#sunpiece
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Halloween is over but what are your thoughts on ghostface jjk man x chubby reader? 👀
tw dub-con / knifeplay
its more than just being the final girl—watching you behind a cheap mask he's bought. for hours, for days, over the course of long, long, months. hiding in dark corners, and hidden spaces—the things he's planned aren't to be wasted on some brutal, violent death. stabbing and slashing. because as you lay on soft pillows and pressed sheets, curves and folds on display, so oblivious, so unassuming...he's dying to sink more than just a knife into all that flesh.
not to hurt you of course, but what is he to do when he's got killer instinct and your body was made to be held, fondled....claimed. there's only so much a man can resist.
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when geto asks "what are you wearing?" over the phone, his words hold some amusement to them, mocking. almost like he knows you're scared. yet somewhat ...mellow, trusting...and so hot it flays you, a heat traveling low and dipping in your stomach, fear and arousal jumbled up in one, searing in your belly.
your breath hitches at the sound of his muffled laugh crackling through the speaker. you could just indulge yourself in this little game he plays, no harm would ever come to you. this way, you could ignore the insecurities and the nerves. relish in anonymity. and every second you keep him waiting to expose you for the depraved thing that you are, getting wet and drooly over a stranger, a dark, mysterious, and very sexy stranger, you realize how pathetic, how cliched you're being. "i can hear how turned on you are..." he's so right it's embarrassing.
when he's looming above you the next day, there's no time wasted. he angles your toy against a sensitive spot and you feel it nudge and grind deep inside, keeps sliding it up and down your folds, "that's it, feel that? you should see how wet you are," your shaky thighs spread open, pussy sticky and gleaming with cum, so slick, so slippery, every pass of the toy on your slit jolting you closer to release.
"you don't want to kill me..." you say in a daze. turning your head to the side, you moan into the sheets, it's too much, your ghost caller watching you, playing with you, withholding and keeping you from reaching your peak. you know the things he could do...there's no need to see his face or learn his name to realise he's a little bit of a bully like that. teasing you, edging you, that you'd only come by his hand. beautiful gloved hands that are larger than two of yours put together.
"and why is that?" geto coos, wanting to wrap a fist around your exposed neck, untouched and unmarred, just waiting to be marked. you wish to tell him that you'd do anything, pleading for your life, but that coil in your stomach twists, adrenaline egging you on, allowing you to be a little bolder, "you need me...don't you? you need me to be yours," you whimper out the challenge. fingers reaching up to hook in between his mask and face, bringing him closer to you, before you press a kiss to where his mouth would be. feeling only hard plastic and his hot, sighing breaths underneath.
you see his shoulders tense, your toy dropping to the side of the bed, forgotten and whirring. he's left so stunned. and it's this that you earn—his lips barely forming a reply, no sly smirks or subtle jabs to your pride, just the sound of his ragged breaths that fill the room and the slick, measured pumps of his fist over his cock, thumb spreading the fluid that leaks, drools, literally pools over your stomach—"you have no fucking idea..." he groans, his resolve vanishing, his smugness stripped away the more you moan for him, why do you tease him so. these hairline cracks you'd spotted and split right down the middle with merely a gentle touch at where he's the weakest...geto's only so strong, frustrated at his own need for your willingness, your eager soft hands that trail up and down his biceps. who dares to pet a wild animal, reaching out without fear of getting trapped in sharp jaws.
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sukuna's not as weak. he's been on the hunt for years, trying to curb his appetite for murder with whatever nameless faces he deemed uninteresting, had them piled up and ready to be disposed of without so much as another glance. he's bored...terribly so, and starving, salivating, for the perfect kill. only now he thinks otherwise when a newfound purpose reveals itself in the shape of you.
if only you'd been careful, if only you'd been cautious. maybe then, you wouldn't be pinned below the stranger in a mask, the cold edge of his knife perched against the jugular as your jaw starts to bruise from his tight grasp. "im keeping you," he merely states, "you're gonna be mine forever, you hear me?" he start kissing the side of your face, sloppily, messily. you don't see his face but you imagine he'd look like a monster, with sharp teeth and a hundred eyes, maybe four or six hands the way he's gripping and touching you everywhere, trying to get his fill of you. his cock thick and large and splitting you in half, almost as if he had two.
"you don't have to do this," you sob, feeling another orgasm rock through you. you squeeze down on him, your slick coating everywhere. oh you smell like sweat and fear and he doesn't care one bit that tears stream down your face, swollen lips trembling. a face pressed into the pillows that bear a muddled expression.
under the weight of his hulking body from above, you know there's no way of escaping his clutches, your moans turn guttural, "i can't, it's too much..." you whine, hands coming up to push him away, to clutch at his chest behind you, tapping out from the overstimulation. he's rubbing against a spot so sensitive, pounding right into it. you think you'd go crazy, "please...i've been good..." you whine, voice pitching into a drawn-out moan, "been so good for you," pleading and pleading. you don't think it was the best choice of words, but in the haze of pleasure, you could only persuade him with obedience. with submission.
it does nothing to deter him from his ministrations, chuckling at the way your voice breaks, the way you look a mess, coming undone and staining your sheets, the thin line of blood dribbling from your neck. "just one more yeah?" he coos, "i know...i know it feels good, you're starting to fall in love with it aren't you?" he starts going faster, building to his climax, and you gasp in surprise when he shifts his position to collapse onto your back. his arms hugging you around the middle as he continues to jerk his hips erratically.
you don't say anything in return, but you do give in...teeth biting down on your pillow the moment your orgasm hits you, legs shaking and his spurting dick lodged deep inside you.
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gojo's completely obsessed. and you don't notice it at first because his personality covers up most of his hidden intentions, concealing that part of him that's been following your every move, trailing after you and waiting for a moment to strike...he gets personal because satoru's always been like that, needy, clingy, and he knows there's no need for the mask, you'd know it was him, but he likes it that way. relishes the moment you grapple with feeling betrayed by a man you trusted. says it's your fault really for being way too closed-minded. "what was it you said? that i wouldn't be into big girls?" he laughs, sounding crazed, frenzied.
"i thought you knew me better..." he tuts, keeps his hands busy in the meantime by wrapping rope around your wrists, weaving it across your tits, crisscrossing down your stomach, and circling around your thick thighs. his fingers knot and loop the bright red rope with practiced ease, making a pattern across your body with just the right amount of tension, just enough that it wouldn't cut into your skin...but he makes no promises.
stepping back, he tugs at the base of his rig above you, just for precaution, but he knows you'll stay right where you are for however long he wants. no, you're not gonna fall, he knows that's what you're thinking about despite it having to be the last of your priorities.
"look at you..." he marvels at his handiwork. your legs spread for him, feet dangling and having no leverage. with arms tied behind your back, he gets to see how lovely your tits look when spilling from beneath the rope, although...he'd say the best part is seeing his blindfold tied around your mouth as a makeshift gag.
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and choso's just...sweet isn't he..so keen, so restless. he promises he won't hurt you, he just wants a taste, to know what it feels like. and you'd dare him to but he's not made to kill and he knows it. it's why his knife stays loose and forgotten in his hand when he greets the sight of you behind a door left ajar.
the creaking hinge, his heavy boots, and the harsh pull of his breaths are all enough to send goosebumps rising. slow and measured, his feet come to a halt at the foot of your bed. he thinks you did it on purpose. doors and windows left unlocked and your curtains so sheer it's no wonder he's made to be an audience to your little peep shows every night. "you knew i've been watching you..." he whispers, realization hits—and surprisingly, you think you hear the petulance in his voice, like he was pouting. actually pouting.
and you see it first when he takes off the mask. face awestruck from watching you lay back, your eyes meeting his stare from between the swell of your breasts, your tummy, suddenly his face has a lot more life in it, dark circles meeting the reddening edge of his blushing cheek, pale lips wet and drooling, his tongue slipping past, inching closer. "please....please," is such a lovely sound when it slips past them, frenzied and feverish, words he can barely get a hold of before you feel it curling around your bones, wheedling its way into your heart, and squeezing tight. wanting to give in to the man who creeps from afar, who can't stop following and tracing your every move.
your eyes roll back when your folds part under the wet muscle, warm and slick. and it's not a secret by now that you're not as shy as you seem to be. he's mesmerized, transfixed. is this the same woman he's been spying on...always keeping to herself, getting her life together, with prim and proper clothing and a nine-to-five job...now wrapped in nothing but moonlight and presenting yourself to him, legs spreading to reveal the wet that sticks to your folds, hardening nub that twitches at your touch, at the circles and gentle flicks against your clit. your eyes stay fixed on his, wordlessly giving him permission almost as if you've been waiting for him. he wonders if it's just as long as he's been wanting you.
#happy belated halloween to chubby girls and chubby girls only#sorry this is so late!#ask#anon#sunpiece#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fic#saturated#jjk smut#jjk fanfic#jjk x chubby reader#sukuna x chubby reader#geto x chubby reader#choso x chubby reader#gojo x chubby reader#sundown#tw dubcon#tw knifeplay#geto suguru#sukuna ryomen#gojo satoru#choso kamo#might edit later
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'We've got hostiles but you're a member of the Prospero Home Army stuck fighting Keepers in Prospero.'
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Video made by Imex P on youtube.
Ever since I joined this fandom I have always had a massive interest in the Moleman ARG and its lore, notably the Time War which occured when the founders through a massive hissy fit and attacked the Shadows to grab an object of unimaginable power for their own usage and deployment: the Sunpiece.
The Founders had the Keepers attack the shadows under the pretense that with the power of the sunpiece the shadows could cause Times End and potentially cause some massive damage, not much about this war, which I and some others call the time war, but all we know is the outcome: the shadows were driven to near extinction, Puella and Tempus found and took in Cavus and shit hit the fan at 1000mph.
I have only seen a couple of interpretations of this conflict and those are few and far between, so I thought I might as well throw my hat into the ring...welcome to Prospero, the first battle of the time war and the worst place to live right about now where you can get bomed from miles away and have a cloak wearing supersoldier with the firepower of light artillary break into your house, drink your milk and then leave.
While the main bulk of the population of Prospero are shadows there are also humans living there who hate the founders...like a lot and as such them sending their troops and Keepers to the city pissed off a lot of people, an entire militia known as the Prospero Home Army was setup under an unidentified captain to fight against this threat.
It very quickly turned into Trench warfare with the militia forced to dig in as wave upon wave of untrained conscripts crashed against their defenses, the only time their lines fell was with either overwhelming bodies or Keeper's came and did a little bit of trolling.
Prospero fell a few short weeks after the initial landing, due to overwhelming numbers of conscripts charging at their lines as well as a large number of Keepers arriving the PHA and Shadows began evacuating civilians from the city via train and airship, some of these trains didn't make it but the monumental effort paid off brilliantly. After the last civilian was evacuated the PHA also left the city before it was levelled by nuclear torpedoes buried in the sewer systems to prevent its capture, Prospero claimed millions...but worse was to come.
#a hat in time#ahit headcanons#moleman arg#moleman1111#a hat in time moleman#ahit au#a hat in time arg lore#a hat in time au#A Hat in Time Time War.#Youtube
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Wearing shades @goldandwood ✨“Born Essentials 02" style 🕶 luxury sunpieces combining Metal Wood & Acetate Made in Luxembourg 🇱🇺 / Palladium/Grey Oak/ Ebony Tanganyika || Endtips Brushed Black Acetate || lenses Polarized Grey Gradient available in luxurious stores worldwide (at Berlin Mitte)
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how would gojo treat his partner/wife?
gojo doesn't really do the whole boyfriend thing very well, not for lack of trying but he's made it very clear. or as clear as "i've never had a girlfriend" can be. which pretty much explains everything.
there are late-night meetups and month-long breaks in between. maybe a gift or two when he's trying to make up for something, it's the only way he knows how to apologize. the latest being cartier bracelets tucked in a red bag, one he holds up to your face eagerly wishing that you'd just forget he's so flawed, in no way ready for commitment, or to talk about it. "i'm sorry, it's just really complicated," he'll sigh. nothing holds gojo down you think. he comes and goes as he pleases. always growing, changing, keeping the end of the world from happening all in plain sight while you move on with a life filled with mundane things he’s probably got no time or reason to care about.
it feels a lot like loving a god sometimes, how he's just that bit out of touch, and...impossible. one who’s desperately trying to be human. with so much fear in his shaking hands and bated breaths, with his lip tucked between teeth, holding back the words he shall never utter, 'don't leave, don't look at me, don't touch me where it hurts.’ gojo treats you—at least initially—like he would anyone else. like he’s learning to love for the first time.
backdraft or whatever they call it. opening a door to a burning house, a fire that bursts and screams at the first rush of oxygen. he wants you to step inside and manage these tempers, seething and roiling resentment, a roof that falls in on itself.
all this and he's yet to tell you how he really feels about you, however, every once in a while, he does make the effort to call.
“hey it's me,” he says the moment you answer because who else would it be at this hour...does that thing with his voice that's so effortless. warm, and inviting. seductive really. ringing through right as the snow outside begins to frost over wilting leaves.
“sorry, don’t think i know who this is,” you reply, adding a playful lilt to the end of it. there’s a low chuckle in return, then the rustling of sheets, it’s enough to paint you a picture of him in bed. a very large bed from what you remembered, but the last time you’d stopped by his place, there'd been no need for accurate measurements, thread counts, and whether or not he’d gone with sustainable options. in fact, there was no need for talking at all, only muffled moans into the crook of your neck, a whining plea here or there. gojo likes to grit through his teeth, pausing before every first thrust, a savourer is he.
speaking of which, he asks, “how’d you like a reminder?”
you weigh things out, tucking your phone between ear and shoulder. "it's a tempting offer...but i'm starting to feel a little used here," you say. this is just a check-in point for him. just so he knows he still can have his fill of you and...whatever it is you bring to the table, he hasn't actually told you.
'it's the sex' your brain reminds you—all the multiple orgasms in under an hour–type sex, in an onsen, over a balcony, backshots and binding you to fancy rig, will accept a blowjob only if you want to, eager to please, so willing to learn—no, that's not true, the both of you are so much more than that. you talk about very important things like the news and whats good on tv right now. just as long as it doesn't have anything to do with his past or his future or what exactly is the state of this relationship...so it's definitely the sex.
"i thought that's what you wanted, weren't you screaming it at the top of your lungs that night?" for effect, he acts it out for you, "oh use me, do whatever you like," he doesn't try to pitch his voice higher, which makes it all the more embarrassing when hearing your own words said back to you with such impassiveness, such tease. who you were during the throes of passion is not the same person outside of it. to think he'd been a virgin when he met you.
"that selective memory of yours never ceases to amaze me," you can't help the smile that widens on your face.
he smiles too, despite not being able to see it, you know it's there. "well im a very selective man, i don't just ask anyone on a date." you roll your eyes at that. oh how you should feel so lucky. most times he chooses the place because gojo likes what he likes and your recommendations end up getting shot down or made fun of anyways.
you'd say the best part is that he shows up every time. something about how he detests people who flake on him. which is surprising because if anyone were to be tardy and forgetful, it'd be the man who's maybe a bit too blase about anything that doesn't hold his interest for long. that includes when and where his missions are, a flailing hand brushing off any bit of urgency or seriousness. picks and chooses the things he finds worthy of his efforts, his overly exaggerated bouts of emotion—"you wanna go sit by a lake and talk?" people often say he talks too much, besides didn't he just get off the phone with you hours ago.
"we're bonding, there's a difference," you defend, putting your foot down on the matter. if it'd been months earlier, you wouldn't have thought to stand your ground, and maybe a part of you would have been anxious over his reaction but gojo only gives you a pout. shiny, moistened lips giving it away, he's not coming out of this one without a fight and he's annoyed about it. reluctant.
so he'll make an exception, "fine, we'll psychoanalyze each other, how exciting—" the sarcasm is slathered and piled on thick. if he weren't masked you'd kick him in the shin for that eye roll he gives you, childlike almost, given the chance he might even stick his tongue out, "—but i get to choose the place, ah, ah, it's about compromise darling."
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later on, when he's three parfaits deep into a sugar rush at a maid cafe, he admits, "you scare me sometimes," of course, he understands the importance of communication, and getting to know one another is part of the deal, this is what girlfriends and boyfriends do, but— "how are you still here?" there's something hidden in his question, sometimes it feels almost like he's testing you to see if you'd be offended, taken aback, huffing out indignantly and stomping away, making him watch you leave.
still, your answer remains the same. "i like you," you sigh out into the night, feeling his arms wrapped around your middle. gojo doesn't need worshipping or sacrifices made to please and appease, but he’s feeling ten feet tall in this body, too long and large, housing power he didn’t ask for.
“you really mean that?” he whispers in the crook of your neck, you don’t miss the hint of self-deprecation there, or the uncertainty.
so you reach a hand up, just enough to hold his head full of self-doubt, “yes," is all that's needed for him to crumble. walls coming down.
"you're the only woman i've ever been with," he admits. waiting for the moment you face away from him so it's not as revealing, not as vulnerable, and he can say it with just that little bit of courage because he wouldn't see your reaction, he's escaped death many times, he'd be able to say it now, say it here. "and i intend to keep it that way..." you know he's waiting in anticipation for the final blow, the real death that comes for him is when he loses you because of how unlikely it sounds, gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, only bedded one woman.
his fingers come up to graze the slope of your shoulder, before he wraps an arm around your chest, pressing his weight into you from behind, wrapping you up, only it's ten times heavier when his admission presses down on your thumping little heart alongside with it.
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in the middle of a restaurant in ginza, gojo breaks his chopsticks in half along a deep line with fine precision, before rubbing them back and forth to remove the thin, stray hairs of aspen. there are people who look up when the sound catches their attention, then avert their eyes away. but not before lingering over his striking looks for that split second, blue eyes and white hair, what a combo.
he barely notices at this point, but he does know you’re watching from where you sit. food untouched, like you’re waiting for something to happen. you don’t need his permission he thinks, or at least, no one had ever waited for it. so he explains before you get the chance to ask, getting it out of the way and maybe then you’ll start digging in and he wouldn’t have to sit in this weird, silent tension, “he always did it this way,” gojo shrugs.
you don’t ask who 'he' refers to, “i wasn’t going to say anything,” you reply, nodding along, trying to ease some of the nerves there because this isn't to do with the chopsticks, but that gojo gets like this around christmas. actually, he gets like this almost all the time these days.
“why aren’t you eating? the unagi’s really nice,” he points to the piece of eel that’s cooked to perfection, glazed and sticky. “is it not to your liking?” he looks up quickly, searching your face, looking for any sign of distaste.
“it’s fine,” you stop him from waving down the waiter, knowing he intends to order something else for you. but he never asks, not about what you would prefer or if you had any aversions to seafood. instead, he plays a guessing game, only tries, and tries again. hoping that he’d get it right immediately. just another thing satoru does. that he's way more accommodating than most would give him credit for. so much so you forget that he's barely touched the unagi himself, choosing instead to nudge it closer to you.
and maybe he’d been to used to this, maybe he’d always gotten it right with the one before you, maybe that’s why it hurts so much. and you're too occupied with wiping tears behind a blindfold that night to make sense of it when he can’t stop dreaming about long silken hair tucked into a bun, of a scent that lingers on a street crossing and by a classroom window.
still, he tucks a finger underneath the band. revealing clumped-up strands of white, silver, grey...a storming ocean swirls. a woman finally found, what a sight to behold. who chooses him and cleaves his heart in two every time she so much as smiles, calls him by his name, and touches his skin with her own. gently at first and then in a pressured, firm grip. "i'm not going anywhere," hand wholly encompassing his, fingers entwined, or maybe it's the other way around. gojo's got a wide expanse of palm, life and heart lines spanning across a region of an untouched, unmarred surface, all the power to bend space, time, and an infinity simmering above it.
“it’s gonna be okay,” you say, feeling a minuscule gap close where you finally feel him, really feel him.
#happy belated gojo unsealed day#brought this one out of the drafts and dusted it off#gojo satoru#gojo hcs#gojo headcanons#gojou satoru x reader#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojo satoru hcs#sunpiece
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could u please write some more mma!sukuna 🤲🏾
some rough in-between scenes. —
you get woken up when he returns home from a trip abroad.
in the dark and half asleep, you've gotten used to the way he moves around the house with muffled steps, how undeniably sukuna they are. heavy-handed when he shoves through the front door, a rolling luggage bag following after. tired and lethargic, he drags along, bounding up and down the hall in a pair of old house slippers.
he's sure to be quiet when he enters the bedroom. carefully stripping off what is no doubt his favourite sweater, the one he always wears on long flights, before tossing it into the hamper. there's the rustling of his pockets, taking out his passport and the clinking keychains, he sets them on the nightstand. there's some more thudding and thumping around but it's soothing, familiar enough to lull you back to sleep if not for the anticipation you feel, the excitement bubbling up when you know what comes next.
you feel his knees dip into the mattress. coming closer towards you like a practiced dance, he knows just where your form curls underneath the bundle made up of sheets, duvets and a warmth he's dying to bury himself in.
oh, you've been so patient waiting for his return. "hey stranger," you whisper, voice croaking out into the night. eyes peeking open lazily to see him hovering above you, his thighs caging you in. he's in need of a shower to wash off the jetlag but he can't be parted from you for a second longer, not when he's missed you this much, and judging by how you've been hugging onto his pillow, so have you.
“missed me?” he smiles, your skin feeling the curve of it like a reward, his hands trailing over your figure. a sensitive spot here, a dimple there, moaning at the feel of his weight atop you, so comforting as he leans in to plant a kiss on your cheek. he'll savour this. go slow and steady, save up on the stamina so it'll last longer. maybe he'll get sappy and hold your hand through it.
...however that thought is thrown aside and abandoned the moment he makes a swift tug at the covers and notices you're not wearing any panties. revealing just two glorious thighs rubbing together with nothing in between but a hungry, greedy little hole waiting to be filled.
you see his expression turning into something dangerous, fighting back the urge to punish you here and now. his large hand leaves a sharp spank on your ass, squeezing at the flesh and holding it there til you start grinding into it, loving the pinch. "you shouldn’t do that, my boyfriend wouldn't appreciate it,” you tease, and he gets the hint.
“yeah? what kind of boyfriend leaves you in a bed alone like this?” he's spreading your thighs apart while inching closer to the softest part on the inside. where you start getting slick, glistening, and so lewd. staining the sheets you've spent all afternoon getting cleaned in preparation for him, only for them to get soiled all over again.
"the kind that has more important things to do," you use the words that will rile him up, hips bucking upwards to get a feel of his hardening cock in his sweats. he's gone for the grey ones, they're comfy, but you know he's chosen them deliberately so he'd have no trouble taking them off. as if he already had it planned and thought out, that he knew he was going to fuck you as soon as he got home.
"if you were my girl, i'd never leave this bed. must have been so cold, so empty all those nights," there's a truth there, that he still feels guilty for having to leave you. it's only been a week but he can't last a day without seeing you, touching you, hearing the sweet moans you let out. just like the ones you sing when he watches your clit throb in between your slit. pussy lips delicate and puffy you gasp as he spreads them with his middle finger, dipping in and out slowly. thumb moving upwards to your clit and flicking with skilled precision. back and forth he lightly teases before pressing down hard just the way you like it.
"it wasn't too bad, i played with myself thinking about him..." you purr, hand coming up to stroke a vein by his bicep, trailing down a river of blue to his forearm. his other hand tightens its grip on your hip as a warning at your admission. he'd made it clear you were to wait, but he should have known better, you would only scoff at his rules. must have started touching yourself before he even left just to challenge him.
"i know he gave me orders but what's a girl to do. you won't tell him, right? you're gonna take care of me, gonna show him how much better you fuck me,” it's just an act. a romantic effort, an attempt at seduction, a twisted, fucked up game you both play where you pretend to be strangers. just to be reminded how amazing it feels that you've found one another.
there's that glint in his eye when you say it. loves when you get a little frisky, a little bit desperate, urging for his resolve to break. he swears he's not the jealous type, why should he worry over losing what's already his, but it's enough to make him lose his mind. you don't want him to go slow, you want him to fuck it out of his system, all that's been pent up. use me, own me, i'm the only one who gets to have you like this.
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he starts to drift the moment he plops himself next to you. a final pleasure-filled groan leaves his lips, sounding guttural and oh-so satisfied, not surprising given that he just came twice. he's worn out, head in the clouds with this dopey smile on his face, mirroring the one you try to hide as you take in his exhausted form. you feel giddy all over, woozy, because you did that to him.
"i missed you," you say, not knowing if he's actually listening, but he rolls over and wraps his arms around you. locking tight and secure.
"i'm still missing you...even after i've just fucked you," he laughs and kisses the back of your neck languidly, tasting the sweat that sticks. nosing and rubbing the back of your ear like a needy thing...gosh, you love when he gets this affectionate, this touchy, clinging and craving for more.
you feel him breathe out a question then, something that's been weighing on him for awhile you suppose, sukuna has found that the post-sex haze happens to always be the 'right time' to say the things he's afraid of saying. maybe since he's already so exposed, it's the only time he can breach his feelings, when he's assured enough that he has you, that you wouldn't run away—"what would you do if you found out i wasn't who i really am? like what if i did something unexpected?"
turning around to face him, you think about it. pondering on whether he'd ever be so different from who he is now. if he changes so much that he became unrecognizable. "you finally decided to go back to black?" you joke, running your fingers through his messy hair. he's been contemplating it recently, something about how the bleach is beginning to take a toll on his ends. it earns you a soft chuckle from him, a breathy one.
you admire his pretty lashes that droop and get heavier by the second, sleep taking over and seeping in. "i guess we'll just have to save this conversation for the morning," you whisper, kissing him goodnight as he lulls off to slumber.
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"i'm taking a break in the summer, have some fun before i cut the weight," he says, leaning against the fridge while you're busy chopping up ingredients for lunch. giving him a noise of approval in return because you know he's dreading having to camp out and starve himself rid of 20 pounds once the season starts.
it's also the time he finally decides to unpack, albeit a month too late but he's always been a terrible procrastinator outside of meal plans and weight lifting regiments. groans at the monumental task at hand like a kid throwing a tantrum before pulling out travel-sized shampoo bottles and sweat-damp tshirts from his luggage. the smell is horrid, and you've already left several notes around the house reminding him to disinfect the lining.
beep, beep, beeeep, he forcefully presses the buttons on the washing machine. making sure it rings out loud so you'll know he's done it. maybe then you'll quit nagging at him. (screw that. he likes it when you nag, seeing you get so demanding turns him on.) (and you still wonder why he leaves these tasks to the very last minute.)
and he also indulges himself. sleeping in and eating whatever he likes. all the carbs and salt he can have, sometimes he goes as far as getting dessert after meals.
and other times he gets his dick pierced.
this blowjob is like any other blowjob. at least at the very start of it. moving your lips lower and licking over his ridged muscles, down to the place where they cut into a glorious deep v-line. you'd been nervous about these deep grooves once, about what you were supposed to do when faced with it. but you don't hesitate now, leaving soft smooches trailing behind, his skin warm under your parting lips, your tongue licks a stripe along that stunning ridge of his hip.
you see it for the first time then. the shining metal piercing sitting pretty on the tip of his cock, a circular ring with a bead where the ends meet. catching more than light but the slipping, slick pre that dribbles the more he waits in anticipation for your soft lips. how you admire him now with wide eyes and that slight fascination. his cock big and hard and straining.
you stare down his length, stunned and mouth-watering as you consider it. did you ever think he was capable of it, or is it that you're on the turn, the initial feelings of uncertainty dissipating now that you've seen it up close. blood pumping and coursing, his shaft grows thicker with every passing second, throbbing and twitching.
leaning forward, you press a soft kiss just beneath the head, letting your breath wash over him. instantly his hips buck, bowing off the bed and arching toward you. "fuck—" he gasps. he liked that way too much. no, he loves it. and you've barely started.
a bead of precum dribbles out, watches the way it runs down, no thanks to your grinning face looking up at him, finding his half-lidded, heated gaze and keeping him there. without looking away, you dart your tongue out and lick that salty-sweet drop from him, loving the way his eyes roll back, lids sliding closed as he fists his hand in your hair. "you're going to kill me."
you doubt it'll be that easy, but then again, he looks about ready to explode. "you never told me about this," you tease, gently wrapping your fingers around his shaft. it's a sight he'll burn in the back of his brain forever, saliva and pre cum spreading across your tongue, pooling there in a drooly mess, the gossamer thin strands connecting each time his cock taps lightly against your flattened tongue.
god...he doesn't think he'll come out of this alive. "why'd you think i asked you—" he lets out a groan then as your mouth closes over his cockhead warmly, lips pursing halfway down the shaft. his piercing is an unfamiliar part of the act, but the moment it bumps into the soft spongy muscle, your tongue swirling in rapid circles around the bulging head, it sends his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.
"hmm?" you hum curiously, head tilting to the side like you were innocent in all of this, he had never once mentioned it, so why was it your fault that he now braces himself, slowly feeding you his length.
"the night i came home," he elaborates, which isn't much, but he's too occupied with guiding your mouth, trying to resist drawing his release out too quickly. "if i did something you wouldn't expect me to," he grits out finally, right as you start jerking him, holding him at his very base in a tightly formed fist and taking his cock in deep, powerful thrusts down your throat, each one leaving him wet with your spit and throbbing desperately against the tight fit of your mouth.
it clicks then, you begin to realize what he meant, popping your lips off him reluctantly for a second to clarify, "i didn't think you were talking about getting a new piercing."
sukuna nods, albeit in that sheepish way whenever he gets shy. you think it's cute the way he flushes from cheek to cheek despite already having your mouth around his cock.
"i thought you might like it since you'd be the only person who gets to see it," he hoists you up and onto the bed then, chuckling at the way you squeal in surprise. "and i thought maybe you'd like how it feels when it's buried inside you too," cock still hard and bobbing against his stomach, the clinking sound of his piercing gets you wetter by the second. at that moment he glides it right in between your legs, feeling the cool metal nudge at that sensitive spot, sending a tingle up your spine, a gasp leaving your lips, when he finally sinks in deep..
#almost turned this into a breakup fic#but here are some quick snacks#had this one part where yorozu was brought up but ....it was too angsty to add here#so i'll save it for another time#sukuna ryomen#sukuna x reader#sukuna smut#sukuna hcs#mma sukuna#chubby reader#sukuna x chubby reader#sunpiece#saturated
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i always thought of dilf geto suguru loving skin-to-skin contact with his newborn baby😔❤ with the twins by mama's bedside as she rests from the birth days ago while suguru, shirtless, sits at a chair nearby, lovingly cradling his baby, who only has a diaper and a cap, in his chest looking at his family with so much love in his eyes
dilf nanamin too....skin-to-skin contact with his baby in the nursery as mama rests in their room hhhhhh why arent they real :*(
"we're not having a baby," you tell him time and time again. and geto just chuckles then, getting lost in the smell of your shampoo, in the lingering perfume by the nape of your neck, arms encircling your waist, and just...accepting it as fact. he's content with this. he's already got two beautiful girls who call him by the name papa, so why should he want more. he doesn't. he's sure of it.
then he'd pull back, looking to where his forearm rests against your middle, bringing his palm down to your lower belly and kinda...feeling the space there. wishing and wishing, that tug in his chest calling out to him, urging him, "what if..." he whispers, words caught in his throat, unable to say the rest of that sentence for fear of what might come next. your reaction, your rejection...would be too hard to bear.
and you know what exactly it is because you've seen the way he lingers just a little bit longer inside you every time he finishes, eyes staring at what's not there. lost in a daze, in his own world imagining his release taking root with hands splayed across your womb. for a second picturing you full with his child, glowing and resting under warm blankets, burrowing in soft pillows, waddling around your kitchen in the middle of the night hoping to satisfy a craving. he'll stop at nothing to deliver, not even if he has to make a drive out or if he needs to pay extra for same-day shipping.
you'd smell so good, feel so soft...my wife, my wife, my wife—is pregnant. she's carrying my child. he won't stop saying it, he wants it so much... and he knows you've talked about it, you don't need to have a baby now, had agreed that your parenting days are yet to be over anyway. of course, you'd want a little baby made up of the two of you, but the thought of going through a pregnancy is a lot. or at least, just for now. "its for the best," you tell him while on your tip toes, leaning in to kiss the pout off his face, "besides, we could still make babies, isn't that the fun part?" so he'll swallow it down. you'll seduce him, and the both of you will forget about it for the time being.
but his want only grows stronger. you'd see it on his face, in the way he looks at the pamphlets at the nursery when he drops the girls off, at the squirming little bundles in incubators and carriers, newborns swaddled in pink and blue, he stares at strollers by a display window and when they cross him by on the street, his fingers caressing the wool straps of a onesie at a store as he sighs fondly. "how cute..." he mutters, in awe of the detail and the craftsmanship at work, olive greens and navy blues with the cutest embroidered stitches of flowers and woodland creatures, "this would keep him warm...a warm portable boy..." he chuckles to himself, doesn't even realize the things he says, or that he says it aloud, but your heart clenches at the thought...would it be so bad to give him another.
and maybe you should have seen it coming, but the two of you weren’t the most particular when it came to protection, and by the time winter arrives, your belly swells and so do your ankles. “this kid doesn’t move or make a sound, i think he’s only kicked once the past six months,” geto says from behind you, his hands feeling over your bump. and you sigh, leaning back into his hold, about to nod off into slumber when he feels so warm, so comfy, relieved when he takes some of the weight off in his arms, lifting your belly up and keeping it there.
“you’re just looking out for mama aren’t you?” you coo, hand over geto’s and at that very second, your baby kicks and you both feel it in your palms. “im thinking he’s a mama’s boy," he laughs, can’t stop caressing where his baby’s foot had been. grinning wide, you admit to him something you already know, “you're gonna be his favourite...i feel him responding to your voice more, and he'll be just like you…i bet you’d been a quiet baby yourself…”
he's not geto when he holds his baby for the first time. special grade curse user or villain extraordinaire, but suguru...just suguru holding a baby in his arms while he gingerly feels the fine hairs, fixing the little cap atop their head, watching as a tiny fist wraps around his one index finger. oh, his heartbeat pounds when they gurgle and fidget, pulse jumping with sudden fear, before he calms again, smiling, cooing at them, a steady lup-dup, lup-dup beats through the cotton, soft and constant against his palm, trailing up his fingers, and down his spine. a life he holds onto. a life he's made.
#its geto day!! heres a soft one...#3 feb is the best day of the year...sunny celebrates her bday and so does her husband#anw will probably post more throughout the day but soz anon for ignoring nanami i shall post him sometime in the future but for now#this is a geto girls only event if ur not a geto girl go home#sunpiece#geto suguru#geto suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen fic#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen hcs#geto suguru hcs#geto suguru fic
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WHERE OUR PIECES FALL IN PLACE | NANAMI KENTO X CHUBBY READER
instead of an expected reunion—imagines that he’ll meet you in the middle of the street randomly one day by fate. maybe in a garden among pretty flowers but you’d be the only thing he can’t take his eyes off. or by the ocean, no one else but a man confessing his sins that shall be buried below water and he’ll be anew, he'll be forgiven—nanami is only left with silence on your end.
a sequel to 'SAY IT'S HERE'
sometime in the middle of the twin's birthday party, when the candles are blown out and yuuji's tiger face paint starts to crack around the corners of his smile, geto hands nanami two slices of cake. nice thick wedges of strawberry and chocolate, alternating pink and brown towered high with rainbow sprinkles on top.
it isn't a surprise the twins couldn't decide on a cake flavour so geto layered them both, however, what does surprise nanami is that he hands it to him on a plate with ice cream on the side as well. he pokes his spoon into the melting scoop of vanilla and wonders how people have the appetite for something this insanely sweet. then looks up to see gojo gobbling down his fifth serving of cake, exerting himself in getting that last piece of boba at the very bottom of his milk tea, plastic cup contracting with these resounding pops they both ignore. not to mention that he's already gone through two pints of rocky road.
geto's face is stoic but reluctantly so, a crease forming between furrowed brows, "thanks for coming, and thank you for the gifts, the girls love them," is all he says, voice even. despite his loyalties to you, he doesn't forget that he's nanami's friend too.
which nanami could commend him for, he doesn't make it about himself, this is the day his daughters were born, he's meant to celebrate. call it common ground. geto's lips lift at the corners when he looks over to see the two of them slowly prying wrapping paper off the multiple boxes nanami had flown in. he'd been undecided on what to get because gifts are not his strong suit, he's never understood the need for such materialistic representations of love but he likes the twins, so he bought...everything under the sun. (yuuji helps them with the bigger ones and in the process, screeches so loud he almost breaks a window when it's revealed that nanako and mimiko have received not one, but two game consoles.)
"by the way, i'm not picking sides but i think you should talk to her," geto says warily, his hand clasped beneath his chin as he eases his way into the subject. to say that he's torn would be an understatement because he always does this. gets in his feelings and worries til grey hairs and frown lines appear yet, it shows. geto can't help but care for others and make it known, say it with words that don't get caught in his throat, and proves it through his many sentimental ways.
nanami almost dismisses the notion because it's not like he hasn't tried. it's been the longest time without seeing or hearing from you since...well, since you broke up with him via call, left your job, and stopped coming around the usual places. the cafe, the bakery. there had been a few missed calls in between (47 to be exact, all sparingly spaced out across weeks because he doesn’t want to seem too desperate. he's meticulous like that) some voice messages he's left in your chat that probably went unheard. he's even contemplated if he should show up at your apartment. (but he's not crazy. of course not.)
instead of an expected reunion—imagines that he’ll meet you in the middle of the street randomly one day by fate. maybe in a garden among pretty flowers but you’d be the only thing he can’t take his eyes off. or by the ocean, no one else but a man confessing his sins that shall be buried below water and he’ll be anew, he'll be forgiven—nanami is only left with silence on your end.
"i appreciate your concern, but this is neither the time nor the place," nanami's face is impassive, showing no signs of honing any hard feelings. not on the surface at least. "besides, what good will it do, she has moved on." a tugging in his chest is felt as the memories of you showing up at his favourite bookstore with another man come flooding back.
gojo interrupts his thoughts, "about damn time, she's liked you for ages, i tried warning her but who knows what she ever saw in you," he complains while geto clicks his teeth and shoots him a piercing glare because he's definitely not helping the situation.
nanami clenches his jaw, he doesn't need reminders. he of all people should be very well aware that he sits in geto's living room with pompompurin ears on his head feeling at his very lowest because he's lost you and he lives with that regret every day.
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the tokyo museum hosts an exhibition on rodin sculptures. his life's work displayed in phases, epochs depicting the best and little-known, of stories centred around great heroes and lovers. their lives and feelings depicted in dynamic poses, down to the most intimate of embraces chipped and carved into bronze, alabaster, and marble. a preserved intimacy, a history behind every look and touch. haunting and somewhat forever living...just like the image of nanami in that bookstore haunts you.
"thanks for that," you say to the man beside you. voice travelling over the loud chatter among patrons. young and old and excessively rich. looking down, you peer over the pamphlet tucked by your elbow, stepping before different sculptures of varying sizes. you're stunned by the mastery of craft and precision but the emotions evoking within you are hesitant. like it was...wrong to be here with someone else. to be looking at these figures and having no relation to them. all that passion and yearning, why is it that you feel grief instead. a part of you missing.
"i saw it in his eyes, he's guilty," higuruma strolls next to you, bored out of his mind. “i mean, he looks guilty.”
“i’ve never seen him like that," you explain. not even when there were rumors about his past breakups floating around the office. nanami only seemed nonchalant. like it barely affected him. cutting someone loose a mere task he's checked off before it's back to work.
“what did you think he’d look like?” higuruma asks.
“relieved? happy?” he looked like a shell of himself, hollow, miserable. you wished you could relish in that, take pleasure in the way he seemed so empty, so dejected. payback, you think. for only loving you in silence, and thus, he suffers in silence too. but you find that you've been feeling just a brokenhearted.
hiromi shrugs, “from what i've seen, you’re entirely capable of making him as..." he pauses—tilts his head when you both come closer to a sculpture—then continues, "...afflicted as he is with you."
whatever hiromi means by that, you don’t know. his voice almost lost on your ears when he moves away from you to examine it closer. here, the sculpture portrays the man as a figure who is fully at the woman's disposal due to the adoration he possesses for her. 'The Eternal Idol' it reads. tenderness, sensuality, submission, and humility to the world in a woman's form.
you dismiss him, “please, you say that like he was head over heels in love with me, i think he just pitied me,” luring you in with the homemade bread and leatherbound jane austen. a voice so soothing and a face you see in every other man. an urge to place him next to them in comparison, hoping they’d shift and mold themselves to be the capable salaryman with blue shirts and a suit jacket that pools over your shoulders, smelling like tea and galettes and that they’d be just like him. only that they’d love you differently, loved you more, kiss you til your lips swell, and there wouldn’t be a need to hide or to fear or make you chase after the unknown, you’d know he loves you and only you.
"these accusations you make are unfounded,” higuruma merely states, "and it's also rather unjust to yourself." when he turns towards you, you expect to see a teasing, flirty glint in his eye. instead, you're greeted with nothing but his flat expression before he looks away. oh, he was just being factual.
“you should be his attorney," you try to joke.
his lips quirk up by the corners, “not even i could plead his case, the man reeks of remorse, even if he did deceive you, he’s not proud of it, which makes him less likely to defend himself..." his hands come up to brush over the engraved caption on the plaque. they're nice hands, rough, but a little too big, too gentle, like he could let you go at any moment if he wishes. nothing like nanami's. if nanami were to hold your hand he'd hold on for dear life.
“there’s no justice in that,” higuruma's decided he's done with this sculpture, picks his head up and moves away to the next one, he doesn't get attached. he doesn't linger. maybe that's why you never took things further, he's always seen things in black and white, like you were just another one of his cases. saw the teary look on your face, the long hours pouring over every detail leading up to the end and he couldn't leave it alone.
you sigh, wrapping a hand around his arm as you continue to walk down crowded corridors. "speaking like a true lawyer, one who's so distinguished."
he breathes out a rare laugh, not a real one, just these puffs of air he exhales along with a grin. "so depraved, haven't i told you the system's fucked?"
at that, you let out a laugh too, for the first time in awhile, "i'm afraid it's the same when it comes to matters of the heart." you look up, savouring him for now. he's just here right the wrongs, bring some perspective, and that was all there was to it.
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by midnight, your phone starts buzzing by your side, jittering against the mattress. without looking at the screen, you have an idea of who it might most likely be on the other end.
ding. ding. you reach for it to see that it's nanami again. for the fifth time today. a new voice message he's recorded for you sitting there in your messages. waiting as always, for your recognition, for your reply. you wouldn't want to give him the privilege or the pleasure. you've broken up with him after all, but you're unable to pull away from him and his futile attempts. forget that you have yet to wake from the lingering bits of a dream, or that you've got an interview come morning.
nanami's voice fills the emptiness of your room, spine-tingling and molten hot. you almost miss the intros—hi, hello, please bear with me, all the usual. you've heard it in clipped and composed tones, as if he's rehearsed these lines, must have written them down on his legal pad before pressing record, his lines spoken awkward and uncertain way, tightly wound in guilt.
only now he sounds different. the exhausted drawl, the languid pulling of his syllables, slurring and seductive. "those hyacinths..." he starts, "don't over-water them." he had them delivered to your place and you had only accepted them because they were a gift, it would be sad to turn them down after he's paid for them. plus, it would be a shame to send them back, these florists have put in so much effort.
nanami pauses for a second, you hear him taking big gulps, no doubt the whiskey bottle is empty at this point before he continues, "am i any closer to getting you back?" after a short pause, the message goes silent, like he's realised what he's asked.
you press play on another where rambles on, or whatever is nanami's version of rambling. a deep voice rumbling from his chest, a heavy sigh, a string of words you can't tell decipher. if they're genuine or not with how needy he gets. nanami never gets needy. nanami never begs. it's just the alcohol talking, you wouldn't know what he's like when in the throes of proclamation...still, his voice curls its way into your heart, wringing it tight when he drawls, "tell me so i can be put out of my misery, or better yet, come back into my life."
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geto and gojo sit across from you at the library. their bodies dwarfing the kid-size chairs and desks. close by, mimiko and nanako work on their math problems both with equal amounts of distaste but suguru's promised they'll get double the snacks as a reward for tackling their multiplication tables, hence they try their best, fingers counting down one by one.
on the other hand, you're busy colouring a page from a fairytale. a scene of a royal couple dancing at a ball, lingering by the edges is a crowd looking on happily as they twirl under glittering stars, a whole universe cheering for their union. you hold back the forlorn sigh as your hand involuntarily reaches for a yellow crayon, even here, you wish to colour in blonde locks below the prince's crown. you can't see it any other way.
"sorry about the party," you apologize, missing their birthday bash hadn't been the plan, but suguru had given you the heads up on nanami's appearance and you thought...it wouldn't be a good idea. things were still too fresh, too new, it would've been uncomfortable for everyone.
you know it was a selfish excuse, but suguru won't hold it against you. "i understand," he replies but his smile doesn't reach his eyes. 'i understand' doesn't mean the same as 'it's okay to miss out on a special day because you're afraid of conflict'. which is why you're trying extra hard to make up for it now. shifting focus to your friends instead, you avert your attention. dodging any discussion about the breakup, or nanami, or the fact that you cling on.
satoru however, doesn't fall for any of it and jumps into his interrogation. his honesty comes out sharp and biting albeit genuinely oblivious—"how long are you planning on avoiding him?" his voice is too loud for comfort and the librarian would shush him if it weren't for his charm. he's been flirting with her so they get to check out as many books as they want, plus, waiving late fees goes against geto's rules but he'll take it as a kindness for now.
you roll your eyes, he's way too good at reading you, or maybe you've just been so transparent anyone would've notice. "i'm not avoiding him, it's called moving on," you try to reason, although it's starting to sound exactly as gojo puts it.
nanami chases you down for reconciliation and nothing more, a settlement of sorts. you've already assumed it was because of guilt. he doesn't want to be the bad guy possibly. why else would nanami be leaving messages, making calls, and sending a million flowers if not as an act of atonement.
and when has he ever needed to repent, nanami's always been so aloof, you've seen him brush things off with a calm and cool demeanour, sorry is merely a word he gives to strangers he's accidentally bumped into on the train. he'll come out of this with that perfect head on his shoulders held high after the remnants of past memories have faded and no longer hold any significance to him. he could always bake more french loaves and there's more wine to be tasted. he'll continue siphoning his emotions into the separate little folders of his makeup. you've never taken up the space of his heart because that shall be reserved for someone else—"he'll get over me in due time," you say, loathing how the words taste, how it makes you hate yourself.
"geez," satoru shrugs off the tension from his shoulders, "melodrama doesn't look good on you," the jab strikes where it hurts the most.
your face falls, give it a few seconds and you'll start crying in the middle of the children's section, "i guess i wanted more," you swallow down the embarrassment, typical that you've ended up here. back to where you've always been. single, jobless, a few pounds heavier, a few more cracks in your aching heart.
"there's a lot going on—" suguru cuts in, hoping it'll make you feel better, "—it's okay to feel as you do." sympathetic as it is, you start to wonder if you've traded in a birthday for a pity party when there's a truth in what satoru says.
in the silence that passes, the scene you work on is full of colour, save for the stars you've left in white. the twins have completed their exercise sheet, and satoru stretches his limbs and yawns like a cat basking under an afternoon sun. suguru might give him a pep-talk after this and he might feel bad for bringing up the whole thing, but it has to be said— "talk to the guy, he's never looked worse."
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on the walk home, the clouds start to gather. greying skies and thunder roaring above you. behind the clearing of mist and cold, you see him standing right outside your building. not knowing how long he's been there, but judging by the steady rhythm of his pacing feet, nanami's been waiting for a while. if anything, he's patient and—god help you—persistent.
the drizzle gets heavier and rain pours down over his body, soaking through the layers of fabric; his coat, his tie, his white shirt. golden blonde hair turning into a muddy shade of ash, strands clumping together, droplets hanging off and sticking to his skin. to his foggy glasses, thin-rimmed and shining. although drenched and dishevelled, he is every bit the man you love, and you hate that you can't look away, turn him down and kick him to the curb, pretend he doesn't exist.
taking him in, your heart clenches when the light of a lamppost next to you cuts a glowing line across his sullen face, highlighting the deep depths of his cheeks. you see that he looks exhausted, more so than usual, and he's lost a little bit of weight. you think to say something, ask him if he's been skipping meals, that it's no way to deal with his remorse. anything that would break the tension but kento beats you to it.
"we need to talk," he says in a low voice but it takes almost every fibre of his being to say it, "i thought this was the only way we could do so." he recognizes what he's doing, he's being invasive, he's being desperate and when was that word ever associated with him. not til now he supposes, not before you.
“don't you know it’s embarrassing to chase after an ex?" the bite won't be drowned out by pitter-patter, it stings, but he doesn't move an inch. swallows that lump in his throat and prepares himself for the words he's about to utter.
"i am not the best with words, but believe me when i say i am not ashamed of you–" he pauses. waits for your reaction but chooses to continue, nothing will come in between, not here and now, "forgive me—for my ignorance, for my restraint, it is because of me that you felt our relationship was one-sided."
that should do it he thinks, he's laid it out on the table, he's said what he came to say. placid and concise. and at first, he's relieved, he professes and proclaims without expectation. he didn't come here hoping for more, that part of him has been tampered with and put out by his own self-doubt. he only wishes to let you know. he'll force himself to be content with solely acknowledgement.
but he starts to worry when he sees the anger seep into your features. “you’re upset,” he states, unsatisfied, "i thought it would be best if we got closure—"
“did you come all this way just for closure?" your question hangs in the air. each passing second filled with the sound of raindrops and the million thoughts bouncing off his brain. you shouldn't put him through this anymore, it's practically ruining him from the inside out. “you’re forgiven, let it ease your conscience,” you say, ready to turn away and leave him for good this time.
he sucks in a breath, frustration prickling all over, “i am a man that’s lacking, trying to convey to you the things that cannot be conveyed, i have never been a passionate person and you knew this." you can see it so obviously in his expression that you've made him this way, twisting him up into knots over the need for verbalization, for definitions and arguments he can't give.
your eyes narrow, getting defensive. you always thought you could be the exception, that you'd be the one to experience it firsthand, his fervent need for you, whatever version of it you could get. "you denied me in front of people you cared about, you were always so cautious and constipated, like you couldn't bear it, i get that you're not into big girls but—"
"that's not true!" he says quickly, voice rising with tension. his hands come up to hold your face in them, thumbs rubbing over damp cheeks and warm skin before realizing...he's neevr actually felt it. how does a man concede, he's scared, fearful of an inevitable end, "i didn't want to lose you," he admits softly. lips less than an inch away, breaths a hair's width apart.
you try to pry his hands away, shaking your head, there's no use when "you can't love me the way i want you to and maybe i'm not the one who's meant to be loved by you."
nanami doesn't let go, "i can only love you the only way i know how, it was never my intention to make you feel less than—" with no more hesitance, no more weighing speeches and consequences, he tells you the truth—"my love for you...has made me selfish. it has consumed me, i want you so much that i don't know what to do with it. why should i put you through that, burden you with me."
"you were never a burden 'ken," his name sounds so bittersweet, as if there's still a fondness there, the way you gently hold those syllables without spite but he hears the longing, the hurt. "i didn't want you holding back for my sake, i've liked you for so long, i was ready for it all, even when it came to losing you, i don't need you to be something you're not."
he's never had that ability, despite his efforts, he isn't capable of detachment, with all his distractions and defeats, he's ultimately bound to you, too well tangled in his soul. "you shall move on but i cannot do the same—my life starts and ends with you, do you understand?”
you nod silently, looking up at him with widened eyes and catching the specks of dew on his lashes when his eyes travel toward your lips, his thumbs caressing them tenderly, benevolently.
"despite my shortcomings and the fact that you are now seeing someone else, i would like to try again, please allow me to do my best." nanami opens up to you as a flower blooms, petals blossoming, coming apart to reveal the innermost parts of himself. red spreading across his skin from the tips of his ears to his lips when he parts them under yours. he wasn’t made to hide it, all that restraint keeping him from you, from what he knows is his deepest desire. made to love, loudly and forever. there, where two lives meet again, coming together and converging.
#'i am not the best with words' proceeds to pour his heart out in the rain#go look up the sculpture its one of my faves !#sunpiece#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fic#nanami kento fic#nanami x chubby reader#chubby reader fic
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TANGLED WEB | SPIDERMAN 2099 GETO SUGURU X READER
"i'm worried about you," you said to him then. it's not that there's anything wrong with him. flaky, yes. forgetful, sometimes. but it's starting to become increasingly clear that he's not all he seems to be.
suguru moves around his lab with soft, padded steps as the room is slowly lit by a hundred holographic screens. he's programmed it that way so it doesn't spook him. he hasn't had a good night's sleep in the last ten years. well, maybe forever actually, but he's stopped counting the all-nighters.
jumping from universe to universe does that to you, where time becomes a jumbled mess of past, present, and future. doesn't help that more of them explode into being each day. he's seen himself as a child in one and an old man in another, happily easing himself into his lazy chair while his beautiful wife grumbles on about how he needs to exercise more or his limbs will start creaking.
that one hurts a little too much he'll admit. would rather not think about a life where he'd been happy and perfectly content. instead, he taps on a few buttons by a console, sifting through screens, and moving windows out of the way with a swipe of his hand. news footage, maps, weapon inventory, plans and projects he's left on hold, some of them dating back years before he ever resorted to this life—bringing about order to chaos. there was no swinging from death-defying heights, no bank robbery chases and saving cats from trees, no...putting the multiverse back together, piece by fragmented piece.
his fingers grasp at the spandex of his mask, tugging it loose til his skin feels that familiar brush of fresh air. letting his hair fall down his shoulders and back, breathing a sigh of relief when he feels the tension leaving his scalp.
a video plays before him, lighting up his face from the dim. he remembers recording it at your wedding dress fitting. it wasn't necessary he told you, the dress, the rings, the reception, thinking he'd been above all these ritualistic traditions. now it's all he holds onto really, standing by the same spot, with the same video playing on a loop.
"sorry, it's been a while," he speaks, his roughened voice echoing around the walls. he makes a motion with his fingers and the video blows up in size. pixels painting a picture of your smiling face, a soft, love-filled gaze focused on him. or it seems that way. back when you still loved him anyway.
"hey," you say, a little self-conscious, "do we have to do this?" palming the material of your dress nervously, your engagement ring twinkling. he feels the phantom weight of the one he used to wear on his finger all the time. so much so that he rubs a thumb over the empty space, feeling only his suit there.
he's removed his voice from the clip, only because it allows him to talk to you—at least some semblance of it—like he does now, "not if you don't want to...i just miss you is all," he replies.
"what kind of an answer is that?" his heart clenches at your laugh ringing through. a younger him would have said something funny when he should have been better with his words. should have told you how beautiful you were, how much you meant to him. but they always get caught in his throat.
he's ignoring the fact that there are hundreds of other spidermans surrounding him behind these walls and any of them could waltz right in. watching the tough leader of spider society talk to an old tape of his ex-wife. they'd see just how...lonely he is.
two of them sit in a corner somewhere doing whatever task he's given them for the day. and they know there's nothing they could do about it. because he's got an oh-so-impossible plan of rewriting the canon. changing the outcome. for this is not up to technology or anything that isn't you and your wish to love him again.
and if he knows anything about multiverse travel, is that it's heartbreaking. how often he's lived in different shoes, loving a different you every time. multiple lifetimes, occurrences, origins, and resolutions. reliving the first time he held your hand, the first kiss, the first time he took you in his college dorm, how it was awkward and messy, but he'd cradled you in his arms when your body was a sweaty, blissed-out mess after, the expression on your face so rewarding he couldn't feel the sting of the scratch marks you've left all over his back.
you were hot to the touch one moment, a rousing sight, perfect in every way. and then you were cold, losing all colour, and grasping at him with your final breath seconds later. suguru realizes he was no longer in the comfort of an old junky room but on a street corner. buildings crumbling and him barely withstanding the weight of rubble on his back. his naked skin now in his suit drenched with blood. he swore it was just a glitch, but he saw with his very eyes, each of his timelines colliding and ripping apart, each tangent leading back to his inevitable loss. losing everything. losing you.
so they keep working on it. and he keeps watching you on a screen. shrugging and slumping his body and averting his eyes away because he can't bear to face you. always guilty and for what, he doesn't exactly know. can't pinpoint the moment he felt you slip through his fingers. only that he couldn't be the person you needed him to be.
"pathetic right?" he says, timing it right for the moment you reply with a—
"i forgive you," you say, hand reaching out to his. and he pauses the video there, placing his own hand against the screen and watching it glitch when his fingers make a hole through the display, plunging through and feeling only emptiness in return. at the very least, it buzzes around his form and it feels warm, but it's nothing compared to the way you'd hold him.
"promise?" he whispers, knowing you won't reply, and that the answer is already there. but he pulls his hand away, rewinds it, and starts all over again.
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he still dreams about you. on the rare occasions he does manage to fall asleep.
but they're not scenes and sounds he's conjuring up, a random bunch of no-names his consciousness collected throughout the day, hazy blobs of red and blue. it's only ever one thing. a moment from his past he can't let go off.
vividly he sees you standing in the rain. in nothing but a pair of jeans and a tshirt. huff . huff. his breaths are labored. here in the cold of night, they puff out in short gasps of white.
it all feels so real. in the flesh. in his suit. hanging upside down on what appears to be tangled strands of webbing in his grasp. body covered in black spandex, red covering the pads of his hands and feet, thick lines spanning across broad shoulders and chest, an angular pattern of a spider sitting right in the middle.
"so tell me spiderman...you've got a million eyes and ghastly fangs?" cupping his head gently, you're fingers move on their own accord. thumbs caressing over the material, feeling the flat planes and deep grooves of his features. a strong nose, soft cheeks...shaping and sculpting him in your mind's eye.
"go ahead," he whispers, his voice hoarse and ...desperate, "take it off and find out..." screw it, he thinks, he can have this, just this once. he's allowed to. it's just a dream anyway. spiderman is everything he's not. he's done more with the suit on than when it was left crumpled and untouched in his closet.
tugging at his mask, the hem starts to peel away from his neck. sliding and stretching over his throat. tucking folds moving upwards with every pull. pale skin revealed, now blooming red the moment you ease it over his adam's apple, over the cut of his jaw, and finally the edge grazes past his lips.
he gasps. mouth parting with every exhale, his fangs retracting and peeking from beneath, his chest rising and falling in time with his rapid breaths, his thumping heart. "thank you, for saving me," you whisper, before pressing your lips to his, feeling them part as his tongue slips inside the warmth of your mouth. fuck, this is exhilarating. even though it could just be from the last time he kissed you, the taste of you is unlike any other, forever etched in his memory.
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"i'm worried about you," you said to him then. it's not that there's anything wrong with him. flaky, yes. forgetful, sometimes. but it's starting to become increasingly clear that he's not all he seems to be.
in that restaurant you like—the one serving the huge rice bowls and unlimited tea refills—you eyed the new injury he's gotten that week. he should have tried to hide it at least. but scarily enough, it was probably the best his efforts could afford. it'd been a bruise on his cheek, no bigger than a few centimeters, and knuckles so raw, so red, the skin splits down the middle of those nubby slopes.
"it's really fine," he brushes you off and you noticed the slight wince in his expression, giving it away. if he were better at acting you wouldn't catch how his arms rested on the table, placing most of his weight on it and shielding his torso from you. just underneath his shirt, two broken ribs sealed themselves back beneath skin and muscle at a snail's pace, a bullet wound in his shoulder closed up inch by inch. felt the dermis stitching itself back segment by segment in circular motions.
you sighed heavily. he didn't miss the disappointment laced in your features. "i think we should break up, you're...hiding things from me." a part of him knew it was coming, but where does he even begin. he's left these things out for a reason. spiderman doesn't have a place in all this. that...version of himself is his own burden to bear.
geto suguru was your boyfriend, unmasked and uncovered. the one who has a strict hair care routine and likes spending his time cooped up in a lab. less mad scientist and more aloof inventor who's dedicated his life to a cause. he's charming, intelligent, and sexier than he should be—"are you sure you're not lying to me about your job? i don't think researchers do pull-ups at work," you squeeze at the swell of his arms in wonder, palms pressed into his pecs, admiring the bulk, the brawn, down the curve of his slim little waist.
geto however, can only blush. chuckling to himself nervously whilst grateful the cut of muscles is enough to distract you.
you've mentioned it once or twice. that it's just a bonus he's so hot, the real appeal is where on most days he's dorky....disheveled. and so captivating. drooping eyebags kissing the steam wafting from his mug, coffee today, because he needs the extra boost. how he's scratching at his toothpaste-stained shirt while a blanket hangs over his head in the mornings. when warm light hits just right, you notice the alluring streak of silver hairs, shining against dark locks. swooping and silky. oh how does stress look this lustrous...this indulgent. trotting about his messy kitchen with a lazy, drowsy gait.
"where the fuck is it," he mumbles, noisily wading through last night's clutter for..."my thingy!" he exclaims. because everything's a 'thingy' at this hour. when his brain is still fuzzy and he's got no energy. he's brandishing what happens to be a teaspoon like he's found the holy grail. and yes, it is that important because "this teaspoon isn't like any other teaspoon, it's actually perfectly accurate in measuring the amount of sugar i like," he's so particular.
sometimes he goes back there, he'd swing past heavy traffic and crowded streets from below. a route he knows by heart. by instinct. awed and frightened faces alike, feasting their eyes upon a masked man and his reflected grief in skyscraping windows. regrets when he'd been fighting crime and it slipped his mind. he promises he'll be early from now on, hoping to see you waiting for him by that same table and maybe this time, you wouldn't want to end things.
#ANGST. be warned.#sunpiece#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fic#geto suguru#jjk geto#geto x reader#geto suguru x reader#geto fic#geto suguru fic#my taste in men is hot villain with a cause. bonus is hes got broad shoulders and the strength of ten men.#spiderman suguru
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could we get mma!geto fics
deep sigh...
geto suguru doesn't mind getting up close and personal—but only when it comes to the fighting of course.
says he likes to see the pain and anger simmer in their eyes with every swing he throws, every punch that feels more like a bite. amidst the bloodied knuckles and broken bones, his body, his being becomes a weapon, like there's a beast housed in there. an unstoppable force. nothing holds him down, not an iron cage or the fear of loss, of death. so capable and equipped, not to win but to kill. he picks them apart by their weakest points, precise and powerful, striking where it'll hurt the most and leaving no traces but broken hearts and bruised egos behind.
"he's more than just a fighter," you say, with clenched fists and passion-flamed eyes, "in one word, geto's kinda...legendary," so enthused, so enamoured. it's not your biased heart talking here because you're an expert at these things.
although you wouldn't call yourself a fan when devotee sounds more accurate given the countless hours you've dedicated to research and impulse buying—scrolling through wiki pages, analyzing old interviews, watching late-night matches on a glitchy livestream, catching a tiny glimpse of his figure from a shitty seat in a stadium, or buying an ugly t-shirt from his online store when the one made by a fan artist is cheaper and looks way better in your opinion—still, you'll do it now and again because he isn't like everyone else, he is a perfect being, untouchable, you'll love him from afar like this, settling for whatever bit of scraps you can get hoping to get closer, and yet...
"you don't know me," geto simply says when he's come face-to-face with you. well, technically he's looking down at you from where he stands tall, heads above you. he's every bit as handsome as you'd expect, the kind no injury or scar could hide. you think to say something, gush over him, the man of your dreams in the flesh, a long-awaited meeting now realized but it's all too much.
his sweat-glistened skin, his flushed cheeks, the soft panting breaths, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the way he ever so gently flicks his hair away, not to mention that dripping line of red that seeps from his nostril shouldn't make him look as sexy as he does, something about a bruised and bleeding man practically makes you swoon. oh how you'd always dreamed of this image, your imagination supplied you with multiple scenarios of him atop you and most preferably inside you too.
to be this close to him, so close you could reach out and touch. but a bigger girl always takes the temperature of a room before walking into it, only now you've made the crucial mistake of forgetting where you are, and who exactly could be listening. "um...i didn't mean–" your eyes scan across a sea of judgemental eyes taking you in, contempt written all over their faces. there's a heat pooling in your eyes, a lump caught in your throat, visibly constipated would be the word to describe it, but geto doesn't feel pity for you.
instead, his expression contorts into scorn, rolls his eyes at your desperate attempt to explain when you're choking on your words and flittering around like a headless chicken. he must think you're so awkward, so lame, just another one of those people with nothing better to do with their lives. "you should leave, you're taking up space," he says, pushing past you with a shove like you were merely a nuisance to him, your shoulder bumping into his torso. but it doesn't hurt honestly, not as much as the disappointment, the humiliation he's left you with.
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back home, you dismantle the shrine. an altar made with the labour of love, and many long nights spent crafting this holy site. suguru is a name you can't look at the same way, now riddled with sour definitions. mean, rude, arrogant, and all the synonyms bundled into one. suddenly, the pictures on your wall stare back at you differently, geto and his camera-ready poses, in designer pieces, perfectly curved happy smiles and sultry smirks turning against you. "he brushed me off like i was nobody, like i was nothing," you sniffle.
with shaky hands, you tear them down hastily, omitting to start from the corners or to roll them back into tube containers. making it quick so it'll hurt less, like tearing a bandaid off. "psh, taking up space..." you shake your head in disbelief, "what a fucking asshole."
stuffing the bins with crumpled magazines and the journal entries you were enthusiastic about, another collage you've put together, the pencil writings have faded, laser stickers peeled from the edges. however, the binders and photo cards have been kept well, pristine even, and you consider if there are notes and letters you wrote to him tucked into the spine, believing you'd send them someday, but you refuse to keep them.
flipping through, you can't help but cringe at the thought of a man being this famous as an athlete. you understand sponsorships and brand deals, but turning into a celebrity, a commodity...maybe it was an act all along, a persona he's crafted. there was no underestimating the man's capabilities, the ease and precision with which he strikes a punch or spews cutting words are unmatched, why would it be different when it came to your first meeting.
"you've idolized him, it was a parasocial relationship at most..." you say. given the circumstances or the 'end of an era,' as you've put it, there'd be no other way to comfort yourself but with the hard truth.
and it shouldn't feel this...hollow. an empty space left behind without any notice, like it ended too abruptly. you'd always known the phase would come to a close, but you had pictured meeting him at the end of an aisle, twirling in his arms under heavy rain, or a bittersweet goodbye at an airport maybe. anything resembling a whirlwind romance that would replace the daydreaming. anything but this.
people meet all the time, people fall in love, was it too much to believe you'd be one of them. and you tell yourself you'll get over him, it wasn't meant to be anyway, what did you expect, that he'd see you and fall in love? you wouldn't know any different, the closest you ever got to love was...obsession really, he was never a real person to you. "all this for a man who never knew i existed." you're sure wherever suguru is, he'd be absolutely fine, happy even, and not the least bit gutted about what he'd done.
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the rest of geto's day plays out like usual—he fights, he wins, then tends to the nosebleed. nowhere in those allocated time slots for cryotherapy and post-match interviews does he think about you. or the way your eyes fell. or that he instantly regretted it the moment he left you standing there.
across the gym, nanako calls from where she sits on a boxing ring, "that wasn't nice, papa!" perching her head against ropes, her legs swing off the edge. beside her, mimiko nods in agreement, cuddling her dolly closer to her chest, "you were being mean..." she mumbles. the sandbag crushes and swings to the rhythmic, muffled beats of bandaged fists meeting leather. resounding, familiar, enough to tune out the disappointed tone in their voices.
his punches come to a halt, "i know," he sighs exasperatedly. pressing his forehead to the sleeve and watching the sweat pool by his feet. drip, drip, he takes a deep breath in. willing himself to think of something else, anything that could ease the tightness in his chest, the grinding of his teeth. the guilt that bubbles up becomes unbearable, itchy and prickling all over his skin. heat creeping up his neck, to his ears, he's embarrassed, ashamed. he should know better, he'd been better. a part of him grieves, long gone were the days of geto suguru and his straight As and pressed uniforms, always thanking the teachers and using honorifics in between.
geto learns that he doesn’t react to it as smoothly as he would like—your wobbling lips and puffed up cheeks, teary eyes shining, lashes clumping with tears, an expression he can't seem to forget, like your world was crumbling before your very eyes—he knew it was wrong, knew you were vulnerable and he did it anyway.
when was the last time he got this hung up over a couple of badly chosen words, all for some fangirl? you've got him giving away easy hits and fucking up his game-plan, ruminating. he's supposed to be training, working on his form, looking up the next guy he's meant to beat to a pulp and analyze his moves, all that and eating these tiny meals he abhors, the ones made up of bland chicken breast and broccoli.
bottom line, he's meant to brush these things off as he always does. but the urge to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness is almost as strong as the urge to punch something. he only settles for the latter because geto never gets on his knees, and he never begs, the thought alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine, why does he even think of it as an option.
"she got to me didn't she?" is less of a question, and more of an admission but the twins giggle as if they know he's already done for.
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geto sits across from you at a crepe place a week later. famous for its strawberry sauce and the whipped cream they make from scratch, it's a good choice for a first date spot. the tables are covered in red and white checkered linen, there's an upbeat pop tune playing in the background, and sitting right between the two of you is a centerpiece made up of fresh daffodils.
but this isn't a date. there's nothing romantic or intimate about it and how he's even managed to find you is still a mystery let alone what his intentions are with choosing such a scene. "my daughters like this place," is the only explanation you get.
he's wearing what can only be described as undercover chic. greeted you by the door dressed in black head to toe. along with sunglasses and a face mask, but the earrings give him away. well, that along with the cut on his lip and the stitches over his eyebrow. "you got my letter," he merely states, without a 'hello' or 'thanks for meeting me on such short notice'. he doesn't mention why he's sent actual mail to your office instead of texting or calling like a normal person—how easy it was for you to recognize those familiar black inky lines scribing a time and place on paper with zoo animals decorating the edges—you might have ignored it, reported it, if not for the part of you that wholeheartedly gives into him, the infatuation still hasn't worn off.
"so um," clearing his throat and keeping his voice low, geto's arms fold across his chest. it makes him look too big for his seat, bulky and broad, "about what happened the other day—" he chokes out.
"it's fine," you cut him off immediately. the last thing you need right now is to be reminded of it. took forever to wash away the embarrassment, to scrub off the eerie feeling of his dismissive gaze, his cold stare, a shining vaseline-lined face that would forever haunt you the rest of your days. "i don't even remember it," you wait for him to continue but he just..sits there.
head tilting curiously, suddenly interested. "not even the part about me being...what was it you said...legendary?" he teases, laughing to himself. it sounds lovely, bright and clear. almost so good you think he's rehearsed it but you know it's just another one of those things geto does, that adds to his charm.
your cheeks puff up as you chew, the jam is sweet and so are the little slices of fruit. you munch and chew, growing annoyed by the second, "it's not that funny," you mumble.
geto brushes off your offended expression, "relax, it's nothing i haven't heard before, let me guess—you love me, you're my number one fan, and you want to ride me and have my babies," he lifts an eyebrow, a self-satisfied smirk appearing.
your fist clenches tight around your fork, "y-you don't know that for sure, in fact, you don't know me at all."
geto scoffs, actually scoffs in your face, "i know what you're like, you're just another groupie who wants to get close."
"groupie?!" you exclaim, "as if i'd ever sleep with you after the way you've treated me—" your nose turns up at him, anger flaring up to the max, "i wouldn't want to be chucked around and felt up anyway, besides, you wouldn't be able to," you lie again, throwing the final jab to his overinflated ego for effect, to put him in his place. now emboldened by fury, by the urge to prove him wrong.
you're so loud the other customers turn their heads, somewhere in the back a plate drops to the floor, the shock is evident. mainly because of how explicit you're being but....anyone would be crazy to think so. to say such a thing. how blasphemous. suguru is so physically strong that he forgets not everyone can split wooden blocks into halves with their bare hands like it were the easiest thing, hooking sandbags up to a rig with one arm, you've seen him breaking doors down with a mere shove in movies, and how could you ever forget that one picture of him holding two litre water bottles in his hand and having it look so out of proportion, dwarfed by their massive size.
there's no doubt about it, not only could geto lift and toss you around like a ragdoll, feeling you up any way he desires, but it would be effortless.
he starts grinning, "is that a challenge?" geto quips, smirking and suddenly interested in the half-eaten crepe. he gives it a once over, lightly jabbing it with his fork. contemplates if he should try it when he's been off sugar for years but maybe he'll make an exception now. he could always just burn the calories later, maybe do an extra sparring session with gojo over the weekend, but just for the occasion, he thinks he could indulge a little because he makes a decision then.
"i like you, we should do this more often," he shoots you a look that isn't like the rest. assured, demanding, knowing you wouldn't deny him. "any objections?" leaning forward he cuts himself a piece of the pastry, lapping up every last bit of jam before he stabs at a large chunk of berry. taking a big bite of it, your eyes widen at the instant blush blooming on his cheeks because he more than likes it, in fact, he keeps at it til there's none left.
#wanted to make this one a slow burn ...#mma geto is the ice cream i have a lock on ... precious!#let me know if you wanna read more mma geto!#ask#anon#sunpiece#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fic#geto suguru#geto suguru hcs#geto x reader#mma geto#mma au#chubby reader#geto x chubby reader#jjk chubby reader fic
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a baby in this economy for geto definitely 🛐
even in the middle of his day when he's got appointments piled up and a hundred curses to swallow, you've seen it happen. how he moves from sitting upright or lazing with his head tucked in his palm, eager to get the day over with...to then seeing his face brighten up, getting on his knees the moment your baby crawls into the room, inching towards him in a onesie, the kind with the ears atop.
the child mumbles something unintelligible but nonetheless geto coos back, "did you miss me?" he cradles the child close, nose pressed to his cheek and inhaling his scent. here, he forgets that they're not alone, the two other people in the room reek of a stench he knows too well, like rot and death when in comparison to the fresh and clean scent of his baby, a little milky and soft, "oh you smell so good, did mama give you a bath?" at the mention of you, the boy gurgles and squeals.
geto cringes when his eyes land on their guests kneeling by a corner, unsure of how to react. its like he's turned into a completely different person. just in that split second, they see his expression fold, twisting into disgust. although, it slips off when the baby starts climbing up over his shoulder, his chubby, covered fists reach up to him eagerly, trying to grab a hold of his locks, or his earring, anything that would get his attention.
and geto chuckles because the little one need not try too hard, nothing interests geto as much as the darks of his eyes, the sharp, intense way he stares, no doubt a thing he's inherited from his father. "you'll have to forgive me for cutting our meeting short, but this one is in need of some cuddles," geto says, standing up and making his way out, he doesn't care how they get home but they should do it soon because he doesn't like the smell to linger, and he doesn't want his baby exposed to it.
and they watch him step out, his back retreating down the hall with a laughing baby, one he kisses and holds close to him. unaware that he's literally a special grade sorcerer with two thousand curses housed in his body, a body that is physically the strongest among three families after toji and maki, this guy started a cult to earn a bag and to buy his daughters some nice shoes, burned a village to the ground, spawns a dragon like its nothing, beats the living shit outta old men in harem pants with his bare fists, pulled a maximum uzumaki, dropped by jj high and crushed it to its very foundations, went ham on both tokyo and kyoto, holds gojo's will to live and his very heart in the palm of his hand, terrifying yes, intimidating, definitely....—until he's given a baby and he turns into ....a dad.
#ask#anon#sunpiece#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fic#geto suguru#geto suguru hcs#geto x reader#ughhhhhhhh SUGURUUUUUU
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I am OBSESSED with Spider-Man Suguru …. YOUR MIND
he's such an ominous figure when he's got the mask on but turns into a nerdy grump when he takes it off. kinda wanna see him in thick-rimmed glasses and sweatpants, lazing around and recuperating from his latest mission. sleep deprived and a little weary, the languid motion of him tossing and turning in a creaky bed made up of duvets and pillows he's stacked strategically, covers pulled over the bird nest atop his head. doesn't want to think about detangling on his off day.
but you like the suit. always had. in another life, you see him crouched on a rooftop, silhouette highlighted by a neon sign, rain pelting against him. how menacing. suguru's got angst brooding within him. withholding the chance to move on, or rather he doesn't intend to. so what if he's become obsessive, talking to screens and dreaming about you. modeling his holographic companions after your figure, your face, your voice. spent forever getting it just right. coding a line or two or a hundred and changing the input repeatedly. the first draft appears before him then. not too nice, not too mean. perfection glowing before him with the same smile you wear, flittering over his shoulder, snuggled up to his cheek, fitting in the crook of his palm as you give him updates on everything. "they're having a sale at the supermarket," says virtual assistant you, and he actually does make a trip there. buying himself a nice box of stock for dinner before he realizes that it's the first time he's actually made himself a meal. a year late but still, it's better than takeout or vending machine natto.
although, he would still prefer a tangible, physical you that isn't made up of glitching pixels. to caress skin and flesh, kiss the very breath from you and feel it graze his own lips. puffing out gasping cries and guttural moans, exhaling his name in exaltation, he'll swallow them up.
he's had a bad day. you can tell because he's abandoned the hot meal and even hotter shower for this. storming towards you with heavy steps and his heavy breaths puffing through his mask. why should you fear spiderman. hero, and saviour of the world. that he's been teasing you, taunting you. so what if he's got your wrists tied up around a tangle of webs. only after he's pulled from you a scream and the third orgasm of that night do you wonder.
spandex serves its purpose when it's hugging muscled arms so strong, bending and straining tight as he cages in, looms above you, his weight steady you can't help but to surrender to how good the pressure feels. the tilt of his head is condescending, enough to show you he isn't impressed, "you made a mess," suguru doesn't even try to be sympathetic. merely stating it as if it was all your fault for squirting all over his oh-so-precious suit. you'd question him on the occasion at hand, he'd been the one who wanted you to come undone on his dick.
legs locked tight behind him, his cock slides in just that bit further, deeper. a surprised squeal slipping past your lips. "easy now," you used to tease whenever he's gotten too eager, too hungry. but you're at a loss for words when the roles are reversed here. especially when the sharp point of his fangs skim over a patch of skin he's come to know as one of your most sensitive spots. right where it won't hurt you too much, he determines where they should sink in and leave behind no more than two perfectly formed puncture wounds, no bruising, no blood. well, maybe just a little, the iron tang he laps at is addictive. is alive.
#in a state of deep raging arousal and titillation#sunpiece#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fic#geto suguru#jjk geto#geto x reader#geto suguru x reader#geto fic#geto suguru fic#spiderman suguru#saturated
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any drafts or thoughts u want an excuse to post ..?
spearheading the 'geto is good at games' campaign until he gets the recognition he deserves. losing one game of street fighter isn't fair evidence when he's literally an all-time taiko no tatsujin great at eighteen. just look at the marks and ridges on his worn-out game-branded drumsticks tucked under his bed, yes he has them for optimal performance. tossed next to the—just as worn—converse chucks. he always manages to score a 'perfect' in DDR, and owes it to the shoes. the staff knows he's here when they hear beethoven virus booming through the speakers, shoulder-length hair pushed back with a metal-wired headband while the group of local kids stand around the console with sparkling eyes, admiring the master himself.
but he doesn't brag. modest and so tight-lipped about it, face cringing the moment you ask about the shiny holographic trophy sitting in his dorm closet. he's busy with pulling your panties off under your skirt, pleated and pressed to perfection as he sinks his fingertips into soft flesh. ask him about anything else, anything but his starcraft II championship trophy.
all the things he could do when left alone with you on a hot summer's day like this but he pouts and sulks over a lost bet. exacerbated by the fact that his best friend won't shut up about it. brings it up every time they pass by the arcade or a mcdonalds. "remember that time you—" gojo doesn't even get to finish his sentence, laughing at the way geto's eye twitches involuntarily.
geto swears he's over it. forget that he still has that same urge to revisit old fighting games, his face scrunched up in concentration as the selection breezes past every character but ryu and his brawny muscles. he doesn't have a reason why, only that it's the one he remembers choosing that very day.
fuck it, he thinks. there are worse things, but the fact that gojo's got his hands on his own ps5 the moment it drops makes his blood boil. ready to snatch the console for himself when the man can barely steer or walk in a straight line. everyone assumes gojo satoru is great at everything, praises him for it, honoured one or whatever. pfft. geto knows effort is exactly what he lacks. "this is so hard!" gojo whines, already bored when he's yet to get past the tutorials of final fantasy vii. because he doesn't have the knack for it, this is where talent or bloodlines won't help, arcade games and their simple mechanics won't do now that he's left to traverse rpgs and action-adventures. it's why he gives the controller over to geto, leaving his hands free to clap and smack his broad back in excitement when he finishes the game in two days.
and he isn't always this competitive. geto likes when there isn't so much of a challenge too, when he can take his time decorating his island with the twins, their inputs are of utmost importance. loves that you sit in his lap as he patiently breezes through different maps in mario kart. feeling your kiss on his cheek as he crosses that checkered finish line in first place.
one kiss turns into two, then three and more. soon after he's found a new challenge in the form of making you come undone as many times as he can. pleasure dom is not a label he gives himself, it's one he has to earn. oh how you feed his ego, he feels so terrible. this isn't about winning, this was about loving you, making you feel good, but he's too selfish of a lover.
arch your back, strike a pose, preferably in a bayonetta costume. he takes his time, he relishes in the feel of leather, pulling the zipper down the middle with his teeth, and tries his best to resist ripping it apart. you've really outdone yourself, so thoughtful. he peels it off your body slowly, sensually. enough of a gentleman to appreciate the finer things, although not as much that he wouldn't pull out before he jerks himself off over your face. rectangular glasses that sit askew now painted with his seed.
loves making you shake and tremble, acting like he's unaware of how expertly his fingers play with you, his touch had been curious the first time, now he inches closer with familiarity, settling into a steady rubbing rhythm over your slickened cunt, teasing your clit each time he skims it before plunging his fingers inside. probing against a spot that has you leaking all over his sheets. it's not stars in your eyes but tears, hot and streaming down your face when he won't stop despite your garbled pleas. how you whine and dig your fingernails into his biceps, a little scared but so very excited, ecstatic even when he pulls out a bad dragon and you swear he's your soulmate.
#geto u nerd#who is the target audience for this ...its me#this ask is probably a year old and im so sorry im using it to talk abt geto again#wished he could come over and finish elden ring for me#ask#anon#sunpiece#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fic#geto suguru#geto x reader#saturated#geto suguru fic
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