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gojonanami · 4 months

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❝ ��𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐎) !! ❞

❝ A LOVE TRIANGLE GONE RIGHT ?! REPORTING FROM THE SET OF THE HIT SHOW JUJUTSU KAISEN ! ❞

✧ pairing: actors!satoru gojo and suguru geto x actor!reader

✧ summary: rumors swirl about a love triangle between you and your two heart throb co-stars on the set of jujutsu kaisen. except in this case, you and your two co-stars are happily dating. but what happens when you get casted in a movie where they want you to have a PR relationship with your co-star? especially when your boyfriends find out who it is—

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut, no curses, modern au, jjk is a tv show, actor au, yes the actors and characters have the same names lol, reader is dating both of them, funny interview hijinxs, this is kind a lot of crack, jealous! gojo + geto, sukuna is here lmao, innuendos, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi-exhibitionism, face sitting (f! receiving), multiple positions, multiple orgasms, sex (p in v), double penetration, creampie, multiple rounds, swearing, fanart by @ / _3aem

✧ wc: 17,900

“Reporters say the love triangle between the actors Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto and their co-star has become even more shrouded in mystery than the show itself!” an influencer reports on your social media of gchoice that morning, nearly vibrating from assumedly her three espressos, “the stars of Jujutsu Kaisen, the fantasy horror drama series written by Gege Akutami have been embroiled in dating scandals over the last few weeks—“ your phone’s notifications cut the audio from the video for a moment until you switch it to silent, “after being spotted leaving Suguru Geto’s loft just two nights ago, she was then seen having a lunch rendezvous with Satoru Gojo—“

You lock your phone, rubbing your temples, as the device nearly had an aneurysm from your social media notifications — buzzing itself off your dining room table and into an early death. Your agent was going to have a field day with this, and the main event is going to be your murder.

“What are they saying about us now?” Suguru sighs, as he emerges out of the shower in only a towel wrapped around his waist, steam rolling out of the bathroom, as you offer him a coffee, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a sip, “my agent is demanding I call him— and I’d like to know what we’ve done now before he kills me,” he says, though he continues to sip his coffee nonchalantly, unbefuddled by the thought of his death.

“Oi oi, calm down, shouldn’t you be more upset at the reporters than me?” Satoru comes from the bedroom, “Nanamin, just take care of it. Tell them we’re just friends if they ask you — do me a favor and pay off the reporter who got a picture of us kissing—“ and you nearly snort at the thought of Nanami Kento doing any sort of favor for Satoru.

“You let him kiss you?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips, as your cheeks burn, rolling your eyes.

“Not so much ‘let’ as he just kissed me without a second thought,” you shake your head, drinking your coffee as Satoru continues to bicker with Nanami, “I told him I thought I saw paparazzi but—“

“Satoru is do first, ask questions never,” Suguru sighs, but still the smirk remains, as he leans closer to you, his large palm against the back of your chair, “you never let me kiss you in public,”

And you’re resisting the urge to bite your lip, “You know better — look at what Satoru’s done now—“

“And was it worth it, Princess?” Your mind wanders to the kiss — Satoru’s hand against the nape of your neck, his lips sliding against yours, the faint taste of the strawberry cake he had for dessert lingering on his tongue and now yours, and the sticky heat that settled over your body from the too humid night air and his warmth leeching onto your skin, and the eyes watching his need for you made it all the more—

“Maybe,” you mumble, choosing to sip at your drink as Satoru cut off your conversation with his own.

“Just deal with it, Nanami, that’s why I hired you after all, huh?” He earns a swear from Nanami for the claim that he ‘hired’ him in any way whatsoever, and then his lips curl. “No they aren’t here with me—“ the bespectacled man shouts from the other line, “eh? What do you mean I look and sound like a man who only lies?” And then he’s hanging up, running a hand through his hair, a pout on his lips, “I was supposed to wake up to the two of you, not Nanami’s tirade,” he groans, as he makes his way over to you, only to wrap his arms around you from behind.

“Well, it is your fault, Satoru,” Suguru smirks over the rim of his cup, “someone couldn’t keep their hands to themselves—“

“Jealous, Suguru?” he replies, as he presses a kiss to your neck, “jealous that our princess is much more affectionate with me,”

Suguru cuts you off, “more like she babies you,” and Satoru’s face sours into a scowl, “if she had stayed at my apartment for the week, this wouldn’t have—“

“And then they would have seen me coming to your place, and what good would that do?”

“Guys—“ you try to speak, but you’re cut off again.

Suguru tilts his head with a small grin, “Are you lonely? Why don’t you find someon—“

“Stop, guys,” you couldn’t take this bickering this early in the morning, though you had grown used to it, “we have bigger problems to deal with than your egos,” you sigh, rising from Satoru’s grip even as he pouts, “we have to be more careful,”

“But how? We’ve already cut down our appearances together for behind the scenes and even stopped going out for dinner or dates,” Satoru pouts, running a hand through his hair, “next thing you’ll want to break up,”

“That’s not gonna happen,” you flick Satoru on the forehead, “but we have to do something, otherwise our agents will have us murdered,”

“And Nanami will join them for sport,” Suguru adds, and you snort, finally finishing your drink, before he walks over to you, fingers under your chin, “so what’s your idea, sweetheart?”

“Just take a break for a few weeks until the public finds something else to fixate on,” you sigh, “while the episodes air, all we’re going to get is more attention,”

“We could just take a trip,” Satoru offers, “I own a private island—“

“Of course you do,” Suguru says, and Satoru only chuckles.

“Being envious doesn’t become you, Suguru,” the snow haired actor clicks his tongue at him, before he’s pulling you into his arms, “we could go for a few days, get away from all the noise,”

“It’s a good idea, but you’re forgetting one thing, Satoru,” Suguru tilts his head, “won’t they notice if we all go on vacation at the same time?”

“Plus we have interviews to do in the coming week,” you remind Satoru, and he’s sighing, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “but maybe we can go after?”

“Unless you get that role,” Satoru mumbles against your skin, pressing sweet kisses to the nape of your neck, “have you heard anything yet?”

You shake your head, a sigh stuck in your throat, “It’s a long shot. This is such a big role and it’s for the lead,” and Suguru is finding his way to you, warm fingers cupping your cheek.

“They would be lucky to have you — do you know how many people say you were their favorite character? They were ready to fight me and Satoru for you,” he adds with a chuckle, lips ghosting over the swell of your cheek, “I think they would beat us with sheer numbers,”

“Nah, I’d win,” Satoru says, and you snort, rolling your eyes, “but he’s right princess, how crazy would they have to be not to cast you?”

“There’s so many other talented people up for the role—“

“There’s always going to be someone else,” Suguru cuts you off gently, as his fingers find yours, lacing with yours so perfectly you wondered if it’s what they were made for, “but that doesn’t mean you’re any less valuable or incredible,”

“And you’re already far more talented than you give yourself credit for,” Satoru adds, “but when do you get the role, inevitably,” Suguru smirks at him, “when would shooting begin?”

“Probably just after our press wraps for season two,” you lean into their touch, “they still haven’t casted the two leads, but apparently both are down to the final audition,” and you’re pressing nosing Satoru’s cheek, before pressing a chaste kiss to Suguru’s nose, “and that’s why we’ll have to cool it for the next few weeks, ok?”

But you don’t — or rather they don’t.

“Who is Satoru Gojo’s…” Satoru rips off the tape off the cardboard printout of Googled questions, “favorite actor to work with?”

“We all know the answer to that,” Suguru replies with a sigh, his eyes sliding to you, and you roll your own.

“Look who’s talking — these two are obsessed with each other,” and Satoru has a shit eating grin, sitting back and watching the two of you argue, “the two of you are soulmates — and I’m not talking about your characters,”

“Don’t go there,” Suguru scoffs, and you tilt your head, lips curling, as your gaze meets his.

“Are you begging?” and you can’t help the way your tone bites back, falling far over the line of playful teasing and into blatant flirting, and you can only hope the camera plays off the dark glint in Suguru’s gaze as he smirks as teasing rather than what you know it is — lustful.

“You’re both wrong anyway,” Satoru cuts in, “obviously my favorite actor to work with is Megumi!”

And you and Suguru both snort, words falling from your lips in unison, “Poor Megumi,”

“Ehhh? What do you mean by that?” And Satoru smacks you both playfully with the piece of cardboard an intern probably painfully put together before tossing it away.

“What happened to Suguru Geto….” in Jujutsu Kaisen?” Suguru reads.

“Dead,” you and Satoru answer in unison, and Suguru raises an eyebrow.

“You both are a walking spoiler,” and you gape at Suguru.

“They asked, and he’s the spoiler warning — he read ahead and told me that his character—“ and Suguru covers your mouth, looking the camera dead in the eye.

“You’re welcome—ow!” And he pulls his hand away, “did you just bite me?”

“You weren’t complaining last night,” Satoru says, earning a whack to the face with the cardboard printout from Suguru, “when you tried to steal her snacks—“

And you weren’t really helping either.

“Do you think of yourself as a heartthrob?*” You ask Satoru, hooked up to a lie detector, the polygraph examiner studying the results closely, as Suguru didn’t bother biting back his smile.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m not—“

“It’s a yes or no question, Satoru,” you cut him off as he sighs dramatically, running a hand through his snowy locks.

“Then I’ll have to say yes,” and he’s winking at the camera, and you’re snorting, looking at the lie detector reader.

“It’s the truth,” he says simply and the examiner nods, and you scoff, as Satoru only pouts at you.

“Have you ever,” Suguru lets a chuckle escape his lips, “look at fan accounts for yourself? I can answer this one, yes he does, I’ve watched him do it—“

Satoru scoffs, doubling down, “can you blame me? My fans do such wonderful edits—“

“And inflate your ego to a catastrophic size—“ and Satoru is reaching across the table to cover your mouth.

“Be careful she bites,” Suguru warns, leaning back in his chair, as you grin against Satoru’s hand, and he shrugs, lips curling.

“Don’t worry, I like it,”

The examiner nods, “that’s the truth.”

“We’ll start out tame,” you say, as you look at the list of thirst tweets in front of you and choosing one of the more…hinged ones, “Suguru Geto, I would let you kill me like the monkey I am, and I’d thank you for it,” and you show the tweet, “monkey emoji covering their face,”

“That’s a tame one?” Suguru covers half his face with his hand, much like the emoji, “what the **** are the wild ones?” And you open your mouth to reply and he cuts you off, “I don’t want to know,”

“Sweetheart, I’ll read one for you next,” and Satoru scans his list, and he clears his throat, holding out his hand to you, your name on his lips, “the only way I could die happy ever is if I suffocated when you sat on my face,”

And heat climbs your face at his words, a single chuckle giving way to full laughter, “***, that’s a lot of pressure to put on me—“

“And on them,” Satoru adds, and you’re glaring at him only to dissolve into giggles, “I can't blame them. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go,”

“It’s my turn,” Suguru scans the list and grimaces, “I don’t want to read this,” and then he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I’d let Satoru Gojo **** me, spit in my mouth, and make my daddy issues worse, and I’d thank him for it, respectfully,”

And you’re doubled over in laughter by the time he gets to the end of his monotone reading, while Satoru only grins at the camera, leaning against the table, as he pulls his sunglasses on only to tilt them down his nose.

“I’m available.”

No, this press junket did not help at all.

“Fuck,” you grumble, propping yourself on your elbow, your knuckles pressed to your lips, “how are we still trending? Aren't there other things to talk about?”

“Stop checking it, it’s only making you crazy,” Suguru sighs, collapsing next to you on the couch, his hand thrown over the top of the couch, before it slips down behind you, warm palm resting on your hip, “there’s nothing you can do,”

“My agent said she’s definitely going to get news on whether I got the part tomorrow — and tomorrow is when the last episode of the season is airing, and when—“

“The scene with Kenjaku at the end, I know,” Suguru presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, “think I could pull off stitches?” He drags a finger across his forehead teasingly.

“If you’re asking for a lobotomy, I always wanted to try doing one,” Satoru walks in from the shower, hair still damp, as he squeezes on your other side, “Princess, you can be my nurse, hm?”

“Did you already have one?” Suguru bites back, and Satoru doesn’t reply, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “she’s still worried about tomorrow,”

“Don’t you know there’s no such thing as bad publicity?” Satoru presses a sweet kiss to your neck.

“Not when they’re speculating if I’m dating or cheating on one or both of you,” you shake your head, “what if the director thinks I’m a liability?”

“If the director thinks you’re a liability after seeing your work and meeting you, then he’s clearly blind,”

You flick his sunglasses down, “can you say that four eyes?”

“Don’t you mean six eyes?” Satoru sticks his tongue out at him, and Suguru’s fingers find yours, laced hands against your thigh, “whatever happens, happens — you know your worth,”

“And your worth is far too high for you — only I could afford it,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you shove Satoru, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you against him, his lips grazing the soft skin behind your ear, “how much?”

“For you? A billion dollars,” and his lips find yours in a kiss, lazy but warm, heat from his touch spreading like a flames carried by the wind.

“That all? What a bargain,” Satoru pulls a breath away, his lips curled in a grin, only for Suguru’s fingers to cup your chin and make you turn around.

Deep purple irises you grew lost in, his thumb dragging down your kiss bitten lips, “and for our princess?” He hums, lips grazing yours teasingly, “a steal,”

“Well, you both stole my heart so you might as well have the rest,” and Suguru’s lips finally find yours in a real kiss, deep and full, until your mind is filled with nothing but him — and Satoru, whose lips ghost over your shoulder and collarbone and hands slip under your shirt, warm palms against your far too heated skin, “fuck—“ you’re sighing, melting agaisnt them, “Sugu, Toru,” you’re whining already, drawing smirks to both of their lips.

“Let us take care of you, sweetheart,” Satoru whispers, lips finding your earlobe and sucking at the sensitive skin, and Suguru pulls away from your kiss for a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips.

“We’ll get your mind off things, Princess,” and his fingers tease the waistband of your shorts, “all night long.”

And they do, they keep their promise — the three of you falling into bed in a jumble of limbs, and you forget until the next morning.

And in the morning—you get the call, “okay, thank you,” you hang up, still between mussed sheets and arms wrapped around your waist, “I got it!”

“Heh, I knew you would,” Satoru mumbles, burying his face in your side, “I’m so proud of you, baby,”

“Hm? Proud of her for what?” Suguru murmurs, half asleep, black locks strewn around his head like a halo.

“I got the role, Sugu,” you lean down and kiss his nose, and he’s grinning wide, fingers winding into the back of your head to pull into a kiss, “you’re looking at the leading actor of a movie,”

“You’re going to be in demand now, Princess,” Suguru says, dragging a thumb down your lips, “will you still make time for us?”

“Of course, always — you’ll visit me on set right?”

“You sure, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll be too busy for us,” Satoru leans up and presses a kiss on your neck.

“Maybe for you,” and he’s pouting, and you lean down to kiss his pout away, and then you get an email, “oh it’s the casting sheet for the other roles,” you scan the list, “oh,”

“‘Oh?’” Suguru raises an eyebrow.

“The male lead, he’s someone we know,” you sigh, rubbing your temples, “and I’m already getting a headache,”

Satoru furrows his brow, as the two of them lean over your shoulders to look — Satoru scowling and Suguru glaring at your screen, as they say his name at the same time — as if summoning him from the underworld.

“Sukuna?”

Ryomen Sukuna was both famous and infamous in the industry — famous for his portrayals of villains and antiheroes alike, ability to make you despise the enemy to the point of near or blatant admiration, and his skill of stepping into each role and taking it as his own. And he lives in infamy for, well, what happens between takes of the camera.

“Look any longer and I’ll have you thrown off set, brat,” Sukuna says, without a glance at you, newspaper in hand as if he was pulled from thirty years ago, his phone seemingly laying discarded on a nearby. The P.A.s nearby cower a few feet away, trying to look preoccupied, as their terror has fully set in of this man.

Or should you say monster?

“I see the stick up your ass makes you as pleasant as ever,” you mutter, and you don’t see that it earns you a smirk from him, his dark gaze takes over you, earning a glare from you, “now who’s staring?”

He leans against the arm of his chair, “I was just noticing how lovely the view is without those two pests hanging on your every word,” and you’re rolling your eyes.

“Jealous?”

“Of your little throuple? No,” he smirks, rising from his chair, hands sliding into his pockets as he brushes by you, “because unlike those two,” he pauses, voice dropping to a whisper, “I know how to satisfy a woman on my own,”

And you grit your teeth, holding your tongue — your relationship with Satoru and Suguru was a badly kept secret on the set or Jujutsu Kaisen, but it never was a problem — until now.

You follow behind him, heading to the director’s trailer for your meeting before rehearsals began.

“You want us to what?”

“We spoke to your agents, and they agreed with us that it would be good publicity for the two of you to pretend to be a couple during the filming and leading up to production,” the director leans back in his seat, “it shouldn’t be a problem — the two of you have worked together before right?”

You can’t hide your aghast expression in time, not before Sukuna glances at your face and sees the horror, and it puts a rare grin on his lips, “I’m in, what’s a little more acting?”

You’re swallowing thickly, eyes flitting over Sukuna’s smug grin so fast you only hoped your gaze was sharp enough to cut, “Can I please speak to you privately?”

And Sukuna gets up from the edge of the table he leaned against, flashing you a wry grin, “see you out there, sweetheart,” and you wished you could rip out his heart and show him how very sweet you were — but you bite your tongue, waiting for the door to swing shut, “I—“

“Do you know part of the reason we choose you over the other actor vying for your role?” The director cuts you off, arms crossed over his chest, and you shut your mouth, shaking your head, “Jujutsu Kaisen has done tremendously this season — one of the most viewed shows across the world and do you know part of the reason?” and again you shake your head, “your P.R. stunts with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto,”

You knit your brow together — not your talent, your work, or art — but your boyfriends? “Your ability to have chemistry with the both of them have enticed the public and the number of times you’ve trended alone this season—“

Your fingers curl into fists, “With all due respect—“

“If you do this, the film will be a hit — i see you two already, there’s chemistry—“

You scoff, “more like a fucking bomb,” you mutter, running your fingers through your hair, “bottom line, do I have a choice?”

“You do,” he says, arms crossed, “but so do I,” fuck, you grit your teeth.

You emerge from the office, Sukuna waiting right outside, leaning against the wall right beside the doors, “you fucking make this difficult—“

“And you’ll do what, brat?” his face twists with his frown, as he leans over, lumbering over you, “what do you think you could do to me?” And he’s clicking his tongue, the condescension rolling off of it, “director told us to play nice, so be nice,” his lips curl, “but I like you mean too,”

He stalks off and you’re scrubbing a hand down your face. You were so fucking screwed.

“You what?” Satoru’s mouth gaped at you, twisted in pure disgust, while Suguru only stared at you, as expressionless as Satoru was expressive, “and you agreed?”

“She didn’t have a choice, Satoru—“

“That’s because the bastard didn’t give her a choice,” Satoru’s face twists again, this time in anger, brow furrowed, but lips in a sharp smile, “so why don’t we not give him a choice either?” Satoru is pulling his phone out.

“What are you doing—don’t—“

“One call, and I’ll have this guy firing Sukuna—“

“And there goes any actors or directors who will want to work for me if these guys go off, and you know they will,” you shake your head, “I’ve run this — it’s either I do the movie or I don’t,”

Suguru frowns, hands in his pockets, “What do you want to do?”

Your face in your hands, “I don’t want to drop the movie because of this, I can’t—“

“Then you do it,” Satoru rubs the back of his head, and Suguru tilts his head at him, “and after you become the biggest star out there, I’ll take care of that director and Sukuna,”

You and Suguru both snort, “Well that was verging on heartfelt,” Suguru shakes his head, “but he’s right, you can’t let two bullies kick you off your movie, you earned this role — and when you act circles around everyone else, you’ll have carried it too,”

You wrap your arms around both of them, “How’d I get so lucky?” You murmur, and Satoru’s nose brushes against yours before meeting your lips, while Suguru kisses wet kisses against your neck, “encouragement and threats of violence,” and Satoru only grins, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your lips.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” and Suguru rolls his eyes, before his arm slips around your waist.

“And he really means anytime, last time you talked to Toji, he pouted for two hours,” Satoru glared at Suguru, while you laughed, pulling the snowy haired actor close.

“It’s so cute when you’re jealous, Toru,” you kiss his chin, eyes sliding to Suguru, “but you’re terrifying,”

“What are you talking about?” And Satoru chuckles, tilting his head.

“You mentioned me during Toji? You nearly yanked our princess away from him,” and Suguru furrows his brow, lips a thin line, “maybe we should drop by during rehearsals,”

You scoff, “Yeah that sounds like a terrible idea,” and Suguru’s arms are wrapping around you, “Sugu—“

“If we can’t spend as much time together, then we better make this time count, isn’t that right, Satoru?”

“You’re right,” and Satoru’s hands slide under your baggy t-shirt, “better use all the time we have,” and as they lead you to the bedroom, your limbs entangled, you knew you weren’t sleeping that night.

But you didn’t know that would be the last time you’d be sleeping with them at all for the next month.

“You have to cut down the time you spend with anyone else — especially other men,” your agent told you, “that goes for Gojo and Geto too,”

“Why is this role controlling everything in my real life too?” you mutter under your breath, “why does it matter we won’t get caught—“

“Like all the other times you didn’t get caught?” and your words leave you abandoned as no articulate response comes to mind, “it’s for a couple months. You can have them visit on set, you can still see them once a month, but not every day,”

“But why—“

“Once a month reduces your chance of being seen with them exponentially over the next few months. Just deal with it. After this, you won’t have to put up with bullshit,” she hangs up, as you stare at your phone screen, squeezing it at the sight of Satoru and Suguru’s good luck texts — and why did it feel like you still always would have to keep putting up with bullshit?

“Better not fucking cry. We have to pretend to fall in love in ten minutes — I would rather not be looking at something ugly this early,” Sukuna cuts into your thoughts, hands in his pockets, as he sips his coffee.

Exhibit A.

“We’re not shooting for an hour,” you were on set after getting ready, waiting for the weather to clear up for the shoot, and he gives a gruff chuckle

“Not that shoot.”

“Looks like Sukuna not only has taken over Itadori’s body, but also the heart of one of Jujutsu Kaisen’s fan favorites,” you groan, earbud slipping out for a moment, just like your life was slipping, “the actress and co-star were spotted getting cozy off set before shooting had even begun for the day,”

Oh what the fuck.

You toss your phone away before falling back in bed, far too empty without Satoru and Suguru, only their pillows to keep you company as you twisted in the sheets. You had passed off your social media to your agent to handle — it was bad enough when you were caught in a love triangle with Satoru and Suguru, but now Sukuna? You can only imagine what people would say about you.

And you didn’t need to see it to do that.

But that wasn’t important. It was your day off, you turned over in bed, burying your face against your boyfriends pillows — nothing a nap couldn’t fix.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Or maybe not. You slide from the arms of sleep reluctantly, already missing the warmth of the covers as the cold air hits your skin. You’re rubbing your eyes as you check who it is before opening it.

“Satoru? What are you—“ and his arms are around you in a moment, your breath catching, “Toru—“

“You see what they’re saying online?” His gaze is stoic, lips a thin line.

“We can’t—“ and he’s shutting the door before locking it, before he’s had you pressed against the wood, the grain dragging against your skin.

“They said you two make the perfect couple,” he cups your chin, his breath warming your lips, “even more than me or Suguru—“ his hand slides against the swell of your hip, “a walk, a coffee? Was that all?”

Your brow knits together “Of course, you know I would never—“ and his lips ghost over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nosing at the soft skin of your neck, “Toru—“ you bite your bottom lip.

“I know you wouldn’t, sweetheart, I know,” he says softly, “but I have to make sure he knows that,” his teeth grazes over your soft skin, “knows that you’re mine,” and his teeth digs into your soft flesh, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, pain melting into pleasure, as your head lolls back against the door.

“Toru, no I have rehearsals in a week,” you whine, but that just makes him soothe the blooming love bite with his tongue, “Toru—“

“Do you really want me to stop now, sweetheart?” he’s pulling your mouth open with his thumb, “your face says you don’t,” and his large palm slides down your body and into your shorts, the wet squelch and the brush of his fingers through the drenched fabric, “and your pretty cunt seems to agree,”

“Toru,” you’re biting your lip, “fuck, you’re impossible,” and his mouth travels lower, as his other hand slides up under your shirt, squeezing your chest.

“You’re the one who slept without anything under your clothes,” he murmurs in your ear, lips sliding against your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin there, “you’re so wet already, hear that? Did you touch yourself thinking of us? Want us to fuck you that bad after a week?” his lips ghost over your jaw.

“Fuck, you talk so much,” you’re pouting, thighs pressing together, but he’s pushing them apart, “why are you teasing me so much?”

And he pauses, ocean blues stormy instead of the tranquil skies you’re used to, “Sukuna touched you. He got to hold you,” he’s pouting now, “that privilege is for us, and he got to so easily,”

“I didn’t want him to,” and he’s nuzzling your neck.

“Let me erase his touch,” and he’s lifting you with the practiced ease he always had.

“Where’s Suguru—“ and you yelp as he playfully tosses you on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head with one hand, a grin as he watches you bounce.

“He’ll be here later,” and he’s kissing up your body, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts to pull them down, half lidded eyes with deep lust finding yours, “for now, you’re all mine.”

“I-I can’t,” you’re whimpering, your hands clutching at Satoru’s back, fingernails digging crescents into his perfect skin, only hoping he doesn’t have a shirtless shoot tomorrow, but you barely can register that with three of his fingers in your pussy, “Toru,”

How many times had you orgasmed? Six or seven at least — it was nearly second nature at this point. Satoru knew what spots to touch, where to press, how to move to have you writhing underneath him in a moment. He’s knuckle deep, spreading your walls as his thumb toys with your clit, drawing another moan from your lips. Your release soaked his fingers and sheets underneath, his fingers surely wrinkled from their time spent inside your walls.

And by his smirk against the swell of your breast, he knew it.

“Yes you can baby, I know you have one more f’me,” and you’re already so close, but you have been — it’s been a repeated coil winding and snapping over and over, and you’re nearly to tears, back arching as he plunges his fingers somehow deeper, “know this pretty pussy too well, look at the way you’re sucking me in,” your insides flutter around his digits again, the tips dragging against your walls, “practically begging me to fuck you more, sweetheart,”

“I’ll say,” and your eyes barely can flit up to meet Suguru’s wry smile, corners of his lips curled, “I see you’re as impatient as ever, Satoru — started without me,” and he’s tugging his shirt over his head, “but at least you’ve gotten her ready for me,”

“Sugu—“ and Satoru adds a fourth finger, stuffed full with him, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Don’t want you to say Suguru’s name when I’m the one pleasuring you,” Sstoru clicks his tongue, “wanna hear you moan my name, sweetheart, when I make you cum,”

“You’ll have plenty of chances to moan my name,” you make a whining noise in the back of your throat, pleasure felt as if it had burned out your nerves, but it still was able to overload them, the throbbing in your cunt a telltale sign, “you g’nna cum, pretty? Use your words for me?”

“G’nna cum—ngh, Toru,” you feel that familiar knot in the pit of your stomach, your walls wring his fingers as you cum, hard, your head thrown back against the pillow. And the squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, as he finger fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, she’s so pretty everytime she falls apart for us,” Suguru groans, as Satoru leans over to kiss you, “so good for us, Princess,” you only moan in reply, lost in the pleasure that still floods your body, as Satoru pulls his fingers from you.

And your eyes catch a glimpse of Satoru licking his fingers clean, one by one, “Still the sweetest thing I’ve ever had,”

“Don’t hog her, Satoru,” Suguru is pulling Satoru away, settling between your thighs, “you both made such a mess,” and you gasp, as his lithe fingers brush against your still too sensitive folds, spreading them only for your juices to slip out, “I’m always stuck cleaning up, but in this case,” he drags the flat of his tongue up your needy cunt, a moan falling from your lips, as your fingers fisted in his black locks, “I don’t mind at all.”

But that night wasn’t the end of it — no, not by far.

It wasn’t enough for them to ravish you, now they have to show up on set — their schedules lining up just perfect to see your rehearsals (though you think their schedules had some help from using the words “contagious” and “sickly”). However the only thing they were seemingly sick with was jealousy — especially so as you sat with Sukuna, going over lines for the next scene.

You rubbed at your neck, feeling lucky that the marks they left had faded, but they still had begged you to show up to the shoot.

“We won’t make you uncomfortable,” Satoru pouted, nuzzling your side, as you snort.

“Just like you said you wouldn’t leave hickies on me?” You scoff, and suguru buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses along the marks Satoru left.

“She has a point,” Suguru murmurs, but Satoru only pouts, “but I would like to be on set so that freak doesn’t try anything,” and you run your fingers through Satoru’s snowy locks, while leaning into Suguru’s touch, “he has a reputation of making moves on all his co-stars,”

“So? It’s not like I’ll let him,” and Satoru’s gotten you pinned to the bed, your hands trying to break free but you can’t.

“It’s not a matter of letting him, it’s matter of him trying to do something you don’t want,” and your brows knit together, as Satoru presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“There’ll be other people—“

“Other people who may very well look the other way, for someone like Ryomen Sukuna,” Suguru sighs, words almost whispered against your ear, “you know that’s how this business can be,” and it was — it could be. The Jujutsu Kaisen set was a rare exception, but this movie — the director’s words still ringing in your ears — it was different.

“Let us just make sure you’re safe, make sure you’re okay, and then we’ll go.”

And that’s how you ended up with their states boring into the back of your head.

“You bringing a pair of guard dogs with you everywhere now?” Sukuna spares a glance at your boyfriends, who were relegated to stand near your trailer — Satoru stood, arms crossed over his white t-shirt, a black jacket thrown over it, his blue eyes narrowed in frustration, as if his crossed arms were the only things holding him back from throttling Sukuna. While Suguru leaned against your trailer, scrolling on his phone in his dark navy button up, stealing glances at the two of you, his eyes narrowed and lips a thin line, “don’t know if they are ready to rip you apart or me,”

You bite your tongue, wanting to say they had already ripped you apart last night, but you only shook your head, “They insisted on coming today, I don’t know why,”

He grunts in reply, “It’s bad timing on your end, brat,” and your eyes snap to his, and he tilts his head, leaning against his hand, “you didn’t hear? The director wants us to film our big kiss at the end of the movie,”

Your blood runs cold, “Since when?”

“Since you were late to our morning meeting, assuredly because of those two,” he jerks his head in the direction of Satoru and Suguru, before giving them both a wide grin, “they don’t know do they?” Your silence is all the answer Sukuna needs to give a rare laugh, “oh this will be entertaining, brat, and I thought acting with you would be boring.”

Oh, you’re fucking screwed.

“Cut!” The director called for the billionth time, and you were about ready to wring his neck, and you were not the only one — if looks could kill, Satoru and Suguru would have had the director skewered a million times over by now. Unfortunately for them, looks did not kill, “we need more passion,”

And you’re biting back a groan, as Sukuna smirks, leaning over to whisper, “don’t look so disappointed, I see the two idiots haven’t taught you to kiss,”

“More like the partner I have doesn’t make kissing him appealing,” you bite back, running a hand through your hair as you spoke to the intimacy coordinator again, but your eyes keep sliding over to Satoru and Suguru, “fuck,” how were you supposed to do this with them staring you down?

“Let’s try it again,” you both get in place for the shot, the clap of the clapperboard, as Sukuna’s fingers brushed against your cheek again. You stepped into the role, letting yourself be consumed with the passion of your character, channeling what you felt for your own loves.

And finally your lips met his — you felt nothing, only the pressure of lips meeting one another, but you tried to show emotion, fingers clutching at his shirt in desperation, the small gasps and sighs parting your lips between kisses, and the way your hand then slid up to rest at the nape of his neck.

“I love you, more than anything,” you murmur against his lips, nose brushing against his, “more than anyone. You can’t go. Not without me,”

“What choice do I have?” Sukuna mutters back, his arm coiling around your waist, “it’s too dangerous for you to come along,”

“Who said you get to make my decisions for me?” your lips curl, “and who says I can’t buy my own ticket to come with you?” And he’s shaking his head, “listen,” your fingers cup his cheek, “don’t think, just let it happen,” and you’re leaning even closer, breath warming his lips, his breath hitching.

“Cut!” And you’re trying to pull away, but Sukuna holds you there, leaning forward, making you flinch, only to whisper in your ear.

“Sorry, just wanted to give them more of a show,” and he lets go, lips curled in a wide grin, “looks like we have a break now, so have fun, but not too much,” he laughs, as the director beckons him over.

You glance at Satoru and Suguru — oh fuck.

“Sugu—uumph—“ Suguru barely let you get a step inside the trailer before he pinned you to the metal door, his hands dragged over your sides.

“Hold still, Princess, I have to overwrite every place he touched you,” his fingers trace over your cheeks, lips grazing your jaw, his thumb dragged over your lips, before catching on your tongue, “did you brush your tongue against his — run it over the seam of his lips before slipping it inside? Flick it over like you do? Did you enjoy kissing him, sweetheart?”

“Of course I didn’t—“ and Satoru’s taking the opportunity to kiss you, teeth dragging over your bottom lip.

“Course she didn’t, but I’m sure he did,” Satoru’s fingers traced over your jaw, “enjoyed our sweets’ even sweeter lips, didn’t he?” And Satoru kisses down your jaw, while Suguru is sinking down to his knees, large palms sliding up and hiking up your dress, “should leave some marks to remind him who you belong to,” his teeth dig into the soft of your flesh.

“Toru! No, I still have to finish the shoot — the makeup artists—“ you whine, but god, it feels so good, as his tongue flicks against his teeth marks, “fuck,”

“Be careful, someone will hear you, Princess,” Suguru murmurs, soft kisses to your inner thighs, “hear how good you’ll feel,” his teeth sink into your thigh, nipping and sucking, “and how good we’re both making you feel,”

“Sugu, ah, I—fuck,” and Satoru is eagerly swallowing your moans with his lips, taking the chance to slip his tongue in, while Suguru noses at the soft of your thigh.

“She’s already dripping, how are you so pretty here, Princess?” And he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, not that you could with Satoru’s tongue down your throat, as his lips press a kiss to your messy folds, nose bumping against your puffy clit, “tastes even better,” he moans, sound reverberating against your sensitive cunt.

“Oh that won’t do at all, we’ve barely started,” Satoru tsks all the while tugging your sleeves down to reveal your bare chest underneath the dress barely on your body at this point, crumpled fabric pushed up and down into the middle by them, “no bra, Princess? For us or for the camera?”

“For you,” you manage between moans, Suguru’s tongue tracing teasing circles around your clit, “always for you—“ the word trails off into a moan, as Suguru meanly sucks on the sensitive nub, “ngh, fuck—“ your knees are buckling, quaking as if your bones were made of rubber, a gasp pulled from your lips, when Satoru’s lips press a teasing kiss to your already erect nipple, while he toys with the other between his forefinger and thumb, pinching and pulling. And he switches, welcoming the other with a graze of his teeth and the flick of his tongue.

The sounds of the lewd squelch of Suguru’s mouth against your dripping cunt filled your ears, volts from his touch reaching every inch of you, “so wet f’me, pretty, you like thinking someone could hear us fucking you?” Suguru mutters, his lips pulling away for a moment, as his long fingers spread your folds for him — every inch of you exposed, “fuck, you’ve dripped all over the floor of the trailer, Princess,”

“All that just from Suguru’s mouth?” Satoru smirks, dragging a finger down your puffy lips, while his other hand gropes at your breast, “imagine how sopping you’ll be when we fuck you,”

And you’re whining, as Suguru teases your entrance with a finger, “You fuckers—“ you yelp as Suguru picks you up with ease and tosses you into the nearby bed — a request you had made so you could nap between scenes or during times you weren’t needed on set — not that you had gotten to use it, until now.

Satoru’s pulling the dress up and over your head, tossing the garment away, both of their gazes dragging over your exposed skin. Satoru flips you onto your stomach, and you hear the creak of the bed behind you and you know Suguru repositioned himself between your thighs.

“On your knees, pretty,” Suguru’s hands are lifting your legs, his fingers already teasing your sopping hole again, and he’s bracing an arm around your thighs, “such a good girl,” and his fingertips breach you only to pull away, even as your walls try to beckon him inside.

“Fuck,” you’re groaning, needy cunt begging for release, you needed it, needed it so bad.

“Such a filthy mouth,” Satoru clicks his tongue, as he undoes the buckle of his belt, tugging his boxers and pants down to free his weeping erection. And god, his cock is so pretty — long and pink, with beads of pearly precum dripping from the slit, lovely veins running up and down his length, “how ‘bout I put it to use sweetheart?”

And the tip brushes against your face, smearing against your lips, before you part your lips and let his dick slap against your tongue, before letting it part your pretty lips. The tip of your tongue traces his slit, tasting his pre, as you sucked and licked along his length, until his sweet grunts slipped from his lips. And fuck, you know he would feel so good inside you, long cock reaching the places he always did and that you never could.

But it was hard for you to stay focused when Suguru bas two thick fingers buried in your right cunt, dragging against your walls, moaning around Satoru’s length. And it feels almost too good, as if you’d melt between them, burning from their touches. And you’d still always ask for more.

Satoru’s fingers dig into your locks, as he moans, “Fuck, s’good for me, baby,” his hips buck against your mouth, his hair sticking to his forehead, sticky with sweat, “not gonna last much longer, Suguru,”

And Suguru pulled out his fingers, licking them clean, his face still sticky with your cum, as you whine at the absence, “she’s not either, but I think she needs something more,” and you feel his cockhead drag against your folds, and you’re whining, “not gonna put it inside baby, too much of a mess, and can’t do too much, can we?” And you feel his lips curl in a smirk, “after all, your boyfriend out there might mind,” he’s pressing your thighs together, beginning to rock forward, sending you deeper onto Satoru’s cock, making him hiss.

“Fuck, take it, sweetheart,” his fingers tilting your head up slightly to find your eyes glazed over in pleasure, puffy lips with saliva and precum dripping from the corners, and it only makes him want to fuck your throat, “gonna go back on set like this? All messy from your ‘side pieces?’”

“Fuck, she twitched hard when you said that,” Suguru is fucking between your thighs, his hard cock rubbing against your dripping slit again and again, delicious friction sending you closer and closer, “fuck, g’nna cum for me sweet girl?”

And you’re moaning around Satoru, and his tip brushes against your throat with one particularly hard thrust from Suguru, and that’s it.

Satoru’s moaning your name, unable to hold back, as he cums in your mouth, his hot load pouring down your throat, dick twitching as it continues to spurt as he rocks his hips into you. Suguru pinches and rubs your clit hard, rocking his leaking cock into you, and you cum, walls fluttering around nothing, as you soak him in your release.

The moans of their names on your lips send Suguru tumbling over too, as he pulls back and pumps, before cumming all over your back with his thick seed.

You’re pulling yourself off Satoru, with a wet pop, cum and spit trickling down your lips, as your tongue flicks out to clean it off. And Satoru groans, as he lays down and settles beside you, “don’t make me fuck you right here,”

And Suguru helps you turn on your side, legs still shaking from your orgasm, as he slips up behind you, his softening cock pressed against you, pressing sweet kisses to your sweat soaked skin.

“Think anyone heard us?” you mumble, burying your face in the crook of Satoru’s neck, and their chuckles rumble against you, making you shiver.

Suguru answers, “No, if someone did, they would have come—“

There’s a harsh knock on the door, followed by the call of your name, “The director’s calling you to set,” it was your agent’s voice, “so I suggest all three of you clean up and come out.”

Well, fuck.

“How has shooting the film been so far?”

“It’s been wonderful. It’s so different from filming a television series, and I’ve loved learning the nuances of film and how it’s made,” you say, sitting in the worlds most uncomfortable chair behind Sukuna, who managed to look interestedly disinterested.

“Speaking of which, you two have worked together before, right?”

“We have,” Sukuna replies before you have a chance to answer, “the two of us haven’t had many scenes together before, so being able to finally act together is…fate,”

You force yourself to give a wry smile, “I forget he’s such a romantic, when he isn’t too busy calling me a brat,” the words slip out and you’re instantly regretting your words — fuck, fuck, fuck. You really just said Ryomen Sukuna called you brat — in an interview that will air on TV but also live on the internet.

“A brat huh?” The interviewer chuckled awkwardly, “is she a bit of a diva on set?”

“Oh and off,” Sukuna’s grin grows all the more wide, leaning against his hand and stealing a glance at you, “but I know how to tame her,” and you self consciously tug at your high neck sweater, the bites Satoru and Suguru well concealed — and you’d never have him pass it off as his own.

Oh, you would kill him. If not for the fact that you had dug your own grave, and he only did you the favor of pushing you in and burying you. No the only funeral was your own.

“How bad?” You ask your agent on the way home, earbuds in your ear as you sit in the back of the car, partition up as the driver makes their way to your home.

“How bad? You mean how great! We’re getting so much traffic on that interview. People keep talking about you and Sukuna. You’re trending again,” and that was the last thing you wanted to hear and the first thing she wanted to tell you.

Why the fuck did you want to be an actor again?

“What are they saying about me?”

“There’s some negative stuff about both of you, but that’s expected — mostly people surprisingly, uh, like you better with Sukuna than Gojo or Geto—“

“What? Why?” God, fuck the public’s want for an older man.

“I don’t know. You guys have this chemistry in interviews. The way you guys banter it feels so personal and electric I guess?” Her voice almost makes it sounds like she agreed.

“Are you saying that or the fans?” The only thing electric about your conversation with Sukuna was the feeling of rage running through your veins faster than a million volts.

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s mostly fangirls of Gojo and Geto who are relieved they aren’t taken,” she adds, your silence seemingly scaring her, “you should look on the bright side, people are really excited for the movie, and after what happened in your trailer…the director’s happy too,” you see a text from Satoru and Suguru.

The Boys 💕🤍🖤

Bangs Baby: when are you coming home?

Six Eyed Dork: we’re already making dinner.

And you scrub a hand down your face, never having such irritation over the prospect of dinner, “Tell that to my makeup artist,” because you know you’ll be littered with marks by the end of this.

“We’re adding a sex scene,” and you nearly spit out your drink that morning, sitting at the round table with the director, several staff members, and an extremely unfazed Sukuna.

“What?” you say, trying hold your tongue, that was only writhing under your hold to say something much, much worse, “that’s not anywhere in the script or the source material,”

“It was my suggestion,” Sukuna lifts his hand casually, before pressing his hand to his chin, painted black nails gleaming in the dim light of the early morning, “the characters felt lacking,”

Then play your role better. That’s what you wanted to say. But instead you ask, “how so?”

And Sukuna glances at the director, who clears his throat, eyes shifting from him to you, “We thought it would be better to build more intimacy between the characters. Add a certain level of—“

“Raunchiness?” you scoff.

“Tasteful raunchiness,” Sukuna corrects, doing nothing to suppress his smirk, “if you don’t want to, I’m sure we can make due with the stunt double—“

Fucker. He could have his pick of any movie — he was a pillar of the industry, but you had to be stuck with him. And stuck with the director following his every, irritating whim.

You grit your teeth, “when are we shooting it?” And Sukuna grins wider, leaning back in his chair.

“About that—“

“You’re going where?” You resisted the urge to rub at your temples, as you pack your things, Satoru’s pout filling the majority of the screen.

“You heard me. We’re filming in Canada,” with a flight that left the next day, you barely had time to pack, much less talk. Fuck, you don’t have a thing for the cold, but you were told that coats and thermals would be provided — or at least they better be, “I’ll be gone for a couple weeks,” you say, wondering if the sounds of you packing would be enough to drown out or enough sweaters would somehow soften the blow.

“Weeks?” Suguru repeats, taking the phone from Satoru, “sweetheart, you had said filming would be over soon enough — you said a month of filming in Japan—,” and you sigh, it seems like you had been doing a lot of that lately.

The throbbing in your head only got worse — the long shoots and lack of sleep weighing on your body like iron weights around your neck, “I know, love, but the director wanted to add more scenes,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “there’s one more thing,” and Satoru is pushing into view of the camera as well, a click of Suguru’s as he shoots a glare at him, “the director decided to add…an intimate scene to the film,”

Silence, but Suguru speaks first, “And that wasn’t in the script before?” And you shake your head.

Satoru gives a bitter laugh, “Such bullshit. They planned it and got you to invest yourself in the movie—“ he cuts himself off, “sweetheart, I want to have a word with the director,”

“No, Toru, it won’t help,” you run your fingers through your hair, trying to keep your tone level, “it just won’t. It will just make me look like I have to rely on my boyfriends for protection,”

“It still isn’t right, what they are doing to you is exploitative,” Suguru cuts in, “adding a sex scene last minute after you already spent weeks filming—“

“You don’t think I know that?” you say quietly, “what am I supposed to do? Quit? Let you guys run to the director to protect me? Great, either way, my career would be over,” the words slip out far more cutting than you want, but this has been a knife you’ve honed against stones thrown at you, and you were tired of being the one to take the blows.

Satoru furrows his brow, “What are we supposed to do? Watch you get taken advantage of?”

“No, but don’t talk down to me like I don’t understand what’s happening,” you snap, “these weeks I’ve had to deal with fucking Sukuna and these shoots, while balancing your feelings too and I’m tired of it. I’m just done,” you shake your head, willing your voice not to break, “I’ll text you both when I board and land, ok?”

“Sweetheart—“

“Baby—“

“Bye,” and you hang up, eyes burning not just from your lack of sleep but now everything else too. You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t see them. You couldn’t quit the movie. You couldn’t fix this. You couldn’t do anything — you glanced at your suitcase — except keep going.

“You look like hell,” you don’t bother looking at Sukuna when he speaks, and out of all the seats, how did you end up next to him? Either you had the absolute worst luck in the world — or bad luck had a little help from your agents and the director.

“You look like you’d know—been to your kingdom lately?” you’re placing your suitcase away when a flight attendant rushes over to do it for you, and you thank them, before rifling through your bag for your headphones. Noise canceling headphones that were going to be your best friend as long as you were stuck with him.

“Why visit a kingdom when my queen is here?” Your eye twitches, and you only wish that planes worked the same as ships when it came to jurisdiction. And if so, you would have tossed him into the high seas without a second though. You could start over — no extradition on Satoru’s island.

You glanced at your phone — no reply to your text about getting on the second flight. And they had both barely responded to your other texts about boarding and landing. Maybe it was your fault. You had blown up at them, and ignored all their calls and texts all day, until they finally stopped (even Satoru had given up sending you selfies of him crying). You switched it into airplane mode and locked it, tucking it away into your bag, before taking your seat and buckling your seatbelt.

“Trouble in paradise?” And you scowl, pulling out your headphones, “c’mon you can tell me about your other boyfriends — I know I’m your favorite,”

“Do you ever shut up?” You put your headphones on, your eyes growing heavy as the plane begins to prepare for take off. You choose a playlist, and start to fall asleep. The only good thing about this flight was you could finally get some sleep.

And maybe your life wouldn’t be hell when you woke up.

“I already got us a private jet,” Satoru walks into Suguru’s place, suitcase in hand, as he tugs his mask off, “we can be in Canada by tomorrow—we just need to pack—“

“What are you talking about?” Suguru looks up from his phone, “have you even thought this through, dumbass? She barely wants us coming over because of paparazzi, you think if someone sees us in Canada with her that they will write it off as a coincidence?”

“If we’re careful, it won’t come to that,” he sets down his things, “you heard her, Suguru, she said she’s done,”

“She’s just tired and frustrated,” Suguru sighs, tossing his phone aside, “we haven’t exactly made this any easier on her either,”

“I know, which is why we should go make it up to her,” Satoru sighed, “I can tell by her texts that she’s upset — it’s all periods and short one word responses. Y’know that’s bad,” he’s pulling out his phone to show Suguru your texts — and Suguru ignored the several sad selfies Satoru had sent, before handing it back.

“And we should make her more upset by doing the one thing she told us not to do?” Suguru shakes his head, “we’re better off waiting for her to calm down and come to us—“ and Satoru stares at his phone, “what is it? Did she text?”

“No, worse,” he shows Suguru a news article — ARE THINGS HEATING UP ON AND OFF SET? SUKUNA SPOTTED WITH HIS COSTAR GETTING COZY ON PLANES AND IN THE AIRPORT.

And below were images of you and him asleep, fingers interlaced on the plane, and a picture of him with his arm around your waist walking through the airport.

Suguru’s eyes narrow, “Do you want risk losing her, Suguru?” And he knows it’s a bad idea, he knows it may only make things worse, but — he looks at the pictures of you and Sukuna again — losing you would be far worse.

“When’s the flight?”

CLICK!

You stir at the sound, as you hear it again and again, shifting in your sleep. Fuck, what was that noise? Everything’s heavy, thoughts swimming through thick syrup as it tries to break to the surface and into consciousness. Another click makes you grasp at your headphones with one hand, the other caught on something, but you feel nothing but your neck and shirt. And finally, your eyes fly open just to find a camera lens in front of your face, and something holding your hand.

Or rather someone.

“What the—“

“Finally woke up? How was your coma?” and the photographers are shooed away, as you pull your fingers free only for him to drop your hand, wiping your hand on the seat, “I didn’t do anything but hold it,” he shrugs, “probably—“

You scowl, “my headphones?” He holds them up, and you gape at him, “they fell off. You’re quite the restless sleeper,” and you snatch them back.

“They fell off or you took them off for that photo op,” you snap, glancing at him, “since when did I give my permission to be photographed while sleeping?”

“When you decided to go into this business,” he replies drily, dry as his skin was from holding his hand, “are you that naive? Can anyone keep anything from anyone without paying them off one way or another? I’m pretty sure that’s how your little throuple does it,”

And you couldn’t deny it — the paparazzi more than ever was a toll or a tool — a toll to pay when you wanted word to stay quiet, and a tool when you wanted things to blow up. And Satoru had been paying them off since the three of you had started this — insisting that his connection gave him discounts, but it was more likely to blow his father’s money.

“So what was that photo op about?” The plane is slowly descending now, your ears popping, as you spare a glance outside, and he only scoffs, as if to ask if you were that stupid?

“To announce our arrival.”

“Why are there so many security guards and people?” you mutter, tugging at your mask, as you hurry through the airport with what felt like a military and police escort of men around you.

“To create a scene, generate interest,” Sukuna seemed uninterested as he strolled along the airport, raising an eyebrow, “not used to this? The adoring fans,” and you spare a glance at the crowds, taking pictures more than even looking at your actual faces.

“This is adoring?” and then the security guards begin to stumble as the crowd grows a rowdy, as people push through to get through their gates, others try to duck between the security guards to get closer. A security guard knocks against you, nearly sending you tumbling, “what—“

And a wrist grabs you and pulls you hard, as the security guard tumbles to the ground, another arm around your waist. He steadies you, as you sigh, glancing to find Sukuna.

“Be careful,” you blink — wow was he actually a nice— and then he nearly shoved you away, “don’t need you getting injured and messing up my movie,” he strides off, and you watch dumbstruck, as you watch his back recede until bodyguards check on you and urge you along.

You can’t believe you thought even for a second that Ryomen Sukuna was nice.

And now you had to spend the entirety of tomorrow kissing up to him — literally.

Fucking ass.

“You can’t seduce me into letting you go,” Sukuna smiled, one hand on your hip and the other resting against the wall, pinning you against the headboard of the bed, “just because I let you win tonight—“

“Then I’ve won the battle,” you reply, fingers toying with a lock of his hair, twirling it around your finger, before dragging a finger down his cheek, “it’s only a matter of time until I win the war,”

He chuckles, hand cupping your chin, “such a brat, how did I ever fall for you?” And you only lean close, brushing your lips against his chin, delighting in the way his body shivered, “fuck—“

“You love it,” and he’s gotten you pinned to the bed in a moment with one hand, the other large palm sliding up your body, dragging your shirt along with it—

“CUT!”

You both sigh, glancing at the director as you both untangle yourselves — how many times did that make? Twelve? Fourteen?

“I think we’ll be dead before he gets it right,” Sukuna mutters under his breath, as a P.A. brings him a towel to dab at his skin.

“We’re calling it for the day,” the director announced, hair askew from the number of times he had pulled at it, “we’ll resume tomorrow, first thing,” there was almost an audible groan from the crew as everyone packed up for the day.

After all that, you’re making your way to your hotel room when someone stops you, you’re trying to brush past them absentmindedly, but his voice stops you dead in your tracks.

“Can’t run from us that easy, sweetheart,” and your head snaps up, finding Satoru in front of you, and you’re speechless, no words finding their way to your lips, before the hotel room next to yours opens up.

“Princess, in here, before anyone sees,” and Satoru’s hand tries to find yours, but you ignore it, walking into the room, not speaking until the door clicks behind Satoru.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” and you waver when you see Satoru’s sad gaze and Suguru’s tight frown, and you sigh, evening out your tone, “sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped — what are you guys doing here? I told you it’s risky—“

“We didn’t want to leave things the way they were, I couldn’t. Not like that,” Satoru shakes his head, “we needed to see you, baby, I couldn’t—“ he breaks off.

Suguru speaks in his stead, “We couldn’t fathom that was the last time we spoke,”

Your brows knit together, “Why would you think—“ and you’re sighing, scrubbing a hand down your face as your words ring in your own ears, and you know where their minds had went — fuck, “I would never ever break up with you two,” you’re stepping forward, “you’re idiots, but you’re mine,” and their arms are slipping around you in an instant, “I just got frustrated with everything, it wasn’t just you guys — the movie, Sukuna, long shoots, lack of sleep, and not seeing you two—“

“We should be the ones who’re sorry,” Satoru mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “we made it all about us and didn’t see that you needed us,”

“We’re never going to make that mistake again, Princess,” Suguru presses a soft kiss to your neck, and you sigh, stress melting under touch with the ease of a lit candle wick melts wax, “we’re sorry for being so selfish,”

“Yeah, Suguru’s sorry—“ and that earns Satoru a sharp elbow from said actor, “and I’m sorry too. We didn’t mean to add more stress. You’re already dealing with so much. We should have been there for you, sweetheart,” he finds your lips in a sweet kiss that has you sighing, “we trust you — it’s just—“

“Him, I know, but I hate him,” you say, and Suguru chuckles, fingers turning your head towards him, pressing his forehead agaisnt yours, “seriously, everything we’ve done is just for the movie or for publicity,” Suguru kisses you, teeth teasingly running along his bottom lip.

“You seemed pretty cozy with him in those pictures,” Satoru presses open mouthed kisses along your neck, and you blink.

“What pictures?” and then it occurs to you, “on the plane? They framed those—“ and Satoru’s cutting you off with another kiss, “Toru—“ and Suguru nuzzles the nape of your neck, “Sugu—“

“Just let us take care of you tonight,” Suguru murmurs, lazy fingers drawing circles on your hips, “been too long since we’ve seen you, Princess,”

In a moment they have you on your back on the bed, Satoru’s eyes gleaming with need, their hands slipping up your body, “I’m yours,” you murmur, “both of yours.”

And that’s all they needed to hear.

“Toru, I’m trying to make us breakfast,” you chuckle, half laughing, half exasperated, as he nearly engulfs you in a hug from behind, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“So? I’m not in the way,” Satoru mumbles, sighing as he kisses the skin behind your ear, “right, Suguru?”

“You’re hindering the process, Toru,” you’re trying to flip pancakes for said boyfriend as he traces constellations of kisses against your shoulder and neck, “right Sugu?”

“Now, now, play nice you two,” Suguru replies drily, glancing at the two of you from the couch, “can’t blame us for missing you, sweetheart,”

“Y’know how many months I had to go without being able to cuddle you,” Satoru’s pouting against your skin now, “I have to make up for all that lost time,”

Shooting had finally ended three months ago — after a month and half spent in Canada, you flew back to Japan. Satoru and Suguru had taken up residence in a hotel room next door (under fake names of course) for about a week before flying back because of work. Satoru had tried to convince you to let him fly back and forth, but for the sake of the environment (and your sanity), you sent them both home.

And still, they both were acting as if you had been away for several years, not months.

“Does it have to be now?” And Satoru nods, grinning, and you relent, “well, this is much better than having dinner with Sukuna,”

“There’s a name we haven’t heard in a while,” Suguru raises an eyebrow, as he strolls into the kitchen, hands in his pockets.

“Thankfully,” Satoru adds, brow wrinkled, “what does he want?”

“Just a dinner to celebrate the end of production,” you sigh, as you step past Satoru to grab a plate for the pancakes, “the movie is going to have its premiere in a few months, so it’s also to plan ahead for that,”

“Did they announce a date yet?” Suguru asks, leaning against the counter on the other side of you, beginning to prepare coffee.

“Not yet, but it should be sometime this coming summer,” and you’re flipping pancake after pancake for the three of you, a stack forming, until you’re finally done. You catch the two of them shsring a look, until Satoru asks:

“Can you get us tickets to the premiere?”

“Of course I’m inviting the entire JJK cast,” you smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to Suguru’s cheek, “why would you two be any different?”

“And what about us two?” Satoru hums, as he shuts off the stove for you, daring less than an inch away from your lips, “Do we get the VIP treatment?”

“Uh-huh,” you bite back a laugh.

“Does the VIP package include you?” Suguru murmurs, a smirk against your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth,

“Of course,” you murmur, as Suguru’s arms wrap around your waist, lips brushing against your pulse, “once we’re away from cameras and phones and press,”

“All access?” Suguru murmurs, large palms slipping under your shirt, making you shiver from their cool touch, and you roll your eyes, as Satoru presses a kiss to your forehead.

“All access.”

“I don’t understand why we had to get ready together,” you grumble, assistants gather around you, one adjusting your gown, another fixing your makeup, and a third trying to tame your hair, “we could have just been picked up and taken to the venue together,”

The two of you had been ushered into these adjoining hotel rooms bright and early — much too early for you to even be awake, much less have to deal with Sukuna. The only consolation was while you were getting your makeup and clothes on, you didn’t have to see him.

“Someone might have seen us,” Sukuna replies, letting the assistant put his watch on, “or your throuple would undoubtedly get in the way,” you shoot a glare at him.

“Can you not call us that? They have names,” and Sukuna scoffs, fingers running over his charcoal suit coat to ensure there wasn’t even a single crease, the cut of his lapels sharp as knives.

“Like I care to remember them, brat,” and you raise an eyebrow.

“Do you even know my name?” he bears no reaction, but the corner of his lips twitch, “you don’t even fuc—“

“Are we all ready?” Your agent enters the hotel room with the director, “we should start heading to the venue,” and Sukuna brushed past you, and out the door, his entourage following behind him.

And you sighed, you were surely ready — ready to put this movie and Sukuna far behind you.

But of course he wasn’t behind you, so much so that he was beside you. Plastered to your side for the press to eat up, his arm slithered around your waist, as you both made your way down the carpeted premiere.

You had been to a premiere for both seasons of Jujutsu Kaisen — but never like this. The camera flashes were blinding, the sounds of the crowd deafening, and the walk down the carpet amongst all these others was disorienting. You were almost grateful for Sukuna’s gruff and short temper, he kept most interviews on the carpet from dragging too long,

You finally make your way inside and Sukuna parts from your side a moment without a word, beckoned off by someone or another. And it feels like too much. The day, the long hours, the carpet — all of it bears down on you at once, and you feel as if someone sucked the air from your lungs, using it to fill this hall with the smallest remnants of oxygen.

Fuck, you grasped tightly to your clutch, you were going to pass out if you didn’t go somewhere, somewhere else with less goddamn people, but where?

And you only take a stumbling step forward, before an arm is around your waist again, and a different voice murmurs in the opposite side, “Lost without us, sweetheart?” Suguru’s voice steadies you, keeps you from slipping deeper away from them, while Satoru’s touch grounds you.

“Let’s get her somewhere private, hm? Does that sound okay, Princess?” And you’re nodding; as the two of them discreetly usher you away, you barely can keep your eyes open, still feeling your breath lodged in your throat, choking on the very thing that was supposed to keep you alive. It doesn’t feel okay until you’re sitting on a bed, holding your head.

You feel the bed divut in as they both sit on either side of you, and their bodies brush against yours as if to ask for permission; and you’re leaning against their touch, until they engulf you in it.

And this was what you needed.

You don’t think about premieres, ruining your makeup, tripping, cameras, or anything else — just both of them and you.

“Are you okay, baby?” Suguru murmurs softly, and you’re nodding, “did you get overwhelmed?” And you nod again, and he sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I really wish you could have come with us,”

“I told ya we should have just taken her with us anyway,” you know Satoru’s face is scrunched up in worry, “the movie’s out anyway,”

“Not like I didn’t agree — I just told you she would never agree,” Suguru muttered, most assuredly rolling his eyes, “plus, we said we wouldn’t do that to her again,”

“Can you guys not talk like I’m not here?” and they instantly refocus on you, as you bury your head in the crook of Suguru’s neck, while Satoru does the same to you, pressing butterfly kisses to your skin, as Suguru carefully carded through your locks. And you just sat like that for a while, until you grew calmer by the second and finally lift your head, “sorry,”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Satoru furrowed his brow, “you didn’t drool all over Suguru’s suit did you?” and you elbow him lightly in the ribs.

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t mind anyway, I’m used to you drooling on me one way or another,” and now you glare at Suguru, “you’re the one apologizing for no real reason,”

“There is a reason,” you sigh, shaking your head, “we should be out there enjoying the party, but instead, we’re—”

“All alone, with the two most important people to us?” Satoru tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “if anything, this was exactly the VIP treatment I was looking for, just us alone, in a room together?” Satoru’s tilting your head if only to press kisses up the side of your neck, nosing your pulse.

“He’s right, princess, we only came here for you — no one else, we’re so proud of you,” Suguru murmurs, his hand finding its way onto your thigh, “and all we want is to see you happy,”

Happy? When had been the last time you had been happy in the last few months? It had been far too long since it had been consistent — but the two people that ran consistently through every up, far too little downs? Satoru and Suguru. It had been so hard — and now it was almost over. Only a few more interviews and public appearances, and you would be done with Sukuna.

But you didn’t want to think about Sukuna now — you wanted them. More than ever.

Your lips find Suguru’s first, lips sliding against his — a hesitation for a millisecond, before he’s melting into it, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before you’re pulling away, soft pants filling the silence, until a warm hand is turning your head, and Satoru kisses you next, needy and persistent, as he always was, his fingers threaded in your hair, grazing against the nape of your neck. But Suguru doesn’t waste time, a hand sneaking up the silt of your dress, dragging against your pantyhose, snapping the skintight, translucent fabric against your skin.

You part from Satoru for a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips to his, and you see the lipstick smeared on both their lips — you can only imagine what little you have left is painting more than just your lips at this point.

“If we don’t stop right now, don’t know if I can, baby,” Satoru murmurs, guiding your palm to his already hard erection, “it’s risky,”

“It is, someone could catch us,” Suguru is still drawing tempting circles on your upper thigh, his nose brushes against yours as he presses his forehead against yours, “What do you want to do?”

And you knew the right thing to do would be to fix your faces and return to the party, act as if this hadn’t happened, as the three of you suffer through an evening without each other — until you get home far too late and far too tired to fall asleep beside them. That was the right thing, the sensible thing.

But your need for them both was hardly sensible. It wasn’t sensible when the three of you had gotten drunk multiple nights after shooting together — Satoru only drinking a shot each time at your and Suguru’s insistence to get far too plastered too quickly. It wasn’t sensible when the two asked you who the better kisser was — your character the envy of every fangirl as you got to kiss the two “strongest” sorcerers — and then when you cheekily replied you weren’t sure, they didn’t hesitate to kiss you then and there, one after another — and you realized you never wanted to stop (and the three you never did that night). It wasn’t sensible to hook up again a few nights later, heading back to Satoru’s place to hang out, only for the three of you end up in bed together yet again — a habit formed, but that you couldn’t quit. And it surely wasn’t sensible when the three of you had started to date — it was far from it, in a business like this. But you did it anyway — because it was them.

It was always them.

You rise to your feet, facing them a moment, before turning your back to them, looking over your shoulder at them, “Well? You’re going to have to help me get out of this dress because I’m not letting you two ruin it.”

And they share a look, before their lips curl into grins, as they reply.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Of course, baby.”

“Suguru no—“ and he snaps the fabric of your pantyhose against you making you whimper, “I told you not—“

“To ruin your dress, you said nothing about your pantyhose,” his nails digging crescents into your lovely thighs, “and you should worry more about Satoru,”

Satoru’s lips were nearly glued to your neck, tongue dragging up the side, until he pulled away to scowl at Suguru, “Eh? Why me?”

Suguru shrugs, “who left all those marks all over her neck last time?”

“You left marks over her thighs,”

“Jealous?”

“No, but I think you are that everyone saw mine, but no one saw yours,” and Suguru scoffs,

“My marks aren’t for anyone else but me,” and his fingers tear at the fabric of your pantyhose, as you whine, lips curling as your skin is freed, “and if anyone else was seeing them, well,” his thumb drags across the swell of your far too wet cunt, drawing a pretty gasp from your lips, “I’d have to punish her wouldn’t I?” He kisses the skin exposed between the patchwork tears, making you whimper, “make her cum over and over, until she begs me to stop, show everyone how I fuck her well,”

“Not as well as I do,” Satoru replies, “isn’t that right, Princess?”

“I’m not answering that,” you scoff — you knew nothing good came from getting between their fights, except maybe getting between their bodies.

“Then maybe we’ll have to remind you,” Suguru’s hands drag over your legs again, tugging off the shreds of your pantyhose off, “give you our dicks over and over until you tell us which one’s better,”

“Sounds good to me, yeah?” Satoru leans down to kiss the valley of your breasts, before his fingers follow, finding the front latch with a grin, “planned for this sweetheart? And I thought I was the one who wanted this the most,” and he undoes the clasp with practiced ease, your chest exposed to his touch, nipples pebbling under the cool air.

“You still are,” Suguru replies, as he nips at your thigh, eyes flicking down to Satoru’s obvious erection straining against the fabric of his slacks, “ready to burst just from looking at her chest, bet you wouldn’t last a minute getting her off,”

“Oh yeah? Then let’s see who lasts longer,” Satoru undoes and tosses his shirt with ease, his deep blue suit coat long discarded, before he pulls you up into a sitting position while he lies back, and then lifts you with ease onto the middle of his bare chest, “you in her mouth or me eating her out,”

“Toru—“ you squealed, as you squirmed, your already embarrassingly wet panties clinging to your dripping cunt, slick against his skin, but he holds your hips steady with large hands, “I can’t — I’ll crush you—“

“Ride my face, baby,” Satoru smiles up at you, that same smile you could never say no to — the one that made your stomach tie itself in knots, “wanna watch you cum all over my face, wanna walk around covered with your slick m—“

“Fuck—“ you cover your face, cheeks burning, “stop,”

“Already embarrassed? That’s not good, Princess,” Suguru clicks his tongue, as gentle but teasing fingers pry your hands off your face, “can’t have that, we barely started,”

“Please, baby?” Satoru pouts, and you can’t resist — a small nod, and his thousand watt smile almost makes it worth it, “take your seat on your throne, Princess,” you snort, almost.

You gingerly shift yourself over him, still hovering as you hesitate. You whimper as he inhaled, a shudder leaving his body, “how is it possible for you smell so fucking good?” And you hear the distinct sound of him unbuckling his belt and the zipper of his pants, and you knew he was already palming at his length.

Yet still, insecurity creeps up your body from his gaze, as he gazes up at your messy folds “Are you sure I won’t suffocate—” and he leans up to drag his tongue up your clothed cunt, nose bumping against your puffy clit, “ngh, Toru,” his name comes out far too needy for your taste, knees already beginning to buckle, quivering when he tugs at your drenched panties to snap them against your glistening folds, “fuck—” and he’s pulling the thin fabric aside, his warm breath sending ribbons of heat up your body, nearly shuddering from anticipation alone, and it’s nothing compared to when he pulls you down to seat you fully on his face.

“Fuck,” your body folds forward, and you barely catch yourself, as Satoru’s needy tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, “Toru, oh my god —- fuck,”

You barely register the creak of the bed, and the rustle of clothes or the click of the belt, “That’s the idea after all, princess,” Suguru knelt before you, his pretty cock aching for you and an inch in front of you — he was thicker than Satoru, lovely veins that you wanted nothing more than to trace, and pretty beads of pre-cum dripping from his slit, “are you going to be a good girl and—” he hisses when your lips part to suckle at his tip,tongue flicking over his slit, before you let his cock part your lips again.

But Satoru wasn’t one to be ignored — his tongue circling your clit faster, as his hands rest on your ass, squeezing, before slapping his hand down against the sensitive flesh, sending you forward onto Suguru’s cock.

Suguru grunts, fingers threading into your strands, nails digging into your scalp, “s’fucking good for me, princess. Such a good cockeater,” his fingers cup your chin, forcing your gaze higher, eyes blown out in pleasure, boobs bouncing with the way you rocked against Satoru’s face and Suguru’s shallow thrusts, the heavy weight of his dick on your tongue.

And Suguru can’t resist — palming at your breasts because you’re so pretty when you whine, as he pinches your erect nipples before rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. You moan around Suguru’s length, your hands grasping at his hips, sloppily sucking him off, as Satoru grinds his face against your cunt.

The wet squelch of your pussy rings in your ears, greedily lapping at your juices like a man wanting to drown, diving deeper and deeper to depths unknown. And when his thumbs reach up to part your hole further apart, you’re nearly choking on Suguru’s dick, as Satoru’s tongue slips into your entrance.

You whine when he teasingly pulls away, pressing sweet kisses to your clit, “Gonna fuck you right, sweetheart — make sure you can’t remember anything tonight except the feel of my tongue inside you, that is, until I fuck you open,” and he’s burying you back, moaning at the feeling of your juices slipping off the side of his face, “gotta open wide for you baby — gotta swallow this whole cunt, yeah?”

And you would have moaned if you hadn’t had your mouth full of Suguru’s dick, nearly beginning to choke on it when he began to lazily thrust into your mouth, a shiver down his spine as he looks at you drooling around his length, sloppily tracing his veins, a graze of his teeth against the sensitive skin, and a hiss parts his lips, “careful there,” and he gives a particularly hard thrust, “don’t want me to fuck this throat do you?” and your moan makes a mean smirk curl his lips, “or maybe you do,”

Fuck, you were getting close — and so was Suguru by the way his hips began to buck into your mouth, and Satoru for that matter — the wet sounds of his fisting his cock along with the messy moans against your cunt sending more pleasure up and down your spine. And fuck, his bucking against his hand was making the bed shake — and god, you’d reach behind you and jack him off if you weren’t holding onto Suguru for dear life.

“That’s it, sweetheart, swallow my cock, fuck, g’nna cum soon,” Suguru’s balls slap against your face as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest, “Toru looks he’s about ready to burst too, gonna clean up our cocks before we fuck you, pretty?”

“Fuck, she nearly clamped down on my mouth from that,” Satoru says, thoroughly muffled from your heat pressed tight to his mouth, his tongue then returning to fuck you, as you ride his face to find your release, unable to think about anything else but cumming, “cum on my face, baby,” and when Satoru sucks around your clit, a sharp palm bearing down on your ass again, you’re cumming, grinding and riding out your high on his face, as he welcomes your release with an open mouth. The wet sounds of his slurping and sucking, as your juices roll off both sides of his face and stain the mattress underneath him.

And then you’re eagerly sucking at Suguru’s cock, swallowing around him as he fucks your face, “g’nna cum, are you gonna let me cum alone — are you going to help Satoru cum too?” and he’s helping you reach back, leaning back with you so his cock never parts your pretty lips, and right as your fingers brush against Satoru’s cock, squeezing around the base, you hollow out your cheeks, letting Suguru’s tip brush your throat.

They both groan your name as they cum, thick spurts of Suguru’s release down your throat, while Satoru cums all over his stomach and your hand. They slowly still their movements, Suguru slowly pulling his cock from your mouth, strings like a spiderweb of cum and your spit connecting your lips to his dick, and Satoru helps you off his face, eyes shut as your legs are still shaking from the way he ate you out still, as they lay you down on the bed.

Your eyes flutter open to find Satoru licking his face clean, still glossy with your release and his spit, “Fuck, sweetheart, how do you taste so good?” he murmurs almost reverently, a grin on his lips, “I’ll have to sit on my face more often,” and you’re rolling your eyes.

“I don’t know if I’ll be sitting on my throne very often, you weirdo,” you chuckle softly, far too breathlessly, and you turn to Suguru to find him leaning on his elbow, gaze still dark.

“Well, you do have two thrones after all,” Suguru leans down to find your lips in a kiss, tasting himself on your lips, a soft moan pulled from your lips, “you’ll have to use the other at one point or another,”

“Jealous?” you echo Satoru, and Suguru has you pulled into his lap in a moment, your back pressed flush to his chest, his cock already far too hard, far too quickly, and your head falls back as he drags the tip over your still sensitive folds, “a-ah, Sugu, I—”

“The only thing I’m jealous about is that the only thing that’s been in this pretty pussy tonight has been Satoru’s tongue,” and he’s tilting your head down, to watch your cunt rub against his length, a whine leaving your throat that you barely recognize as your own, “think we should fix that, shouldn’t we?”

“Room for another over there?” Satoru adds, drawing closer, his length in hand, as he lazily pumps it to full mast, and you whimper at the sight of him, “our princess is so needy, she needs two of us to fill her, yeah?”

And Suguru takes the opportunity to spread your folds with his hand, and sink his length into you, your head falling back into his shoulder, as a pornographic moans parts your lips, and Suguru is shushing you all the same, as he works himself into you inch by inch, “Don’t want anything to think we’re filming a different kind of movie in here, hm?”

“Imagine the headlines then,” Satoru hums, as he teases your clit with his cock, “movie star found cheating on her co star — one dick just wasn’t enough — she needs two,”

“Can they blame her?” Suguru’s finally inside you fully, his stretch far too delicious, shorting out your nerves with the pleasure — and you swear your cunt was making a mold of his cock, complete with every lovely vein, pretty curve, and each inch, “this pussy deserves the best after all,”

“S’full,” you’re a mess, walls already fluttering around Suguru, practically begging him to begin moving, while welcoming Satoru in with folds that only craved his cock, “so big,” you whine.

“Mmhmm, I know, baby,” Satoru’s tilting up your chin, lips curled in a grin, “Suguru’s almost too much for me — how are you going to fit me too?” and you whimper, shaking your head, “you still want me?” and you nod far too eagerly, and he chuckles, “well, you heard our princess, Suguru, mind giving me a hand?”

And you furrow your brow, unsure, until you feel Suguru’s hands reach around to your front and spreads your pussy lips wider for Satoru, making your cunt clamp down on him, “fuck, she just got tighter,” but Satoru takes it in stride, gathering some of your juices on his fingers to further lube himself up.

“No matter how much we fuck her like this, she’s always so tight for us,” Satoru’s pressing his tip to your spread entrance, and you whimper, “maybe tonight,” his fingers tilt your chin upwards, “we’ll finally fuck her to remember our shapes,”

And he guides his cock into you, and Suguru braces your body against his as your back arches, as both of their lengths stretch you open — like they said, no matter how many times they did this, you never quite got used to it.

But this pleasure? You were far too used to — they had ruined you for anyone else, because no matter what, no man could please you like either of them, much less both of them.

“S’full, fuck, I-I can’t—” your walls are squeezing them hard, dicks rubbing together, drawing deep groans from both of them.

“Don’t have to break our dicks off to get us to fuck you all the time, baby,” Satoru mutters, panting, as he lifts your leg, hooking one around his hip, “already gonna fuck you stupid anytime you want,”

“Shit, I’m not gonna last that long, Satoru,” Suguru says through gritted teeth, pressing heated kisses to your neck, “gonna start moving, sweetheart,” and you’re nodding, as they both begin to fuck you in tandem. Suguru thrusted upwards steadily, forcing you to ride him, allowing his dick to sink into sweeter depths, pleasure ripping up your spine, while Satoru fucked into you at a rough pace, hands gripping your thighs as he did. Both of their movements drove the other deeper into you, reaching depths you didn’t think were possible.

“F-fuck, Sugu, Toru,” you’re babbling, lost in the thick haze of pleasure, dripping over your skin like hot molasses, slow but burning all the same, as your walls fluttered around both of them, “s’good, I can’t—” tears burning at your eyes, as your hands brace themselves on Satoru’s shoulders.

“That’s it, such a good girl, been thinking about you spread out on me like this since the moment I saw you,” Suguru grunts, rutting into you faster, “couldn’t wait to rip off this dress to fuck you right — didn’t think you’d let us so soon,” and you swear their cocks were kissing your cervix at this point, and surely you’d look down and see a bulge in your stomach from how deep they were.

“Pretty girl takes us so well, no one compares to you, sweetheart,” Satoru sighs, watching the way his cock sunk into you again and again, “you’re ours, just ours,”

“I’m close, s’close, g’nna—” pleasure built like a coil in your stomach, ready to snap, and they were only more than happy to pull you apart, as long as they were the only one to put you back together.

And Satoru rubs at your clit, a moan on his lips, “Cum for us princess,” and you do, toes curling as you cum hard with their names on your lips, clamping down around both of their cocks. Low moans of your name leave their lips as they fuck you through your orgasm, hips stuttering when they slowed, “g’nna cum,”

“Where—” Suguru chokes out, and you’re leaning into Suguru, while your arms wrap around Satoru’s neck, pulling him close.

“Inside, please, give me your cum,” And they both moan, slowing until they notch themselves deep as they both cum, thick releases painting your walls, continuing to fuck their cum deeper inside, “ngh, fuck,” And Suguru finds your lips in a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth, as Satoru digs his teeth into your neck, no protest coming to your mind, only just a want for more, more, more.

And they slow, creak of the mattress and the pants stilling into silence, as you lean back against Suguru, Satoru’s face buried in the crook of your shoulder as the three of you bask in the afterglow.

And finally, Satoru slowly pulls himself from you, groaning as he watches the evidence of the double creampie they gave you drips from inside you, “Fuck, sweetheart, we filled you up,”

“A shame to waste it,” Suguru murmurs, as he pulls his softening erection from inside you, “should we plug her up, make her keep our cum inside her for the rest of the night?” and you’re biting back a moan, but Satoru doesn’t miss the way your lower lips twitch.

“Oh, she likes that,” Satoru grins, cupping your face to find your lips in a languid kiss, and you taste yourself on his tongue that teases teasingly over the seam of your lips, “or maybe we should fuck her again and give her more until it drips down her thighs all night, hm?”

And the moment is fraught with tension, as the two of them lean in again to kiss you, before the door bursts open, making all three of you freeze.

Fuck (and not in the good way).

“Oi, what the fuck,” the three of you glance over, as Satoru and Suguru hurriedly covered you up with Suguru’s nearby discarded jacket, “you fucking idiots—”

“Look who’s talking,” Satoru scoffs, “fuck off,”

“I would say the same to you, but you already did,” Sukuna shakes his head, “all night you’ve been gone, and you can’t be bothered to keep track of the time?” and your brow knits together, “it’s nearly time for the fucking—”

“Question and answer, with the press,” the warmth of their embraces erased in a moment by the news, a bucket of ice water spilled over your head, “fuck,” you’re trying to scramble to get up, “fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t out there like this—”

“No fuck you can’t,” Sukuna scoffs, and Suguru glares at him, as he helps you into your dress, while Satoru stands with his jacket as a partition.

“Stop talking if you’re not going to help,” and you’re lucky the dress doesn’t require six people to get into, and you had chosen something relatively simple, with a fucking string corset you were beginning to regret as Suguru tried to retie it as best he could, “fuck, why was this dress so easy to take off?” But he finally gets it, as you open the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror.

“My makeup, my hair — I can fix it, but not the way it was before,” you’re covering your face, how was your career over before you barely started? “Fuck, what do I do—”

“It’s simple,” Satoru sighs, “as much as I hate to suggest this, and I probably will go gouge my eyes out—”

You sigh, “Toru—”

“I have an idea,” Satoru’s eyes slide to Sukuna, disgust evident in his face, until he glances back at you, “but we’ll need his help,”

“Don’t worry, I don’t know your name either,” Satoru’s head snaps back to Sukuna.

“You don’t know—”

Sukuna smirks, “What’s the plan?”

Satoru’s expression sours, as he scratches the back of his head, “Well…”

“You surprised me, brat,” Sukuna says, as he holds your arm, as the two of you make your way back into the ballroom, and you’re adjusting your dress, still far too self conscious — as if everyone could see what you did — even though that was the plan.

“That I agreed to this?” you murmur.

“No, that you bit me that hard,” he rubbed the mark you left on his neck, as your cheeks burn, “didn’t expect a tiny thing like you to be able to bite that well,”

“Well, I had to make it look real,” you look away, but look back when you’re about to reach the doors of the ballroom, “fuck, everyone is going to look at us, aren’t they?”

“Let them enjoy the show,” an arm slides around your waist, “you know they will.”

~~~

It’s only been a few weeks since the film premiered, and it’s already far surpassed some of the top grossing films this year. A lot of the buzz generated from the film has been around rumors surrounding the relationship between the two lead co-stars—their tumultuous relationship seems to have come to an end—

And you tune out the video for a moment, scrolling into the comments to see what people are saying:

sukunasthirdleg69: damn can i get on him next? 👅

gegesnumber1hater: wonder if she got back with gojo or geto again? 🤭 I’d like to see that groupchat pop off.

gogecutestprincess replied to gegesnumber1hater: no way she lost her chance with gojo and geto 😤 they deserve better…like each other

You chuckled, at least the news of you and Sukuna had spread as planned. You had enough of the coverage of the premiere with the zoomed in images of your clothes and the marks on both of your bodies. But finally it was done — but how long would it be until you slipped up with Satoru or Suguru and the rumors would begin again?

“What are you thinking about so much? Aside from me,” Satoru collapses on the couch beside you, hair still damp from the shower, arm slipping around your waist, as he leans over your shoulder, “what are they saying now?”

“Just more rumors — some are wondering if we got back together,”

“How could they ever think we let you go?” Suguru presses a kiss to the top of your head, before sitting beside you.

“I still hate that they think the marks I left are from Sukuna,” Satoru mumbles, as you flip through the comments, burying his face further into the crook of your neck, “how could they not realize it was my hard work that put those marks there?”

“Because it’s so distinct,” you snort, and he’s pouting as you press a kiss to his cheek, “not everyone has your sharp eyes, Toru,”

“And yet you saved every picture they got of her,” Suguru smirks, and Satoru glares at him, “but I did too,”

“What are we going to do when they start talking about us again?” Satoru tilts his head at your question.

“Let them,” Satoru leans back on the couch, fingers toying with a strand of your hair, “and if you really don’t like it, we can pay them off,”

“And if I don’t want to pay them off?” Both of them furrow their brows, “what if I want them to know?” You add, chewing on your lip, “about us?”

“You want to?” Suguru’s gaze softens, “but more than us, it could impact your career,”

“It already had,” you scoff, when had it not recently? If it was going to be like this, you would at least like to be in control of the narrative, “everyone is always talking about us, well,” your lips curl into a grin, why don’t we give them something to talk about?”

“And what would that be?” Satoru hums.

You lock your phone screen, “When does shooting and press start for season three of jjk?”

~~~~

A few months later….

“A successful film, several offers to be in other blockbusters, and now you’re back shooting season three of Jujutsu Kaisen,” the interviewer leans back, shaking her head, as she fans herself with her interview cards, “I think we were lucky to get an interview with you now! Although it isn’t in person this time,”

“Well, you can’t forget your roots,” and you couldn’t — this was the first show that had requested you for an interview all those years ago when season one of Jujutsu Kaisen was airing, even if you had relegate them to a video interview, “it feels like this year has been that in many ways,”

“Oh? How is that?” and your lips curl.

“Last year with my first feature film and everything else, it felt like starting over — starting from scratch with something so new that I barely recognized myself at some point,” your hands clasped in your lap, “this year, after the film gained so much traction, and going back to film the show that made my career, it just feels like coming home — especially to the cast,”

“Speaking of the cast, are you going to see more behind the scenes with Gojo and Geto?” she grins, “so many of your videos with those two went viral — are we going to see more of the three of you messing around?”

And you can’t help the smile on your lips, “Oh definitely you will be seeing more of that,” you’re tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and the lights glint off a set of two rings on your finger, diamonds glinting as if begging for notice, and you hear a small gasp.

“Is that—” and you freeze a moment, before your smile grows wider, and the interviewer squeals, “Are you married?”

“Guilty,”

The interviewer grins harder than you are — and you’re not quite sure if she’s more thrilled at the news or of getting this exclusive, “Who’s the lucky man?”

And you open your mouth, when the camera goes out of focus for a moment, only for it to come back into focus with Satoru and Suguru leaning into the frame of the camera, their arms around your sides. And Satoru lowers his sunglasses with a smirk.

“Who said it’s just one?”

✧ a/n: ahh this was super fun to write just because of how much crack it was hahah, i hope you guys enjoyed <3

✧ taglist: @forest-hashira , @supilyu , @yamaguccitadashi, @kentocalls, @magicalgirlb, @ssetsuka , @isabeauwolf , @lemonintrovert01 , @astraecea-silversin , @cerene-dipity , @whorefornoodles , @hobimysolecito , @risuola , @ja-zz , @spider-fan72 , @jayathelostdragon , @therealestpussyeater , @too-much-snow , @umarureid , @rosso-seta , @maddie-jayne , @at-the-chateau , @cherrypieyourface, @sleepysaurusworld , @lucilferz , @spltbtch , @bobfloydluvsblackwomen , @johannakhalafalla , @augustwinesworld , @catsgomurp , @psychxbby, @hellkaiserinphoenix , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @cstandsforchaos , @sunamatic , @lycoris-01 , @mua-for-now , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @voids-universe , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @gorouenjoyer

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sqtorux · 6 months

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TEXT AUS 1:

am i the one for you?

would you still love me if i were a worm?

jjk men vs a dry partner

anti romantic texts with jjk men

arguments and aftermath of a fight with jjk men :

part 1 part 2

drunk/suggestive texts with jjk men

random bf!gojo texts

‘he left, you can come over now’

random bf!geto texts

sneaky.ᐟ

hanging out with someone they don't know

a long nap

jealousy, jealousy

no lube, no protection

solace

not this time.ᐟ

random bf!toge texts

morning fairy.ᐟ

jjk boys vs a dry partner

insecurities

aftercare

cousin allegations .ᐣ

autocorrect fails .ᐟ

after me.ᐣ

new theme ★

ink on skin!

excuse me who?

breaking and entering

im right here?

debt trap!

twisted discipline?

oh my mistake

some wounds and a few more

a daring challenge

there was an attempt

can you hear me sos

text from an ex

can't escape me!

guess the makeup

new theme‧₊˚✩ ₊˚⊹

rent free!

silly lyric pranks

fuzzy menace

look at you go!

love drunk

an arbitrary declaration

match made in heaven!

an honest blunder

losing your wedding ring

forbidden fruit

family bonding time!

a blossoming dilemma

reversed roles

nightmare blues

oops wrong send!

how many likes?

what's your password?

can your bf fight?

sex ban

arguments with jjk boys

that's not me

new theme ♥︎

the dating plan

a kinky confession

wrong number?

accidental nudes

leaving them while they napped

first "i love you"

naughty playthings

after the rain

baby? baby!

talk that talk

can we get a pet?

“sorry wrong person”

a friendly banter (or not)

caught in the act

you're where again?

an inconvenient alternative

communication mishaps

chibi nuisances

forgotten plans

under the influence

heat waves

secret antics

bad words

towel please!

fashion icon

too salty for your heart

past flings

—· end ·—

find the new masterlist for the text aus here !

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niki-phoria · 1 month

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my baby, sweet babyってこれからも先一生君に

pairing: okkotsu yuuta x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 485

notes: every time i post a jjk fic i struggle to find new headers to use lol, you can read this as a non sorcerer au if you want, not proofread, pls forgive any mistakes !! title from ONE OK ROCK - my sweet baby

autumn comes in the form of golden leaves decorating the trees and a cool breeze blowing through the air. OKKOTSU YUUTA runs a stray hand through his overgrown strands of hair, pushing his bangs out of his face. he takes a deep breath, slowly letting the weight of the world slip away from his shoulders. he winces at the dull ache that lingers in his shoulder blades - something that you’ll be sure to scold him about later.

yuuta glances over his shoulder when you open the door with a quiet click. the door creaks as you slide it to the side just enough for you to step out into the sunlight. the welcome mat placed in front of the door feels scratchy beneath your feet as you take a step closer to him. “hey,” you smile.

“hey,” he repeats. it’s impossible to not be influenced by your joy; yuuta’s lips quirk upwards into a small grin of his own before he realizes. his face flushes ever so slightly at the realization, making him quickly turn his gaze back towards the setting sun ahead.

“enjoying the fresh air?”

yuuta nods. “i was just watching the sunset.”

you smile softly in response. everything looks softer in the golden light. yuuta’s eyes shine the color of honey. hues of pink and purple swirl throughout the sky. you can just barely make out the twinkle of stars beginning to appear as they welcome night once again.

“it’s getting colder out,” you say. your fingertips skim the edge of your balcony railing as you wander over to stand beside him. the polished wood feels smooth against your fingertips; it feels cool against your skin as you lean against it. “we’ll have to start wearing our jackets again soon.”

yuuta hums. soon, snow will begin to filter through the sky, painting the world white. soon, your mornings will be spent huddled up in bed together, your bodies tightly intertwined under the guise of conserving warmth. soon, you’ll scold him as you tug a hat over his head when you send him to work in the morning with warnings about not catching a cold.

the thought makes him smile to himself. “i love you,” yuuta whispers. his voice is so quiet you almost miss it entirely when the wind carries his words away.

warmth spreads to his face when you reach over, taking his hand into your own. you intertwine your fingers together effortlessly - as if your bodies are two pieces of a puzzle. your hands feel warm against his skin when you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“i love you, too.” you smile softly, sealing your promise in the form of a chaste kiss pressed against his knuckles.

the world will continue spinning. curses will be born and exorcized. sorcerers will come and go. but for now, with your hand intertwined with his, yuuta knows that everything will be okay.

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vaxmpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho @dog55teeth

if you liked this fic, please comment, reblog, or leave feedback !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

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jellys-compendium · 8 months

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JJK Mafia AU

MafiaBoss!Nanami Kento Headcanons

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Pairing: Nanami Kento x gn!reader Cw: smut, mentions of violence and illegal activities Word Count: ~700 A/n: I am so weak. One little thought about Mafia!Boss Nanami and my little brain went boom. I hope this brainrot sticks because I'd love to write a multichapter fic with this premise!

mafiaboss!nanami rules from his position at the top of his criminal syndicate with an iron fist. Nanami is ruthless when it comes to ensuring that each gang member respect the chain of command and obey his rules. If you mess up, he doesn't give you second chances.

mafiaboss!nanami who oozes wealth. The luxury cars he drives, the expensive suits he wears--that watch that costs more than what you make in a year circling his thick wrist. All of these things not only speak to Nanami's expensive tastes, but also to the raw power and unadulterated authority he holds at his fingertips.

mafiaboss!nanami who has earned his wealth and status through his cunning and discipline. He has made his way to the top of the food chain through his own merit alone. Nanami has a deep respect for others who do the same.

mafiaboss!nanami who has the entire city eating out of the palm of his hand. Neither the politicians nor police force make a move without his express approval.

mafiaboss!nanami is dangerous when he is crossed. Nanami finds no pleasure in killing, but he will carry out the proper sentence towards those who have betrayed him. Especially towards any poor idiot who has taken something that belongs to him.

mafiaboss!nanami who could have his pick of any woman or man he so desires. Models, celebrities, or whatever multi-million heir/heiress that catches his eye. However, Nanami had grown tired of toying with these spoiled and out of touch airheads long ago. Now, Nanami much prefers to spend his time entertaining himself with someone who has a head on their shoulders. Someone like you.

mafiaboss!nanami who wants you the moment he first lays eyes on you. But he is not interested in using force, or his power and influence to win your heart. Instead, Nanami prefers to watch you from afar, relishing in your fire as you try to make your way on your own. And yet, whenever you eventually--inevitably--storm your way into his office with a frustrated scowl and sheepishly ask for his help, the euphoria that blooms in Nanami's chest is as powerful as the drugs he smuggles.

mafiaboss!nanami who simultaneously teases you and lays claim to you through his purposeful and scorching touches. His large hand on the small of your back as he guides you to his car, his fingers tracing the back of your neck as he fastens the necklace he had gifted you, the way his lips barely brush against yours as he leans down to sternly scold you for putting yourself in danger...

mafiaboss!nanami who kisses you with a knee-weakening and breathless passion. He ravishes your perfect mouth so well and so thoroughly, that you know deep down in your bones that you'll never be satisfied with kissing anyone else.

mafiaboss!nanami who undresses you with awe and hungry reverence. Nanami can't keep his mouth off of you. The deep, rumbling groans that escape him as he diligently tastes every delectable inch of your body makes your heart hammer in your chest. Nanami leaves no place unworshipped.

mafiaboss!nanami who staves off the full force of his desire for you for as long as he can. But those sweet little cries you make, coupled with your lewd kisses and the feeling of your fingers digging into the muscles of his back are his downfall. Partially clothed, Nanami pins you to his desk and fucks you into it raw.

mafiaboss!nanami who isn't satisfied with just one round. After he's fucked you on the desk he moves you towards the window, propping your hips up before pressing your palms against the glass. He leans down behind you and whispers seductively into your ear that he wants you to watch your reflection in the glass. Nanami wants you to witness how beautiful your expression becomes when he makes you mewl and whimper and cream on his cock.

mafiaboss!nanami who offers to provide for you and protect you when morning comes--and smiles when you decline. Nanami's gaze is intense, laced with both admiration and possessiveness as he watches you slip back on that sexy little number you wore last night.

He can't wait to taste you again.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jjk au #jellywrites

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back2bluesidex · 1 month

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To Be Popular - JJK (18+) [Prologue Preview]

↪ Patreon Membership Exclusive Series

↪ Pairing: Social Media Influencer! Jungkook X Marketing Manager! Reader ft. Yoongi

↪ Summary: You love everything about social media - apart from the ever-growing number of social media influencers. You don't understand how these people gain followers and admirers just by installing a camera and doing very basic things in front of it. And you despise how some of them can do anything to gain fame, to be popular - even if it includes uploading their bedroom scene in pornsites aka people like Jeon Jungkook.

But when your company launches a new product and your department head tasks you with signing Jeon Jungkook up as an endorsement partner - you have no choice but to chase him like the corporate slave that you are. However, things turn worse when you embroil in a dating rumor with him and have to keep the game going for the sake of everything.

is it really for the worse or things will turn in a way you never expected?

↪ Theme: Strangers to lovers au, fake dating au, kind of enemies to lover au, angst, smut, fluff.

↪ A/N: This series will have 2k words per chapter and will be updated weekly. Hence, you can expect the first chapter sometime next week. Hope that you enjoy this one <3

Read full prologue on Patreon

Your jaw hangs ajar, threatening to touch the floor as Min Yoongi, aka the manager you have a fat crush on, presents the campaign plan of your company’s new product’s marketing. Everything was fine until Yoongi suggested influencer endorsement and if this is not a joke of the universe then you don’t know what it is because you can see Jeon Jungkook’s picture gracing the screen.

“Jeon Jungkook? Why?” you utter these words without so much of a thought.

Yoongi looks at you with his narrowed eyes, “why not? You know, he is really famous. He is trending currently.”

“Yeah but the reason he is trending- well. I don’t think he is suitable for our brand image.” you press on.

Yoongi chuckles at your constipated expression, “Y/N-ah” he calls you softly and a tiny part of your heart melts, “I am sure our brand image can go up with a few charitable works here and there. But the company wants a return of what they are investing in marketing. I bet signing up Jeon Jungkook will help.”

“Y/N, you know we are already at a tight spot right? Our last campaign wasn’t as successful as we expected. The company may take steps if we don’t do this right this time.” calls Mrs. Lee from the other side of the table.

“And before you ask me why him, why not the other influencers…” Yoongi chimes in again, “We are selling gaming laptops and this guy is addicted to games. He has more followers than the actual streamers. He is young, hot, and talented in many areas. In one word, he is perfect.”

“You awfully sound like you want to date him.” You scoff at the man. He only chuckles.

Yoongi tries to say something but a knock rings on the door. One of the staff opens the door only a little and says, “Sir, he is here.”

Yoongi nods and says, “send him inside.”

“Who is coming?” you place the question. Only for Yoongi to smirk as a response.

When you are about to press more, the door swings open revealing the man who-should-not-be-named, Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes go wide as you take him in - all baggy clothes and a cute bucket hat perched on the top of his head. Bambi eyes scanning the room like a puppy brought to his very new home. As if he is not the guy who is going viral for fucking on camera and selling it to an adult site.

He bows deeply and opens his mouth to greet, “Hello, I am Jeon Jungkook.”

You feel your blood pressure raising at the thought of working with him. You will survive it right?

You will have to.

Read full prologue on Patreon

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #bts x you #jungkook x you #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #yoongi x reader

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cosmicdumpling · 23 days

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cursed by the dawn's light » jeong yunho

SYNOPSIS: As a seasoned and solitary student of Jujutsu Tech, you value sternness, strength, and resilience. But when the relentlessly optimistic rookie sorcerer Jeong Yunho bursts into your life like a wrecking ball, his unyielding cheerfulness and enthusiasm begin to chip away at your carefully guarded emotional barriers, bringing a surprising light into your life, whether you want it or not.

PAIRING: yunho x fem!reader

GENRE/S: romance/fluff, angst with a fluffy ending, full fic

THEME/S: jujutsu sorcerers au, definitely a grumpy x sunshine fic, characters include the og jjk characters

⚠️ WARNING/S: profanities, violence (jujutsu sorcerers in action ofc), injuries, mentions of trauma and death

WORD COUNT: 9.7k

➺ MAIN MASTERLIST

You despise sunshine.

By sunshine, you don’t mean the literal sun— its warming rays are irrelevant to you. Rather, personalities like Gojo Satoru, who seem to constantly have a whole reserve of energy even when on the brink of death.

Personalities like Gojo Satoru— the kind that exudes loquacity, laughter, and joy to the point of nausea.

Too bright.

That’s the first thought that strikes you upon seeing Jeong Yunho—a quirky boy trailing behind the exuberant, white-haired teacher as he leads him into the dorm’s common room. Yunho looks positively thrilled, completely unfazed by the environment he’s been thrust into.

Perhaps it’s because, as someone who guards themselves with towering walls of solitude, people like him and Gojo are overwhelming—draining rather than energizing. While you crave isolation, Yunho is the kind of person who bounds around, making friends and probing your every curiosity with reckless abandon.

Now, Jujutsu Tech seems to be home to not one, not two, but three annoyingly sunny dispositions (the other being Itadori save for Gojo and Yunho, of course).

Gojo Satoru is a master of persuasion, able to sway even the most stubborn soul to his side. If he were a bit more malevolent, he could easily be mistaken for an elusive kidnapper, even in broad daylight. As it stands, he’s toeing the line between mischievous and outright dangerous.

Because why on earth would he bring Jeong Yunho—a hopeful rookie with little understanding of curses, grudges, and violence—into the mix?

Then again, Gojo had taken you and Megumi Fushiguro under his wing when you were younger. It’s clear that you and Megumi were irreplaceable to him. Megumi’s father, a notorious sorcerer-killer who had wreaked havoc in the Jujutsu world, was a major influence, and his ties to the Zen’in clan—a powerful and influential family of sorcerers—added to his importance. As for you, your own past was marred by stories of struggle and notoriety, having been born into a world that held its own dark secrets.

So, despite the odds, you and Megumi had more than you seemed to lack. Even if those burdens often felt more like curses than blessings, you had something—something substantial.

But Yunho? He’s different.

Gojo had plucked him from the depths of the Miyagi slums, and you can’t help but wonder why Miyagi seems to breed such impossibly bright, extraordinary individuals. Itadori came from that very place, and he’s nearly as radiant and exuberant as Yunho.

“Hi everyone, I’m Yunho!” the new arrival announces with an enthusiasm that seems to fill the room. “I’m going to be attending Jujutsu Tech from now on!”

The greeting is met with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. You can’t help but frown slightly at the unrestrained cheerfulness that Yunho brings with him. His bright smile, his animated gestures—it’s all so... sunshine-like.

As you stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the interaction unfold, you feel a mix of irritation and reluctant fascination. Despite your best efforts to remain aloof, there’s something undeniably magnetic about Yunho’s presence. He embodies everything you’ve always thought you couldn’t tolerate—yet here he is, challenging your perceptions in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

“Yeah, welcome,” you manage to say, though your tone lacks the warmth that Yunho’s radiance seems to demand. “I’m Y/N.”

Yunho’s eyes light up as he turns to you. “Nice to meet you, Y/N! I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Probably not all of it’s true,” you reply, glaring at Gojo, who has an ever-cheeky grin on his face.

“Don’t worry,” Yunho says with a grin, “I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. After all, if I can handle Gojo, I can handle anything!”

Yuuji bursts into a hearty laugh, his voice brimming with excitement as he declares that they’re destined to become the best of friends. Nobara, never one to shy away from a bit of competitive banter, quickly jumps in, teasingly asserting that she remains the best and that Yunho will have a hard time surpassing her. Megumi, true to his reserved nature, remains silent, though his quiet presence feels more inviting than your own. You take another look at Yunho and see him already blending seamlessly into the group, his laughter mingling with Yuuji and Nobara’s as they joke and play around. The dorm’s walls resonate with their cheerful noise, and for a moment, Yunho’s exuberant spirit seems to light up the entire space.

God, you absolutely loathe sunshine.

The day Yunho officially begins his first day as a student of Jujutsu Tech is marked by a crisp morning and the usual bustle of students going about their training. You’re leaning against one of the pillars in the courtyard, trying to focus on anything but the inevitable interaction with the new student. The quiet is short-lived, though, as you catch sight of Yunho bounding toward you with an infectious energy that already feels too much for this early in the day.

“Good morning, Y/N!” Yunho greets you with a bright smile, his eyes twinkling as if the world were one big adventure waiting to be explored. “How’s your day going so far?”

You don’t bother to hide the sigh that escapes your lips. “It was fine until now.”

Yunho’s smile falters for just a second before it returns, undeterred by your less-than-welcoming tone. “I’m glad I get to see you! Gojo-sensei said you’re one of the best sorcerers here.”

Your eyes narrow slightly at the mention of Gojo. “Did he also tell you that I’m not a fan of unnecessary chatter?”

Yunho chuckles, completely missing—or ignoring—your annoyance. “He did, actually! But he also said you’re someone worth getting to know. And I’m pretty good at making friends, so I thought I’d give it a shot.”

You bite back a retort, instead fixing your gaze on some distant point beyond the courtyard, hoping Yunho will take the hint and move on. But he doesn’t. He’s still standing there, looking at you with that same infuriatingly cheerful expression.

“Look,” you finally say, “I’m not here to be your friend. I’m here to train, fight curses, and—most importantly—be left alone.”

Yunho nods as if he understands, though his expression remains unshaken. “That’s fair. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to or spar with or, I don’t know, grab lunch with. No pressure!”

You glance at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re really not getting the message, are you?”

Yunho grins, a little sheepishly this time. “I get it, I get it. You’re the ‘lone wolf’ type. But everyone needs a little sunshine in their life, right?”

“Not me.” The words are sharper than you intend, but you don’t regret them.

Yunho steps back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’ll back off. But the offer still stands.” He gives you one last bright smile before turning to leave, but not without adding, “And for the record, I think you’re more like the moon. Quiet, strong, and always there even if people don’t always notice.”

You blink, caught off guard by his unexpected comparison. But before you can respond, Yunho is already halfway across the courtyard, waving back at you as he heads toward the training grounds.

You watch him go, something unidentifiable stirring in your chest. He’s annoying, sure, but there’s something disarming about how genuine he seems. You shake your head, pushing the thought aside. You don’t have time for someone like Yunho—someone who radiates warmth and light like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You’ve built your walls too high, and you’re not about to let someone like him try to climb over them.

But as you walk away, you can’t help but think about what he said. About the moon. About being noticed.

And that’s what annoys you most of all.

It’s late in afternoon when you find yourself in one of the training rooms, trying to focus on perfecting a new technique. The space is quiet, just you, an enclosed space, a huge mirror, and your equipment— just the way you like it.

Or rather, just the way you liked it—until Yunho shows up.

“Y/N!” Yunho’s voice rings out across the room, breaking the silence as he bursts through the door. His face is lit up with excitement, and there’s an unmistakable bounce in his step as he heads toward you. “I finally found you! I was hoping we could train together.”

You barely glance up from your stance, tightening your grip on your weapon. “I’m busy.”

Yunho stops a few feet away, undeterred by your cold tone. “Busy training, right? That’s perfect! I could use some help with my hand-to-hand combat. Gojo-sensei said you’re one of the best at it.”

You sigh, finally turning to face him. “And why would I want to help you?”

He grins, that ever-present spark in his eyes making it impossible to ignore him completely. “Because I’m the new guy, and you’re the cool, experienced sorcerer who can teach me a thing or two. Plus, I bet sparring with someone like me will be more interesting than practicing alone.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Interesting? You mean annoying.”

Yunho laughs, the sound echoing in the large room. “You’re tough, but I’m persistent. I’ll grow on you eventually, just you wait.”

“Doubt it.” You shift your stance, preparing to return to your drills, but Yunho’s not done.

“Come on, just one round. I promise I won’t be a total pushover.”

There’s something in his voice—an earnestness that makes you pause. You study him for a moment, noting the determination in his stance. He’s serious about this, even if he’s doing his best to keep things light.

“Fine,” you relent, more to get him off your back than anything else. “One round. But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

Yunho’s grin widens, and he quickly drops into a ready stance. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two of you circle each other, and for a brief moment, you almost admire his enthusiasm. Then you push the thought away, focusing on the fight. You lunge forward, testing his reflexes with a swift jab. Yunho moves quickly, dodging and countering with a speed that catches you off guard.

He’s not just fast—he’s strong, too. You feel the force of his strikes, each one growing more precise as the spar progresses. There’s no hesitation in his movements, no second-guessing. He’s focused, but there’s still that underlying warmth in everything he does, as if even in combat, he’s not just fighting—he’s having fun.

It irritates you, how easily he moves, how effortlessly he seems to balance strength with that infuriatingly sunny disposition. As the round continues, you find yourself pushing harder, testing his limits. You throw a particularly forceful strike, and to your surprise, Yunho blocks it, his smile never faltering.

“You’re really strong, Y/N,” he says, breathing heavily but still managing to sound cheerful. “This is awesome!”

You grit your teeth, not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed. “Focus, Yunho. If you’re too busy talking, you’ll get hit.”

“Right!” He nods, but there’s no missing the excitement in his voice. He’s enjoying this—enjoying sparring with you, despite the fact that you’re trying your best to wear him down.

After a few more exchanges, you decide to end it. You see an opening and go for it, sweeping his legs out from under him with a quick, fluid motion. Yunho hits the mat with a grunt, and for a moment, the room is silent.

Then, as you stand over him, expecting some sort of complaint or excuse, Yunho looks up at you—and laughs.

“That was amazing!” he exclaims, propping himself up on his elbows. “You totally got me there!”

You blink, caught off guard by his reaction. “You… aren’t upset?”

“Upset? No way!” He jumps to his feet, still grinning from ear to ear. “I learned a lot just now. You’re incredible, Y/N.”

You stare at him, unsure how to respond. He’s serious—genuinely thrilled, even after you knocked him flat. There’s no resentment, no frustration—just that same relentless positivity.

“Next time, I’ll be ready for that move,” Yunho adds, his eyes shining with determination.

For a moment, you’re at a loss. You’re used to people getting frustrated with you, annoyed by your bluntness, or intimidated by your skill. But Yunho… he’s different. His optimism isn’t a front; it’s real, and it’s starting to chip away at the walls you’ve built.

“Whatever,” you mutter, turning away to hide the confusion swirling in your chest. “Just don’t think this means I’m your friend now.”

Yunho chuckles, not at all put off by your cold response. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But I’ll still be here, whether you like it or not.”

You don’t respond, but as you walk away, you can’t help but feel that maybe Jeong Yunho is more than just an annoying ball of sunshine after all, and that’s what unsettles you the most.

The midday sun casts long shadows across the training grounds, illuminating the dust particles swirling in the air as Yunho and Gojo face each other in the center of the arena. A small crowd of students has gathered around to watch the sparring session, their murmurs of anticipation filling the otherwise quiet afternoon.

You stand apart from the others, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as you observe the match unfolding before you.

Ah, unlucky him.

Gojo had a knack for training his students in the most unorthodox ways. For some unfortunate souls—like Yunho—this often meant being thrust into a sparring match with him before even learning the basics. While Gojo used these impromptu battles to gauge a student’s style and potential, it wasn’t the most welcoming introduction for newcomers. His teaching method involves putting his students through rigorous tests before he actually starts their training. It's his way of assessing their strengths and weaknesses.

Every jujutsu sorcerer harbors a touch of madness—an inner frenzy that fuels their power, and he wants to see what kind of crazy one is.

Gojo flashes his trademark grin, his blindfold concealing the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, Yunho! Show me what you've got!"

Yunho smiles back, his demeanor radiating warmth even in the face of such a formidable opponent. He settles into a defensive stance, his movements fluid but cautious.

The fight begins with Gojo launching forward, his speed blinding as he aims a swift kick toward Yunho's side. Yunho reacts just in time, blocking the attack with his forearm and sliding back slightly from the force. Instead of counterattacking, he takes a moment to regain his footing, eyes flickering with concern.

"Nice block!" Gojo praises, not missing a beat before darting in again with a flurry of punches.

Yunho dodges and deflects expertly, but each time an opening presents itself for him to strike back, he hesitates, opting instead to maintain his defensive posture. His face remains calm, but there's a noticeable restraint in his actions that sets your teeth on edge.

"Why isn't he fighting back?" you mutter under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice.

Yuuji glances at you, "Maybe he's just being careful? It is Gojo-sensei after all."

You ignore the comment, eyes glued to the arena as Gojo ups the intensity, his attacks growing faster and more precise. Yunho continues to evade, but the strain is beginning to show; beads of sweat form on his forehead, and his breaths come quicker.

"Yunho, you're not going to win by just dodging!" Gojo chides playfully, vanishing suddenly only to reappear behind Yunho, aiming a chop at his shoulder.

At the last second, Yunho spins around, raising his arm to block but not following through with a counterstrike. The impact sends him stumbling back, and a murmur ripples through the crowd.

"Come on, fight back," you hiss under your breath, clenching your fists tightly.

Gojo steps back, tilting his head curiously. "What's wrong? Afraid to hit your teacher?"

Yunho chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just don't want to accidentally hurt you, sensei."

A few students laugh at the notion, but you feel a surge of anger flare within you.

Gojo laughs heartily, clearly amused. "Oh? I appreciate the concern, but trust me, I can handle whatever you throw at me."

Yunho nods, taking a deep breath as he readies himself again. This time, he makes the first move, launching forward with impressive speed. He aims a punch toward Gojo's midsection, but his form is still hesitant, holding back just enough to lessen the potential impact.

Gojo effortlessly sidesteps, tapping Yunho lightly on the back as he passes by. "Better, but still too soft!"

The pattern continues, with Yunho attempting attacks that lack conviction, and Gojo easily evading or deflecting them. With each missed opportunity, your frustration mounts, a knot tightening in your stomach.

Anger.

It's what you feel as you watch him spar with the white-haired teacher who seems to be pleased with his defensive support battle style.

Gojo's pleased expression—one you’ve come to dread—is a clear sign of his satisfaction with Yunho’s performance. The boy is undeniably strong and brimming with potential, though he hasn’t yet mastered how to wield it. Gojo’s smirk reflects his delight at nurturing such raw talent, and if Yunho continues under his tutelage, he’s destined to become one of the strongest Jujutsu sorcerers.

But Yunho is a little... different.

One thing Gojo has discovered so far is that Yunho's fiercely protective instincts make him a challenging student. Yunho’s demeanor is typically bright and welcoming, but there’s a depth to his care for others that’s all too natural in his nature. It seems Gojo has to threaten someone to truly provoke Yunho into action.

Gojo’s eyes, hidden behind his signature blindfold, are locked onto Yunho. “You know,” Gojo calls out with a smirk, “I’ve always found that a little extra motivation helps bring out the best in my students.”

Yunho’s gaze sharpens, but before he can react, Gojo's movements are a blur. He’s suddenly in front of you, grabbing you by the arm with a grip that’s both firm and surprisingly gentle.

“Let’s see how much you care about your friend here,” Gojo says, his tone taking on a dangerous edge. “Yunho, if you want to see Y/N safe and sound, you’ll have to earn it.”

Yunho’s eyes widen, a flicker of panic crossing his face as he takes in the scene. Gojo pulls you closer, positioning himself as a barrier between you and Yunho. His voice is calm, almost mocking, as he continues, “I’m not going to hurt Y/N—yet. But how much will you risk to protect her?”

Gojo’s words are a calculated move to trigger Yunho’s protective instincts. The aura in the room thickens with tension, the air crackling with the energy of their confrontation.

Gojo’s voice rings out coldly, “I won’t hesitate to kill Y/N, Yunho.”

Yunho’s reaction is immediate. “You won’t do that… you’re a teacher.”

Gojo smirks, a glint of menace in his eyes. “Yeah, and the old higher-ups won’t execute Yuuji because he’s a student under their instruction.”

"Hey!" Yuuji yells from a distance, obviously not pleased about the comparison.

“It’s safe to say that I can and I will… if you don’t come and save her, that is.”

Yunho’s expression hardens, his fear morphing into fierce determination.

Gojo’s grin widens. “You’re going to have to show me just how far you’re willing to go.”

With a swift, almost casual motion, Gojo shoves you back a few steps, but he keeps you within his reach. Yunho’s instincts kick in, and he lunges forward, his energy flaring as he tries to close the distance.

Gojo’s hand snaps out, catching Yunho mid-air with a burst of cursed energy that sends him crashing against an invisible barrier. The impact is jarring, but Yunho pushes through the pain, struggling to rise.

“You see, Yunho,” Gojo taunts, “every time you hesitate, Y/N gets closer to harm. Prove to me that you’re more than just a bright smile and endless enthusiasm.”

Yunho’s breath comes in ragged gasps, but his resolve is unshakable. He rises to his feet, his eyes locked onto Gojo with a fire that speaks of both his frustration and his fierce loyalty.

With a determined roar, Yunho channels a powerful surge of cursed energy. The arena is engulfed in a wave of raw, golden light as Yunho unleashes a torrent of energy aimed directly at Gojo. The intensity of his attack forces Gojo to release his grip on you, his focus shifting entirely to the onslaught Yunho is unleashing.

You stumble back, catching your breath and taking in the sight of Yunho’s fierce determination. Gojo’s amused expression remains unchanged, but there’s a glint of respect in his eyes as he navigates the barrage of energy.

As the energy dissipates, Gojo lets out a satisfied chuckle. “Well done, Yunho. You’ve got spirit. But remember, this is just the beginning.”

You meet Yunho’s gaze, seeing the mix of relief and exhaustion in his eyes. The fight has tested his limits and brought out his protective nature. As the tension in the room starts to ease, you know this battle was not just a test of strength but a trial of his very character.

Gojo gives you a nod, his eyes gleaming with a knowing look. “Looks like Yunho’s protective instincts are well and truly triggered. Let’s see how he fares in the real battles to come.”

Yunho's not as efficient as Gojo, so of course, you got a little roughed up after getting caught into the training. But that wasn’t the reason why you were angry.

“Y/N! Thank God, that old man-child, I swear… Are you okay? Are you hu—“

“Stay away from me.”

Your voice is a sharp blade, cutting through the air. Yunho’s expression falters, but you don’t care to soften the edge in your tone. Your anger isn’t directed at the fact that you were used to trigger his instincts. No, it’s the sight of him standing there, looking more like a wounded, helpless puppy than a formidable sorcerer.

“I just don’t get it,” you snap, forcing yourself to take a step back, away from his outstretched hand. “You’re strong, Yunho. You have so much potential. But you’re wasting it. You fight to protect others, but what good is that if you can’t even inflict harm on our enemies when it’s needed?”

His eyes widen in confusion, a pained mixture of concern and regret clouding his usually bright gaze.

“I know,” you say, frustration lacing your voice. “I know you’re this big ball of positive energy, always radiating sunlight and believing in the good in everyone. You want to save the world, and you’re all about helping people. But here’s the thing—protecting others isn’t just about shielding them from harm. Sometimes, you need to be strong enough to confront and fight those who threaten them, not just stand in their way. What we’re up against isn’t some playground scuffle. We’re dealing with curses—yes, monstrous, grotesque curses. But the real fight isn’t just with those. It’s with the darkness that lurks within and around us, and you need to be ready to face that too.”

You inhale deeply, your gaze fixed on the ground, “We’re not just fighting curses anymore. We now fight people, too.”

Yunho starts to say something, but the words catch in his throat as you turn away, leaving him with the heavy burden of your disappointment.

“If you can’t summon the courage to fight, even when it means hurting others, or when something is at stake, then you’re not cut out for this. Here, you have to fight with everything you’ve got—no matter how much it hurts. No matter who you hurt.”

“You’re still awake, Yunho?”

The gentle cadence of Gojo’s voice pierces through the quiet of the common room, making Yunho jump slightly. He turns to see his teacher silhouetted in the doorway, a shadow of calm in the dim light.

“Hi, sensei. I was just—um, I couldn’t really sleep…” Yunho’s voice trails off, unsure of how much to share. His thoughts have been tangled ever since the earlier encounter, and sleep feels like a distant possibility.

Gojo steps into the room, his usual carefree demeanor slightly tempered by the soft glow of the evening. He surveys Yunho with a thoughtful look, the playful spark in his eyes dimmed. “Give Y/N some time,” Gojo advises gently. “She’s been through a lot. It’s not easy for her to open up.”

Yunho blinks, caught off guard by Gojo’s sudden insight.

Gojo leans against the doorframe, his expression shifting to one of rare seriousness. “Even when I took her in, it was more about providing for her than truly understanding her. She’s fiercely independent—learned to rely on herself more than anyone else.”

He continues, “I did take her in, house her and train her, bought her things here and there… but she grew up on her own. She’s always been fiercely independent, and she’s learned not to rely on anyone else, despite growing up under my care. Ever since she knew what environment she was getting herself involved in, she trained herself to separate her emotions from her duties as a sorcerer.”

Yunho nods, absorbing Gojo’s words. It makes sense now—why you keep everyone at arm’s length, why you seem so self-reliant.

Gojo’s gaze grows distant for a moment, and his voice takes on a somber edge. “She had a brother... Principle-wise, you could say that he was somehow like you; too kind-hearted for his own good. He was always trying to help others, even at his own expense. In the end, it was that same kindness that caused us to lose him. He couldn’t end things when he should have.”

Yunho’s heart tightens at the implication. He had heard whispers of a tragic past but had never grasped the full extent of it. Gojo’s words shed light on why you’re so guarded, why your heart seems so heavy despite your fierce independence.

A quiet settles between them, and after such a somber conversation, it feels like the night has reached a poignant, emotional clarity. Yunho speaks up after a moment of contemplation.

“Thank you, sensei.”

“For what?” Gojo raises an eyebrow, expecting Yunho to thank him for the advice, or perhaps for revealing something personal about you.

But Yunho surprises him. “For bringing me here,” he says, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “I’m grateful I’m here.”

Gojo pauses, then smiles—a real, warm smile that’s rare to see. “You’re welcome, Yunho. Now, get some rest. You’ve got a lot ahead of you.”

As Gojo turns to leave, Yunho watches him go, feeling a little more at peace. He may not have all the answers yet, but he’s beginning to understand the people around him—and that’s a start.

The courtyard is bathed in the soft light of the afternoon sun, the air filled with the sounds of students going about their routines. You’re sweeping a bunch of leaves into a corner when Yunho approaches with a carton of banana milk in hand. His smile is as bright as ever, a contrast to your usual grumpy demeanor.

“Hey, Y/N!” Yunho’s voice is cheerful as he extendes the carton towards you. “I brought you something.”

You glance up from sweeping, taking the carton with a slight frown. “Thanks,” you mutter, not bothering to hide your annoyance. “I guess.”

Yunho’s grin doesn’t waver. “You’re welcome! I thought you might like it.”

As he turns to walk away, Yunho notices Yuuji standing nearby. Without much thought, he approaches him with the same enthusiastic energy.

“Hey, Yuuji!” Yunho calls out, “Do you want to train with me? I’m working on my hand-to-hand combat.”

“M-me?” Yuuji stammers, pointing to himself as if to confirm.

“Yeah!” Yunho nods eagerly, his voice fading as he approaches the flabbergasted boy. “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

“I mean it is but… is something going on?” Yuuji asks, lowering his voice as he moves closer to Yunho.

“What do you mean?” Yunho responds, genuinely confused.

“You usually ask Y/N to train you, so I was a little surprised you’d ask me instead…”

“Oh, I’m just trying to give her some space,” Yunho explained with a casual shrug, and his usual smile on his face. “I realized I might have been a bit much lately.”

“I don’t blame him for failing to stay away from her to the point of suffocation; that brat really has incredible talent and charisma.”

Yuuji’s face goes pale at the familiar, sinister voice that rumbles from the mouth protruding on his cheek. “Ah!” he yelps, nearly jumping out of his skin.

“Sukuna, you jerk! Shut up and stop that, we’re on school grounds!”

Yunho laughs nervously, trying to shake off the tension. But before he can, Sukuna’s voice pipes up again, this time with a mocking lilt. “I look forward to battling you. Mind if I use a little strength on you, sunshine?”

“Sunshine? Really? You’re disgusting!” Yuuji snaps, trying to suppress the spirit’s influence.

“Why? You wanna be called sunshine too?” Sukuna taunts, his voice laced with amusement. “Don’t be bitter just because I call you a brat.”

“Shut up already!” Yuuji grumbles, his face flushed with frustration as he glances at Yunho, who’s trying—and failing—not to laugh at the exchange.

Soon, the two boys begin to spar in the distance, their movements a blur of energy and intent, while you, Nobara, and Megumi watch from a quiet vantage point, sweeping the area free of fallen leaves.

Megumi's husky voice cuts through the air, laced with a hint of disbelief. “You’re a hypocrite, you know,” he says, raising an eyebrow as he observes you from the corner of her eye.

“Huh?” You snap your gaze to him, caught off guard by the accusation.

“True. Yesterday, you basically told Yunho to fuck off in front of everybody. Just now, you were being sassy about him giving you a damn carton of milk. But now that he’s asking Yuuji to train him, you’re boring holes into the back of Yuuji’s head,” Nobara points out, her smirk widening as she sees your face flush with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

You frown, “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh, but I never said anything about being jealous,” Nobara grins cheekily, brows wiggling at your grumpy expression.

Despite your attempts to ignore and refute her claim, you found yourself glancing back at Yunho and Yuuji. Yunho’s laughter rang out, a genuine, carefree sound that contrasted sharply with the frustration you felt. You tried to ignore the twinge of envy and irritation, but it was hard not to let Yunho's infectious cheerfulness affect you. Seeing him so at ease and happy— in his natural element— was strangely comforting.

Despite the frustration, you find yourself staring at the banana milk carton in your hands, reading the messy writing scribbled in front.

I’ll be better, just you wait! :)

The late afternoon light catches the scrawl, making the words seem almost as if they were glowing. Despite the intrigue, a small smirk makes its way on your lips when you snort in amusement.

He better be.

Gojo and Yunho are sparring again—if you can even call it that. To Gojo, it’s probably a way to pass time. To Yunho, it’s a chance to improve.

The training ground hums with tension as you watch from the sidelines, arms crossed, your expression unreadable. You try to convince yourself you shouldn’t care about any of it, but your eyes remain fixed on the two figures in the center of the training field.

Yunho moves with precision, his footwork a blend of careful calculation and practiced agility. He anticipates every attack, his movements fluid and deliberate. Yet, despite his evident skill and potential, it’s clear what’s holding him back. Each strike he delivers is tempered by hesitation, an unspoken worry for the person across from him.

Anger bubbles up inside you again, though the reason remains elusive.

Is it the way Yunho wears that infuriatingly happy grin while sparring, as if the gravity of the situation doesn’t touch him? Or is it his unrelenting sunshine demeanor, that ceaseless ray of optimism that seems to benefit everyone around him but falls short when it comes to his own growth? Perhaps it’s the stark contrast between his vibrant spirit and the grim reality you grapple with daily. Or is it something deeper, a frustration you can’t quite name but feels like it’s gnawing at your insides?

Your frustration deepens as you watch Yunho, realizing that his reluctance to truly fight—to hurt if necessary—is not just a personal quirk but a barrier to his growth. It’s not just that he’s holding back for the sake of others; he’s doing so at the expense of his own potential. And that realization cuts deeper than you’d like to admit.

It’s not just about his fighting style or his incessant cheerfulness; it’s about the underlying fear that he might never reach his full potential because he’s too afraid to inflict harm, even when it’s needed. And that fear, that hesitation, is something you understand all too well.

As Yunho continues his practice, you find yourself grappling with a torrent of emotions—anger, frustration, and an unspoken worry that perhaps you’ve been too harsh, too quick to judge. You want him to fight, to push himself, to embrace his potential fully. But more than that, you realize, you want him to do it for himself, not just to fit into some ideal you’ve set.

Watching him, you can’t help but feel a pang of something you hadn’t fully acknowledged before—a mix of exasperation and genuine concern.

Gojo, as always, looks amused, his white hair gleaming in the fading light, eyes hidden behind his blindfold. He’s not even trying, just evading Yunho’s blows with an infuriating ease. There’s a smile playing on his lips, the one you know all too well—proud and teasing, like he knows something you don’t.

And then you see it again. Yunho pulls back, just slightly, before his fist connects with Gojo’s jaw, as if he’s afraid of hurting him. He’s always holding back, too worried about the impact of his own strength.

Pathetic. Weak.

But you know it isn’t weakness that annoys you so much. It’s something else. Something you refuse to admit.

He’s too soft. Too considerate. That kind of attitude will get him killed.

Your fists clench as the memory flashes in your mind. Your brother—his face pale, eyes wide as he tried to protect someone, and in the process, he had left himself open. His death had been quick, brutal, and the softness in his heart, the very thing that had made him love you so much, had also been his downfall.

The anger inside you twists and sharpens, coiling into a knot of frustration as you watch Yunho, another boy with too much potential and too little self-preservation.

Gojo dodges another half-hearted attack, his grin widening as he taunts, “Is that all you’ve got, Yunho? You’re not going to hurt me, you know.”

Yunho smiles in return, that ridiculous, bright smile of his. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he says, genuinely meaning it.

You snap.

"Stop it!" The words leave your mouth before you can control them. You stride toward the center of the training ground, your eyes burning with rage. Yunho blinks in surprise, lowering his stance, and Gojo looks at you with raised eyebrows, intrigued.

“Stop what?” Yunho asks, clearly confused.

“Stop holding back!” You shout, the frustration in your voice crackling like electricity. “You’re always holding back, worrying about others instead of focusing on winning! That’s not how this world works!”

Gojo’s smile fades a little, but Yunho takes a step closer, his expression softening. “I just… I don’t want to hurt anyone, Y/N. I don’t want to be like the curses we fight.”

“You idiot!” you hiss, taking another step forward. “If you keep acting like this, you’re going to get yourself killed!”

Yunho’s eyes widen, surprised by the intensity in your voice. He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t let him. “You have all this potential, and you’re wasting it because you’re too damn soft! Do you think the curses care about your feelings? Do you think they’ll hesitate when they have a chance to rip you apart?”

Yunho’s smile falters. For the first time, there’s something else in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or confusion.

“Y/N…” he starts softly, but you’re not listening.

“You’re weak,” you spit out, and the words taste bitter on your tongue. You don’t mean them, not really. But you have to say it, you have to believe it, because if you let yourself feel anything else, you’ll remember. You’ll remember how someone like him, someone with a heart too big for this world, can end up dead.

Your brother’s face flashes in your mind again, and your voice cracks despite your best efforts. “You’re going to die, Yunho. And no amount of kindness is going to save you from that.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Yunho stands there, his hands lowered, no longer in a defensive stance. His eyes, usually filled with warmth, are now clouded with something else—something you refuse to look too closely at.

“I’m not him,” Yunho says quietly. “I won’t die like that.”

You turn away, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You don’t know that,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

Before you can say anything else, Gojo interrupts with a slow clap, his voice light but edged with something serious. “Well, that was a performance,” he says, grinning as he steps between you two. “Ah, young love!” He clasps his hands beneath his cheek, as if to emphasize the scene, clearly relishing in the drama.

You shoot him a glare, but deep down, you know he’s seen through you. Just like he always does.

“Shut up,” you mutter, turning on your heel and walking away, refusing to let them see the emotion simmering just beneath the surface.

The evening air is cool, with a gentle breeze rustling the leaves outside the dorms. The halls are quiet, most students having retired to their rooms after a long day. You, however, are in the common room, curled up on the couch with a book in hand, trying to unwind. The dim light from the lamps casts a soft glow, creating a peaceful atmosphere.

That peace is short-lived.

For once, Yunho doesn’t burst into the room with his usual exuberance—no bouncy strides or radiant smile. Instead, his presence is palpable before you even catch sight of him. You remain engrossed in your book, barely acknowledging the change.

“What do you want?”

He hesitates for a moment before speaking again. “I… I wanted to talk about earlier. I could tell you were upset.”

“Upset?” You scoff, finally looking at him. “I’m not upset. I’m just frustrated that someone with your potential is wasting it by being too soft.”

Yunho steps closer, his voice gentle. “It’s not that I’m soft, Y/N. It’s just… I don’t want to hurt people.”

“That’s exactly the problem, Yunho! In our world, hesitation like that will get you killed. Do you think curses will show you mercy? Do you think they’ll hesitate to kill you? No. They’ll take every opportunity they get.”

He flinches at your words but doesn’t back down. “I know that, but—”

“Then why?” you interrupt, your voice rising. “Why do you keep holding back?”

Yunho stares at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right words. “Because I don’t want to lose myself in the process,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to become someone who only sees enemies, not people. I’ve seen what happens when you become consumed by the need to fight. You start seeing everyone as a threat, even those you’re supposed to protect.”

You’re taken aback, the harshness in your tone fading. “And you think being soft will make a difference?”

Yunho’s gaze softens. “Not soft. Just… compassionate. I believe there’s a way to defend without losing who you are. I want to be strong enough to fight, but also to remain someone who cares about the people I’m protecting.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. His sincerity hits you harder than you expected. In your battle-scarred world, you’d grown accustomed to seeing only the harsh truths, forgetting the power of empathy.

Yunho takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. “I know you’re only trying to help me, Y/N. But I need to find my own way. Please… just give me a chance.”

You feel the weight of his words settle in, and though you want to argue, you can’t ignore the sincerity in his voice. You let out a sigh, the anger slowly ebbing away, replaced by a reluctant understanding.

Before you can respond, you lose your balance as you shift your weight, perhaps due to the tension in the air, and you stumble forward. Yunho reacts quickly, catching you by the arm. But the sudden movement causes you both to lose your balance, and you end up pressed against him, your faces inches apart.

The hallway is silent except for your rapid breaths. The proximity is overwhelming, and you’re hyper-aware of how close you are to him. Yunho’s grip on your arm is firm but gentle, his expression filled with concern and something else you can’t quite place.

Before either of you can move, a voice cuts through the tension.

"How heartwarming to see such earnest affection!" Gojo’s voice rings out, startling you both. He stands a few feet away, hands clasped together and tucked beneath his cheek, a teasing grin on his face as if he’s watching the most heartwarming scene.

You snap your head toward him, sending him a glare that could freeze over hell itself.

“Sensei,” you growl, barely containing your irritation.

Yunho quickly steps back, releasing you, his face flushing with embarrassment. “It’s not what it looks like, Sensei…”

Gojo waves his hand dismissively, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Sure, sure. Just don’t stay up too late, lovebirds. You need your rest. I'm bound to Miyagi for a mission sent by the higher-ups for a couple of days, so take good care of yourselves, 'kay?"

But before he could fully leave, Gojo makes sure to turn his back one more time and say, "Oh, and no funny business in the dorms!"

"You—"

With that, he turns and saunters off, leaving you standing there, cut off and fuming, while Yunho tries to hide his awkwardness.

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. “That man is impossible.”

Yunho chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… but he’s not wrong, you know.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About you caring,” he says softly. “Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

For a moment, you consider snapping back, denying it, but something in his expression stops you. Instead, you just shake your head and start walking away, though your steps are less hurried, less tense.

“Just… don’t hold back too much, okay?” you mutter, your voice barely a whisper. You hesitate for a moment, then turn to face him with sudden urgency.

“Always take care of yourself first before helping others. It’s the only way you can truly be there for them. If you get hurt or worse, I swear I’ll—” Your voice cracks, and you quickly blink away your tears. “—I’ll make you regret it, you hear me?!” You turn abruptly, rushing into your room to shield yourself from the flood of emotions that follow.

Yunho smiles, watching you go. “I won’t, Y/N. I promise.”

Yunho lies in his bed, the dim light from his desk lamp casting long shadows across his room. His thoughts drift to the intense training session from earlier, recalling your frustration and your harsh words about his gentleness during combat. He replays the moment you told him to fight harder, to be more like a true sorcerer, and not let his compassion become his weakness.

He wanted to tell you how he struggles to balance his kindness with the harsh realities of their world. The brief reconciliation was a small comfort, a fleeting moment of understanding, but now, as he lies in the quiet of his dorm room, he dwells on these emotions. The night’s eerie calm contrasts sharply with the chaos of the day. He closes his eyes, trying to push away thoughts of the recent sparring match with you, and remembers the softness in your eyes and the warmth of your smile.

Tomorrow is a new day, and he will try again—try harder to be true to himself while also becoming the formidable sorcerer he aspires to be.

Just as he begins to drift into uneasy sleep, however, a loud explosion shakes the dormitory. The walls tremble, and the sound of shattering glass fills the air. Yunho bolts upright, his heart racing as the serene night turns into a nightmare.

He scrambles out of bed, quickly dressing and grabbing his weapon. The familiar hallways are now a maze of panic and destruction. Students run past him, their faces pale with fear. Curses, their twisted forms wreaking havoc, have invaded the campus.

Yunho’s hands shake as he runs through the corridors, his fear and anxiety threatening to overwhelm him. He had promised himself he would fight, but the sight of his friends and fellow students battling for their lives makes his resolve falter. The magnitude of the chaos makes him question his own strength and purpose.

As he approaches the main courtyard, he is met with utter devastation. Curses of all shapes and sizes assault the grounds, their malevolent energy crackling through the air.

The hardest part is Gojo’s absence. The meticulously planned attack leaves you and the others to fend for yourselves in the meantime.

Determined to overcome his fear, Yunho takes a deep breath and plunges into the fray. His strikes are initially hesitant but grow more confident as he fights alongside his comrades. His actions, though shaky at first, are driven by his resolve to protect those he cares about.

Despite his bravery, Yunho is unprepared for the battle’s intensity. He fights valiantly, saving several students from falling curses and pushing back against the dark forces. As he fights, his attention is drawn to you again, seeing you engage a particularly fierce curse with unwavering focus.

Unbeknownst to you, a smaller, insidious curse sneaks up behind you. Yunho’s eyes widen in alarm. Without hesitation, he rushes toward you, driven by a fierce determination to protect.

“Y/N, look out!” Yunho shouts, his voice urgent. He intercepts the hidden curse, destroying it with a swift, powerful strike. The curse disintegrates, thanks to Yunho’s timely intervention.

Startled by his sudden appearance, you quickly refocus on your battle. Yunho continues fighting, driven by a sense of duty and a desire to prove himself. He pushes through his fear and hesitation, fighting with every ounce of strength he has.

As the battle rages on, Yunho’s strength wanes. His injuries, sustained from the relentless combat, become more pronounced. Despite his exhaustion, he presses on, his resolve unwavering. The fight turns in their favor, but his own condition deteriorates.

Finally, the curses are driven back, and the campus begins to settle. Yunho collapses to the ground, his body battered and bruised.

You rush to his side, your heart pounding with a mix of relief and concern. Yunho’s severe injuries bring tears to your eyes. His breathing is labored, showing the toll of his bravery.

“Yunho!” you cry, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay?”

Yunho’s eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you with a faint, pained smile. “I definitely need to work on my hand-to-hand combat," he murmurs playfully, "You'll— ah, help me, won't you?"

Despite his injuries, Yunho’s expression is one of relief. His sacrifice and bravery hits you hard, making you feel both grateful and heartbroken. As his eyes close, his last glimpse of you shows a look of relief, his eyes giving him away in an instant— everything he thought of, everything he felt— he had said at that one moment.

“He’s dead? Aw, I liked that brat…” Sukuna’s mocking tone drifts over as Yuuji and the others approach, his disdain evident.

“Sukuna, shut up!” Yuuji snaps, frustration boiling over. “You’ve got no right to make light of this!”

“No, he’s not dead…” Shoko’s steady voice cuts through the tension. “But it might take a while for him to recover.”

Nearby, the sounds of assessing damage and tending to the wounded fill the air. The reality of the night’s events is sobering, and Yunho’s bravery is clear. As you stay by his side, you know that the battle may have ended, but the emotional scars and lessons learned will linger long after the night is over.

You approach Yunho’s bedside with a heavy heart.

It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself at his side, though it feels like a lifetime ago when you’d come to him for the mundane—discussions about training, messages from Gojo, or dinner orders with Nobara when she would gather everyone’s orders for takeout— you’d come to him for times you couldn’t quite count.

But now, it’s different. You’ve spent countless hours watching over him, praying for any sign that he’s still with you. The days blur together, each one an eternity of worry. Your heart aches with the weight of your fears and hopes.

You gently take Yunho’s hand in yours, giving it a tender squeeze. The pulse you feel is faint, a fragile reminder of the life that still lingers. It’s not enough to ease the dread that tightens in your chest.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let his hand remain entwined with yours. You lean in, resting your cheek against the upper left side of his chest, just above his heart. The rhythm of his heartbeat, weak but steady, brushes against your skin, offering a small, elusive comfort.

He’s still here. But it’s still not enough.

You’ve told him so many times that he shouldn’t do things just for you—that you’d never fully appreciate it, that his actions should be for himself. Yet, as he lies before you, his body motionless and frail, you find yourself swallowing every harsh word you’d ever spoken.

“Wake up… please…”

You want to tell him to awaken and live for himself—to seize every opportunity and experience every joy he’s ever dreamed of. But the words catch in your throat. You’re not one to be a hypocrite, but now, faced with the possibility of losing him, you yearn to tell him everything you’ve kept hidden.

You want him to wake up so you can finally express how much he means to you, how deeply you value everything he’s done for you.

“Wake up…” you whisper, your voice breaking. “For me, please…”

In the distance, Shoko looks at Gojo with a mix of admiration and concern. “You’ve raised quite a lady, Satoru. I’m impressed.”

“Well, I’d like to say ‘What can I say? I’m the Gojo Satoru after all,’” Gojo replies with a wry smile, “but that’d be a lie. While I provided for Y/N as best I could, she’s grown into a remarkable woman on her own.”

“After the battle,” Shoko continues, “she came to see me at the clinic. She knelt in front of me, pleading for me to do everything in my power to save Yunho. She said she would do anything for me if it meant using every bit of my abilities to heal him.”

“I was taken aback at first,” Shoko admits, “thinking, who does she think I am? But then I realized she was desperate, terrified of losing the one person who has wormed his way into her heart.”

Gojo watches as you quietly excuse yourself, slipping out of the room to find a more private space, likely to cry. The past few weeks have been tough, and it’s only now, in the solitude, that you fully grasp how much darker everything felt without Yunho’s light.

The faint hum of the heart monitor is the only sound that punctuates the silence, its rhythmic beeping offering a small comfort amidst the uncertainty. The others are gathered around his bed, their faces a mix of concern and quiet anticipation. They’ve been waiting, just like you, for any sign that he’s coming back to them.

Then, there’s a subtle shift. A slight twitch of his fingers, a flicker of his eyelids, and Yunho stirs. The collective breath everyone has been holding seems to release all at once, and the room is suddenly alive with movement.

“Yunho!” Nobara exclaims, her voice barely above a whisper but full of emotion.

Footsteps pad softly into the room, and soon, you stand at the threshold, watching the steady rise and fall of Yunho’s chest as he's gently greeted awake by the others.

You remain rooted to your spot for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch the others crowd around him. The relief is palpable, washing over you in waves, but there’s something else too—something deeper that makes it hard to move, to speak.

Yunho’s eyes flutter open, slowly adjusting to the dim light. His gaze, though still hazy, searches the room until it lands on you. You swallow hard, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you as you step forward.

When Yunho catches sight of you, his face softens even more. The others instinctively make way, and you find yourself beside his bed.

“Hey,” He greets, a bashful smile on his lips, "I'm so—"

Before he can continue, you cut him off. You reach up, pulling him close and pressing a soft, decisive kiss to his lips. The unexpected gesture silences him instantly, his breath hitching in surprise.

As the kiss lingers, the room fills with a chorus of jesting groans from everyone. They playfully tease, their comments filled with exaggerated disgust and mockery.

“Ugh, get a room, you two!” Yuuji teases.

Megumi just shakes his head, but even he can’t hide the small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Seriously, a bit of respect for us singles, please? Anybody?” Nobara rolls her eyes playfully.

“Ah!” Gojo exclaims exaggeratedly, “And there you were, denying anything about young love every time I preached.”

Despite the playful teasing, the moment between you and Yunho is tender and deeply intimate. Your kiss speaks volumes, conveying gratitude and affection in a way words could never capture.

You pull back slightly, both of you breathless, and see Yunho’s eyes shining with a mixture of love and relief. The overwhelming emotion of the past days seems to melt away in the warmth of his gaze.

As you sit by his side, you hold his hand tightly, feeling the warmth of his touch and the pulse of his heartbeat. The ordeal has left you both exhausted and emotionally drained, but the relief of having him awake and safe overshadows everything else.

What truly matters is that he’s here.

And with his presence, the sun seems to shine brighter once more.

Amid the rebuilding and healing, Yunho is finally regaining his usual energy.

He sits in his dorm room, surrounded by cheerful get-well-soon cards, an assortment of colorful fruit baskets, and the soft, comforting hum of healing spells administered by Shoko. His infectious laughter, once subdued by pain and fatigue, now fills the room, a reminder of his resilient spirit.

“Seriously, Yunho, how many fruit baskets did you get?” Yuuji laughs, playfully nudging Yunho’s shoulder.

“Hey, I’m not complaining!” Yunho grins, his eyes sparkling with his characteristic cheer. “I think I’ve got enough fruit here to start my own smoothie bar.”

Nobara, leaning against the doorway with a smirk, chimes in, “And here I thought you’d be more into strawberry milk than fruit baskets.”

Yunho’s grin widens. “You know me too well. But this is pretty sweet too.” He gestures to the piles of fruit. “Besides, you all deserve to see me back in action, right?”

Shoko, adjusting her healing spells, glances over with a soft smile. “You’re looking better, Yunho. Just try not to overdo it. We don’t need another round of healing.”

“I promise, no more crazy stunts,” Yunho assures her with a wink. “At least, not until I’m fully recovered.”

You watch from the doorway, feeling a mix of relief and something deeper tugging at your heart. The fight tested you in ways you hadn’t anticipated, revealing vulnerabilities you’d long kept hidden. Yunho’s reckless bravery and his refusal to let others down stir emotions within you that you’ve tried so hard to ignore.

“Hey,” Yunho calls out, catching your eye. “Come in and join us! You’re missing out on the fun.”

You hesitate, then step inside, feeling the warmth of his presence like a gentle embrace. As you move closer, Yunho’s cheerful energy wraps around you, lifting the heaviness you’ve been carrying.

“You’re looking a lot better,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual.

Yunho’s eyes soften, and he flashes you a bright smile. “Thanks to all these amazing people,” he says, his gaze briefly meeting yours. “And you, too.”

You’ve always thought you knew what love was—something practical, perhaps even utilitarian. But Yunho shows you a different side, one that is vibrant and full of warmth. He embodies everything you once thought you couldn’t tolerate: the unwavering optimism, the radiant smile, and the incessant cheerfulness.

As you watch him interact with the others, a warmth spreads through you, a sense of contentment you haven’t experienced before. In Yunho’s sunny presence, you discover a new understanding of love—one that is as powerful and transformative as the very sunlight he embodies.

In the gentle light of the morning sun, as Yunho’s laughter echoes through the hallways, you accept the truth with a serene smile. You love him not just despite his sunshine-like personality, but because of it. He has become a source of warmth and joy in your life, a reminder that even amidst the shadows, there can be light.

As Yunho reaches over to grab a fruit basket, he spots you and grins. “You know, I thought of something for you.” He pulls out a small, brightly wrapped package from one of the baskets. “A little something to brighten your day, just like you’ve brightened mine.”

You unwrap the package to find a small, hand-carved wooden sun. It is intricately detailed, its rays spreading out like a warm embrace.

“Thank you,” you say softly, touched by the gesture. “It’s perfect.”

Yunho’s smile widens, his eyes reflecting the same warmth as the sun.

As the days grow brighter and recovery continues, you find solace in the fact that you are no longer alone in the darkness. Yunho has, in his own unique way, brought you closer to the warmth and love you had been missing.

Hell, he should be practically everything you hate.

But God, did you love him even more than the things you always loved.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: wow, it's been a year since i've posted HDBJABDH making up for lost time with this new fic i recently wrote after finally getting to rewatch jujutsu kaisen in my free time! i hope you guys enjoyed this one, especially my co-otaku-tinys out there! lmk what you guys think ♡

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satoruhour · 1 year

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Hiii!!! I absolutely LOVE your jjk racer au's and am dying for more!!! Could you do one of megumi this time? It can be how they meet or anything really<3 absolutely love all your works and hope your having a great day!!

a/n: hi baby yess thank you for the support <3 i know you’ve been liking my stuff pretty often but im so sorry to have taken so long to get to this! i hope you like it 🥹 / part of the racer!jjk au universe, megs and reader both in uni / 0.9k

[9:02pm, megs 🖤🏁]: hi angel. also you still studying?

there’s a text that comes in from megumi one school night, but you don’t see its contents when your head stays in your hands from the sheer stress of trying to cramp everything before an important exam tomorrow. nothing’s going in, however, from how distracted you seem to be with what questions would appear, whether you’d have enough time, if—

[9:05pm, megs 🖤🏁]: hey, look out your window

your confusion immediately melts away when you hear the rev of an engine along the barren road of the street you stay on, and your breath releases upon seeing the familiar head of black-hair peeking out from the window, a small smile etched onto his face. with a beckoning hand from you, his head tilts and you know what he’s asking. parents not home?

you shake your head, making out an eating gesture, went out for dinner.

it was unfortunate, how they saw megumi as just another bad influence, especially from how racing was still fairly taboo in japan. ‘give it a hundred years and they’ll still be bad for you, the culture, the pollution.’ you can’t bother to hear the rest of your parents’ explanation when you tell them you’ve started dating fushiguro megumi, but thankfully they’re too busy to care about whether your life goes to shit or not.

but you’re lucky megumi treats you like the moon treats the sun: taking the backseat while you rant about that annoying professor. he treats you like painters do to their muse: gentle, delicate, a million memories of your anatomy burned into his brain from how long he’s stared at you.

in a minute, he’s knocking on your front door and you’re there in half, smiling wide to welcome him, albeit with a tension in the corners of your lips.

“let’s go drift, c’mon.”

you frown, not letting the calming brush of this thumb against the back of your hand change your mind, “i can’t, megs. got studyin’ to do.”

megumi has gotten bolder the more he’s been with you, although still with shaky hands and a speeding heart. he brushes the hair out of your face, knitted eyebrows and red eyes seemingly permanently there from how much you’ve looked at your notes.

“do you actually remember anything you’ve studied, my love?” he’s the one to frown now, fingers gliding down to your cheeks and jaw. it’s comfortable there from how you lean into his touch, and you want to stay there forever, but you only sigh, head falling forward to collide with his chest while his lips make contact with your hair — when you shake your head, you can only feel the smile growing on the other’s face.

“go put my jacket on,” megumi pecks your head and you roll your eyes beneath him because he’s always right and you hate it sometimes, but that reality check is good when you can’t shove the logarithm equations into your brain and your boyfriend is a racer, “let’s go for a drive, hm?” clad in the denim jacket you kept with you on your last visit, megumi’s cold hands hold yours as he drags you to his car, a 2001 Nissan Silvia S15 with some dark blue finishing.

within minutes, you’re already putting exams and notes and studying behind you, laughing in the passenger seat with megumi smiling too, easily driving to the mountain he’s always trained at. with a nod toward you, his eyes just look for yours, a mix of question and ardour that always seem to get the message across. ready?

the drift up the mountain is filled with secret glances and hurting cheeks and the screeching tires of his Nissan, experienced enough to look away from the road to return those glances to you every time he makes a turn and you’re looking like everything right in this moment. megumi can only hope it’s the same for you.

at the mountain’s peak, megumi can hardly hold himself back when you’re staring across the cityscape against his car, eyes sparkling from the moonlight and the blue finishing of the car reflecting against your jaw from below — he feels his breath be fully taken away just like the first time his father had taken him drifting, but it doesn’t (never) compares to whenever he looks at you.

with a hand pulling you away from the vast scenery, megumi fully believes his heart stops when your eyes are torn away from the city lights, focusing only on the other. there’s a soft smile on your face and he leans in, palms clammy and his heart going faster than his Nissan in a race — his lips finally meet yours before you arms wrap around the racer, humming into the kiss. megumi props you on the hood on his car easily, standing between your legs as oxygen begins to become scarce.

“you know we could’ve just kissed at my house, y’know?”

the tips of megumi’s ears redden and you laugh, playing with the neckline hem of his t-shirt, “yeah. well— i couldn’t have one night out with my girl?”

it’s said so grumpily and quietly that you almost don’t catch it, but the tranquillity of the mountains provides you with uninterrupted silence, save for the chatter of the cicadas and the occasional call of the night birds. the little statement makes you only grin bigger as you prop your feet onto the front bumper, pulling him in by the belt loops.

megumi thinks you’ve only gotten more attractive by doing that, you shiver when his hands go back to your face — the both of you so oblivious to each other's desire for the other.

“yes we can, especially when i want to spend more time with my racer boyfriend, too.”

#96jnie #asks #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fluff #megumi fluff #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi headcanons #fushiguro megumi x you #jjk drabbles #jjk scenarios #megumi fushiguro headcanons #megumi x you

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runariya · 1 month

Text

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 1

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn fic rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: panic, trauma, blood, physical violence such as punch!ng, de@th of both parents + witnessing it + footage, Dojin has influence over law enforcement and whatnot, mentions of underground fight club and mafia, mentions of wounds, jealous Jungkook, autopsy lap, mentions of bodies, please lmk if I forgot something word count: ~ 5.1K

a/n: okay Angels, here's the first chapter *yeeey*! It's just a little warm-up to the story. Hope you enjoy ☺️ a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • masterlist • 02

The warmth of the September sun wraps around you like a tender embrace as you sit on the wide field of grass of the campus park with your closest friends. The day is nothing short of perfect, yet their conversation drifts past you, lost in the gentle chorus of birdsong from the tall and old trees above. You close your eyes and breathe deeply, letting the sun’s rays and the dappled shadows of leaves play across your flushed skin. Somewhere in the distance, church bells toll at lunch hour, their echo both a call to mess and a cue of time’s steady march. It’s a peaceful moment, one that you savour with quiet reverence, knowing all too well that such moments are fleeting.

Taehyung rests his heavy head in your lap, his hair soft beneath your fingers as you play with his curls all while he relaxes before your next class. You remember the days when you begged him not to ruin his hair with dye, and back then, he didn’t listen. But now, he leaves it natural, save for the perm that enhances the curls you adore so much. It’s a small victory, even though this victory didn’t arise from you, but won through his newfound obsession with colour analysis, face shapes and whatnot which you’re thankful for nonetheless.

But as your fingers weave through his hair, your mind drifts back, step by reluctant step, to a night you’d rather forget—a night with the sight of Taehyung’s hair dyed an electric blue. You remember standing at the door of his family’s home, drenched in the blood of your parents, clutching the CCTV footage your father had obsessively recorded of your house’s every room. You never understood his need for those cameras, but that night, you were as grateful as you were traumatised.

Taehyung had opened the door after you rang their door bell repeatedly like a madman, his freshly dyed hair framing a face shocked to the core as he took in your pale, frightened expression and the dried blood covering you. Without a moment’s hesitation, he yanked you inside behind him by the front of your shirt, quickly glancing around to see if any neighbours were watching, and immediately shut the door behind you as if trying to shut out the nightmare you had brought with you.

“Oh my God, ___! What the fuck happened to you?” he asked, his hands hovering above your shoulders, his eyes searching your body for injuries.

Fresh tears left your eyes then, carving paths through the blood on your cheeks. You didn’t recognise your voice, feeling utterly alienated by its rawness as you stuttered out, “Auntie…Uncle…”

“MUM! DAD!” Taehyung belted without a second guess, he had always understood you, even when words failed.

He dragged you into the living room where his parents froze at the sight of you, the shock in their eyes mirroring the horror in your own fragile heart.

“What happened? ___, where are your parents?” your aunt inquired, her voice trembling before she even knew what happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, couldn’t force the words past the lump clogging your throat. How could you tell her what had happened not only to her sister but your whole family?

Instead, you forced your hand up, clutching the CCTV footage with all your strength, terrified it might disappear. It took every ounce of your willpower to pry open your cold fingers and offer the device to them.

On high alert, your uncle and aunt stepped closer. Your aunt, unable to tear her eyes from your dilated vibrating pupils, remained frozen by your side. With concern etched across his face, your uncle gently took the device from your trembling hand, retrieved his laptop, and plugged the footage in at the coffee table, all the while your aunt stayed close, her gaze never leaving you.

“Honey, should we get you cleaned up?” your aunt bid you softly, attempting but stopping just after she moved to caress your hair as she always did, sensing you were too fragile to be touched.

You shook your head, only pointing to the laptop for her to just watch. She turned just in time to see the front door of your house being kicked in on the screen, in another frame, your father shoving you into a closet in a desperate attempt to protect you.

Slowly, you all gathered around the laptop as if hypnotised by it’s screen, the room falling silent as the footage played, each of you transfixed by the horror before your eyes. The door to your parents’ bedroom burst open on the screen, and as Dojin with his bodyguards began their brutal assault, your uncle’s grave voice broke through the spell, “Taehyung, take ___ upstairs and clean her up.”

“But, Dad…”

“Now!” he boomed, and with difficulty to get his eyes off the screen, Taehyung led you away from the gruesome repeat of a nightmare.

In the bathroom, he cleaned you with a soft cloth, washing the blood from your hair over the sink as best as he could, all while moving quickly. After, he brought you a fresh set of his clothes to change into, meanwhile you sat motionless on the closed toilet seat, staring ahead like a broken and lost doll.

When you finally emerged, clean and dressed, the house was eerily quiet, save for the sound of your aunt’s anguished sobs echoing from downstairs. Her cries tore at your heart, ripping open the fresh wound that was your new reality.

You had become an orphan in the blink of an eye. Dojin had taken your parents from you, the people who had meant everything to you, without a moment’s warning or a care in the world.

You sat down at the top of the stairs, where Taehyung held you as you silently wept, his gaze fixed on the distant flickering of the laptop screen. From where you sat, the details were blurred, but you could still make out the terrible truth captured by the CCTV cameras.

Soon after they finished watching the recording, you all drove to your house. You couldn’t quite grasp why; they had seen the footage to the end and knew there was no one left to save. You remember sitting in the backseat with Taehyung, watching the houses you passed, each one brimming with life and laughter, happy families enjoying their evening together. All the while, your world had come to a standstill, shattered into pieces like fragile glass, leaving everything around you feeling devastatingly meaningless.

Throughout the drive, your uncle tried calling the police. The first time he reached an officer, the line abruptly disconnected as soon as he mentioned your parents’ names.

“He just hung up.” Your uncle frowned, glaring angrily at the display on the centre console.

“Maybe the signal was lost. Try again,” your aunt reasoned quietly, trying to hold on to hope, though her voice had already faded into a broken whisper. But as the subsequent calls went unanswered or were immediately declined, it became painfully clear that the mayor’s influence reached far and wide, and with it, any hope of retribution was snuffed out.

When you arrived, your house was already burning down in hot raging flames, the crackling drowning out your inner screams. The police present dismissed you once more, leaving you more powerless and desperate than you ever felt.

Weeks passed as you lived with your relatives. Taehyung gave up his bed for you, sleeping on an inflatable mattress nearby. You recall fragments of the funeral, the strain of attending school while keeping your grades intact, and the mask you wore for the public as you fought against the official statement that your parents had perished in a fire caused by a forgotten stove. But after weeks of crying, mourning, and desperately seeking justice—whether through the authorities or the media—all your efforts proved futile.

One night, unable to bear the helplessness any longer, you lay awake until the weight of your anger and agony drove you to action. You dressed in silence and ventured into the city, determined to find someone who could help. The despair and fury within you pushed you toward desperate measures, and you knew then that justice would have to be taken into your own hands to rid the city of its devil.

It took seven nights before you stumbled upon an underground fighting club, where Kim Seokjin, the owner and Godfather, took an immediate interest in you. To your surprise, he listened to your story and agreed with your perspective, though he refused to let you fight alongside what he disdainfully called “those Neanderthals.” Instead, he trained you in private. It was during your first session, when you were obviously hurt for the first time in your life, that you discovered a rare condition you had inherited—one that left you unable to feel pain.

NTRK1, a mutation in your genes that prevents the development of certain nerve cells. You learned that your mother shared this mutation, explaining her stoicism on that fateful night, and that your father had been a carrier of the same mutation.

It was truly absurd how this condition swiftly elevated your skills, almost as if it were in agreement with your darker side and wanting to pull you to your full potential. You learned with remarkable speed and efficiency, especially how to assess the severity of your injuries without the sensation of pain as a guide.

Nearly two years later, Taehyung uncovered your secret as he caught you throwing up blood in the toilette after you arrived home early in the morning from training when the sun hasn’t even risen just yet. The confrontation was intense, but he eventually accepted your decision after days of radio silence and evil side-eyes, and supported you as best as he could, even if it meant simply covering for you in front of his parents or hiding your bruises with makeup where you couldn’t reach them.

When you started medical school, you were relieved that Seokjin allowed you to leave with an arsenal of weapons of your choice, though you knew all too well that his acceptance came with a debt attached.

The vibration of Taehyung's laughter pulls you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present, where the sounds of the world around you slowly come back into focus. The gentle rustle of leaves, the distant tolling of church bells, and the low hum of conversations among other students fill your consciousness once more. You open your eyes, blinking against the dappled sunlight that filters through the trees above, and glance down at Taehyung.

His laughter is infectious, his face half-hidden behind one hand as if trying to contain his mirth, but failing miserably. His other hand clutches his stomach, his entire body shaking with the force of his laughter. His eyes are squeezed shut, and the corners crinkle with joy, the lashes fluttering as his laughter bubbles over like a tsunami hitting the shore. His lips, stretched wide in a broad grin, reveal the perfect rows of his white teeth, something you both inherited from your mothers, and the sound that escapes him is rich and full-bodied, resonating deep in his chest, a melody that never seems to tire. It’s the kind of laughter that makes you want to join in, regardless of whether you know the joke.

You tear your gaze away from him and look up, taking in the scene around you. Your friends are gathered in a loose circle on the grass, all high-achieving students like yourself, brought together by your shared aspirations and ambitions. ‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ they say, and on the surface, it might appear true. But only Taehyung knows what truly lies beneath your carefully constructed exterior, the only legacy of your happy childhood.

Like you, Taehyung was a remarkable student in high school, his ambition clear as he set his sights on a career in the medical field as well. In those early semesters of med school, his passion for perfection became his guiding force, leading him to specialise in plastic surgery—a choice that suits him as seamlessly as a lid fits its pot. Taehyung embodies beauty, his eye for aesthetics almost uncanny, each detail observed with an artist's precision. His finesse in sculpting is flawless, and the way he’s able to seamless stitch skin up—a skill he’s honed on you over the years, using you as his more or less willing test subject after all the injuries you endured—stands as a testament to his natural talent and the field he’s chosen, one where art and science blend in perfect harmony.

Yoongi is sprawled out lazily on the grass to the left of you both, one arm bent behind his head as he taps away on his phone with the other. His expression is indifferent, almost bored, as if the conversation around him holds no interest. But you know better. Yoongi is always listening, always aware. His sharp, calculating mind misses nothing, a quality that makes him perfect for the path he’s chosen—neurosurgery. He carries himself with a quiet confidence, a subtle superiority that others might find off-putting, but which you have come to admire. His brilliance is undeniable, his genius almost intimidating, and in many ways, you’ve taken a leaf out of his book, learning to project the same calm authority when needed.

Next to him sits Hoseok, or Hope as everyone of the friend group calls him. He’s also engrossed in Yoongi’s phone, his face full of concentration as if the device was his or holds the secrets to the universe. Hope is destined to be a heart surgeon, a choice that fits him as well perfectly. He once told you that he wanted to mend broken hearts, to give hope and love to those who needed it most. It’s a noble goal, and one that suits his gentle, empathetic nature. Yet, at this moment, he’s as distant as Yoongi, the two of them forming a quiet duo on the edge of the group, absorbed in their own worlds.

Jennie sits directly across from you, her eyes fixed on you with an expectant expression. She’s a vision of meticulous care, her skin glowing under layers of sunscreen, her large sun hat casting a protective shadow over her beautiful, doll-like face. Jennie is training to be a dermatologist, and it shows. Her otherworldly radiance aligns perfectly with her chosen field, as does her keen eye for aesthetics and detail. She’s the kind of person who never steps into the sun without a shield, and you can spot others like her scattered across the field, equally guarded against the elements. It’s amusing, really, how easily you can identify someone’s future specialty with just a glance.

And then there’s Jeon Jungkook, the quietest of the group but perhaps the most intriguing. He’s sitting not far from Jennie and on your right, his dark hair parted neatly in the middle, the short strands catching the sunlight and shining with a healthy sheen. His eyes, large and expressive, are fixed on you with an intensity that never fails to catch you off guard. He rarely speaks, yet there’s a quiet strength in his presence, a steadfastness that draws you in.

Like you, he’s pursuing a career in trauma paediatric surgery, a demanding path that you’ve shared since the beginning of your studies. Though you don’t talk much, there’s an unspoken understanding between you as the only two students specialising in this extremely rare field, a bond forged through countless hours in the same classes, the same labs, and the same late-night study sessions. His gaze remains locked on yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The eye contact is so intense it leaves you a little breathless, a little unsettled, his dark eyes holding yours with a quiet question you can’t quite decipher as he cocks his head to the side. He’s toying with his teeth, his lower lip caught between them as if he’s waiting for something—for you to say something, to answer a question you didn’t hear.

“Huh?” you ask, glancing around the group, feeling a little disoriented. Jennie’s raised eyebrow brings you fully back to the moment.

“I asked if you and Tae are dating or what? You live together, and now this,” Jennie says, gesturing to where Taehyung is still snuggled against your thigh, his laughter finally subsiding into quiet giggles as your fingers still absentmindedly play with his hair.

You snort, amused by the absurdity of the question. Before you can answer, Taehyung starts laughing again, the sound bubbling up like a toy doll—the kind that never seems to run out of laughter, perhaps something like a Laughing Elmo, the comparison would definitely fit perfectly. The ridiculousness of it all hits you, and you can’t help but join in, your laughter mixing with his in a joyful belting that rings through the air.

When the laughter finally dies down, you wipe the tears from your eyes, still grinning as you look back at Jennie and Jungkook. Jennie’s expression is a mix of irritation and curiosity, a reaction that doesn’t surprise you. She’s never hidden her infatuation with Taehyung, a sentiment she’s held since your freshman year. But what does surprise you is the similar look on Jungkook’s face—something close to annoyance that gives you pause. You clear your throat awkwardly, trying to stifle the last remnants of giggles that threaten to escape.

“We’re cousins, Jen,” you say, the words slipping out between breaths as you attempt to regain your composure.

The surprise on Jennie’s face is immediate, her mouth dropping open slightly, while Jungkook’s expression softens into one of mild disbelief. Yoongi, who’s been silent all this time, glances your way with a knowing smirk, his eyes glittering with amusement. Hoseok, Taehyung, and you can’t help but start laughing again, the absurdity of the situation too much to keep in.

“Oh…” is all Jennie manages to say, a flush of pink rising to her cheeks in embarrassment. “I didn’t know.”

You shrug, still smiling as you reply, “No one really does. It doesn’t matter much, does it?”

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours once more, a subtle smile playing on his lips, his eyes shining with something that looks like relief. You don’t quite understand why the relief is so evident in his gaze, but it has a calming effect on you as well. You send him a small smile in return, a silent exchange that’s broken only when Yoongi groans and begins to rise from the grass, his movements slow and lethargic, like an old man who has trouble moving with age.

“We’ve got class, kids. Get up,” Yoongi announces, his voice dry as he stretches, his joints cracking loudly in the otherwise quiet air.

Reluctantly, you all begin to gather your belongings. Jennie links her arm through yours as you stand, a gesture that’s as familiar as it is comforting. Taehyung trails behind her, still chuckling softly to himself, while Jungkook falls into step beside him, slightly to your side. It’s something you’ve noticed before—Jungkook always seems to gravitate toward you when the group is together, as if drawn by some invisible force. You’ve dismissed it as a byproduct of your shared major, nothing more than a coincidence of proximity. But there’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder if there’s something more to it, something unspoken that lingers in the spaces between you.

Yoongi and Hoseok lead the way, Hope talking animatedly as always, his hands gesturing in the air as he makes a point. Everyone instinctively makes space for Yoongi as he walks, his presence commanding a quiet respect that few others can match. The group moves as one, a well-practised rhythm that speaks of years spent together, each of you falling into your familiar roles as you head toward the autopsy lab.

The path is well-trodden, the grass worn down by the passage of countless students over the years. The midday sun sits high in the sky, casting sharp shadows across the campus, the air thick with the full warmth of the day. Despite her sunscreen and wide-brimmed hat, Jennie still shields her face with her free hand. You walk in silence for the most part, the only sounds the rustle of leaves overhead and the distant chatter of other groups making their way to their respective classes as well.

As you approach the lab, the building standing proud in its massive built, its stone facade weathered by time, ivy creeping up the walls in a silent conquest. The heavy wooden doors stand open, the cool air inside beckoning after the warmth of your lunch break as you step inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic and old books hitting you immediately, a smell that’s become synonymous with your studies.

The group disperses slightly as you each head to your lockers, retrieving the necessary equipment for the class. Jennie is still linked to your arm, her earlier embarrassment forgotten as she chatters away. Taehyung is beside her, humming to himself as he pulls on his lab coat, his hair a dishevelled mess from where you’ve been playing with it.

Jungkook, as always, lingers close by, his presence natural, almost indispensable. His movements are precise, each action deliberate as he retrieves his lab coat and other small materials, methodically preparing for the class ahead. There’s an ease to the way he handles everything, a confidence that doesn’t leave you room to breathe steady. Even in these seemingly mundane moments, he exhibits a meticulousness that reflects his commitment to mastering the complexities of the field, and it’s this very dedication, this quiet intensity, that first drew you to him.

You’ve always admired his unwavering determination that reflects your own, the way he approaches each task with such care, precision and intelligence. It’s no wonder that over time, those feelings of admiration began to multiply like tumour cells, developing into a quiet crush that you’ve never quite managed to shake. His character, his relentless pursuit of excellence, and that calm, assured demeanour—these are the things that have captivated you, leaving you secretly drawn to him in ways you’ve yet to fully understand. Even now, as his gaze occasionally drifts in your direction, though he says nothing, there’s a desire for him you can’t ignore, a magnetic pull that keeps your attention fixed on him, even as you all prepare for the class ahead.

You exchange a few words with Yoongi and Hoseok, the latter of whom is still engrossed in whatever conversation he’s been having with Yoongi, though it’s clear Yoongi’s mind is already in the lab, his focus sharpening as the thrill to dissect draws near. The energy in the room shifts as everyone dons their lab coats, seriousness descending as you prepare for the new semester.

You step into the autopsy lab with your friends and two other students whose names escaped you long ago, the cold, sterile air immediately wrapping around you like an welcome embrace you longed for all summer break as your steps squeak on the tiled and freshly cleaned floor. The harsh fluorescent lights bathe the room in its pale glow, illuminating the gleaming steel of the dissection tools and tables that stand waiting, four in total, each an empty stage for the work that will soon begin. Mr. Choi stands by one of the tables, looking as though he could be mistaken for a cadaver himself, his skin drawn and pallid, eyes sunken into deep sockets. His expression is as lifeless as the bodies soon to be laid out before you.

"Good morning, everyone," he greets, his voice a flat monotone that does little to lift the sombre atmosphere as you and the others line up instinctively, muscle memory guiding you to your usual places from previous semesters. Without a word, he tosses a small tub of Vicks VapoRub toward Yoongi, who catches it with effortless accuracy, not even glancing up from his phone.

As Mr. Choi begins his customary review of the last semester, recapping the techniques and knowledge you’ve all supposedly mastered, the tub of ointment makes its way down the line. One by one, each student takes a small amount, dabbing it beneath their noses—or in Taehyung’s case, smearing it more liberally into his nostrils—to block out the inevitable stench of decay and death that permeates these walls. When it reaches you, you pass it straight to Jungkook, not bothering to use any yourself. Jungkook's tattooed hand hovers in place when he realises you’ve skipped it, his brow arching in that familiar, questioning way.

“You sure?” His voice is low, soft, the kind of voice that always makes your pulse quicken slightly. He holds the tub out to you, lingering a moment longer than necessary as he waits for your response.

You shake your head, declining the offer with a small, dismissive gesture. “’S fine, thanks,” you murmur. The smell of death has never bothered you—not since the night you were bathed in your parents' blood, not since Seokjin showed you what true decay smells like and what the sound of an infinite number of flies sound like. In some twisted way, the scent is almost comforting now, a reminder of your secret purpose.

Jungkook’s eyes search yours briefly, but he doesn’t press further. “Okay,” he says, his voice just above a whisper as he takes a small amount of the ointment and rubs it along his perfect Cupid’s bow, the menthol sheen catching the light momentarily before he caps the tub and passes it along to Ben.

“This semester, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Choi resumes, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic note of enthusiasm—or perhaps it’s just your imagination, “we’re going to spice things up a little. You’ll be working in pairs—well, I’ll be assigning the pairs—and together, you’ll dissect two of our friends here over the course of the semester. Each pair will be responsible for writing a detailed report on both dissections, and these reports will determine your final grade for the class.”

The room erupts into a low murmur of excitement, with a few claps and cheers punctuating the otherwise grim mood. You join in half-heartedly, your mind already racing ahead, wondering who you’ll be paired with. Ideally, you’d be matched with Taehyung, Yoongi, or Jungkook—people whose work ethics and routines align with yours, whose presence wouldn’t be a distraction. But as the names are called, you can feel your anticipation teetering on the edge of anxiety.

Mr. Choi pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his lab coat, squinting at the list of names. “First pair: Ben and John.”

One of the unfamiliar students immediately speaks up, correcting in a flat tone, “My name’s Juan, sir.”

There’s a smattering of laughter around the room, and you feel Taehyung lean in toward you, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Same same but different.”

Jungkook chuckles quietly beside you, and you have to elbow both of them, suppressing your own giggles like the hypocrite you are. The room settles down as Mr. Choi offers a terse apology, the faintest hint of embarrassment colouring his otherwise lifeless expression.

“Next pair,” Mr. Choi continues, “I would call this one mind and heart.” He chuckles at his own joke, though the room remains silent. “Yoongi and Hoseok.”

The two men exchange a high five, their smiles wide as they pull each other into a brief hug, their deep friendship between them clear in their mutual excitement. You can’t help but smile at the sight—there’s something infectious about their excitement, something that makes the dark work ahead seem like a walk on rainbows.

Mr. Choi scans his list again. “Next pair, our future beauty doctors: Jennie and Taehyung.”

Your eyes shift to Taehyung and Jennie as they turn to each other, their faces lighting up with matching smiles that seem to glow with a warmth that could almost outshine the harsh overhead lights. It’s a look that makes you realise something you hadn’t noticed before—an attraction Taehyung seems to have for Jennie that you’ve been oblivious to until now. You silently root for them, hoping this shared project might be the catalyst for something more.

And then it hits you, like a slow dawn creeping over the horizon. The only ones left are you and Jungkook. The realisation wipes the smile from your face, leaving you with an odd mix of anxiety and anticipation twisting in your gut.

“And last, but certainly not least,” Mr. Choi announces, “our future superheroes who will someday save all the children: ___ and Jungkook.”

Your heart skips a beat as you turn to face Jungkook, who’s already looking at you with a grin so wide it crinkles the corners of his eyes. His ears, you notice, have turned a vibrant shade of red, a sure sign that he’s just as affected by the pairing as you are. That gleam of triumph in his eyes, the kind that says he’s more than pleased with this outcome, makes your own smile waver. You force yourself to reciprocate, though you’re acutely aware of how hard it’s going to be to stay focused on your work with him so close, day after day. Something you previously ignored in its fullest. There’s something between you, something unspoken but oh so real, an longing that you can’t afford to let bloom. Not when you know that no sane person would ever truly love a killer, someone who hides a part of themselves so dark and twisted that full honesty is an impossibility.

Mr. Choi continues, oblivious to the turmoil beneath your composed exterior. “You’re free to use the lab whenever you need to. The first autopsy and report must be completed and handed in within six weeks.” He strides over to the cadaver cooler and, with a theatrical flourish, pulls open two of the stainless steel doors. The sound of the vacuum seal breaking echoes through the room, and two bodies slide out on their own, propelled by the sudden rush of air.

Glancing around at the faces of his students—some pale with nerves, others flushed with excitement—a ghost of a smile playing on Mr. Choi’s lips as he quips, “May the odds be ever in your favour.”

prologue • masterlist • 02

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