Satoru Being One Of Those Kids Who Was Picked On And Embarrassed With Those Cruel Jokes. The So And So

satoru being one of those kids who was picked on and embarrassed with those cruel jokes. the “so and so likes you/wants to be friends with you” ones, and when he goes up to them all excited like “wow new friend!!” they just end up embarrassing him in front of everyone because “why would i like you? or want to be friends with you? you’re super weird.” the entire class is laughing at him. he’s humiliated.

and now, as an adult, satoru struggles with telling when someone is being genuine to him. not many are, most people don’t care to be around him which hurts in and of itself, but it hurts even worse when they pretend to like him only to end up betraying or disappointing him later. so when you come along, and he watches you approach him every day with a big smile and try and talk to him and you ask him if he wants to grab lunch together or hang out, satoru prepares himself for the worst.

he tries not to let himself get attached to you, and your friendly face, and the way you laugh at him because no one has ever laughed with him before, and those knowing stares you always give because satoru just knows one of these days you’re going to grow bored and leave him like everyone else has.

he keeps himself stuck in a constant state of denial, not realizing that your actions are indeed genuine and your motives are pure.

“i have love and dreams too! but you know, one day everyone will grow up and leave me behind, right?” satoru chuckles as he waves his hand at yuuji nonchalantly, unaware of the weight that his words carry as you look up at him with watery eyes.

you rub your temples with one hand as to hide the incoming tears as you wait for their conversation to be over so you can speak to gojo. as soon as yuuji leaves, you enter the room; quick to approach the white-haired man and wrap your arms around him, burying your face between his shoulder blades.

“oh? missed me that much?” he tilts his head to the side, eyeing you as he gives you a small smirk. it disappears when he feels a wet spot clinging to his back and satoru manoeuvres his body around to face you, hands instantly cupping your cheeks as he looks down in concern, “hey now, that’s not very cute of you. i hate it when you cry.”

you push your face into his chest, a broken sob escaping your throat as you wail into his shirt, “you’re the one who makes me cry! saying stuff like that.”

satoru’s eyes squint in confusion before he ahh!’s in recognition, a cheeky smile appearing on his lips, “you and i both know that it’s not about you. i married you so we could be outgrown by the kids together.”

you slap his chest that rumbles with chuckles and press your ear against his left pectoral, spending a few quiet seconds searching for his heartbeat.

“i can still feel sad.” you murmur under your breath, tightening your grip on him as he rests his hand on top of your head, fingers weaving through your hair.

“feel sad for me?”

“mhm.”

satoru hums, stroking the back of your head, and smears a small kiss on your temple, muttering against it, “c’mon, baby, there’s no need for that.”

you sniffle into the sturdy surface of his chest, fingers digging deeper into his back, “i-i missed you so much. and now— now you’re going away again! it’s not fair.”

satoru’s movements on your hair come to a halt as he pulls away slightly to take a look at your face. his big palms cup the sides of it, concerned gaze scanning over your features as he exhales, breath coming out unsteadily. his eyes harden for a brief moment before ab apologetic expression settles on his face, the corners of his lips trembling as he speaks.

“i’ll do my best to make it quick, alright?”

you stare up at him, brows creasing upwards in confusion since that clearly wasn’t what was on satoru’s mind, but don’t push — too tired to attempt anything again as you bask in his warmth for as long as you can before he goes to fight sukuna.

something didn’t feel right.

You had never been the biggest fan of love.

That was until you met the bundle of nothing but love that was Satoru Gojo. A man who, on the surface, seemed childish and immature, but in reality, was a man who would lay down his life if it meant seeing you smile for all of eternity.

A man who would hold you as if you were made of glass. You'd lost count of how many nights you'd spent curled in his arms on the couch. His arms around your waist and one of his hands carding through your hair.

A man who spoiled you to the high heavens. Anything you stared at, even if it was for a millisecond, was suddenly pushed into your hands. Each time you denied it, Satoru pushed it further and further into your hold, a wide smile plastered onto that beautiful face of his.

Satoru Gojo was a man who loved with his entire heart, holding it out to you and smiling once you took it into his hands. You had returned his love with a love of your own, and for a long time, everything was absolutely perfect.

But now, staring down at the rain-covered headstone, you fell back into a mindset that had once debilitated you. With clenched teeth, you place down the bouquet you'd brought with you, exhaling slowly as you stand and turn away from the words carved into the stone.

After Satoru Gojo, there was nobody you'd ever love again.

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.

sometimes on sundays you like to go to that coffee shop.

the one where satoru for the first time dramatically got down on one knee, proposing to you. but not really asking for your hand in marriage — you were already married.

he wanted ovations, he wanted people to clap, and he wanted a free dessert.

it’s not like he can’t afford a sweet treat, in fact he can afford all the sweet treats in the world, but that’s just how the guy you married is. he’s constantly putting you through tricky, impromptu situations, as if to test you on purpose.

anyway, it worked — it had to, because you must have fast and at least somewhat adequate reactions when you decide to marry a man like him.

people clapped, he got the cake — he ate the cake. the owner of the coffee shop proclaimed that very table you occupied yours — it was the very first proposal in the history of the cafe, a special occasion that needed to be celebrated and remembered. so the owner said, “this table will always be reserved for you on sundays” (it was a sunday that day)

so, every now and then you like to go there. it was a cozy spot, besides all the staff knew you already. they knew your orders by heart, too.

but today there’s a new guy working on the counter, taking orders. a newbie that’s clueless. so clueless, in fact, that he has the audacity to stare at you while you’re sitting on the table, waiting for your husband to bring your drinks.

satoru turns around and looks over his shoulder — to follow the direction of the newbie’s gaze, to double check if he’s indeed really staring at you.

what a mishap — he indeed is.

“pretty, huh?”, satoru casually asks the guy.

“yeah”, the newbie’s face gets visibly hot, the blush stretches from his cheeks straight to his ears. “really pretty. maybe i’ll slide her a tissue when she comes over, with my number written on it — i’ve seen it in the movies”, he chimes, excited and visibly very smitten.

satoru laughs. “good luck with that”

the boy on the counter thanks, he thinks those are words of encouragement, but in reality those words were a dare thrown at him — he was just too painfully naive and clueless yet to understand.

“oh— do you want me to write your names on the cups?”, the boy points at the beverages in front of him.

“yea, sure— that’d be mr. gojo and mrs. gojo”

satoru takes the cups and slowly makes his way to the table.

in an obnoxiously loud voice he speaks, “here, my love — this one’s for you. careful not to burn your tongue, sweetness”, all while, of course, heavily stressing on the terms of endearment — to make a statement, in case the names on the cups and his actions weren’t clear enough to get the point across — and continuously starting at the guy on the counter with brick-red bloodlust.

yeah? i dare you. i fucking dare you.

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