Obsidian

Obsidian

Chapter 1 - Barricades raised

Characters: Geto Suguru × Fem!reader

Tags: User discretion is advised, MDNI. Arranged marriage (this is my trope now), mentions of Gojohime, Nanami and Toji, unwanted pregnancy (at first), hate sex (almost), toxic relationship, gaslighting, descriptions of sex, mean!Geto (he's so mean i hate it here), infidelity, lot of crying, random outbursts, hurt no comfort, violence (to some extent), arguing, lot of hateful words, pure angst, basically reader is miserable here

🏷️: @cosmicyeager @4dtk @novaresque @cuz-like-why-not @killtoji + all my geto kinnies :)

Oh yes, before I forget, this is heavily inspired by one of @fuwushiguro 's work. Idk why i started writing, but it felt right. GETO IS SUCH AN ASSHOLE HERE I HATE HIM LIKE TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS ARE A BIG NO-NO BUT HIM- 😭🤌🏻

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THIRD PERSON POV:

Geto Suguru wasn't sure why all eyes seemed to stay on you tonight.

It wasn't like he was unnoticeable either; at a formidable height of 6'5, a thick black mane, strong jaw and equally brawny muscles, Geto was easily the most handsome man in the room save for his best friend and groom, Gojo Satoru.

What was so special about you that everyone came over to strike up a conversation, ignoring his presence next to you?

Was it the off-shoulder lace number you'd donned for the occasion?

Was it the small, welcoming smile on your face that drew people, old and new to talk to you?

Was it how your cheeks were round and filled with colour and a shine that only be called graceful?

Or was it the moonlight shining on your womanly figure, highlighting all of these, enchanting the people around you?

One more compliment about you 'glowing' and 'pregnancy looks good on you' would earn the person a stink eye, that is, if they dared to come to you with him by her side, especially after seeing the look on his face.

"Oh my god- Y/n?!"

Suguru groans internally.

He watches as your smile widens by a fraction when the bride, Utahime, throws her arms around you, making sure to be gentle in the process. She gently holds both your palms in hers and gushes at how beautiful you look.

You were the spotlight.

"Y/n! Look at you! You're positively radiating, sweetheart! It's almost like you're the bride tonight."

She says this in jest of course, her words coated with pure happiness, but she wasn't exactly wrong.

It's only when he hears a euphonious giggle leave your lips at one of Gojo's jokes at his soon-to-be wife's statement, Geto decides to take part in it as well, leaving his drink unattended at the bar.

Your giggle still resounded in his ears, like the twinkling of wind chimes.

It had been months since you had laughed like that.

It was Gojo's engagement party, not yours.

So why did the stares of other men you were painfully oblivious to, bother him? Why did he feel better when he saw the flicker of surprise on your face and how the others seem to avert their eyes away when he brought you to his side with a hand around your waist?

For a moment, you contemplated if one of these men would be willing to take you in if you begged them to. You did know them well, of course, but for a moment, you contemplated if any one of them could take you in their wing and love you the way you were supposed to be.

Why didn't he like the broad smile on your face as Nanami and Toji approach you and began to entertain you when he goes back to the bar? And why did it bother him as he observed how freely they were talking to you, devoid of their usual stoic faces?

Why did it make him angry?

You cast a quick glance at your fianceé who was standing at the bar, looking away the second he meets your eyes as he orders his drink.

Nanami and Toji were good at holding conversations than your fianceé did.

Despite his open flirting, Toji still greeted you warmly and asks about the progress of your babies. Nanami was discussing about this recent article he'd read about how babies in a recent article, keeping you off from thinking about the glare being bored into the back of your head by a certain someone.

It's wishful thinking, you tell yourself. No one wants damaged goods. Not when they're filled with another man's child.

"Strip."

His baritone rings in the room, and your head slowly raises at his brash order, shoulders stiffening and turn to exit the room.

Your head bumps into his chest and it's then you realise that you wouldn't be going anywhere until he gets what he wanted.

"Geto-san, I'm a bit tired tonight. Maybe tomorrow? When I'm not this tired and sore?" You ask, hoping that he'd understand that you were really not in the mood.

Your body was sore, from head to toe. Your feet ached, swollen with the weight of two more humans growing inside you. The kitten heels you'd worn made it even worse and you wanted to do nothing but take a cold, cold shower to help reduce the heat and the stickiness of your body.

"It wasn't a request."

Hostility bubbled in the deepest part of you. The part you had no intention of showing.

Does he not see how hard it is for you to walk?

Or does he simply ignore you as you try to hold back a few winces everytime something comes in contact with your sore skin?

"You could call Yumi-san instead."

"I haven't made contact with Yumi for three months."

Why was he telling this to you?

It's not like it meant something. He probably met someone new.

"I have to pee."

It was a stupid excuse, and he knew it too. You didn't have it in you look at his face, let alone lay down naked underneath him.

"You can use mine."

"I almost slipped and fell in your bathroom the other day. I'm not going to risk that again."

This time, when you push at him, he moves, grateful that he had nothing to say.

Your hot back slides down the surface of the door, settling on the floor of the guestroom, cooling your body and you try to keep the tears at bay. He's not worth it, you tell yourself and force yourself to remember the smell of another woman's perfume on him which made you run to the sink and retch the contents of whatever you'd eaten the other day.

It was the day you found out that you were pregnant.

You hadn't meant for it to happen.

Both of your parents had arranged for the two of you to meet, to discuss business and how the union between their families would mutually benefit everyone.

You had decided to take it slow, because you wanted to see if you could actually be in a relationship with him since none of your previous relationships had worked out. It wasn't like you dated a lot, but it's just that you felt like none of them truly understood you and made you feel like you were wanted.

What you hadn't expected was to be seduced so easily by this man, and before you knew it, you were bare and writhing for his touch.

What started as a casual way for the both of you to relieve stress ended with you getting knocked up within the 2-3 months you'd known him.

This is good, your mom told. You can finally settle down and learn how it is to be the actual provider of a family, she'd said.

And what good did that bring you?

Nothing.

You hadn't considered the idea that you could be pregnant.

Why would you?

You were busy avoiding the man when you found out that he was a playboy, and never settled with one woman. He wanted more, always wanted and craved for more. He wouldn't be satisfied with the same woman.

You wouldn't be enough for him. Ever.

He was practically emotionless when he found one of your dozen pregnancy tests in your dustbin when he'd visited and later found out at the dinner with your parents that you were pregnant with his heir.

He acted as if he was already informed and played along with them.

Variety is the spice of life, he'd said, the night he'd proposed to you, putting a huge sparkly, diamond on your finger because your parents insisted you get married at the earliest.

And him being the pretentious bastard he was, made you move in into his three-storied penthouse.

Digging up the memories of the past, you remember the stain of red on his lips which you did not recognise, and exert your energy into remembering the venomous words he had spat at you before, ones you wanted to forget and bury.

It was then you knew that this man had no intentions of staying loyal to you.

It's around midnight as you settle into your cold bed, going off like a lightbulb when your head hits the damp pillow, the rock on your finger shining in the dark, clutching the material desperately before your eyes close.

It was a Sunday. You didn't want to wake up.

But you had to. It was your monthly doctor's appointment.

"Where are you going?"

You visibly jump at the voice as you rummage for the key of the open door in your bag.

"Doctor's appointment."

You answer, deciding not to lie.

"I'd like to come with you. Aren't they supposed to reveal the gender of the baby this month?"

"Babies." You correct him, still pretending to search for the key and not meeting his gaze.

"Two girls. I'm entering my third trimester next month. I've managed by myself for the last six months, so you don't have to worry. I can take care of myself." Is the answer you grant him before locking the door behind you, ignoring the sting in your eyes and the lack of response you received.

He hadn't even bothered to be updated about your pregnancy, so why would he bother now?

It wasn't like anything was going to change.

Babies or not, you were completely sure that you'd end up alone.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your house is empty when you return.

All the relief in your system is kicked out the second your eyes land on the person standing in the middle of the room with a book in his hand.

Oh no.

"Give it back."

Your voice is louder than you intended to be, breaths uneven at the panic tearing your insides. You let the bag fall, practically running to the man who held the key to your deepest desires.

You're angry. You're so very angry as you try to snatch the notebook from his hands but he holds it above his head, almond eyes shining with mirth and you have to stand on your tiptoes, large stomach holding you back from completely grasping the hand holding your book hostage.

"Give it back, Suguru. It doesn't belong to you." You heave, clutching at his tank top and bicep as you dig your nails into it, with the purpose of hurting him so that he loosens his grip on your book.

And it does work, not because of your blunt nails digging into his arm, but because of the rapid quivering of your bottom lip and chin, and the torrent of emotions flickering in your eyes brimming with unshed tears and the one emotion he didn't expect to see in your eyes.

Hatred. Pure unadulterated hatred and disgust.

He doesn't know what shocks him more; the sound of your book hitting the floor or the look of horror on your face as a few pages escape the confines of the book and land on the dark marble.

Your grasp on his clothes leaves wrinkles, hands slouching in defeat, knees beginning to tremble as you can't even stop him as he bends over with ease and grabs the papers strewn across the cracked marble flooring.

Before Geto could take a glance at your shaking form, his curiosity gets the best of him and his eyes widen as he takes in the pencil strokes on the thin sheets of paper.

The first one was of a man, dark haired, loose bun on his head holding a bundle of cloth to his chest, back turned. Not a bundle of a cloth, no, there was the tiny face of a babe peeking out.

And from what he could make out from the physique and build, it was him.

The next one is of two pairs of lips meeting, one bottom lip slotted between the other pair.

A French kiss.

The simple beauty of it attracts him, making him run his thumb over it.

The third sheet is of a man and a woman, the lips of the man kissing her neck, head thrown back in pleasure, face scrunched.

Fourth sheet is of a couple again, engaged in intercourse. The man is kneeling between the legs of the woman, his broad back and shoulders dusted with the ends of black hair, covering her form, folded legs on either side of his waist.

The drawing was so intricate, so intimate, it almost felt like he was witnessing the scene unfolding in front of him.

The last drawing causes a stutter in his breath.

It was of a pregnant woman, naked except for a skimpy white shirt preserving her modesty. Humiliation painted her body language, shoulders drawn in, fingertips running over the stretch marks on her bulging belly, features hidden by a curtain of hair.

His stare comes to a rest on the trembling form of his fiancée, shame being the most pronounced emotion on her face among repulsion, anger and melancholy.

"Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted? What else do you want from me? What more? What more do you want?"

You're yelling. You're yelling, blindsided by the ache in your chest, the gnawing in your heart everytime he opens his mouth. You're yelling and it doesn't register to you that you were in fact, screaming at your fiancé, whose feet seemed to be stuck to the ground, unmoving.

You're walking towards him and snatching the papers from him, immediately crumpling them into a ball and throwing it to the side. You take the book too, flinging it to a corner.

"Is it my body? Is that it? You want my body, right?!- F-fine."

The distraught, manic look haunting your face cuts off any words he wanted to say, and to his disquiet, you grip the edges of your thin a-line sundress and rip it open, and it falls to your feet in a heap, an action done in a fit of rage.

"H-here. Here you go. Fuck me to your heart's content."

For the first time ever, Suguru Geto is at a complete loss of words as you stand bare, tits heavy and puckered with milk, stomach bulging with the fruits of his seed, your womb guarded only by a piece of cloth.

He's silent as you grab the hem of his top and tug his face down until you meet his eyes.

"Kiss me. You've always complained about how I don't kiss you except when we're out in public. So, this is your chance. Kiss. Me."

Something had snapped in you, and he knew that it wasn't a good thing by how your tongue fought with his and kissed him with the fervor he used to impose on you on the nights he returned late to the house, releasing all his stress over you.

Fuck me, Geto. Fuck me so hard that I remember this for days to come. So that I can remember how you handled me every time you returned from the office and hate you some more.

Your hands take hold of his wrists and bring them to your breasts, so that he could relieve the pressure in them. And he does, rough palms squeezing your sensitive breasts and tug at your nipples, and swallows your moan.

He somehow picks you up and lays you down on the sheets, and you tear at his clothes, wanting it off. You didn't want to be the only one vulnerable.

He doesn't protest. He simply does what he was best at, pleasuring a woman as he takes off his top. His hands cup and squeeze your breasts, enjoying the growth since the start of your pregnancy. Enjoyed how your curves filled out even more, making you even more sexier in his eyes if possible. Enjoyed how much more sensitive you'd gotten, how much more softer your skin had seemed to have gotten, how your hips had widened to accommodate two more humans growing inside you.

Though your actions were fuelled by anger and agony alone, you gasp at the gentleness his hands provide you with, one hand massaging your ankle leading up to to your swollen feet and another toying with your breasts, pressing butterfly kisses to your neck and shoulders.

You're so angry. It just wouldn't go. It just wouldn't leave you and you can't find it in yourself to forgive him. Or forget the shit he put you through. Not anymore. Not when he thinks that you're nothing but a cocksleeve for him to use as he pleased.

So even after you dig your fingers and pull him close to your lips by his hair, you don't feel satisfied. His groan doesn't satisfy you like you thought it would. And it disappoints you more than it should.

And you're suddenly crying, pushing him away.

"I'm sorry- I'm s-sorry. This was a mistake. This was all my mistake. I'm sorry- sor-"

Tears free-fall from your face and trail down your skin. You don't stop it. You don't have anything in you to stop it.

No words are exchanged. Only shallow breaths as you make a bad attempt to control your cries.

"Leave."

It's a request. One he can't help but heed.

"Don't do anything. Walk away, forget this happened. Leave, and don't look back."

"Why?"

"Because nothing you do or tell me is going to change the horrible situation I'm in right now."

"As your fiancée, you could tell-"

"I'm in love with you, Geto. Can you do something about it?" You ask, laughing between your tears.

Silence.

"I thought so."

You fold your hands in your lap and continue.

"You can't. So leave, don't turn back, don't give me false hopes or your pity."

He stands up from his earlier place from between your legs and you feel his stare on you. Your eyes remain glued to your sheets.

"I wish I never met you."

Six words he never thought he'd hear from you.

"Please don't- I know you're going to speak but don't say anything else. I know, I've got it. I won't be enough for you. I know. I've finally got it."

You're back to being numb again. Trapped in a vicious cycle. Hating yourself, hating him, until the rage fades to make way for tears.

"Can I ask you something?" You start, scared that you might trigger something in him.

"What is it?" His voice, as usual, had gone back to being cold. You don't know what you were expecting from him, but it hurt.

"Don't marry me. Break off the engagement, get someone else pregnant, tell your parents that you don't like being confined to one woman, I don't know-"

"Just don't marry me. It's fairly obvious to everyone that you don't care. I'll do whatever you want me to if it means you'll let me go after my delivery. We can share the custody of the twins too-"

"Stop."

"Let me complete-"

"You're asking me to do the one thing I can't."

Your breath gets stuck in your throat.

"N-no. You can't- you can't be so cruel to me. You c-can't. Not after the shit you've put me through."

How dare you.

How dare you think of leaving him?

How dare you.

He could almost laugh at you.

Oh, you were so innocent.

What made you think that he'd ever let you?

"You'll have to deal with it then."

There's a pause till you choose to speak.

"You're hurting me, Suguru. I can't do this anymore."

"You think I care about you? Cute. You'll live, sweetheart. Just don't let yourself get hurt."

He's at the door. He's about to close it, leave you alone like this, unsatisfied, crying and heart bleeding.

"I hate you." You whisper, in pure contempt.

And you're sure he heard it.

Because with the way he freezes when he hears those words from you, so soft, broken and desolate, it makes something inside him shake.

"I regret meeting you." Are the words leaving your mouth as the door clicks shut.

© 2022 all rights belong to multistan-247 - don't copy or modify.

ೃ⁀➷ sk8er boi!

a/n: skater geto teaching u how to skate! 🫶🏼 i wanna make this a series so bad, how they met, y/n meeting geto’s friends, maybe even smut… at the skate park… ehe. mainly it was this on twt who made me wanna write this!!!

word count: 1.4k

“lookie there,” you feel a nudge from your side from your friend before looking up at the group of skaters that walk past. and amongst them, you can pick out their oversized t-shirts and baggy pants that never seem to show their actual physique, along with their skateboards tucked snugly under their arms.

“you got over your crush yet?” another friend cuts in, eyeing them with a scowl on her face as they walk past and you resist the urge to say that you’re dating one of them. as far as you know, their reputation precedes them and they’ve been nothing but “trouble” — but you’ll believe it when you see it.

“shut up,” you laugh, nudging her back before geto catches your eye. he tries not to give you a little wave, the ones he gives you when you’re safely home from across the road and the ones when he’s chucking rocks at your window. “and they’re not all bad, you know.”

“just because you had a term with geto suguru to work on a project doesn’t change my mind.”

and you don’t blame her, either, especially with how shitty last year’s seniors were. naoya, mahito, jogo — they were pieces of shit that thought messing up the school, disrupting class and moaning at the back of the assembly hall was fun, and thank god they were gone. stigma does tend to remain, though. 

walking felt like ages — out of campus, into the courtyard — something that you were wishing didn’t take up so much time, “well, this is where we part. see you guys tomorrow!” hugging your friends, you eye geto and his friends try to look uninterested, obviously waiting for your friends to leave for good. gojo trips over something and you giggle, almost caught red-handed when your friend pulls away from the embrace.

“what are you giggling at?”

you swallow, struggling to hold eye contact, “nothing! just thought of something funny, haha, s’all.”

“okay…” inwardly sighing, you see that she doesn’t suspect a thing, while your other friend didn’t exactly care about your little slip-up. “is dinner still on tomorrow?”

you can faintly see suguru groaning and complaining and this time you bite your lip to suppress another laugh, nodding furiously to the question before they walk in the opposite direction. you’re thankful they live in the same area. finally, they’re gone for good, but you wait for them to be out of sight for a minute before you’re waving your boyfriend and his friends over.

“(y/n), when are you gonna tell your friends? you know that i can’t keep my mouth shut for long—” gojo gets a smack on his back by choso, the three share laughter, and it usually goes like this (even with gojo trying his best to keep your secret under wraps), but the thing that always manages to surprise you is how geto greets you. sometimes, he brings flowers. other times, he twirls you around if he’s excited, and maybe if he’s feeling tame, he settles for a peck on the cheek or temple or lips. safe to say, geto suguru is obsessed with you. 

“hey,” geto grins, smoothly bringing you in with an arm while the other carries his skateboard, “ready to go?” you’re about to answer him when his friends cut in noisily (how your friends don’t hear him is beyond you) and you think they’re going to shout something insulting like the boys you see in movies — even when they’ve shown how much they love you as geto’s girlfriend.

“make sure geto doesn’t fall off his skateboard!” choso bursts into laughter at gojo’s statement, “have fun, you lovebirds.”

suguru gives them the finger and tells them to piss off, but you just giggle at their quips as they head off to a fast-food restaurant. your boyfriend only adores the interaction from afar; when you turn to face him again, his eyebrow is raised and a little smile forms and you have to look at his chest to avoid his piercing stare.

“you’re too cute,” he notes nonchalantly, and today, he’s quiet and silently loving, pressing a quick peck to your cheek. “how’s your friends?”

you sigh, brushing geto’s signature bangs out of his face, “not coming ‘round. they’re convinced all skater boys are devils.”

“it’s alright, i don’t blame them. our seniors were crap.” geto swiftly takes your hand in his, ignoring the tingly feeling when you interlace his fingers with yours. “ever since the incident, they’ve been kicked out and banned from the skate park, so it’s good we don’t interact with them even after they’ve graduated.”

“yeah, it’s great.”

“it is?” the smile geto gives you is teasing, “you’re great too.”

you roll your eyes, but don’t deny the heat on your cheeks. “yeah, yeah, whatever. let’s just go.”

you love geto, you do, but sometimes, you shouldn’t let him talk you into things — as excited as you were for this day, thinking of riding on a skateboard and actually being on it were two different things.

“baby, if it helps, maybe you could keep your arms out,” geto shouts from across the skate park, being extremely optimistic after seeing you balance on it. moving was another story though.

“i just— can’t, i always feel like falling!” you shout back, landing on a leg to stop the slow moving skateboard (if it was even really moving). even holding out your arms didn’t work, the familiar beat of your heart always speeding up when you feel like you’re going to fall.

“maybe i’m not ready yet.”

the other frowns, jogging over, “no, maybe we’re taking it too fast. c’mon, up you go.”

he ushers you back onto the board, clutching tightly onto your hands like a toddler on their first steps. it made you look stupid, heck, you feel stupid, but geto only offers a soft smile, placing kisses on both hands.

“maybe i should’ve guided you with my hands. or would you rather we…” he grins, moving his hands to your waist and you shriek, immediately grabbing hold of his forearms, “slow dance style.”

loud laughter escapes you, so distracted and focused on his face that you don’t even notice geto dragging you along until you’ve completed a small distance. the ride feels easy enough, and soon he takes his hands off your waist with a grin.

“that’s my darlin’!”

“huh?”

his laughter is like sunshine and rain and everything you like, his jet black hair blowing in the soft breeze.

“you’re moving, baby!”

“shit, am i?” your legs aren’t wobbling any more, nor do your feet feel heavy. you’re able to stop the skateboard and start, albeit slowly, but you’re still able to get somewhere without any help. “i am! su, look!”

“i am looking,” geto’s laughter subsides into a smile, pleasantly surprised when the board vanishes below you and you’re taken up into the air suddenly. you’re flying in his arms, face inches from his while you’re holding tightly to make sure you don’t slip. “and she is looking stunning as always.” heat creeps up your neck to your face, and you’re glad you can blame it on the sun at least.

“you’re not looking so bad yourself, skater boy,” even on the skateboard, it’s difficult to reach his height, but you love it anyway: dangly arms around his frame, body weight supported effortlessly by the skater.

“i’ll teach you how to do an ollie next,” geto knows it’s far from your intended to-do list today, so he kisses you, geto suguru kisses you to (partially) distract you, swallowing your surprise, but he also kisses you because he likes (loves) it. he has you wrapped up in his arms, sweating to the bone from the scorching rays and the rush of adrenaline through his veins, and you unknowingly untangle his hair from those chains of his.

“i’m going to die attempting an ollie,” you giggle, breath mixing with his after the heated kiss.

“or we could just kiss, instead, princess.”

one day. one day you’ll tell your friends and you’ll receive the brunt of their disapproval, but here in this old skate park, you’re willing to miss a few hours of studying to be with your skater, lover boy.

sigh. when will a broody skater boy who acts all tough and bad but is actually all soft for his girl gonna come along

satoru gojo is tall, charming, powerful, radiating a commanding aura to both sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike. his presence demands attention, something he never has to struggle hard for. everyone around him usually grows intimidated just from him being in the vicinity—they get sweaty, they get nervous, they get shy. but not him. he’s not familiar with such emotions. satoru gojo has never been flustered…not until you, anyway.

he’s stuttered twice: once out of nervousness and the other out of pure shock. you didn’t even react to his first blunder, and that throws gojo off just a little more. he’s the strongest. he doesn’t make mistakes, doesn’t fumble over his words. satoru is about as perfect as perfect can get. and yet, here he is, tongue tied and twisted in knots all because…you’re looking at him?

this isn’t new. it’s not like he’s never been looked at before. quite the opposite, in fact. but this isn’t like the usual irate glances or idolizing, heart-eyed stares he gets from everyone else. you’re actually looking at him like a person, and paying attention on top of that.

ever since satoru began talking, you’ve hung on to every word he’s spoke, nodding along and interjecting with relevant dialogue. complimenting him, asking related questions, brows raising in surprise or intrigue when he says something you find interesting. despite this all being the usual bells and whistles of a normal conversation, satoru can’t help but feel a foreign pounding in his chest. he’s never experienced anything like this. not for a long while, anyway.

it’s not just the thudding behind his ribcage, but this sincere action of being seen. everyone else either looks through gojo, or over him, or away from him entirely and try not to acknowledge him at all, as if suffering through his company. but you, you’re actually looking at satoru, right in his face. dare he say, straight through his blindfold and into the azure blues underneath, as if it isn’t even there.

he has his silly suspicions that maybe you are looking through his blindfold. satoru considers that maybe you have some special power or technique to look through the fabric, but quickly squashes the nonsensical idea and decides instead that he’s just overthinking. and that conclusion flusters him even more.

the realization that you are actually interacting with him and listening to him….it’s not just going into one ear and out the other, or flying over your head as you pretend to listen and instead ogle the pretty features on his face. you’re…interested? in what he has to say? it almost seems implausible, but here you are, clinging to his every word and indulging in conversation with him. no restless fidgeting as you wait for it to end, nor a poorly concealed look of impatience as you pray for him to finally shut up.

you genuinely seem content in sitting here and letting satoru talk your ears off. like you’re enjoying it. and satoru is giddy at this realization, this epiphany that someone actually, truly enjoys his company. he thinks it feels…

it feels nice.

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satoru is the kind of husband who’s often absent. between missions, meetings, jujutsu high, and let’s not forget his clan, he spends his time running around instead of spending time with you — his wife.

it’s a routine. though sometimes, not seeing him can get really frustrating (not to mention the number of tears you’ve shed because of his absence). he’s well aware of it. poor guy feels guilty every second he’s away from you.

one evening, after spending the whole time of it crying over his absence, curled up like a caterpillar in the soft, cottony white duvet, you finally found sleep. a deep sleep, to be precise.

but apparently not deep enough, because in the middle of the night, the moonlight filtering through the windows wakes you up. you quickly realize something heavy is resting on your body. a warm, steady breath brushes against the skin of your neck, sending shivers across your whole body.

you squirm slightly under your husband, who’s lying on top of you as if you were his mattress. “satoru, get off me…”

“hmmm,” he hums, pouting and furrowing his brows. instead of freeing you, he shifts lazily on top of you, trapping you further in his arms. and you’re still wrapped in your duvet, too.

“satoru, i can’t move anymore.” but that doesn’t seem to matter. he clings to you like a koala to a tree. you sigh.

“i missed you.” he plants a soft kiss on your cheek, instantly melting your heart. “i love you.” he chuckles softly, eyes still closed, because he knows you don’t really hold it against him. “i’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” a promise he kept, to your delight.

satoru gojo had love and dreams.

you were his love and his dreams.

he dreamt of a future of leaving the jujutsu world, and living a life of comfort and happiness with you. start a family too, he wanted to know what yours and his genes would look like combined. beautiful, probably.

so, when satoru gojo realized he was going to die, cut open by ryomen sukuna, his last thoughts were you. he thought of you, how you would feel about his death, how he wishes he could just go back home and get scolded by you for being reckless and getting himself hurt, see your gorgeous smile one more time, getting to hear your voice one last time before his imminent death, he should've hugged you tighter this morning, gave you one more kiss before he left.

but now, he can't do any of that.

maybe in another life he will start a family with the woman of his dreams.

Hi, for five months I've been trying to find a friend to create a campaign for me. I was even able to create a campaign through my friend Brooke Cole so that the campaign would be reliable and the donation would be protected for everyone. My children are living under bombardment in the war 😭 Please consider them your children and help them 🙏🙏 Stand by my side to save and protect my children. They haven't gone to school for a year 🙏😢😢 Donate to save my children's lives 🍉 🙏🇵🇸 We live in very difficult and desperate circumstances, and what is worst of all is that the fear that haunts me increases day by day. Help me provide them with basic life needsVetted by @gazavetters, my verified number on the list is ( #55 )

Hello dear!! I’ll be sharing this and the link to your gofundme so you can get help soon god willing 🙏❤️

gofundme.com

Donate to Support Amal's Family in War-Torn Gaza Escape to Egypt, organized by Brooke Cole

Hello, my name is Brooke Coke and I am organizing this fundraiser o… Brooke Cole needs your support for Support Amal's Family in War-Torn Ga