, he was first and foremost a logical man—emotions would come later, and he had to uncover if this was the reason why you were avoiding him—with the possibility that you were carrying his child being the biggest cause of your radio silence.

“And I’m the father?”

A flash of something like pity flitted across Ieiri’s pretty features.

“I should let you know… she kind of had a wild few weeks and…”

Kento interjected before she could finish. “Is she fine?”

“Yes. Well—no.” Ieiri took another deep inhale. “Y/N is pregnant and we don’t know who the father is because… she slept with three other men after your breakup.”

The breeze picked up, carding through her brown locks and his lighter ones. For a few minutes, Nanami did not speak.

“Kento?”

As if a spell had been broken, he snapped awake from his trance and jerkily bobbed his head.

“It’s getting late and I’ve taken up too much of your break.”

“Kento—”

He spun around, all sharp edges and muffled emotions scattered across his angular and striking features.

“Give Y/N my best.”

She stopped him before he could leave, needing to know what was his current headspace. Ieiri would be a huge liar if she did not admit that the reason for her curiosity was because she wanted to assuage the guilt at being the bearer of bad news.

“What’ll you do now? Are you going to talk to her?”

But he did not answer, ducking his head down so she could not see his reaction. Eclipsing his weary thoughts for his own morose rumination.

“Goodbye, Ieiri.”

[A few months ago]

Once you had gotten over the sting of being creamed by your fling’s bitter ex, you came to the realisation that if life wanted to fuck you over, you may as well have fun with it.

“A tattoo?” Ieiri was in disbelief the moment that request flew past your lips.

Grinning, you nodded. “Yup! One on my hip.”

Beside her, Getou who was sipping on his matcha latte quietly gave a snort. “You almost cried when you had your cartilage pierced; are you sure you can handle a tattoo?”

You levelled him with a look. Dressed in his designer polo shirt and crisp pants, one would think that Suguru Getou was not the type for something as improper as tattoos. But, the dragon design around his neck begged to differ and even if you had wanted to dismiss his words, he had a ton of experience when it came to needles—more than you, obviously.

“I think I could.”

The silence that spanned across the coffee table where all three of you had met for an impromptu brunch was riddled with disbelief.

“Are you sure it’s professional?” Ieiri broached the topic, knowing how corporates, especially publishing ones, could be particular with the sight of ink on their employees skin. It was up there with dyed hair—who could take a business reporter seriously if they had hot pink locks?

You pouted and it didn’t take long for your best friend to sense that there was nothing she could say to change your mind. “I’m not getting a big ass one on my face like those rappers,” you mumbled defensively. “It’s just a tiny one on my hip.”

That was apparently enough of a reason for Suguru to grab both you and Ieiri downtown to his favourite tattoo parlour. The smell of lavender and antiseptic reminded you of a hospital if it existed in another dimension. All around you, inked men and women waltzed around the premise, calling out a greeting to the tall Getou heir, friendliness in their words reminding you how you this was his turf and you were in safe hands.

Well, almost. From across the room, you caught the eye of a sullen looking, pink-haired man. Recoiling slightly, you held a macabre fascination for the tribal-like swirls around his face, and neck. As if sensing your stare, he lifted his brown eyes, and stunned you into silence. Fuck—he’s hot.

A hand on your back made you startle and Getou’s crescent-eyed smile carved itself into your periphery. “Sukuna—hey! Long time no see.”

Like a switch had been flipped, the scary looking man trailed his intimidating stare from you to your friend, easing up with a genial smile. “Yo, Sugu. Been a long time. How’s that new one healing up?”

Much to your consternation, Getou lifted the hem of his black t-shirt, giving the entire shop a peek of his washboard abs and deep ‘V’, along with the tiger tattoo scrawled across his hip bone. “Perfectly, man. You knocked it out the board, as usual.” Chuckling amicably, he gestured towards you. “But, that’s not why I’m here—my friend is getting her first tattoo.”

You tried hard not to shrink back when Sukuna’s gaze met you again. This time, a teasing smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Oh, she’s your friend? Thought she was lost for a bit.”

Before you could open your mouth to sarcastically retort that you weren’t, Sukuna gestured to an unattended room down the hallway. “My schedule is pretty free today—I’ll take her on.”

Getou nodded enthusiastically. “Alright! You’ll be fine, Y/N. Sukuna here is the best at what he does. You’ll love your tattoo.” Like a proud father handing his reluctant toddler off at a daycare, the raven-haired man nudged you towards the tattoo artist, beaming brightly. “Ieiri and I will be next door having a massage. You call me once you’re done, okay?”

You tried not to whine through gritted teeth for Getou to follow you into the room, watching helplessly as he spun around on his heel and left you alone, Shoko following behind and giving you a big thumbs up.

Traitors, you thought murderously. They were supposed to be here for you, possibly even holding your hand in the tattoo room as you cussed your heart out, but they had left you on your own to fend for yourself. And your growing anxiety around the statuesque tattoo artist. There was a twitch in your left eye which was exacerbated the moment Sukuna scoffed.

“You're gonna stand around all day? Come on.”

You mirrored his scoff, crossing your arms in front of you.

“Are you always this rude to your clients? I could write a really bad review and affect your business.”

For a second, your audacity sent him into a disquiet, and then, Sukuna chuckled. “Sure. I can play nice for a bit.” Cocking his head closer, he assumed an air of playful sobriety that was seriously off-putting with the ink on his face. “I apologise for my behaviour, miss. Please follow along with the sterilisation process.”

You opened your mouth to retort, wanting to ruthlessly mouth off until the smug smile from his face was gone when he ambled down the hallway. While getting a tattoo has always been what you wanted, could you bear getting it from such a rude man that brought out the inner Karen in you?

Suguru did say this place was the best around Tokyo and he is paying for my tattoo…

Ugh. Fine. You made up your mind and trailed behind the behemoth of a man, careful to set your purse down and sit daintily on the bench as you adjusted the hem of your knee-length skirt.

“It’s good you came prepared in a skirt,” Sukuna commented, shaking you from your reverie and tossing you a disarming grin. “Gives me easier access to work on you.”

Your face felt way too warm for such a casual remark and you dropped your gaze from his piercing one, twisting your fingers together. “Just don’t fuck it up, okay? Or else I will literally bring my lawyer on your ass.”

That was a lie—you didn’t have a lawyer. But, what this smug asshole didn’t know would not hurt him. Sukuna lifted a brow and remained mum. He nodded towards a tray of tools. “I’m going to sterilise this first. You can go ahead and remove your blouse and hang it up there.” He gestured towards the coat rack.

While the idea of stripping in front of an attractive man scared you, it was nothing in comparison to the idea that he would be evading your personal space. Literally touching your skin with his black-gloved hands. Feeling you tremble underneath him.

Fucking Toji. It was because of him you were still like a bitch in heat, ready to latch onto any available cock in sight.

As if you were a bloodhound, you tried to keep calm when the scent of his rich, aquatic cologne hit you, your shoulders tensing when he sat on the metal stool next to the bench and tapped on the headrest. “Lie back down for me?”

Doing your best to comply, you twisted your torso slightly, the makeshift blanket almost falling down to reveal the rise of your cotton-clad breasts. Sukuna must’ve been unaffected by your near nudity because he didn’t even react when your bare waist came into view. Probably used to seeing tits in his face all the time.

Those rubbery palms touched your hip, smoothing a cool liquid over your skin that stung slightly. “Okay, I’m starting the needle.”

There was a whir in the background and you flinched when his palm tensed around your hip bone, nearly bolting out of the chair when the point of the needle touched your skin.

Sukuna jerked and stopped the machine pen, shooting you a glare. “Hey, quit it. You gotta relax for me, okay? I could’ve tore through your skin with the—”

“I hate needles.”

The admission fell between both of you like a pin dropping sharply from the edge of a table. Pinging and fracturing around with incredulous silence.

Sukuna gave you a look. “Then what the fuck are you doing in a tattoo shop?”

Unbidden, tears glossed in your eyes, and Sukuna set down the metallic tool, sighing. “Let me take a wild guess—your ex-boyfriend dumped you so you want to get inked as a sign of your freedom when in fact, you’re still grieving over the relationship, right?” The corners of his lips twitched. “You’re not exactly hard to read.”

You sniffled pathetically, never imagining in a hundred of years that you would be close to bursting to tears in the middle of a tattoo parlour.

Evidently, Sukuna may seem like he had a grasp on the situation, but he was just as clueless as you were and had rightfully offended you.

The air was thick with tension, uncuttable and gooey with some unnamed emotion.

Sukuna decided not to say anything else and pass you a tissue, switching off the running machine with a soft sigh. “If you’re not paying me for a tattoo, at least make it worth my time by entertaining me.” Sitting back, he crossed his arms across his very broad, very sexy chest, and lifted a brow, a ghost of a smirk ready to tug up in the corners of his lips.

“Go on, tell me your sob story. Might even throw in a complimentary spa voucher if you move me real good.”

That’s it. You snapped your mouth shut and hopped down from the bench, throwing off the blanket with a sharp swish of your wrist. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.” There was a familiar steel in your tone which you often used on errant reporters and underlings that had the power to make anyone cower.

But, for Sukuna, all you succeeded in doing was making him confused.

“So, you don’t want my listening ear?”

You could no longer hold back the vitriol ready to spill from the tip of your tongue.

“Look here, mister. Yeah, sure, you may be the best tattoo artist in this district and a good friend of Suguru, but I won’t tolerate your rudeness, especially when it comes to commenting on my life.”

The flinty edge in your gaze shocked him. “So, you can keep all your wisecrack jokes to yourself and I will see myself out. If you want me to bill you for the consulting fee, you know who to ask.”

As you were about to tug on your shirt, you heard him click his tongue.

“Hey—I’m sorry.”

You froze, about to jam one arm into a sleeve when his rueful apology reached your ears.

A heavy sigh resounded, and you turned around to face him, blouse still askew over your head. “Well, you’re not forgiven.”

Sukuna’s lips twitched again, and he helped you tug down your shirt.

Unbidden, the tips of his fingers grazed your exposed abdomen, and you couldn’t hide a shiver at his calloused touch.

Face still stuffed halfway into your shirt, you were helpless to stop Sukuna from trailing his touch down to your stomach which was now exploding into a million butterflies.

“Sukuna—”

“Do you ever shut up?” He murmured, and as quick as his touch came, it disappeared from your body. The tattooist showed you a fleck of stray ink staining his index finger. “Accidentally spilled some on ya. Sorry about that.”

He nodded towards the exit. “You can wait for Suguru to be done outside in the lobby. I won’t charge you for anything today.”

His sudden niceness threw you off, and you narrowed your eyes.

“You’re strange.”

The corners of his lips twitched, his amusement contagious. “Rich coming from someone afraid of needles in a tattoo shop.”

Sukuna rubbed his hands, huffing. “Well. Get out of here. I have another customer.”

But, the masochist in you pinned you down to the leather seat, stubbornly warring with yourself to get this through.

“Do it.”

Sukuna cocked a brow. “What?”

“I’m ready to be tattooed.”

In answer, he sank back down, pulling out his gun—whether emboldened or amused by your sudden resolution, you had no idea.

“Okay. Take off your shirt. We’re doing this, and—”

He gave you a look, one which froze you in place.

“—no backing out of this. Or, I’ll take your entire your deposit. Deal?”

After what seemed like hours, your fresh tattoo was ready.

Your clawed grip on the leather couch had left indents, and you were positive your molars were grinded into a pulp from how hard you had clenched your teeth.

“There,” Sukuna hummed, wiping away the dots of blood with a sterilised cloth, his smile small and a little proud.

“You did so well for me. I’m proud of you.”

Unbidden, his words cracked something in your mind, and the tears overflowed. It was mortifying to be like this—crying your heart out in front of an incredibly attractive man who had no idea how to handle your switching emotions.

Embarrassed, you tried to play off your sudden outburst with a nervous giggle.

You expected him to kick you out—weirded by your reactions—not sigh and sit down next to you, his gloves in hand.

“Do you wanna talk about your relationship?”

Mutely, you shook your head.

“Do you want a drink?”

The mention of alcohol made you perk up and you nodded.

Sukuna exited through the curtains and returned a minute later with bottles of beer—one for him and one for you. You both clinked in morose cheers and drank in silence; the alcohol taking away the edge of pain from both your throbbing tattoo and your broken heart.

“You’re better off without him,” your tattooist said after a moment. “The dude, I mean. Fuck him. You’re pretty—you’ll find someone good soon.”

Cracking a watery smile, you chuckled. “You think?”

“I know.” His smile was confident and his charm irresistible. “A good girl like you will make a great one for any guy.”

Good girl.

Oh.

Heat slicked down your spine, curdling somewhere in between your thighs. Sukuna watched the effects of his words play across your face—calculating the exact point when you were weak enough for him to make his move.

It was when your mouth fell slightly open, eyes darting over his face tattoos to fully drink in his own vermillion eyes, did he lean forward and kiss you.

You drank him in, no longer shy or subdued—turned flirty and lethal from the coasting hormones the pain elicited and the strong beer. His kisses rained like warm dew drops down your neck, your shoulders, and in between your exposed cleavage.

Sukuna hitched you up higher on the seat, knocking the beer bottles over. They shattered to the floor, and someone yelped in the room next door.

“Sorry,” he grunted, frantically groping under your skirt to pull your panties off. “Kicked something over.”

He slapped his other palm over your mouth, pushing two fingers into your slick hole. Sukuna finger-fucked you fast and hard, the muted squelching of your pussy creaming all around his black gloved fingers effortlessly.

You whined and squirmed, eyes rolling back into your skull. Unable to take the searing pleasure.

Sukuna didn’t let up. He was ruthless—making you cum quietly in the back of his shop. Those warm and slightly chapped lips latched onto your pulse point, kissing down your shoulders as you convulsed and twitched in his arms.

Not giving you a moment to catch a breath, Sukuna unsheathed his cock from behind his acid wash jeans. You whined softly, impatiently pushing up his shirt to expose his washboard abs.

Sukuna took the hint, ripping off his shirt and yours.

The air between both your lips tasted like ripe honey, and you lapped at his lower lip, swallowing his scratchy moan.

His voice alone could turn you on—and knowing the effect he had on you, Sukuna cooed, like an owner speaking down to his pet as he propped you onto your hands and knees.

“Hold the chair tightly,” his whisper was hot against the sensitive shell of ear. “And don’t make a sound, you understand? One single moan and I will stop everything.”

As he spoke, he rutted the tip of his cock in between your thighs, and you were glad you wore a simple skirt today. It made it easier for him to pull down the crotch of your panties to the side.

Sukuna slipped his entire prick inside of you without much prep, and your entire body tensed—your previous release helping to ease him all the way to the hilt.

His hands were clawed on your hips, using them as an anchor to jackhammer your willing cunt.

Too fast—this is too much.

“Too much,” you murmured, wincing when he pried his entire length from your creamy depths only to sink back into you unceremoniously. “‘Kuna—”

“You can do it.”

The sensation of a rubber covered finger tapping and rubbing on your clit added another layer of debauchery to this unexpected tryst. A mewl ripped past your clenched teeth, and true to his word, Sukuna stopped all movement.

“‘Kuna,” you mumbled, peeking over your shoulder with wide, teary eyes.

“Don’t give me that look.”

The tips of his pink hair were slick with sweat; falling right into his face, giving him a shadowy intrigue which shot straight into your neglected pussy.

“I told you I would stop.” Without waiting for your reply, Sukuna sank his teeth into the tip of his gloved middle finger, yanking off the rubber in one smooth move. He repeated the motion with the other hand while you were spread legged and dripping onto his chair, waiting for him to move. “And you didn’t listen.”

Clinically, almost cruelly, he buried two fingers into your gaping hole, curving them upward. This time, he took a moment to inspect your folds and squeezing cunt, his face almost close to your ass.

“Hmm.”

It was dehumanising to have a stranger do this to you, but you couldn’t stop him. You didn’t want to stop him.

“A pretty pussy,” he mumbled, and withdrew his fingers, leaving you aching and empty again.

Sukuna leaned forward, the heat of his body seeping into your bare thighs. “One more time, darling. And this time, be good for me, okay?”

Nodding, you arched your back and he laughed at your eagerness. At how you presented yourself to him like an offering on a silver platter.

“Slut,” he rasped, taking control of your body once again and bullying his cock into your tight heat. “Such a fucking eager little fuckdoll.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from moaning. There was only a curtain to separate both of you; anyone could walk in and see your tattoo artist balls deep into your creaming pussy.

Sukuna’s free hand had reached under your shirt, expertly tugging your bra cups down to pinch and roll your nipples.

The fact you were both still halfway dressed made you burn with both embarrassment and lust. Nothing else was heard around the room except for the soft squelches of your pussy taking his cock and his heavy breathing growing even denser.

Sukuna’s hips stuttered, and you could tell he was close. He bucked and undulated against you, a choked moan that almost sounded like pain caressing your neck.

“‘Kuna—” your whine was cut short by his rough hand tugging your face to his, lips crashing onto yours.

A dark sort of emotion overtook you, and for one split second, you were no longer the heartbroken girl trying to find meaning in life. Sukuna’s touches made you feel alive; brimming with vitality and hope.

Warm spurts filled you up and you gasped into his mouth, feeling him filling you up like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

When you both could finally speak, Sukuna gently withdrew himself and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

You closed your eyes, leaning back into him, exhausted to the bone.

“Keep the deposit,” he rasped in his low, deep voice; chest rumbling underneath your cheek. “The tattoo’s on me.”

After the disastrous week that was the result of your unfair dismissal at work and the revelation that Gojo Satoru wanted to be in your life not just as your baby’s daddy, but as a friend, things seemed to look up.

Granted, your bank account was slowly dwindling by the day, and the food in your fridge was becoming just as sparse as your finances; you didn’t have anything much to do in the day but read up on business news and take baths—but all the hardships made you work even harder, determined to make a better life for your baby.

Shoko had heard of your predicament and called you up for a wine night—or in your pitiful case—a sparkling wine night and teasingly asked you, “Why don’t you get Gojo to pay your bills?”

“I’m not a sugar baby, Ieiri,” you had grumbled and she snorted, looking resplendent in her floral summer dress while you felt like a whale beside her.

Stupid pregnancy belly. Your clothes were becoming too tight around your hips, and squeezing into your jeans made you feel like your thighs had turned into pieces of meat being squished into a sausage skin.

Whoever said that women were the most attractive during their pregnancy obviously missed the mark by about a whole mile.

“Money is money, Y/N. Besides, you can always use the excuse that you need it for the baby.”

You had shot her a look over your sadly non-alcoholic glass of despair and frowned. “Are you teaching me how to swindle money from a CEO?”

“I’m teaching you how to be in your bag, Y/N,” she corrected with a smirk.

That was a few nights ago, and the idea still replayed in your mind. However, you recalled Gojo’s happy smiles and how he was genuinely ecstatic to be having a child and you reasoned her suggestion did not seem so farfetched.

Winter was steadily approaching as seen from the snatches of cold air circulating around the apartment, and with it, Gojo’s increasing busyness. You had not heard from the white-haired CEO for almost a whole week and you were growing antsy. Your phone was resolutely silent as well, your messages to Toji and Sukuna going unread since that disastrous day in the OBGYN room. Trying hard not to let the winter blues and the chill of those two men get to you, you decided to take yourself out on a date.

Bulging belly apparent under your sweater, you winced at the tenderness of your breasts and massaged them gently while you tried to bend over and lace your boots. Deciding that you did a good job, you huffed, dragging your puffy coat over your frame. Appraising yourself in the mirror, you had to bite down on a laugh at how much you looked like an inflated Michelin man. A part of you was saddened that you could no longer dress up in babydoll dresses and sleek winter coats; since becoming a mom, practicality had very much taken over fashion.

The streets were bustling and you stayed closer to the walls, people giving you way once they noticed your swollen stomach and reddened face. How did all these Hallmark movies make pregnancy seem almost effortless? All those actresses had dewy skin, perfectly rotund bellies and a doting husband near them at all times—none of which you had with you right now.

The cafe you wanted to visit was too crowded and you huffed, taking out your phone and deciding to move to a different location. But before you could waddle away in disappointment, a harsh wind picked up and snatched your loosely tied scarf, the red material shimmering from your grasp as you exhaled out an exasperated, “Ugh—seriously?”

Moving as fast as your swollen legs could carry you, you rushed to grab the evasive material, nearly twisting on a patch of ice and tangling in your undone boot laces. For one split second, gravity seemed to elude you and you cried out, terrified beyond belief, the one warning flashing in your mind: my baby!

But before you could careen down to the ground, a strong arm caught you.

“Y/N!”

You gasped and held onto the defined bicep for your dear life, the blood rushing through your ears loud enough to stifle the presence next to you.

“You’re alright—you’re alright, love.”

That voice…

Glancing up with teary eyes, you were stunned by who had caught you.

“S-Sukuna?”

He was dressed warmly in a cashmere sweater and a woolly black scarf, tribal tattoos on his face and neck standing out like a stain on his tanned skin; incredibly handsome under the slate-grey skies. The wind ruffled his rosy hair and you noticed he had a greasy box in one hand, the other still wound around your waist.

Cognizant that he was still holding onto you, he reluctantly let you go. There was no mirth in his light brown eyes when he appraised you, apparently exasperated at your disposition. “Be more careful next time,” he clicked his tongue and took in your dishevelled state. “Jesus, who dressed you? A toddler?”

Before you could protest, he set the box down on a shop’s window ledge and got onto one knee, lacing your boots tightly, straightening your collar and even adjusting some buttons of your coat that were askew. His brisk assistance left you with a light dusting of pink on your cheeks and you ducked your gaze down when he tried to meet your eye.

A layer of awkwardness hovered between both of you and Sukuna eventually cleared his throat, picking up the box once more.

“I heard about how you got fired. I was about to head over to your apartment. Um, I got you some pizza.”

He mumbled everything under his breath, as if he were embarrassed of admitting something simple as helping someone who was not himself.

You blinked—once, twice—before finding your voice. “Oh. Thank you.”

Sukuna shifted from one foot to the other, still unable to meet your eyes. “Um—do you wanna head back? I think it might get cold.”

“Sure.”

It was a short walk back to your apartment and even when you felt fine, you were surprised when he roughly tugged his scarf from his neck to sloppily wrap it around your bare neck. The smell of his musk and rich cologne pricked your nostrils and you hid your blushing cheeks in the folds of the soft material.

He cleared his throat, attempting to make conversation. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better.” In a quieter voice, you asked, “How did you know I was fired?”

“Gojo told me. Fucking hell—that HR was ruthless. You sure you don’t want to sue her? Firing a pregnant woman is a discrimination.”

Somehow, hearing Sukuna getting angry on your behalf made the warmth on your cheeks deepen. Hiding your quiet pleasure at how nice he was being for a change, you tittered. “I’m done with that line. I might just open a flower shop.”

“A flower shop? That’s so girly.”

Your apartment appeared and he helped you to unlock the front door, careful to usher you in first. Catching your breath, you responded to his jab a few seconds too late, your lagging pregnancy brain striking again.

“Ooh, look at me, I’m a big, muscular, tattooed man who hates flowers. Real charming, Sukuna.”

Biting down a smile at how indignant you sounded, Sukuna settled himself on your couch, taking a gander at your space. You sat down next to him with two plates and two cups of Coke, sending him a mock glare.

“No, no. I meant that as a compliment.”

The pizza smelled heavenly and you indulged in two slices, the grease easing the disappointment of losing your favourite scarf. If he noticed the empty room you were slowly cleaning out to make space for your baby’s nursery, he didn’t say anything.

You were coming to discover that Sukuna was more of an action-based person; preferring to speak with his carefully crafted gestures compared to flowery words. In that sense, he was different from Gojo, and you welcomed the change.

For instance, Sukuna’s hesitation was apparent when he placed his palm on your belly, the warmth permeating through the thick material of your sweater. It was quiet except for both of your in-sync breathing. Outside, the wind was picking up, rattling the windows and exacerbating the silence within the walls. You didn’t break the heady solitude apart, content to bask in his affections and attention when those dark brown eyes flashed in wonder, cradling your bump with his larger hands.

You shifted your feet into a lotus sitting position and winced. Sukuna noticed your lapsing gesture and gave you a quizzical look.

“My knees are swollen.”

You didn’t expect what he did next. Gently grasping your ankles, he unfurled your legs and set them on his lap, removing your socks and massaging your feet. An unrestrained groan of relief slipped from your mouth and he chuckled in low tones.

“Shit—that feels good.”

He hummed, not wanting to break that blissful look on your face so he stayed quiet, pressing his knuckles into the arch of first your right foot then left foot to ease the tension .

Completely lost in the pleasurable relief, you almost didn’t feel the wetness seep through your panties, the quick twist of your womb. It was only when your abdomen started clenching harder that your eyes flew wide open and you squeaked.

“Sukuna—um, I think—oh shit.”

He stopped his ministries instantly, tribal tattoos crinkling as he frowned. “What’s the matter?”

In answer, you whimpered, and pointed to your soiled jeans.

His dark eyes widened. “Did you piss yourself?”

Your glare was marred with pain when you shook your head, resisting the urge to sock him right in his handsome face. “No, you dumbass—”

Breaking off, you clenched your teeth, doubling over with a gasp.

His reaction was immediate. “Oh. No. Are you—?”

Sukuna’s first instinct was to wrap his arms around you, hustling you out of the apartment and into the cold.

You nearly screamed at him to get you back into your warm apartment, but from his pinpricked pupils and heavy breathing, Sukuna wasn't exactly thinking straight.

Frantic vermillion eyes darted around the snow-flooded street. Shops were closing and many people were hiding from the flurry of snow falling from the sky.

The entire world was shutting into itself to brace against a snowstorm and your baby had decided this was the perfect time to arrive.

You grunted in pain, fisting the front of his winter coat. "'Kuna, I wanna go back in. I—"

"You need a hospital," he urged, the panic in his voice unshakable.

The look on your face was brimming with pain, cheeks ruddy from the cold.

“My water broke,” you muttered, as if it wasn’t obvious what you were going through. “‘K-Kuna… help me.”

Snapping back into action, Sukuna hopped up, holding onto you carefully as he made a few calls. But, with every single rejected dial tone, his panic was increasing.

“Shit,” he cursed, calling another hospital in a different district.

Of all days when his potential baby mama had to pop, it would be when he didn’t have his bike with him.

It was stuck in a workshop, the radiator frozen after these unprecedented winter nights. Sukuna was starting to grow desperate.

Another sharp gasp of pain from you rattled his chest, and he tried the ambulance one more time.

Finally, someone answered.

“Hello?” He rushed without preamble. “My girlfriend is about to give birth. We need an ambulance down Kosai Street, stat.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the operator sounded regretful. “The snow is piling up and our ambulances were already deployed to other cases.”

He heard the meaning loud and clear: you’re not important enough to waste resources on.

The tattoo artist sneered, teeth bared at the stupid woman’s simpering.

“Fuck, no,” he snarled. “This is important, too! We have no mode of transportation and—”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she repeated again, this time more firmly. “We just received word of a huge accident down the Shibuya intersection and I’m afraid we have to respond immediately. Please allow us two hours to reach you and in the meantime, keep your girlfriend warm and out of the weather.”

The dial tone echoed down the line, and Sukuna thought he had hallucinated the whole conversation.

But, before he could go on a rant about how terrible and unfunded government hospitals are becoming in this country, you grabbed his arm, wincing in pain.

“Call Satoru,” you said in a strangled voice. “Call him and he’ll come. T-take my phone from my pocket.”

Sukuna did as you asked, putting his ego aside to call up the white-haired motherfucker.

However, just as he was about to press the button, a soft voice interrupted the both of you.

“Do you need a lift?”

Haloed by his car lights, a tall, blonde man strode towards them, his hands in his pockets and a look of solemn worry on his face.

Sukuna didn’t know the guy, but evidently you did when he heard your soft and pained gasp.

“K-Kento?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He sounded formal, though the look in his eyes was steeped with regret.

Something about how you said his name made the other man think this Kento guy was special to you.

But, he had no time to ask if this was the same ex who had landed you in this pickle with three other men; your legs had given out and you were sinking into the snow with an agonised cry.

Using all his strength, Sukuna hauled you into his arms, ignoring your shriek of surprise.

Looking this Kento stranger in the eye, he nodded towards the humming car.

“Thanks. You came just in time. Y/N needs a hospital.”

Kento’s eyes never left your prone form in his arms, and Sukuna was starting to feel like he had unwittingly landed in the middle of something entirely too intimate.

The both of you were locked in a silent staring competition, and the tattoo artist had just about enough of this unspeakable tension.

“Oi,” he barked, loud enough to startle Kento’s attention back to him.

“Are we just gonna fucking stare around? Y/N’s about to pop out her baby. We have to get to the hospital—now.”

— reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated !!

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy and repost, or claim as your own

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taihjj · 9 months

Text

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋, 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄 — g. satoru

; 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a strange man whisks you away to safety only to disappear when you least expected it

cw sugar daddy!gojo, smut (lots of it), minors shoo, 18+, barely proofread, 5.8k+ words, based on this post

; today i offer you the sugar daddy!gojo au no one asked for tomorrow who knows

You met Gojo Satoru on the last day of November.

The streets were echoing with the sound of boots and winter shoes, a light layer of frost covering the sidewalks and naked branches above.

It had been a slow day at your izakaya, the patrons still enmeshed in their daily workload that you were forced to tick your eyes towards the old clock behind you to count down the minutes to happy hour.

At least with some people around, you could dull the lonely throb in the middle of your chest; the one which hoped that someone would at least make some time to tell you about their day today.

As you muddled with your mundane task of wiping down some silverware, your eyes caught the faintest movement from the doorway.

Tall, impossibly handsome and with a presence that would draw every eye on him, it wasn’t hard to figure out that he lavished in attention. You had deciphered his motive the second he swaggered to you, a cheeky smile on his pouting lips.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You scoffed, wiping down the counter. Fate had thrown you a curveball where instead of a sweet patron you could chat with, you were faced with yet another customer who couldn't keep it in his pants. Strangely enough, it was way too early in the day for them to be this bold and the man before you didn’t look the slightest bit drunk. Maybe he was a special case.

“Is that the best you can come up with?”

“Cut me some slack, sweetheart. It’s four in the afternoon.”

“Very astute. And yet here you are, trying to disturb a woman working an honest job.”

His eyes behind those stupid sunglasses raked up and down your figure. "Honest job? Yes. Honest woman? Not much."

You stopped your motions, fixing him with an icy glare. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I know you're messing with someone you shouldn't, little girl."

Your blood froze over, though you didn't let him get the upper hand with your perfected poker face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

His annoying cheery smile never faltered. "Let me walk you back home."

“No thanks.”

The smile he wore was edged with a glint of something darker, a smug uptick of his jaw. “It wasn’t a request. Unless you want to wake up in another life, then be my guest!”

He turned around, one hand in his pocket, another raised in a mockery of a wave.

The ice in your veins solidified and you didn’t know what compelled you to falter in your resolution to trust another man when you said: “Wait.”

A soft thud of his footfall on the sticky lacquered floor seemed to echo through your blaring mind. He turned his head back slightly, and through the peek of his glasses and sharp cheekbone, you noticed how bright and blue his eyes were.

Something about the brilliant hue and the look on his face melted through the defences you held fast for the better part of your life.

“I am… I think I am in danger. What do you know?”

The man tilted his head to the side. It was ridiculous to trust a stranger. But, for the sake of your curiosity, you had to try.

“Satoru,” he gave you his name with a childish wink. “Gojo Satoru. Now, about that offer to walk you home…”

Gojo’s palm was warm on your lower back, melting through the layers of your work dress and trench coat. Every hair on your body was standing on end from his touch, your throat swallowing the dryness gathering like a eulogy waiting to be expelled into the frosty thin air.

Silently, you snuck a glance at him, bowed down by his blatant good looks. Keeping your eyes latched onto the ground, you missed the twitch in the corner of his lip, his eyelids fluttering shut, as if he could walk with his eyes closed.

“You said I was in danger?”

Even the words were hard to solidify into the real world. You cleared your throat, forcing the hoarseness through the tight pinprick of fear which clamped around your soundless despair.

“I would say it’s more than that. You’re just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kiyosaki Kyouta. That name ring a bell?”

In the hazy recesses of your mind, you distinctly remembered a gust of hot breath on your neck, the press of a pinstripe tie against a strip of tattooed skin.

“Vaguely,” you hummed. “What about him?”

“Well… you really don’t know how to pick your clients, I’ll give you that,” his attempt at humour was amusing only to himself. “But, I do understand the streets of Kyoto must be dry of bastards, and you had rent to pay… wait, where was I going with this?”

“Kiyosaki Kyouta,” you muttered impatiently. “You said that bastard’s bad news?”

“Ah, yes!” he snapped his long fingers, and you were drawn to the clean nail beds and neat edges.

A man who cared about his outward appearance a little too much. “Evil man. Horrible. I have a bone to pick with him, and it kinda leads to you. Might have tipped off some important people on your location. I would apologise but this is actually good news for you!

"Anyway, what do you think about moving in with me for a week?”

Unpacking your bags as Tokyo’s skyline greeted you was not how you expected to spend your Wednesday morning.

After your little confusing chat with Gojo, you reckoned it was safer to put your life in the hands of a man who knew the ins and outs of your client’s mysterious life than to risk it all in your cramped, unguarded apartment.

Gojo had left you with a salute and a shit-eating grin to adjust yourself in one of his many penthouses. Emphasis on ‘many’.

You had no idea he was this loaded, and truth be told, the idea of many yen signs attached to his name sounded intriguing. You wanted to know more about this mysterious Gojo Satoru.

A quick Google image search gave nothing away, and even Facebook was no help in understanding the enigma who had invited you into his home to protect your life.

One night he came back, after leaving you for two days to your own vices, and you had had enough.

“Well?” you asked with an arch of your brow, hands crossed over your chest. “Can I go home now?”

Gojo’s lanky figure was a source of frustration for you when you had to crane your neck to look up at him. His effervescent grin at your expense was back. “Why? Missed your bed? Not as comfy as mine?”

You knew he was taunting you—could feel it in your bones—but what you did next was irrational as anything that came before that.

Your hand flew towards his chest, about to hit it when it stopped. Completely. In mid-air. No matter how hard you tried to push towards the broad expanse of muscle, it wouldn’t budge.

“What the hell—?”

“It’s my cursed technique—sorry. Superpower. Do you believe in sorcerers?”

Your mouth fell open in a disbelieving ‘O’.

For the next hour or so, Gojo sat you down to explain about a world hidden from yours. A world of curses, secrets and jujutsu. Energy and manifestations. Fears and delusions.

It all created what he called Curses and he was one of the strongest ones tasked to exorcise them.

After he finished, you sat back, in a complete daze from what you had just heard.

“H-how does this link back to Kiyosaki Kyouta?”

Your voice was hoarse, like you were on the verge of tears. Gojo offered no sympathy when he shrugged and snickered. “Kyouta is one of the bad sorcerers. I was sent to hunt him but somehow, his traces landed on you. Some whore or another who latches onto men for their money. Naturally, his co-workers want to find out where he disappeared to and the last place he ever visited was your shitty izakaya.”

You blinked, and your chest caved in.

“So, that’s why it’s dangerous for me to be in public?”

“Technically speaking, you’re not even supposed to be alive. People like you—non sorcerers—aren’t allowed to know about our world. But, it’s fine. I won’t kill you and neither will the higher ups in my community. You’re just a would-be casualty that I have to keep out of harm’s way until the dust clears.”

Gojo grinned. “In the meantime, how about we get to know a little bit about each other? I know you take off clothes for a living—”

“Shut up,” you glowered hotly. “You have no idea what choices pushed me to be here.”

“Ah, but it must be a horrible life you lived to push you into these ideals—”

“My family were religious nutjobs.”

For the first time since you met him, Gojo Satoru was rendered speechless. The truth you held back for a good few years spilled from your lax lips, unburdened to this relative stranger who you knew nothing about.

After you were done remembering a past tainted by a psychopathic mother, repentant father and a small town you were forced to escape from, Gojo slumped back onto the sofa, a telltale purse of concentration puckering his lips.

“Shit,” he punctuated his succinct observation with a low whistle. You thought he would offer you sympathy, or at least a sneer of disbelief. Not— “You wanna have a drink?”

Drinking with Gojo was an unexpected occurrence, but you figured that when it came to a man like Satoru, it was best to go with the flow rather than resist it. He could barely handle his liquor, and you were no better. Years in this seedy industry hadn’t hardened your resilience to alcohol as much as you wanted to believe, and when you slumped against his broad shoulder, he didn’t fight you off.

Gojo smelled good. Your hazy mind detected notes of citrus and the sea from his frosty white locks.

“If I kissed you right now, would you fight me off?”

His voice, low and a hum, pierced through your mind like a ringing gunshot. You sat up, trying to focus your glassy eyes on him.

Emboldened by the liquor, you mumbled, “Depends on how you kiss me.”

His soft lips were on yours in a heartbeat.

Kissing Gojo was a sensation you could not describe. Imagine riding a rollercoaster, but instead of freefalling, you were shooting straight up to the atmosphere. You kept on climbing higher and higher, until your lungs ached and your heartbeat stuttered behind your eyelids.

Even his lanky, large frame pressing you onto the carpeted floor could not bring you down from hurtling head first into his devouring kisses. Gojo mouthed hungrily at your lower lip, the slip of his warm tongue gliding along the seam of your mouth, parting it easily like water does to sugar paper.

Nothing could keep him from coaxing you to intertwine deeper with him, but the slide of that damning tongue against yours, and the messy clash of teeth was close enough to convince you. The hot press of those large palms on the small sliver of skin exposed from your shirt riding up drove you dizzy with lust, the ache between your thighs thrumming hotly.

Gojo was steadily leading you down a path you could not come back from. There was more at stake than your safety; your future was figuratively held in those nimble, knobbly fingers that were pale like snow and long like a talented pianist.

He could decide when you were safe. Only he was the one you would trust with your life.

After all, he hadn’t given you reason to doubt him.

Spreading your thighs wider to accommodate him in between them, you let him grasp your hips, tugging the elastic waistband of your shorts down. Once you were fully exposed, your cheeks warmed, and a sliver of sobriety started to encroach your consciousness.

Those icy blue eyes were alight with a fire you had never seen before. The smooth pads of his fingers glided up your ribcage, skimming the hardness of your bra cup, implicitly asking for permission.

Despite not knowing anything about him but his name and his terrible secret, you lifted yourself up, perching on your elbows. Gojo’s dark shades slipped down the bridge of his shapely nose, and you ignored the voice in your head to be careful when you gently pinched the wireframe of the expensive Ray Bans, carefully removing it and placing it on his coffee table.

Finally unveiled to you with no barriers, his brilliant eyes render you speechless. You had stolen glances of them behind the dark glass, but nothing could prepare you for the brilliance of looking at them without them.

You felt like you could drown in those baby blue depths, those thick white lashes framing his beautiful eyes tickling your bare neck. His soft kisses followed next, full of a strange restricted passion you could feel thrumming from his fingertips over your ribs as they slowly ascended up the column of your neck and towards your jaw.

Gojo hummed, the tip of his tongue tracing your jawline with precise teasing.

Splotches of red adorned his cheeks, giving him a certain humanness you had never noticed from this sculpture of a strange man. Something about that little blip gave way to his vulnerability, and it made your heart sing.

Strong fingers snapped your bra off, and then your panties, and finally, you had nothing to hide yourself from his piercing blue eyes. They shone with an effervescent emotion you could not name, and your heartbeat doubled when you peered down the length of your body, noticing his cheek pressed to your pelvis.

Gojo was a large man, though you hadn’t noticed it in the beginning. Hidden by his button down shirt, you feasted on the visual carnival of muscles rippled across his nimble body, biceps pulsing and abs undulating when he scooted down to your pelvis level. A smug grin adorned his peachy lips, and you flushed with want at the sight of him kissing your hip bone softly.

“Cat got your tongue,” he teased.

You pursed your lips, darting your eyes to land on a painting beside you rather than the man poised in between your thighs to pleasure you.

“Shut up.”

“Feisty,” Gojo drawled. “But, no matter. They’re always stubborn until they’re begging for more.”

You were about to snap that you weren’t going to stoop low enough to plead for him when you felt his mouth brushing your honeyed folds.

There was something electrifying about Gojo Satoru.

His movements burned through you, seared your protests off your kiss-bruised lips. You could do nothing but let him have his way with you.

Gojo sampled you like you were a foreign dessert, taking his time to memorise your taste.

Your fingers twisted in his silky, white locks, and he moaned deeply in appreciation when you started to tug on them. The vibrations edged your core towards a release you felt welling inside of you like a violent wave.

No man had ever taken his time to eat you out this thoroughly—like you were worth the decadent lust you were denied from a life of selfish lovers.

Gojo Satoru was anything but selfish with you.

Every curl of his tongue and soft moan got you higher towards that sacred spot. He was leading you straight into heaven, sparks flying off behind your tightly squeezed eyes.

You felt his hand on your hip, massaging it lightly.

“Don’t keep me waiting… cum for me, princess.”

That nickname and his sultry command set off a series of fireworks down your spine. You arched your back, a scream of his name released into this echoing hall of his penthouse.

“Gojo!”

He laced his fingers with yours, prolonging your high by sucking hard on your clit, hard enough to leave a mark behind.

Strong arms wrapped you to his side, and Gojo laid next to you, the stretch of his toned body melting with yours.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes crossing from the pleasure holding you in its thrumming hostage. “That was…”

He hummed, lifting you to straddle his lap. The thick nudge of his cock brought you back to the ground, the pleasure singing in your veins rising to a crescendo.

“So tight,” he whispered, more to himself. “I’m going to ruin you.”

You hoped he did. You hoped he would keep that promise—forever.

The expanse of his chest was the terrain which your hands ran over, memorising every dip and sharp jut from his defined collarbone to his washboard abs. You couldn’t keep your touch from roaming down the fine smattering of white hair leading straight to the throbbing length currently nudging past your tight opening.

Once he settled in, a wince of pleasure overtook both your features. Gojo lolled his head to the side, cursing softly, his hair bleeding across the floor like the first fall of snow.

In this position, he left the control entirely up to you—a first you would never expect from such a self-possessed man.

You moved in tandem to his controlled grinding. One thing led to another, and you were somehow pressed to the wall, legs wrapped around his slim waist.

This close, you had no idea how blind you had been to his sheer size. Towering over you and easily hooking your thighs around his body, Gojo bounced you up and down his cock like you were a rag doll, drawing out your sweet moans which were like music to his ears.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his hoarse voice drawing you to the edge like a wave to the shore. “I feel you squeezing down on me.”

Those prettiest blue eyes pinned your full attention onto him, and you couldn’t resist leaning forward, smushing your mouth with his in a messy attempt at a kiss. Gojo kissed you back with equal fervour, and the fever pitch lust he incited and you reacted to was reaching its peak.

Both your bodies trembled from the onslaught of a release that shook your cores.

Gojo slid to his knees with a low groan bringing you along with him—the strongest sorcerer in the world weakened by your perfect pussy squeezing down on him.

You nuzzled his cheek, panting his name softly. “Gojo…”

“Satoru,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly.

You felt his fingers twist the hair at the nape of your neck, feathering soft caresses on the sensitive strip of skin with the pad of his thumb.

“Call me Satoru.”

Your relationship with Gojo Satoru was strange, to say the least.

After rocking your entire world that night, he disappeared the morning after. No calls, no notes.

All he left behind was his black card, and later during the afternoon, an unknown number texted you: ‘Go crazy <3’

So, you did.

You bought yourself clothes, makeup, and skincare which you couldn’t previously afford with your salary as a waitress. You reasoned that if you were going to live with this unknown man for an extended period of time, you were going to make your stay as comfortable as possible.

The other sugar daddies who had treated you to a taste of luxury were faint shadows in your mind. Your entire world was consumed fully by Satoru. He was easily richer than any man who had tried to woo you. It was as if his bank account was bottomless.

Though he had never explicitly asked you to be his sugar baby, his true intention was seen when he returned three days later, bending you over the couch until you squirted all over his picture-perfect abs.

Later, he left yet another credit card on his flawless mahogany dining table, and this time, you had no qualms in getting yourself sets of lingerie, which you sent to that unknown number in hopes that he would see it.

You never expected him to turn up at the door an hour later, an easy grin on his plush lips even as the veins were bulging in his forearm from his tightly clenched fists.

“Wrong number, sweetheart,” he chortled, removing the strange purple uniform he wore to reveal the white button down underneath. The material fell to the floor with a heavy thud. “That was Ijichi you were trying to seduce, but I’ll forgive you.”

“Ijich—”

You barely had time to utter another man’s name, not when your words were swallowed completely by his smothering kiss.

Gojo guided you towards the table, and you realised a second too late what he was doing until your head was hanging from the edge, your mouth wide open and waiting. He removed his pants, and palmed your heavy tit with one hand.

“Are you wearing it underneath this stupid shirt?”

His voice was edged with something dark and demanding. You nodded, glassy eyes catching his blown-wide ones.

Satoru didn’t waste time in removing the bothersome t-shirt you wore, revealing the silky white set you bought which matched his hair.

“Like an angel,” he whispered, and gave you no time to reply, not when his cock was slowly easing down your throat.

You would’ve thought that sucking Satoru off like this would be demeaning, but Gojo never once made you feel like a whore for falling into your deeper instincts. You wanted to please him, and he wanted you to please him.

It was an equal give and take that left you both shaking and slick with sweat.

Satoru eyed your writhing body and thought that the world’s best art instalments would never do justice to the piece of poetry unfurling before him. He had seen Monet, DaVinci and Van Gogh in real life, but none of them could quite capture the euphoria of your flushed cheeks and swollen lips wrapping around his cock like a love offering.

Without warning, he withdrew his length from your mouth, and you were straddling his lap in a blink of an eye. Satoru’s superpowers—as you liked to call them—made him faster and more nimble than any man you had ever slept with.

Sinking you down on his cock, Gojo set a pace that rattled your teeth, leaving you like putty to his ministrations. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, muffled whines of “fuck… feel so good” bruising your skin like the marks he left on the same spot.

You were growing delirious from the high, every sensory overload screaming out his name like a siren.

Gojo had this uncanny ability to know your body better than you did, and you almost hated how easily it was for him to get you crumbling. As if your walls never existed in the first place, you fell for his lopsided grin and the tender way he cupped your face as he kissed you senseless.

Your heart was a puddle right under your spread thighs, obvious for the world to see.

Gojo Satoru had wormed himself under your skin, and he was never going to leave.

You had to make sure of it.

“Stay tonight,” you whispered against his lips while he continued to piston his slick cock in and out of you.

Gojo hoped you didn’t feel the tremble of his lower lip against yours. Prayed that the hitch in his breath would be taken as his orgasm quickly approaching and not as a nameless, terrifying feeling he was fighting hard to not succumb to.

Your eyes were closed, like you were praying, though realistically, Gojo knew it was because of your impending orgasm about to drag you under.

“Hmm,” he murmured in what he hoped was a noncommittal hum.

Leaving you without an answer, Satoru chose to play with your clit as a means to distract you from his torn thoughts. He thumbed the greasy bud until you gasped and your back bowed, a look of painful reprieve overtaking your entire expression.

“Satoru…”

A sharp inhale and one quick tremble. Gojo felt you cum all over his cock.

Your eyes drooped close, the hormones and oxytocin leaving you floating on a cloud of satisfaction that you didn’t feel him carrying you into his bedroom.

The sensation of a warm blanket engulfing you filled your woozy mind with more cotton, and you briefly registered the feeling of someone sliding under the covers together with you.

More warmth wrapped around you, and in a simple instant, you were fast asleep, completely unaware of Gojo’s tightening embrace as he held you close to his heart—like you would disappear the second he opened his eyes.

You never thought Satoru would leave you, but he did.

Where you both would frequently text and exchange memes throughout the day, everything went radio silent on an unexpected note.

The messages you sent him wouldn’t go through, green bubbles of confusion on the screen leaving you laced with nausea for his safety. On the second day of no contact, you decided to venture out on your own.

Satoru had never explicitly kept you under lock and key, but when he was around, you found that you didn’t want to escape his clutches.

The outside world seemed different without him. The sun was bleached of its colour, and the trees felt fake. It was like a rendered movie your eyes were not used to.

Everywhere you went, you hoped you would stumble into him. Down a corner of the street, past a restaurant he once told you about which served the best ramen. Your heart hummed with Gojo’s name, and yet, this empty world could not answer your wishes.

Two days turned into four, and by the fifth, a man from your past reached back to you.

You had lived long enough in this sinful life to know when someone was done with you. Gojo Satoru had probably chewed on you long enough till your presence was tasteless to him, and had left to cleanse his palette with someone else. It wouldn’t be the first time a man has done this.

I thought he was different.

But, he was like every other man you had been with. They all eventually got tired of you.

A dull thrum took up space where your heart once pulsed with life. You went through the motions—fucking your ex-fling, Mori, taking his money, spending it on little niceties that brightened your day for a nanosecond before it went back to grey.

You would never have expected the call that came exactly nineteen days after you had left Gojo’s penthouse.

It was seven in the morning, too early for you to be awake unless you had work. The weekend was today, and you were hoping to get in your much needed eight hours of sleep, but the shrill tone of your phone would not leave you alone.

You answered it in your half-grogginess.

“Hello?”

“Sweetheart?”

Just like that, the colours of the world came back to life.

Your eyes shot wide open, a thrill of excitement and disbelief forcing you from the bed.

With your heart in your throat, you uttered the shades of a name you missed the most on your tongue.

“S-Satoru?”

“It’s me, gorgeous. Where are you? Why’re you not home?”

Home. The word throbbed like a tender wound in your soul. Gojo thought you belonged in his home.

“I’m—”

Before you could speak, the man next to you yawned loudly and pawed your ass. Ignoring your tiny yelp, he rubbed his spiky cheek against your shoulder. “Who’s that, baby?”

Loud enough for Satoru to hear from his end.

You held your breath the moment Gojo expelled his noisily.

“Baby?” His voice was saccharine sweet. Deceptive. “Are you with another man?”

“I—”

“No, no. I understand,” you could picture his glossy lips stuck in a pout and ached to kiss him thoroughly. “I left without an explanation. I’m on my way.”

The second his call ended, you heard a loud crack coming from the foot of your bed. Mori jerked back like a dog scalded with hot water at the sight of your previous lover’s mischievous grin.

“Aha. Knew I would find you here,” he crowed triumphantly to you. As for the man who had warmed your bed while he was gone, Satoru faked a pout. “Aw. I think you stayed way past your welcome. You should skedaddle, don’t you think?”

“Wait,” Mori gruffly got up from the bed, his bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck are you—”

One second, he was right next to you, and the next, he was gone.

Your scream was cut short when Gojo materialised next to you, palm over your mouth to muffle your sobs.

“Relax,” he crooned. “I just sent him to the train station… in his underwear.” You hiccuped, fixing your wide, glossy onto his smiling face, suddenly afraid. You had no idea of the extent of Satoru’s powers and you were too scared to find out. But, he never gave you any more reason to be alarmed, his genial smile never faltering.

“I think it’s time we both went home, don’t you?”

He lifted you into his arms like you weighed next to nothing. You blinked and your room seemed to shimmer, a creeping heat crawling all over your body.

“Satoru—”

You barely had time to yell out his name in warning when you opened your eyes and found yourself in his living room.

Dumbfounded, your mind pinged around like a lost signal, unable to wrap around the fact that you had basically teleported halfway across from Tokyo. Satoru set you down on your wobbly feet, and you lurched forward, palms pressed to his sturdy chest.

“Careful, pumpkin.”

The black tee he wore stretched gloriously over his muscles, and for a split second, you took a minute to rake your eyes up and down his broader frame.

Did Satoru start to workout while he was gone?

His biceps were thicker, and the widened frame of his body left you tethering in shock.

There was no way a person could get this buff in such a short time.

The Satoru before had a good amount of muscle, but the Satoru now was practically god-like. It struck a note of fear in you, one which he noticed.

“Sweetheart?” he gently coaxed, using two fingers to tip your face up to look at him. His blue eyes—shifting like the ocean—welcomed you into his waves. “It’s still me. Don’t be scared.”

Your words lodged in the back of your throat like a cough which you could never release. They itched and ached to tell him how much you missed him, but you were so very scared he would never reciprocate those feelings.

“Where did you go?” you bleated pathetically instead. “You were gone for so long.”

“It’s quite a story,” he drawled, and those blue eyes sparkled with mischief though they were tempered by something else. A certain loss you could feel on the tips of your fingers when you caressed his cheeks. “I think I’ll tell you later—after I’m done fucking you.”

He kept true to his word.

Gojo spent the entire morning in between your legs, eating you out while you shook and moaned his name over and over again. The walls were starting to spin, the drool had long dried on your chin and he was still tonguing your folds with the precision of a master.

Hazy-eyed and weak, you mewed his name, and Gojo allowed your fingers to tug on the roots of his hair.

“Feeling good, baby?”

You were too fucked out to speak, nodding instead.

Gojo chuckled quietly to himself and removed the last article of his clothing—his black pants—to reveal his pale, beautiful cock already throbbing with anticipation. Your breath hitched when he circled the blushing tip against your needy clit, and your whine was pleasure personified the second he slid into your tight heat.

The man you so desperately wanted to belong to held you close to his chest while his large palms grasped your fleshy thighs, using them to guide you up and down his length.

All the while your mouth was latched onto his, your whispers of his name melting into a deluge of more, more, more. Those whines would be the death of him—if Satoru had not perished in the Prison Realm, he was sure he would’ve lost his soul right in the lock-up of your arms.

You were kissing him like your life depended on it, and maybe, just maybe, Satoru was deluded enough to believe you loved him.

It was worth a shot when he asked: “Are you mine?”

Your answer was a teary little nod and a hiccup of his name. “Y-yours.”

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Satoru doubled down on his thrusts, trying to get you to that sacred place in between pleasure and overstimulation. Your legs trembled around him, and your whimpers fueled him to catch his breath, his eyes fluttering shut.

The both of you exploded in complete ecstasy, your bodies writhing on the large couch as pleasure burned through the late morning light.

His arms were leadened weights around you, and your breath was caught in your throat when you came about to find him smiling down at you.

“What?” you tried to scowl.

Satoru smirked, using the pad of his index finger to smoothen out the crinkle in between your brow.

“Nothing.”

“It’s something.”

“I told you—it’s nothing.”

You thinned your lips together to avoid a silly grin from spreading. “You are such a horrible liar.”

“Me?” he pretended to gasp, putting a hand on his pale, sweaty chest. “Ugh. You’re soooo wrong, sweetie.”

“Am I?” you challenged.

Satoru’s grin was infectious, and you found yourself smiling dopily in response.

“You know what, you may be right,” he admitted.

“About what?” you hummed, drawing his hand close to your lips and kissing his knuckles.

“That you’re mine.”

You paused, and the morning sunlight twinkled in his ocean-blue eyes, skittering across the surface of your shocked expression like a ripple over crystal water.

Here goes nothing. “And I’m yours.”

Your silence was nerve-wrecking and Satoru wished your cheek wasn’t pressed onto his chest where you could hear the maddening beat of his heart.

His thoughts came to a futile halt when you laughed—a sweet, chiming melody that was delicious than any treat he ever had in his life. Your wide and honest expression made something deep in his soul cave, and the next words you whispered kindled in him a flame for life he thought had long extinguished.

“I never got the chance to say this… but, welcome home, Satoru.”

— feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated <33

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