moshimoshiiii

[moshimoshiiii]

Sukuna’s Strawberry Sunday

The more I look at this, the more I’m starting to hate the rendering.

[moshimoshiiii]

The Fine Print | Chapter Three

Pairing: Producer! Sukuna x Pop Star! Reader

Synopsis: Is there a God? You hope so. I mean you think so. Because one day, it felt like he tapped you on the shoulder, sprinkled a little divine chaos on your life, and said, “Good luck, kid.” If there is a God though, he definitely has a twisted sense of humor. You didn’t know who he was (Spoiler: turns out he wasn’t just “some guy”.) and somehow, without even trying, he didn’t just get your food in the door–he barged in with the whole body and suitcase. Looking back, maybe you should send him an autograph that he can sell off as a thank you gift. Because this? This is how one stranger, one bad introduction, and one mistake snowballed you into becoming a popstar. Oh, and how you almost let a man completely fuck up your entire life.

Genre: Enemies to lovers, comedy, a bit of fluff, angst, modern setting, sukuna being a piece of shit.

Currently Ongoing

Warnings: (18+) Use of strong words, Sexual activities, violence, cheating, mentions of blood, drug use.

Art Credits: @jessie735l

ao3 & wattpad

Taglist: @bearchermer @pillowprincess4him @getosshampoo

If hell had a waiting room, it would look exactly like your job.

With the air constantly smelling like mildew and trauma, the lights so harsh that you look like you’ve been dead for three days, and the drink coolers hissing like they’re one slammed door away from quitting their job before you can quit yours.

Oh, and you don’t even want to get started on the men who come in, treating this place like it’s Tinder. Like, sir, you’re 40, divorced, and paying in quarters. Please relax.

A few days ago, you were in a studio—mic in front of you, voice singing into it. Singing like it actually mattered. Not pretending. Now? You’re back to ringing up orders and occasionally dusting the floors.

There’s a strange feeling to it. The contrast between those few hours in the studio, where every moment felt heavy with potential possibilities. And now you’re back to your day to day, where life has slipped back into reality, unchanged. Kenjaku hasn’t contacted you since then, and that keeps the doubt lingering in your head.

You try to tell yourself to be patient. It was just one session. You didn’t think you did too badly—you actually thought you were pretty decent. But still, that doubt is there, and it’s possible he doesn’t see the potential in you.

But your body remembers how it felt. How alive you were in that room. You didn’t want to give up just yet.

The shift hours begin to catch up to you. Hours of scanning, bagging, sweeping—and repeat. The noise around you starts to wash over as your thoughts begin to circle around Sukuna.

At first, you tell yourself not to think about him, but his whole presence just screams trouble. Not that you want to give his silence or his dismissive comments any more weight than they deserve. But ignoring something hasn’t really had a good track record with you.

You were curious. Very curious.

And very curious you were.

As you sit in the car on lunch break, phone balanced on your knee and greasy fries in one hand, you do what anyone would do. You Google him.

As predicted, most results are useless. Just photos of him on the sidelines at music events, small interviews, and articles about “mysterious producers shaping the sound of the decade.” He’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Never really visible himself, but present in someone else's success. Typical producer behavior. 

But then you scroll a little further down, and something catches your eye. Buried beneath all the useless information is a link that makes you pause.

“Blind Item: A Certain Hitmaker Can’t Keep His Hands Off Other People’s Fiance’s.”

You click on the link and instantly feel like you’ve struck gold. The website looks like it hasn’t been updated since 2005, but the thread is endless. On the sidebar, there are even suggestions of other blind items about different celebrities. But you aren’t here for them. No, no. You’re here for the dirt, and dirt is exactly what you found. You’re absolutely thrilled.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, here’s the tea.

The thread opens with, “The supposed love obsessed pop star cheated on her fiance with a major producer. After working on her number one hit album, insiders say they’ve been meeting up on and off, even after her engagement went public. Though some say they’d been seeing each other before then.”

And it gets wilder from there. Some “sources” claim to have seen them together at afterparties, leaving clubs together, and even meeting in hotel lobbies under fake names. One post even says that the fiance knows but keeps quiet to protect her image. Another insists the affair is out and open information, already known in the industry, but the outside public is waiting for the receipts to drop.

Now, the comment section is where it gets even better. An absolute circus, guessing who the two are, and the majority are already mentioning his name:

@anon3452: okay but hear me out… sukuna and yoruzu??? this is why i can’t trust anyone in the music industry.

@Gojosfoot: i’ve literally seen them at the same afterparty together. not saying anything… just… connect the dots.

@conspiracyqueen69: okay but imagine the album was written while all this tea was happening… that’s some next-level emotional lyrics type shit.

@musicqueensss: LMAOOO the fact that people are pretending like this is new. sukuna’s been doing this type of shady shit for YEARS. genius producer, but always been weird.

You laugh in disbelief at what you just read. Now this is entertaining. And the best part? You believe everything that the blind item said. You’ve experienced enough from him to not even question if it’s true.

By the time you lock your phone, you check the time and realize you need to head back to work soon, or your boss will throw a fit again. You sigh and shove it back into your pocket. 

Well, it was fun while it lasted.

Your takeaway from everything is that Sukuna is musically a genius, but he’s definitely toxic. You want to keep him far away if he ever brings that chaos into your life. You’re done with dealing with toxic men and honestly, dealing with men on a daily basis. All they do is stroke each other's egos, think about sex, and continue to make society a hellhole.

Dealing with Sukuna could be like dealing with the devil, and you don’t know if you want that kind of chaos in your life. Who knows what it comes with? Yeah, you may never become famous and live out your dreams, but the “what if” is still there and there’s a guarantee that it comes with risks.

You see it happen over and over. Artists chewed up by the industry, consumed by scandals, drugs, alcohol, sometimes jail. Just a repeat of bad choices. You could sympathize, unless they were a shitty person, in which case… not your problem. But you don’t want that for yourself. You don’t want to lose yourself.

There could be other career opportunities out there. 

Okay, let’s see…

Hm. You could go back to college and become a nurse. Plenty of positions open in that field and you’d never run out of patients. You think you’re compassionate and caring, so that works.

Or you could become a stripper. But that’s the very last option. It’s on the table, but only if you truly couldn’t make ends meet.

You should’ve listened to your parents before moving out. You think about calling them soon, already picturing your mom’s worried tone and your dad’s never-ending lectures about “go big or go home” Like, what? You’re asking how to change the tire on your car, not how to turn it into a damn Transformer.

It’s strange. Realizing that even after moving out to prove you could handle things on your own, the feeling of home will always linger in your chest. You miss their advice, their grounding, having everything figured out before you could even ask a question.

You’ve made your choices, and you’ll keep making them. But part of you wonders if you should’ve stayed a bit longer. Just to remind them you’re still the same kid they raised, even if it feels like you’re going in a million different directions.

You push open the convenience store door, the jingle announcing your arrival. Before the door swings shut behind you, it’s stopped by a familiar hand.

The man who told you about the club event in the first place appears, pushing the door open once again before settling inside.

“Ahh, there’s my favorite doll,” he says, grin crooked to the side with that same scar stretching across his lips. You roll your eyes, going back behind the register, continuing your shift as usual.

“Did you go to that thing I told you about?”

And just like the first time you met him, you tell him everything. Abou the studio, the blind item thread, Sukuna, Kenjaku’s text. Honestly, you don’t know why you’re spilling it all to him. Maybe it’s easier to toss everything at a stranger than cope with it yourself.

Anyway, who cares? You’re not exactly the headline act. He could tell someone, and it would pass in one ear and out the other.

Toji leans on the counter, thinking, eyes narrowing slightly. “I know about them,” he says finally. “In social settings? Terrible. Financially? No one’s touching them. As long as they keep filling pockets, nobody cares what trouble they get into.”

What the fuck does that mean? You know what he’s saying, he’s not speaking in riddles, but you need more explanation. You blink, unsure whether to ask or leave it at that.

He shrugs. “Whatever. Not my business. As long as they don’t mess up my money, I have no problem with them.”

Curiosity runs rampant. “Wait… what do you do for a living? You know them and seem connected, so I’m just curious.”

His finger points at you. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I only know of them. I wouldn’t connect with those two unless they’re paying me.”

“To answer your question, I manage artists,” he says simply. His gaze flickers, softer for a second. “My wife wanted to be a musician too, but she gave it up once we had our son. I made it my purpose to help other artists. To push them, do for them what I would have done for her if I could at the time.”

For the first time since meeting him, respect washes over you. It’s not just business. It’s personal, meaningful. 

But as quickly as the moment appears, it quickly goes away. The man cutting the topic short, placing his can of beer on the counter. “Anyways,” he shrugs as if nothing matters. “I just came in here to buy a can of beer.” 

You ring it up as he reaches and looks through his wallet, and then he freezes. He looks at you straight in the face. “Oh. I don’t have any money to pay for it.” 

Um. Okay? 

You blinked. “Do you have a card at least?”

“I left it at home.”

“Apple pay?” You press further. 

“I don’t believe in putting bank information on corporate made devices.” 

You stare. He stares. The silence is more evident than ever. 

“Okay…” you say finally. “It’s on me then, I guess.”

A small grin appears on his face. “Good choice,” he says, lifting the can. As he heads for the door, he glances back and calls over his shoulder, “Thanks, doll.” 

Did you just lowkey get scammed? That son of a bitch. Now you’re stuck covering his drink. What’s up with everybody being shady or rude nowadays? You’re starting to have a feeling that over time, you’re going to meet more and more unhinged people. 

Well… at least it’ll help you build lore and character.

As the day continues to progress, eventually your shift comes to an end. Just as you’re about to clock out, your phone buzzed. It’s a text from Kenjaku. 

"Just heard the demo. Nice job, I must say. I think I can work out a few things with you. Meet me back at the studio?" 

Yes! Yes! Yes! You don't even hesitate. Your fingers fly over the keyboard, replying with a “yes” before your brain even has a chance to think. You can’t contain yourself. Jumping up and down behind the counter, squealing like a school girl. 

Your phone buzzes again with another message.

"Also, don’t think too hard about Sukuna. He notices more than he lets on. We’ll talk soon." 

Now that stroked your ego a little bit. Actually, it did A LOT. So… Sukuna did notice you.

You giggle, the sound completely unrestrained, and you can’t help but get excited about calling Shoko and telling her all about this. 

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I know this chapter was a little shorter and didn’t feature much of Sukuna just yet. I mainly wanted to focus on some worldbuilding first. Don’t worry though, we'll get a lot more of him in the next chapter.

Next Chapter ->

[moshimoshiiii]

Gojo was eating that burger like his life depended on it.

Please credit me if you use my art 💕

[moshimoshiiii]

Kikufuku

Remember when Gojo almost let Megumi die because he was too busy buying kikufuku?

[moshimoshiiii]

Malevolent Cookies

A quick little warmup sketch. Sukuna, but make it cookies.

[moshimoshiiii]

The Strongest Couple | Masterlist

Pairing: Gojo x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: In which you go on a show, desperately trying to find the man of your dreams. You end up coming across a few, but one just seems to stand out the most and just happens to make you second guess why you even came on this show in the first place.

Genre: Comedy, fluff, modern setting, smut, inspired by love island, Gojo may or may not be a fuck boy

Currently Ongoing

Warnings: (18+) Use of strong words, sexual activities, cheating

Art Credits: @_3aem

"𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟?"

"𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞."

"𝐔𝐡 𝐡𝐮𝐡… 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 '𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬' 𝐬𝐚𝐲."

"𝐇𝐞𝐲, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐞."

Chapters

⟢Meet Our Islanders!

⟢Chapter One

[moshimoshiiii]

The Strongest Couple | Meet Our Lucky Islanders

Pairing: Gojo x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: In which you go on a show, desperately trying to find the man of your dreams. You end up coming across a few, but one just seems to stand out the most and just happens to make you second guess why you even came on this show in the first place.

Genre: Comedy, fluff, modern setting, inspired by love island, Gojo may or may not be a fuck boy

Currently Ongoing

Warnings: (18+) Use of strong words, Sexual activities, violence, cheating, mentions of blood, drug use.

Art Credits: @_3aem

Welcome, islanders!

It's your host, Moshi, back again in the villa with another season of Love Island! This season, we'll be in Fiji, watching 10 contestants, 5 ladies and 5 gentlemen—matching up to see if they'll become the next ultimate Love Island couple.

Each couple will win a $100,000 prize, along with an infinity getaway vacation in Tokyo. You, as the viewer, will get to decide who stays in the villa and who goes home.

Now let's meet our male contestants!

Satoru Gojo

"I'm charming, handsome, the strongest—I mean, what more can you ask for? I'm the perfect guy that every woman is searching for."

"I mean, I cheated on my partner once, but I was planning on breaking up with her anyway... She cheated on me first!"

"I know I'm a lot to handle, but at least you'll never be bored."

"People either love me or... actually, nah, they usually just love me."

Suguru Geto

"I just really want a partner who I can understand, who'll also understand me. I know what I want, and I'm ready to be the partner that you need."

"If I choose you, it's because I want something real."

"Honestly, I'm looking for someone whom I can see myself marrying in the future."

"Looks fade over time. A real connection doesn't."

Nanami Kento

"I don't usually do this sort of thing...but my friends told me I needed a break from work."

"Some people thrive on drama. I do not. But if it finds me, I choose to just ignore it."

"I prioritize my relationships, but I also keep my standards high. I want a woman who has career-driven goals, who can build something with me."

"I take work seriously. I take love seriously... but not seriously enough to act desperate.

Toji Fushiguro

"I quit trying to figure women out a long time ago. Saves me the headache.”

"Ah... yeah, I mean, I'm not gonna lie. I could really use that money."

"Yeah, I see a lot of people. Doesn't mean I'm doing anything wrong."

"I mean... it'd be nice to have someone to just hang out with, y'know?"

Sukuna Ryomen

"I do think I'm the prize."

"I'm not here to chase anyone."

"What else do you want me to say?"

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to!? Watch your mouth before—"

"Get that camera outta my face!"

"So, why have you decided to come on the show? What are you looking for?"

Y/N

"I try to see the best in everyone, so fingers crossed for some good vibes in here."

"Honestly? I'm excited to see what happens. New people, new experiences. It's all an adventure."

"I try to stay positive, even if things get messy. It's all part of the fun, right?"

"I've had too many experiences with relationships that didn't work out in the past, so Love Island, you better find me a husband!"

⟢Next chapter

A/N: Hi everyone! Here's a new series inspired by the reality show, love island. Chapters will be out very soon and I can't wait to share it with you all!

[moshimoshiiii]

The Fine Print | Masterlist

Pairing: Producer! Sukuna x Pop Star! Reader

Synopsis: Is there a God? You hope so. I mean you think so. Because one day, it felt like he tapped you on the shoulder, sprinkled a little divine chaos on your life, and said, “Good luck, kid.” If there is a God though, he definitely has a twisted sense of humor. You didn’t know who he was (Spoiler: turns out he wasn’t just “some guy”.) and somehow, without even trying, he didn’t just get your food in the door–he barged in with the whole body and suitcase. Looking back, maybe you should send him an autograph that he can sell off as a thank you gift. Because this? This is how one stranger, one bad introduction, and one mistake snowballed you into becoming a popstar. Oh, and how you almost let a man completely fuck up your entire life.

Genre: Enemies to lovers, comedy, a bit of fluff, angst, modern setting, sukuna being a piece of shit.

Currently Ongoing

Warnings: (18+) Use of strong words, Sexual activities, violence, cheating, mentions of blood, drug use.

Art Credits: @jessie735l

ao3 & wattpad

Fame had its terms and conditions. He just happens to be the one you overlooked.

Chapters

⟢Chapter One

⟢Chapter Two

⟢Chapter Three

[moshimoshiiii]

The Fine Print | Chapter Two

Pairing: Producer! Sukuna x Pop Star! Reader

Synopsis: Is there a God? You hope so. I mean you think so. Because one day, it felt like he tapped you on the shoulder, sprinkled a little divine chaos on your life, and said, “Good luck, kid.” If there is a God though, he definitely has a twisted sense of humor. You didn’t know who he was (Spoiler: turns out he wasn’t just “some guy”.) and somehow, without even trying, he didn’t just get your food in the door–he barged in with the whole body and suitcase. Looking back, maybe you should send him an autograph that he can sell off as a thank you gift. Because this? This is how one stranger, one bad introduction, and one mistake snowballed you into becoming a popstar. Oh, and how you almost let a man completely fuck up your entire life.

Genre: Enemies to lovers, comedy, a bit of fluff, angst, modern setting, sukuna being a piece of shit.

Currently Ongoing

Warnings: (18+) Use of strong words, Sexual activities, violence, cheating, mentions of blood, drug use.

Art Credits: @jessie735l

ao3 & wattpad

You sat in your car outside the studio, staring at the steering wheel like it was the only thing tying you down to reality. Last night kept replaying in your head like a reel you never asked for. Kenjaku's overall weird vibe was really starting to settle in. Like… what the hell was that? The way he checked that girl in the club seemed straight out of a pimp movie. Seriously. Once you find out his full name, you’re pulling his records to see if he has any interesting history. 

And you definitely couldn’t forget that asshole. That pink-haired, macho, tattooed… hot man. 

Jesus. Even when trying to insult him, your mind instantly goes back to how handsome he was.

But he was still an asshole.

You didn’t care how good-looking he was. He disrespected you right in front of your face. You wouldn’t even let your parents disrespect you like that. If you were such an inconvenience to him, it would have been better if he hadn’t said anything at all, instead of giving you two seconds of his time to deliver that.

And now? Now you’re about to walk in there and… what? Sing? Sing for him out of all people? That stitched-head weirdo might’ve just set you up for failure.

Your stomach twists once again, the same way it did last night, the whole time you were in the section. This could either be the start of something incredible, or the world’s most embarrassing story you’ll have to retell to your friends in ten years after three shots of tequila.

You blow out a breath of stress. “Okay. You’ve got this. Totally. This is fine. You’re fine.”

Spoiler: You are not fine, but you’re about to walk toward that building and push the door open anyway.

You finally gather the courage to get out of your car and head toward the building. You breathe in once again before pushing the door open.

The lobby smells faintly like coffee and Pine-Sol cleaner. A woman at the desk looks up with a warm smile and professional demeanor and greets you as you walk toward her.

“You must be the one he told me to watch out for. Are you here to see Sukuna?” she says, smiling.

You nod and smile politely back. You don’t say much because you’re already kind of uncomfortable being here, but you show as much politeness as you can.

“Please follow me, then.”

She gets up and walks you down the hall, pointing toward a door. “He’s already inside,” she says cheerfully.

Oh, fantastic. He’s inside. Waiting.

Your heart starts pounding so hard that you’re half convinced he could hear it outside the door.

You thank her and force your legs to carry you forward. You push the door and finally see a setting you’ve been long awaiting.

The studio is dim and sleek. Walls are lined with soundproof panels, and tables and shelves are stacked with gear you couldn’t name even if someone paid you. Lights from monitors glow in shades of white and blue, and the steady hum of equipment fills the air.

It feels expensive.

Serious.

This place is meant for you.

And then you see him.

He’s bent over a laptop, headphones hanging around his neck, fingers clicking around on a mouse with quick precision. His presence fills the room before he even looks at you. Broad shoulders, sharp face, tattoos covering his entire face and arms.

You wonder if they stop there. It’s an intensity that makes your pulse stutter.

Yes, he’s rude. Still an ass.

But also… very, very attractive.

Your brain slows down for a moment, lost in the way the glow from the screens outlines his jaw, before you realize—

Oh God.

He caught you staring.

His eyes pin you where you stand before sliding back to his laptop like you’re nothing more than a small distraction. The silence is brutal. Every sound is magnified, and you don’t even know what to do with your body. Do you find somewhere to sit? Continue standing? Try to go communicate with him?

With an awkward shuffle of your shoes, you sit down in one of the chairs behind Sukuna, your movements stiff, trying to seem casual but landing somewhere between robot and a malfunctioning mannequin.

Once again, just like last night at the club, he doesn’t say a word.

Nothing.

He just continues to work. But you can feel it—he knows you’re there. He’s just letting you burn in the pits of awkward silence. Your nerves are about ready to eat you alive when his voice finally cuts through. 

“I have a few rules before we get started. Don’t come here and expect to be signed. Don’t waste my time showing off.”

And finally:

“I don’t care about your dreams. I care about results, so show me something worth my time, or I’m leaving.”

Yeah, he’s not beating those asshole allegations.

His words still ring in your head, but the sound of his chair scraping against the floor gathers your full attention. He doesn’t look back at you when he speaks, just flicks a switch on the console.

“Mic’s ready. I don’t have all day, so let’s get this over with.”

Your stomach flips. Now it’s showtime.

You slip into the booth, and it feels like walking into another world. You’re surrounded by padded walls, and the space is tight—barely enough room for you. In front of you, the microphone stands at attention, a black filter around it like a halo, headphones dangling with the cord coiled like a twisted ribbon.

The glowing levels on the other side of the glass remind you that every single breath, every fidget, every swallow is being watched.

And judged.

You slide the headphones on, adjusting them once, twice, three times because they never feel “just right.” You shift your stance and take a deep breath.

His voice comes through a speaker above you, steady.

“Test run. Levels first.”

Of course. You nod like he can see you, then realize he can see you.

Great. This is just great.

You hum a little, your voice wobbling at first, then catch it and smooth it out. You let a few notes escape. Nothing too much, just a warm up.

But his silence feels heavier than any sound you’re making. He’s listening. Evaluating. Probably deciding right now whether this was all a waste of time.

“Again,” Sukuna voices.

You sing a short line this time, something steady. He doesn’t react, but you swear he just cataloged your entire DNA from a single note.

He leans back in his chair and presses a button.

“That’s fine. Let’s go.”

The instrumental track pours into your headphones, low and smooth at first, before the beat kicks in. 

Kenjaku had sent you a file last night—named the “demo challenge,” written by his brother. A song you’ve never performed before, let alone in front of someone like him.

You take a deep breath, straighten your shoulders, and step closer to the mic.

There’s the sweet spot.

You’ve read about that.

Don’t breathe too hard. Don’t sway too much. Don’t lean in like you’re about to make out with the damn thing.

“Anytime,” Sukuna voices out flatly.

Right. You forgot he’s waiting. No pressure. Just the most intimidating producer alive waiting for you to prove you’re not completely talentless.

You start.

The first line is shaky, your voice catching for a second before you balance it out. You keep going, eyes closed so you don’t have to see him through the glass. The headphones vibrate with the track, swallowing you whole. You push yourself to find the rhythm, pitch, emotion.

Halfway through the verse, you crack on a note. Not bad, but noticeable.

Shit.

Your gut clenches. You keep going anyway, layering in your own inflection. A  little razzle-dazzle here and there. What else are you gonna do? You know he said don’t show off, but does he expect you to play it safe and sound like a karaoke room?

You hold the last word of the line, steady, maybe even impressive if you don’t overthink it.

Silence follows.

Not the silence of the track. Not the silence of the room.

But his silence.

The kind that makes you wonder if you just bombed or managed to get his attention.

He looks at you.

You look at him.

He looks at you.

And you look at him.

“Not bad… but I don’t work with amateurs.”

He stands abruptly, as if your performance hadn’t existed at all. Hands moving quickly as he begins shutting down equipment, unplugging cables, and clearing the space.

“Wait—wait! What are you doing?” you voice, frustrated and panicked.

“We’re done.” He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t explain. He just moves with that same unshakeable authority, leaving you staring at the emptying studio in disbelief.

Your mind is in a chaotic storm, filled with doubt. Did you at least impress him, or was every ounce of your time here meaningless?

The only certainty you have is that you gave it your all—and now Sukuna has vanished.

Disappeared. Poof.

The studio is silent, leaving you alone with nothing but your own uncertainty. Maybe this is the end.

But deep down, you know there’s still a chance it might not be.

You step out of the studio, the sound of your footsteps bouncing off the walls. The lights flick off behind you, leaving the studio empty and quiet. You don't forget to thank the front desk lady with a smile before heading toward your car.

The chill of the afternoon brushes against your skin as you close the door behind you. Sliding into the driver’s seat, you pull out your phone and call Shoko.

She answers on the third ring, outside her job with a cigarette dangling between her fingers.

“Hey, what’s up? How did the session go?”

You tell her everything—the session, Sukuna, the final take, and the silence after it all. Shoko listens quietly, then reminds you she has faith in you.

“Hey,” she says. “Look. I feel like all my friends seem to make it big, and you’re no exception. You don’t know him and only heard me speak of him, but Gojo’s been booked nonstop for runway shows, and Geto… well, he prefers to stay behind the scenes, writing for other artists. Makes bank that way. He originally wanted to become an author, but I guess fate had different plans for him. You’ve got your own path. Don’t doubt it.”

You laugh. “That’s a lot of confidence in me for someone standing outside her job, smoking against the rules.”

“Rules are stupid sometimes,” she says, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Besides, I’m gonna be out here saving lives soon, so why fire me? That’s a waste of resources.”

You hear her sigh before she adds, “You just have to keep going. Don’t let one guy’s words shake you. He’s not the only one out there who’s gonna see your potential.”

You feel a small weight lift off your shoulders. God, everyone needs a Shoko in their life. “Thanks, Shoko. Really.”

“Anytime—listen, I have to go soon, so drive off and go relax. You’ve had a day.”

You say your goodbyes and hang up. Starting your car, engine humming to life, you glance at your phone one last time before pulling out.

1 New Message from Kenjaku.

Your chest tightens as you read:

“Consider today your first impression. Whether it leads anywhere is up to me at the end of the day. We'll keep in touch.”

You stare at the screen, replaying every moment from the studio. You feel the weight of the day pressing down, but somewhere beneath it, a spark of pride refuses to let go.

You take a deep breath, gripping the wheel, and pull off, reflecting on everything that happened on the drive back home.

In every doubt, determination seems to outweigh it all. It was the start of something, though not sure what.

No matter what happens next, you know this: today wasn’t just a test. Today was the first page of your story.

And you’re not done writing it yet.

Next Chapter ->

A/N: Thank you again for reading this chapter. Please let me know what you think! Next chapter will be out this week.

[moshimoshiiii]

Masterlist

Started: Aug 17th, 2025

Last Updated: Aug 17th, 2025

Jujustu Kaisen

Ryomen Sukuna

The Fine Print (Series)

Gojo Satoru

The Strongest Couple (Series)

Geto Suguru

Fushiguro Toji

[moshimoshiiii]

The Fine Print | Chapter One

Pairing: Producer! Sukuna x Pop Star! Reader

Synopsis: Is there a God? You hope so. I mean you think so. Because one day, it felt like he tapped you on the shoulder, sprinkled a little divine chaos on your life, and said, "Good luck, kid." If there is a God though, he definitely has a twisted sense of humor. You didn't know who he was (Spoiler: turns out he wasn't just "some guy".), and somehow, without even trying, he didn't just get your food in the door–he barged in with the whole body and suitcase. Looking back, maybe you should send him an autograph that he can sell off as a thank you gift. Because this? This is how one stranger, one bad introduction, and one mistake snowballed you into becoming a popstar. Oh, and how you almost let a man completely fuck up your entire life.

Genre: Enemies to lovers, comedy, a bit of fluff, angst, modern setting, sukuna being a piece of shit.

Currently Ongoing

Warnings: (18+) Use of strong words, Sexual activities, violence, cheating, mentions of blood, drug use.

Art Credits: @jessie735l

ao3 & wattpad

You weren't the type to dream small. You didn't move out into a new city just to work yourself to death and eat instant ramen noodles in a shitty shoebox apartment.  

You came here for the dream .  

Yes, dream as in wanting to become a star dream. Singing, performing—the whole get go. Maybe even getting people to stop asking, 

"So what's your real job?"  

I mean...  

You have a real job, just not a good one at the moment, but it pays the bills at the end of the day.  

Sure, you'd managed to gain a little following online from recording yourself singing demos in your room, beats bought off shady looking producers on the internet. 

God, and you were tired of looking at " type-beats".  

You wanted to be in the studio, producing music made to fit into your whole aesthetic. People working for you, and putting out work that everyone can appreciate.  

Yeah, a little ego might exist there, but wouldn’t you say anyone who wanted to become famous has a bit of narcissistic, complex tendencies? 

Right? Am, I right...?  

Okay... Moving on. 

People told you that you had the voice, the "it" factor. The only problem was that none of those things paid rent on time. At least, at the moment you're hoping. So here you are: Clocking in, clocking out, repeating the same routines over and over and over and over 

And over again.  

You could scream, honestly, but that's just how life is. 

"Y'know," a voice cut in, a little amused. Maybe too amused, now that you think about it, "you complain like someone who's got something better waiting for them." 

You blinked, looking up from the register. Oh, right. There you were, raving about your life again to a customer who hadn’t even asked. 

He could’ve stopped you mid ramble, but he didn’t. He just stood there and listened. 

The man leaned casually over the counter, eyes sharp, smirking like he’d already figured you out. 

He looked normal enough, but his energy said otherwise. You couldn’t explain it, but honestly? You didn’t think he gave two shits about your miserable life. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, half defensive. 

His smirk spread into a grin, the scar along his lip stretching. 

He shrugged. "Most people whine because their job sucks. You? You sound like you know this is only temporary." 

"Most also accept the situation they're in and just keep going," he added. 

He wasn’t wrong. What’s the saying again? 

Oh yeah 

The customer is always right.  

"I sing. I make music. That’s it. That’s all I want to do," you muttered. 

He perked up. "Yeah, I heard." 

He pulled out his phone lazily as you leaned over the counter, trying to sneak a peek without being obvious. 

You failed. He just pulled the phone closer once he noticed. 

Then he straightened and slipped it back in his pocket. "There's a party tomorrow night. Big names. Industry types. Bring a pretty friend, drop my name at the door. You’ll get in." 

Wait... what? Did you just hear that right? 

Could you trust him? Was he serious, or just messing with you? 

Well, you’d never know unless you checked yourself. 

And just like that, you had a choice: show up to your night shift, or show up somewhere that could finally get you closer to the life you’d been chasing. 

You didn’t know who he was, but somehow, he might’ve just gotten not the foot, but the whole body , in the door. 

...

You ended up going anyway. Because why not?

You bring a pretty friend, Shoko, the one who happens to know the right people to talk to in the club —every scene, every rumor swirling through this godforsaken city like smoke. 

She's the type who can disappear into a crowd without even trying, and tonight is no different. She has literally vanished from your sight. You barely even had time to take in the atmosphere before she was swallowed by the sea of bodies. You scan around, but so far, no luck. 

Feeling the need for a drink after your efforts, you head over to the bar. The music thumps through your chest, vibrating in a way that makes it impossible to think. Chilling for a second will help you gather yourself before going back out on the floor in search of the girl.  

Find Shoko, keeps repeating in your head, and soon enough, there she is —across the floor, talking to some guy. 

Relief washes over you, but before you can reach her, someone bumps into you hard enough to spill her drink all over the floor. 

“Watch it!” she hisses sharply at you, glaring as the remaining liquid drips at your feet. You freeze for a second, trying to find the words to apologize. 

“Are you blind or just stupid?” 

You open your mouth to respond, but before anything can come out, a voice cuts through, stopping her. The woman fixes her attitude immediately, annoyance fading from her face. The man—savior, you should say, has a presence that’s sharp, almost magnetic, like he doesn’t need to raise his voice to own the room. 

You saw how he calmed her down in an instant. He steadies the girl, murmuring something you can’t hear, and she settles, still grumbling, but still aware that he’s in charge. 

He had dark hair that fell just enough over his forehead to shadow a small tattoo or stitch, the club was honestly too dark for you to make out what it was. He had a face that seemed effortless, like it could charm or intimidate without even trying. 

He turns to you, an apologetic smile crossing his face. “I’m sorry about that. She can be… temperamental.” 

Hm. Polite, casual, but somehow commanding. 

You’ve definitely dealt with men like this before. Freaks. Not in a “get away from me” way, but freaks as in they get down . You’re sure he might be a nice guy, but first impressions are everything, and you’re judging him based on the way he just controlled the whole situation. 

He puts his arm around the woman and gestures toward a velvet-rope section of the club, slightly elevated, with enough people to fill the small area. “As an apology on her behalf, would you like to come over to my section?” 

The woman snaps her head, twists her face, and makes a noise, protesting against his offer. 

You shake your head, trying to sound casual. “Nah, it’s alright. I really need to go find my friend right now. But thank you for the offer.” 

The smile stays on his face as he adds, “Your friend can come too.” 

You hesitate. 

Okay, let’s think. 

You just met this man. His girlfriend, situationship, whoever the hell this woman is, kind of hates you right now. You don’t even know if Shoko would want to go. Even though she knows a lot of people, she’s kind of an introvert. 

But who knows what connections you might make? 

Okay… fine. 

“Let me go find her and ask, and if she agrees, we’ll be there.” 

He smirks and nods. You turn and make your way over, weaving through the crowd, careful to keep your balance through the slippery floor and mass of people. 

Shoko is mid-introduction to some guy, her excitement noticeable as she sees you approach, ready to introduce you, but you wave her off, cutting her short. 

“Listen,” you say, nodding toward the section. “This is happening. Come with me.” 

Her eyes go wide. “Wait… that whole section?” She gestures, trying to take it all in. She honestly looks a bit nervous. 

“That section is full of big names. Producers, models, music artists. And of course, social media groupies. You know who’s in there.” She’s been around this scene long enough to know the faces, the gossip, the Instagram clout. 

You start to pick out some of them yourself. Artists, social media personalities, even people you’ve seen online but never thought you’d see in real life. 

Then her eyes widen even more as she focuses. “Wait… is that Kenjaku? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Is that the one who invited us over?” You asked. 

Shoko nods, her expression a mix of surprise and recognition. “Yeah…  that’s definitely him. I can recognize that stupid tattoo anywhere.”

Your mysterious stranger, now revealed as Kenjaku, leans closer to whisper into another man’s ear. The second man is sitting, composed, silently observing. Their eyes flick toward you for just a moment. Panic lances through your chest, but you straighten your shoulders and lift your chin. 

Fake confidence. 

You can do this. 

Shoko grabs your hand, pulling you closer. The closer you get to the section, the heavier the air feels. Music thumps, conversations blur, but all you notice are them. The man and the one he whispered to. 

The section looms, bright lights reflecting off glass. Kenjaku finally speaks over the music, his voice cutting through just enough. 

“And here’s the pretty lady I was telling you about.” 

Your pulse hammers, your stomach twists, but you keep moving, forcing yourself to mimic calm and casual confidence. 

Breath. Breath. Breath. 

As your eyes scan the room, you take in the scene. Girls draped along couches, barely touching, all waiting for a glance, a nod, attention. 

Kenjaku whispers again to the silent one. You exchange eyes briefly. 

Unreadable. 

Your chest tightens again. But Shoko’s hand on yours keeps you moving forward. You step into the section, and the world shifts just slightly, as if you’ve crossed into a place where rules don’t apply, where the game is already being played, and you’re just learning the first move. 

The silent man still sits apart, his sharp eyes sweeping over you as you enter. 

Then he looks away with complete disinterest. 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t introduce himself, doesn’t offer a hand—just nothing. 

Okay, you know people of higher caliber can be a bit stuck up, but come on... 

What happened to common decency? 

At least be fake nice. 

His gaze shifts back to you, slow and unapologetic. He doesn’t speak at first, just observes. And when he finally does, his voice is rough, cutting through the music like a knife. 

“Let me know if you’ve got anything else worth looking at.” 

It lands like a punch. Your mood shifts instantly from nervous to offended, anger rising sharp in your chest. 

You fight the urge to snap back, but before words can escape, Kenjaku laughs, stepping in once again. 

“Aw, don’t be rude to the lady.” He gestures toward an empty side of the section. 

“Come sit with me over here. Boss man doesn’t seem to want to be bothered.” 

Shoko exhales in relief, happy to be removed from the situation. Though she doesn’t like conflict, she’ll always back you up if it comes down to it. 

As you and Shoko settle in with Kenjaku, the two of them start catching up naturally, the familiarity obvious. 

“You’re here! I didn’t expect to see you,” Shoko says, surprise and amusement in her voice. 

“Shoko, always a pleasure,” he replies easily, smiling. “How’s Geto? Still keeping you busy with all his chaos?” 

Shoko laughs. “Honestly, I wish I could say yes to that, but every time I try to catch up with him, he’s busy working with an artist on writing music for them.” 

“You’re his brother. You should know how he’s doing,” she adds. 

Kenjaku grins, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I’m a busy man, you know. You’ve spent more time with him than I have.” 

Shoko laughs softly. “Fair enough.” 

Kenjaku leans back, laughing at something Shoko says, and the two of them fall into an easy rhythm, like no time has passed at all. 

You’re sitting in silence, observing your surroundings, letting yourself sink into the scene. You glance again at the man who insulted you earlier. 

Ugh. Asshole. 

He’s kinda cute though. 

But still an asshole. 

Shoko’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. 

She nudges Kenjaku lightly. “You should’ve seen what I’ve been up to lately… oh, and this one,” she glances at you with a smirk, “she sings a little. You’d probably recognize the potential in her once you hear it.” 

Kenjaku’s eyes flick toward you, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so?” he says casually. 

You feel heat creep up your neck and quickly look away, trying to act casual, though your heartbeat has picked up. 

Oh God. Way to put me on the spot, Shoko. 

Shyly, you say, “I mean… I’m not the best or anything, but yeah.” 

Kenjaku nods, turning slightly to study the club with that same effortless presence. “Connections are everything in this scene,” he says, voice low but commanding. “And talent… well, I’ve got an eye for it.” 

His lips curl into a faint, knowing smirk. “Might be worth something… if you’re any good.” 

He leans forward slightly, a glint in his eye, tilting his head toward the man across the room. “Remember our little friend over there, moving like he owns the place?” He gestures subtly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s Sukuna.” 

Your stomach tightens. You’ve known his name for years. 

Sukuna. 

A legendary producer, the kind whose beats dominate the charts and who can bend any genre to his will. But you’ve never seen his face. 

You squint. “That rude asshole is… Sukuna?” 

Kenjaku chuckles, dry and knowing. “Oh, yeah. That one. Big time producer. Works with names you wouldn’t believe. Versatile. He can twist a beat into anything—pop, rap, jazz… hell, even classical if he felt like it. But be careful, he’s not exactly… friendly.” 

Your eyes flick back to Sukuna, watching him move. Controlled and untouchable. The music fades into the background as your heart races. 

Kenjaku’s voice cuts through again. “And you? What’s your name, sweetheart?” 

You blink. “What?” 

Kenjaku leans back, letting the words hang in the air. “I asked your name. Don’t be shy. You’re here, aren’t you?” 

“I already know Shoko over here.” 

You tell him. He nods, satisfied. “Nice to meet you. Here’s a little… experiment. I’ll set you up with him. Make a demo. Impress me, and maybe you’ll have a place on my label. Or maybe… I’ll just enjoy watching you try.” 

Kenjaku’s gaze drifts over the section, then he calls out over the pulsing music, his voice sharp and commanding. 

“Hey, Sukuna! Come over here for a sec. I need you to check something out.” 

Next Chapter ->

Author's note: Please let me know what you think of the chapter! I'm getting back into the habit of writing, so I'm really excited to be starting something new.