#★ driaswrld
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🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT
LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *
🪷 dearest gentle reader, what is a princess to do when she's caught between two dashing princes, both of which are her childhood friends? — one her betrothed and the other her past love... 4.7k words.
🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, use of regency era terminology, longing and more longing.
🪷 taglist : (lmk if you want to be added or removed!) @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnabooonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog
CHAPTER ONE. . . ˚ ༘ *
L'INCOMPARABLE.
Talks of betrothal began in the last Spring of your youth.
Under the cherry blossom trees, you sit in silence, fuchsia petals decorating the length of your hair in messy scatters.
Satoru Gojo, crowned prince and heir to the Gojo throne, picks the fallen remnants of flowers from your hair one by one as the nobles watch on.
Whispers of ‘they would make such a beautiful match’ and ‘look how the Prince dotes on her’ echo in the brush of the gardens, women whispering among themselves and the men chortling between swings of their mallets — in a near deathly game of pall mall.
“Don’t hide from me,” Satoru dips his head, breath fanning the shell of your ear. If possible, the whispers intensify, cutting past your ears and you bite back a giggle, stifling down the thought that crosses your mind, attention whore.
“I’m not hiding, your highness.” You counter, shifting to the side, your smile hidden behind a porcelain teacup, swift sips of ginger warming your cheeks.
“It’s improper, you know.” The words linger in the air between soft wisps of wind, flurries of foreign fabrics and bright layers of skirts pass your vision — and yet, all is drowned out by him.
Your anointed Prince, the attention whore.
“Improper to gaze upon my companion?” Satoru scoffs, grinning wide, toothy, dimples.
Childhood found you both tethered like bee and nectar, always close, always coming back.
At first, it was through duty, sharp tongued ten year old Satoru Gojo, a prince born with a halo and the title of the realm’s strongest to his name, meeting you, the humble princess of the Western kingdom, born in valor and sprouted in pride, a warrior’s code.
It was a disastrous first few encounters—
(—but then he was your bestfriend, and you his. )
His dear mother, bless her soul, had taken the time out to host this marvelous garden party to welcome the newest maidens into their debuts – moreso, to marry Satoru off quicker than he could leave for another battle, chasing another war – and yet, he cared not to meet with any of the women or entertain them beyond an inch of his being.
Not around you, at least.
“You shouldn’t jest about these things—!” A snort leaves your mouth, and whereas the ever uppity ladies of the palace court gawk at you in utter disbelief and mild disgust, Satoru finds himself bellowing a boyish laugh.
That was the last time he’d laugh like that with you, before a warm spring of youth turned to a burning summer, hot with passion, scorched with lust.
THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT.
Dearest gentle reader,
As all royal scandals do,
It started with an invitation.
We cordially invite you to the Gojo palace grounds to celebrate the betrothal of our crowned prince Satoru Gojo and his bride to be [name] [name].
This author finds herself compelled and rather . . . intrigued.
What a match made in heaven! Our beloved Prince Satoru and his most dearest childhood friend!
Your fingers tremble at your sides, the aura that is the strongest permeates your very being. The soft hum of piano keys coupled with string and bow becomes near inaudible – the power Satoru Gojo has on you is like a moth to a flame, lamb to slaughter.
But I assure you,
When it comes to matters of the heart —
Carefully, your feet carry you across the crowded ballroom, mass of bodies parting the instant they catch a glimpse of your eyes – that desperation is familiar in young women like you – and they pity you.
You, who should be above them, who should be the next Queen, the current Princess consort to be.
And yet.
“I’ve told you endlessly, I will take no wife!” Satoru’s voice is a staccato, bouncing off the walls of the vacant corridor adjacent to the ballroom, echoing past your ears.
Dare I say, our beloved crowned Prince
Is not the strongest.
“Some nerve you have, boy.”
Satoru’s father, the King, is a stoic man.
You’ve come to know this well in your youth. He rules firm and his word remains law. By no means is he the strongest or possesses any more battle capacity than that of any other noble, but he remains a political stronghold.
And his grip over his family — his subjects, remains unwavering.
“I don’t care for your affairs or your crown,” Satoru’s gaze remains hard, even as he meets his father’s ire in tow, and in such a barely secluded place too. “Let one of your bastards have it, my place is on the battlefield doing what you are too cowardly to.”
Your mind runs rampant, palms pressed against the cold wall concealing your presence.
You wonder what Satoru might be thinking — if he’d be so foolish as to forsake his lineage and do away with his duty, if he’d give up simply because his fate was not his choice — he wouldn’t.
No, Satoru is good and kind, and he would see this kingdom to a new realm of peace just with his bare hands alone.
“And that is all? You wish to do away with it simply because it does not suit your childish desires? I have given you everything! And the one thing I ask of you—”
You still yourself at the near animalistic growl that leaves Satoru’s lips.
“She will never be Queen.”
It cuts through you like blades of grass, familiar, scratching at your skin softly, pinpricks of green drawing blood from your calves.
It reminds you of when you were younger, more naive and susceptible to the follies of men and matters of the heart.
“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”
“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”
“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”
Three months, thirteen days.
Your betrothal has long exceeded and broken the record of engagement wait time.
Most women would be married within the same month of betrothal, the longest and most respectable wait time being a month and a half, only due to cases of overdue dowry payments.
Three million dollars was your reverse dowry.
Paid directly from the royal treasury to your father, and four million dollars paid in return. That was how much yours and Satoru’s hands were worth to your families, a testament to the weight you’d both bear by wearing a crown.
Except, you hadn’t been crowned yet. Or married for that matter.
“—summer solstice hunt!” It’s Yuji who exclaims, voice filled with childlike wonder. Recently knighted by Satoru himself and a renowned protege of the Kingsguard, the boy is eager to please. “Who will you cast your bets on, your grace?”
The confines of Satoru’s private study function as a meeting room for idle chatting — he leaves the letters to his advisors when they are of little importance.
Or discards them entirely when he has company, like now.
You sink deeper into the cushioned seat, Satoru’s arm draped over the back of your chair. A tuft of snowy hair falls over his forehead and he breathes a chuckle, your weight curling in on itself with every rise and fall of his chest.
why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don’t you want me why don't you want me
“It’s out of question to bet on one’s self, no?” Satoru chuckles and it earns a cackle from Yuji, who, despite himself, has already casted his own bet on his annointed Prince. “I wouldn’t want to make anyone’s head bigger than it ought to be.”
The summer and winter solstice brings with it two separate ceremonial festivals — the hunt being the most anticipated due to its cutthroat competition among nobles and peasants alike.
That, and the prize.
The winner of the hunt, the man or woman to capture the famed primordial stag — which is really a regular stag trained and bred to elude even the most skilled knights — would be rewarded a grand jewel from the Queen’s vault.
Gentle reader,
The famed jewel for the taking
This summer, is none other than—
“I’ve placed my bet on you,” you comment plainly with a shrug and Yuji beams.
It isn’t unlike you to root for one of Satoru’s proteges, the ones fairly skilled and new to knighthood – you’ve always found yourself cheering for the peonies in a garden full of roses — the underdogs full of potential . . .
Satoru glances over to you, and for a second you miss how his gaze lingers.
“You’re too kind, Princess…” Yuji sighs, near dreamily. “I will no doubt do well now that I have your favor on my side.”
( losing dogs, satoru wants to say. all you ever do is bet on losing dogs. )
“You have her bet, not her favor.” Satoru scoffs dramatically before you can even think to lend Yuji your well wishes. “It isn’t something given, it’s something won. And from a maiden, not a Princess consort.”
She’s spoken for, is all you hear though.
There’s an air of uncertainty that passes between you and Satoru that only thickens with your closeness.
A pale palm curls around the cross rail of the back of your chair and you lean into his touch subconsciously – it’s warm, secure – he’s saying, I have your favor, don’t I? Tell me I do.
—The champion’s jewel,
A wraith necklace fit for a Queen.
The L’Incomparable.
“Nevertheless, you have my good faith.” You interject, followed by a sharp inhale, and you stand abruptly from your seat. Satoru’s hand falls to his side. He knows what you're thinking.
Three months, thirteen days.
You’ve sat by and watched Satoru deny you marriage – his excuse, that he’s waiting for his coronation first – you’ve watched him continue to entertain the women around him like he’s done since he was merely a squire, plastering a smile on his face from this glass castle he calls home.
He’s close, but never too close. Stringing you on then letting you loose— it’s routine.
It’s eerily similar to your childhood.
“Yuji,” Satoru speaks, soft yet firm. The young boy is on his feet immediately and offers a swift bow to his majesty, handing his service in tow to the call. “Leave us.” Satoru commands, and just as swiftly as he came, Yuji is bowing to you and exiting through the study doors.
L’Incomparable.
The largest internally flawless diamond in the kingdom and the most expensive chain sitting in the Queen’s vault currently, worth eight billion dollars alone.
Allegedly, it was handcrafted as a gift from an ancient Gojo king to his mistress — whom he had knighted and sent off to fight in the war at her wishes once their affair had been brought to light and scrutinized.
A gift he only got to place on her corpse.
Even in death, he loved her. More than he loved his own wife and Queen.
And though many attempts had been made to destroy the necklace, it remains near indestructible.
“Something troubles you.” Satoru murmurs the moment the door clicks shut. His gaze remains strained forward on your form, from where you fiddle with the frayed hem of your gown, back turned to him.
“I simply think of the prospects of the hunt,” you retort. “There are many promising young competitors traveling to partake— I fear my Prince would simply be. . . thwarted, is all.”
L’Incomparable is not a jewel of love.
It's a sickening story of a woman who loved a man who could not love her back in the way she deserved.
A woman who took what she was given, secret meetings, hushed whispers and fleeting gazes.
And when he did, finally love her back wholly and ardently, unable to bury it behind a locked door in the dungeon he called a heart — she was already gone.
“You doubt me?” Satoru’s voice is closer now, and you wonder when he even stood up – if he'd been taking small steps toward you the entire time.
“No.” It leaves your mouth like a prayer, an oath, worship. Every ounce of confidence you have is in him. He has protected you, kept you, safeguarded your sanity and treated you with grace— “Never that.”
( —he is your friend. nothing more than that. )
He exhales, and you hear the faint sound of a swallow, the click of his tongue. Your ear feels hot with the proximity, yet, he inches closer still.
“Will you give this to me, then?” He whispers, faint, uncertain — almost desperate.
And you turn, faces inches apart, breath mingling. “What is it you wish of me, my Prince?” Your pupils dilate.
“Your Prince,” Satoru repeats, like it knocked the wind out of him. It's a common way to address the monarch, you’ve said it before as have others. “. . . asks for your favor in the upcoming hunt.”
He keeps his hands folded behind him, curled into fists and trembling. Your Prince. Yours. Yours.
He’s a gentleman. He was raised right.
This urge—
( you’re his friend. his advisor. his confidant. this is not what he wants. )
The urge to strip you down to nothing but your chemise, lay you on his desk and hike your legs over his hips, show you things you’ve only seen in dreams or read in books — like he’s done to so many women before — he promises himself he’s not a rake, he’s just a man, but when you look at him like that and say his title so softly—
( it will pass. )
“Then,” your breath slows as he steps forward, so easily leaving you pressed back against the hardwood desk, caged by him. “I will grant my Prince my favor.”
Satoru watches in earnest, places his hands on either side of you on the desk as you remove one of your gloves.
Pure white, pearl decor, lace trim.
He would've laughed if he wasn't so enthralled by such a simple thing. Satoru wants to pull the other glove off with his teeth.
“I’ll return it to you,” he says, a promise. He takes the glove as you hand it to him, leaning forward and chasing the remnants of your fingertips against his once you pull away. “When I win.”
( and maybe then, you’ll understand i am devoted to you, wholly and utterly, if only in these moments and never again. )
There's a knock at the door, brief and soft. A maid, come to drop off another stack of letters.
And just as quickly as Satoru had found himself against you, he’s across the room, opening the door.
As if you had never been there.
The only evidence that he had even touched you is the lace cupped in his palm, middle and index tracing over a minute pearl.
L’Incomparable is a jewel of longing.
Morrow brings with it the beginning of joyous festivities.
You woke to another trousseau. This time, from a distant cousin in the Easternmost kingdom.
Attached was a letter of the newest development in her love life – said development being a defected knight nonetheless.
It made you giggle.
The palace corridors are bustling with life.
Servants and attendants eager to welcome early visitors who have come for the summer solstice, robust back and forth on decorations and food and gossip and many a’ things outside the realm of possibility to be discussed in one sitting.
Your lady in waiting, Areta, whom you’ve known since your youth, creeps into your room with a grin as wide as a war banner – you immediately assume the worst, mischief is your pastime but you fear the poor girl takes ‘eavesdropping on court gossip’ to another level.
“My lady, you would not believe—” Areta huffs, journeying to sit with you on the balcony, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from her brow. “The things I’ve heard today!”
“You hear things everyday, I fear.” You indulge her, as always. And she begins to talk your ear off, all in good faith of course.
Down below in the courtyard, is the sound of smacking wood and the occasional chorus of baritone conversation.
Satoru, who should be attending treaty meetings with his father, bides his time sparring on the cobblestone with the other men of the Kingsguard – the noise wakes you most mornings.
“—talking to Julietta, you know? The girl who attends to the countess? And she said—”
You hum along to Areta’s words, eyes peering over the edge of the balcony, gaze fixed on the crown Prince.
His snowy hair is damp with sweat, Victorian style dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, every swing of his wooden sword causes a commotion — muscles in his back flexing under the sunlight, so easily seen beneath the thin white fabric.
“—that her lady told her that she heard from a cousin-in-law who works at the docks that—”
You wonder what expression Satoru has as he pummels through his underlings playfully, hardly sparring but more play fighting. You imagine he’s grinning wide, crystalline blue eyes shimmering with glee—
“—that Prince Geto is coming for the hunt!”
You choke. Audibly.
Areta is quick to shut her mouth and lend you a concerned gaze. “Princess, are you—”
“I’m alright.” You wave a hand, catching your breath. Prince Geto. If you think about it too hard, you fear your chest might burst open and spill out your insides.
Oh, fair reader, it seems
Our dear protagonist has come upon
A treasure trove of memories.
“You were, ehem, saying?” You twirl your index finger in the air as if to prompt a rewind. “About. . .”
Areta raises an eyebrow, but nods slowly. “About Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law?” The girl questions, dim.
“No!” You interject immediately, twirling your finger in the other direction. Fast forward. “The other thing— the thing you heard!”
“Oh, about Prince Geto!”
Dearest reader,
Suguru Geto enters.
A man of great mystique,
the northern Prince.
And striking opposite of
our beloved crowned Prince Satoru.
“Yes! About him—”
Suguru Geto.
In many ways you could say he was Satoru’s best friend, his greatest rival and worst enemy all at the same time.
Through solstice events, formal gatherings and other royal duties, the same way you met Satoru, you met Suguru through him.
“Well, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law works at the docks,” Areta begins again, regrettably. “You know? The private harbor where all the spirit and wheat shipments come in, but that's besides the point—”
( suguru was your bestfriend too. in every way it counted. )
“Areta.” You coo, coaxing her to get back to the main point. Why was Suguru coming for the summer solstice hunt? After being away in the North for so long, why now?
The only correspondence you’d had with him was a few letters years ago. And then he stopped writing.
“So, Julietta’s lady’s cousin-in-law saw the Geto family's ship dock in the private harbor!” The girl exclaims hushedly and you hum to yourself, curious.
Rightfully, you’d hold a grudge about never hearing from Suguru.
But in this moment, you feel no resentment or hurt. Instead, excitement that you might see your old friend once more.
And maybe, you, Suguru and Satoru could spend the summer solstice together— just like old times.
( and that’d be enough to get rid of the heat in your chest when satoru gets too close to you. )
Faithful reader,
she could not have been
more wrong.
Four days remain until the summer solstice hunt.
Satoru is scarce around the palace in preparation for his coronation coming soon and treaty arrangements.
You, on the other hand, have exhausted all your hobbies, biding your idle time helping the other ladies at court pick their gowns for tomorrow's feast — the first of seven nightly ones during the solstice.
Another trousseau is delivered to your chambers when you wake.
This time, you’re taken aback.
Instead of an elaborate stack of gifts, a box of jewelry or even a scandalous collection of seductive corsets and nightgowns to remind you of your predicament—
There's a long wooden box, coupled with a sealed parcel.
Inside the box is a beautiful gown, deep burgundy and shapely. Fitted with a low bust cut and short sleeves. It's a mouth watering dress, one you would've bought yourself if you even knew it existed.
But you've never seen a dress designed like this before, down to the intricate details of the underskirts and the hemming.
It's almost intimate.
When you finally open the parcel, you expect a note, but there's none. Instead, inside is a pair of black silk gloves, so smooth it melts in your palms – your mind immediately goes to Satoru and the glove he still holds hostage for you.
You don't think twice before telling Areta that this is what you’ll be wearing to tomorrow’s feast.
( you ought to thank satoru for this gift by wearing it, no? )
˚ ༘ *
The lights in the dining hall are dimmed perfectly to match the moonlight.
When you slip in from the adjacent corridor, greeting visiting nobles and residents of the palace court alike, a sense of nausea floods the pit of your stomach – what will Satoru say when he sees you? Will he like how the dress looks – or rather how you look in it?
Wait, why do you even care?
You’ve never really cared for these things— it must be the tea you had earlier. You nearly feel faint.
Darling reader,
it was in fact,
not the tea.
Your thoughts don't get the chance to linger very long, as the soft hum of music slows to a halt, and everyone begins journeying to their assigned seats.
Naturally, you fiddle with your gloves, not wanting to sit down at the second table yet.
One, it would be very impudent of a lady of your caliber to be seated without a proper escort by a gentleman.
And two, even though you did decline the few men who asked to escort you, you can't help the anxiety that floods your veins when you begin to realize that so many people are sitting already and you're not!
Sure, you're a Princess, but can't a girl be a little shy?
( not that you were waiting for satoru or anything of course. )
Devoted reader,
our protagonist
is in denial.
“It pains me to see such a beautiful lady left unaccompanied.” A voice flits past your ears, so close you can taste it on your tongue — incense, sandalwood.
( oh god, no. )
Your body turns in an instant, almost too quick, and your underskirts almost trip you as the weight sends you wobbling forward.
“Easy—” Suguru Geto’s arm darts out to curl around your waist, steadying you.
“You're here—” “You’re still clumsy—”
The both of you lock eyes at your shared unison of speech, then chuckle to yourselves.
You let your eyes wander over his features, how much he's grown over these past years.
He’s still as ethereal as the royal painters would describe. Prince Geto, the joy to paint, once in an era type beauty, born to be depicted in art, they’d say.
You don't doubt that.
“You look well,” you say. Suguru glances down at you and shakes his head, as if that is too much of a compliment for him to take. “No, honestly— I don't tease, you look very. . . stately.”
“Are you trying to call me old in a polite way, my lady?” He feigns offense, tilting his head to the side a little. You cover your mouth to laugh.
You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your gloves.
( oh, the gloves ! )
“Your highness,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, half teasing, half regal, and you give a brief curtsy, which he counters with a swift bow. “Would you do me the pleasure?” You grin, extending your hand to him.
Suguru — never Prince Geto, not to you at least — had been your solace, your comfort and your refuge.
The greatest friend you could have asked for in your youth.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Suguru whispers, taking your hand in earnest, escorting you over to the table and pulling your chair out for you — settling himself in the seat across from you, on the other side of the table.
( what a coincidence. )
˚ ༘ *
Time passes in waves.
People are whispering, no doubt. As they always do about you. No matter how hushed, you always hear them.
‘Look at the poor Princess consort, sitting beside an empty chair.’
‘You’d think she’d refer to herself as Lady now instead of Consort—’
‘To think even a Princess is not immune from such things. . .’
‘These things happen when you're sold off to a future King.’
“Bitter.”
Your head snaps up at the sound, dessert fork halting mid stab into your slice of cake.
Suguru’s eyes meet yours, as if he’d been looking at you the entire time, like he reads your thoughts as his own.
The people sitting at the table alongside you both fix their attention on him, the whispers halting.
“The cake,” he leans back in his chair, shrugging strands of his hair out of his face, looking down the length of the table at the spectators, nonchalant. “It's terribly bitter.”
You think you’d open your mouth to scold him a little, to not joke about what people say, royals should never engage in such petty gossip – but instead, you smile in gratitude.
( bitter. everybody's so bitter in this place. )
“That's quite unfortunate.” A familiar voice rings out, your fork sliding out of your hand to rest on the edge of your plate. “I hoped it would be rather sweet tonight.”
When you look over your shoulder, Satoru is already at your side, bending a knee and outstretching an open palm to you. “My Princess.”
He looks. . . disheveled.
Not completely out of order, it's something so small — so minute that only those who know him well would be able to point it out. From the crease of his vest to the shaky rasp in his voice—
And the woman in your peripheral stumbling back into the dining hall from the garden entrance on shaky legs. . .
( so that's what he was doing. )
“Your grace,” leaves your lips in a whisper and he kisses the back of your palm before sinking into his seat.
The way he presses his middle finger against his bottom lip like he’d been burned by the silk makes you raise an eyebrow. Does he not even have the common courtesy of pretending to like the gloves he gifted?
“I’m pleased you took time out of your busy schedule for us regular people.” Suguru chuckles, and Satoru’s mother, sitting near you all at the head table seems far from pleased.
“Well, a small act of kindness goes a long way.” Satoru parries and you force a smile, stabbing your dessert once more. “Especially for someone as regular as you, Prince Suguru.”
If you had initially thought this would be a quaint rekindling of an old childhood friendship, you never felt more wrong than in this moment — the air settles thick between you three.
“Isn't the future King Gojo just so kind?” Suguru addresses you, and you swallow, stifling your laugh.
“I pray for your marriage. . .” One of the Dukes seated at the table jests, to which you fiddle with the hem of your dress, the burgundy falling over your palms as a chorus of laughter ensues.
Marriage.
Suguru notices your gaze on him – or rather far away – and he smiles to snap you out of it. “Lady name?”
Just then Satoru’s hand reaches for yours under the table, halting your fiddling with the fabric, his grip steady and soft.
“Princess Consort.” Satoru interjects with a flat lipped smile, which could be perceived as kind, but to Suguru. . . “She changed titles.”
When was the last time someone called you by your name and not Princess consort? Always that. Not even Princess name.
“Pardon me,” you mumble beneath your breath, your grip on your dress going slack. You shrug your hand free from Satoru’s grip, abandoning your seat in an instant.
Satoru rises from his chair only four seconds afterward.
“Name—” he calls to you, following you out of the dining hall and down a vacant corridor.
Your footsteps evade him as he chases after you wide steps.
But he stops dead in his tracks when he hears you slam the door to an empty side room shut.
My dearest reader,
brace yourself for the
next publication.
Your kind author
bids you farewell.
#⋆ 🪷 A ROYAL AFFAIR ! ˚ ༘ *#👑 TSCC — series.#★ driaswrld#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#satosugu x reader#satoru gojo x reader#suguru geto x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk fic
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🪷 — DRIASWRLD PRESENTS . . . A ROYAL AFFAIR
LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *
🪷 dearest gentle reader, this author finds herself compelled to impart the news of the most exciting arrival of the year! prepare the carriages...
SOCIETY PAPERS
🪷 A NEW SCANDALOUS SEASON IS UPON US. . .
— PRINCE GOJO ANNOUNCES BETROTHAL TO CHILDHOOD FRIEND ( but wait ! PRINCE GETO has suddenly arrived ! )
⋆ one. ⋆ two. ⋆ two (b) ⋆ three ⋆ tba. ⋆
— COUNT NANAMI GETS ABSOLUTELY DESTROYED IN PALL MALL BY HIS FIANCÉE'S SISTER ( the game we play called love ! )
— FORMER KNIGHT KASHIMO HAJIME STUMBLES UPON THE INN KEEPER'S DAUGHTER ( a classic retelling of love at first sight ! )
— KING SUKUNA FALLS FOR HIS DOTING CONCUBINE ( such passion and raw devotion ! )
— PRINCE MEGUMI GROWS FOND OF THE NEW KITCHEN MAID ( ah, young love ! )
— ITADORI, THE BLACKSMITH'S SON VIES FOR THE PRINCESS' AFFECTIONS ( how cute ! )
#⋆ 🪷 A ROYAL AFFAIR ! ˚ ༘ *#★ driaswrld#we makin it outta hiatus with this one ☝️#BRIDGERTONBRIDGERTONBRIDGERTON RAHHHH ‼️‼️#royal/regrncy au boys!!#this is my december gift to y'all fr#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#sukuna x reader#itadori x reader#megumi x reader#kashimo x reader
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city boys! — gojo satoru and geto suguru.
wc : 1.4k
summary : you go grocery shopping with satoru and suguru and they're just idiots tbvh (gn! reader)
part of : the star paradox collection.
notes : i have shamelessly brought my calculator to a kfc drive thru and yes i do it at the grocery store bcus i have dyscalculia math sucks don't @ me. also i have so much satosugu brainrot i can't breathe. yay to the satoru themed era of the blog :))
other : this can be read as platonic or poly just however you wanna see it! (like three curse words i think - mentions of cunnilingus) I SWEAR ITS NOT WHAT U THINK
current casette : city boys - burna boy
There’s something about summer that makes Satoru and Suguru hang off your shoulders more than they ought to. In the most mundane situations too.
“—and it’s not even that serious!” Satoru groans, dragging his feet on the floor, reluctantly marching behind where you’re pushing the trolley. “Who cares what kind of curry it is? Curry is curry.” He reasons with a huff.
Suguru nudges you in the middle of the supermarket aisle from time to time, pointing out things you usually buy, brands you usually prefer over most, and you grab whatever you find remotely necessary and toss in the cart, both of you collectively ignoring Satoru’s whines.
“C’monnn… Listen to me!”
You pick up a can of diced pineapple and look at Suguru. “Nah, that one’s too sour,” he murmurs and you put it back instantly. Afterall, Suguru’s the best taste tester you could ever ask for. Satoru just scarfs down everything in a forty mile radius.
“The design on the can was pretty though, ‘s a shame.” You sigh.
Satoru’s groans fall on deaf ears.
You turn a corner and head into the fruit aisle. Suguru’s eyes flick to something over your head and his steps falter for a moment. While you’re pushing the trolley ahead, a soft smack! noise comes from behind you and before you can turn your head—
“No! I wanted the other one—”
“This one’s better—”
You ignore them, albeit barely with all the commotion both boys are causing in the supermarket. Leaning over an array of cherries on display, you hum to yourself, carefully picking the pretty ones to add to the cart, perusing at the other assortment of fruit and if even possible, Satoru and Suguru’s bickering gets louder.
“That tastes like shit—” “You look like shit—”
“You kiss your mom with that mouth?”
“You eat pussy with that mouth?”
You strain your head forward as an old lady strolls past, her eyes a little wide and eyebrows knitted with a look of utter shock and you shrink. With a stiff, humorless giggle you turn your back to her, suddenly finding a bunch of grapes oddly interesting.
Embarrassing.
And when you breathe a breath of relief as the old lady passes by, Satoru swings his arm over your shoulder, pouting. “Suguru’s a dumbass—” He’s cut off by a smack to the back of his head, and despite yourself you can’t help but laugh a little.
“Will you two just behave and,” you shift out of Satoru’s hold to take the mini package of ridiculously sweet m&m infused rice krispies he has in his other hand.
You toss it into the cart. “—help me pick some stuff for my fruit salad?” Satoru shrugs with a sigh, he hates shopping. It’s so boring—
You laugh and pull up the list you typed up on your phone : Raspberries, check. Kiwi, check. Watermelon, check. Grapes…
“What else do you need?” Suguru asks, and he sidesteps Satoru, leaning casually on the trolley, one foot pushing it forward and backward as you look through the fruits. “Grapes—” you murmur, suddenly feeling indecisive as you look through the different bunches. Green or Purple. Purple or Green.
Satoru pushes his sunglasses down to the curve of his nose. “Green, ‘s prettier,” he says and you turn to grab a bunch of the green grapes as Suguru straightens his body, pretending to look over your shoulder as he sneakily drops a package of plain marshmallow rice krispies into the cart. “Yeah, green would make it look way more appealing, wouldn’t it?” You whisper to yourself.
“I saw that—” Satoru begins to say.
“Purple’s better, healthier than the green ones.” Suguru says with a straight face. Behind your back he flips Satoru off.
You shrug your shoulders and grab a small bunch of both. If anything, it’ll be shared well between you and Shoko in the bentos you make. Hopefully she appreciates the struggle.
Sliding your phone unlocked, you glance at the list again as you step off. Grapes, check. Suguru pushes the trolley, following close behind you as Satoru trudges behind him. “Wait—” You halt immediately, and Suguru has to steer the trolley left so he doesn’t run into you, but Satoru steps on the back of Suguru's shoes, and looks away with a bashful whistle.
“Other aisle, we need to turn around.” You say, sliding your phone back into your back pocket. Canned Pineapples. You forgot you put back the last one. “How many damn aisles are there?” Satoru mumbles as you turn and make a beeline for the next corner, going back where the three of you came. Suguru chuckles.
Kneeling, you grab the canned pineapples opposite to the ones Suguru said were sour. Hopefully that much distance in the store is enough of a difference between the two brands.
You check the list one more time. Pineapples, check.
“Right, that should be it.” You mumble and both boys internally celebrate — well, Satoru makes a show of letting out a long dramatic sigh of relief while Suguru nods.
Taking a look into the cart, Satoru pettily moves his package of rice krispies on the other side of the cart, away from Suguru’s and when Suguru looks at him incredulously, he sticks a tongue out, “Your flavor’s trash.”
Suguru rolls his eyes and is about to push the trolley forward to run him over when he sees you pull out a scientific calculator from your tote.
A scientific calculator. The same one you use for school. “The fu—” Satoru is about to say, and Suguru glances at him, both of them trying to at least read each other’s minds about what the hell is going on.
You however, are so hyper focused on your little task, pushing the buttons of your calculator, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. Satoru and Suguru watch you for all of two minutes. One minute spent with expressions morphing from confused, to even more confused, to utterly amused. The second minute spent snickering quietly and snapping silent pictures for the groupchat.
“Huh, I went over a little.” You hum and though they haven’t wiped the sheer amusement off their faces, they both find themselves intrigued. “By how much?” Suguru asks, quickly sending off the pictures to the groupchat.
“Seven hundred yen.” You reply as you step forward to peer into the cart, willing and ready to discard one unnecessary item to drop the price.
Three of your phones chime. Satoru checks his own notification.
[Gojo Fanclub]
Nanaminn <3 : who added me to this???
Nanaminn <3 : delete my number gojo.
“Bet it’s the curry.” Satoru mumbles absentmindedly, typing at his phone screen. “The curry’s like—” he pauses, shoves his phone in his hoodie pocket and counts silently on his fingers. “A thousand yen or something — they must’ve put the god of curry in there or something.”
“It’s not the curry,” you reason scouring the cart for any discrepancies. And there’s quite a few of them. Including but not limited to some Sakura tarts, sour candies, an extra package of rice krispies—
“The curry powder we picked is five hundred yen, it’s not the curry.” Suguru shrugs, and Satoru leans against one of the shelves of seasoning, letting out a quiet sneeze.
“Bless you— I need to recheck these.” The calculator comes out again as you murmur to yourself, the click clacking of the buttons drowning out your own thoughts.
“I’m just saying— maybe it was the rice krispie Suguru snuck into the cart—” Satoru mumbles, all while he bends his body at the end of the aisle, reaching blindly around to the shelves on the other side.
“You put one in, I was only balancing the trolley weight.” Suguru interrupts, and he turns his head away when you look up from your calculator at him accusingly.
“See?” Satoru grins, almost victoriously as he grasps a package of baumkuchen, wheeling his hand back as he sidesteps Suguru, moving to slide the pastry into the trolley. “Who knows what else’ll just drop into the cart?” And your calculator is forgotten as you snatch the pastry from Satoru’s hand. “Nothing else is dropping into the cart—”
But something else catches your attention as you’re about to scold him.
Two bright green bags, hidden at the bottom of the cart, stuffed under the packaging of Sakura tarts.
“Who the hell put Kenpi chips in here?”
Satoru and Suguru both freeze, and suddenly their accusing fingers are pointed at each other. But instead of scolding them like they expect—
“Should’ve at least put one for me.”
You're never going to the grocery store with them again.
Bonus :
“Satoru’s paying for the extra snacks—”
“Not fair! Suguru shouldn’t get to just stuff his face—”
“Only two of those snacks are mine. Two. Out of ten.”
A notification sounds on the three of your phones.
[Gojo Fanclub]
Nanaminn <3 : is that my calculator that you borrowed???
@todorokies gets the privilege tag cs i told knives ab this first😭
#★ DRIASWRLD#tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen#satosugu x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#satoru gojo#suguru geto#gojo x geto x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#satoru x reader#suguru x reader#gojo satoru#geto suguru#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen fic#jujutsu kaisen drabbles#jujustsu kaisen x reader#geto x reader#gojo x reader
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i'm just — gojo satoru and geto suguru.
wc : 1.6k
summary : (fem!reader) satoru gets lost in his head way too early in the morning, you and suguru ease his worries with one simple question.
part of : the star paradox collection.
notes : honestly this is before megs and tsumiki, just when the trio is figuring out their futures and i wanna show rlly how complex satoru's feelings are but from the pov of the ppl who love him. bcus let's bfr suguru and reader would live in a cardboard box under a bridge with satoru if it meant the three of them would be happy.
other : mentions of hickeys/lovebites ig? poly satosugu x reader but labels haven't really been defined so do with that as you may. and yes this is totally reader n suguru telling satoru that hes kenough!
current casette : i'm just ken - barbie, the album
You wake to a weight pressed against your left arm, blood rushing to your fingertips. A soft gust of summer air blows the thin blue curtains to the side, just as the morning sun peeks out from beyond the railing of the balcony. It’s hot.
It’s not just hot. The apartment is quiet.
Not often is it this quiet.
Wiggling your legs beneath the covers, you roll onto your left side, and the first thing you see makes your heart do a somersault.
Suguru, with his head pressed against your arm, his chin snug in the inside of your elbow. You don’t want to wake him — really, when was the last time any of you got a full night’s sleep let alone the privilege of sleeping in during the day?
One of your legs hike over the thigh Suguru has slotted between your own thighs, and there’s a sliver of movement beneath his eyelids. You freeze.
There’s a shift in his breathing pattern, like he’s about to wake up, and instead of moving your leg more, the arm he’s laying on moves around him to the back of his neck, pulling him closer and into your chest.
In his sleep, he mumbles something inaudible.
You still talk in your sleep after so long, Suguru?You think, but you swallow it with a smile.
Strands of jet black swallow your chest like a blanket. Silently, you card Suguru’s hair between your fingertips. Halfway down, the length of your thumb hooks on a broken hair tie, and you pull it out, a few darkened knots coming with it.
Graciously, you discard it on the empty side of the bed next to you. Satoru's side.
The pillow is cold.
Back then, you would slide out of Suguru’s hold and saunter off to find Satoru, drag him back to bed maybe. But now, you’re old enough to know he can never stay away too long.
No sappy stuff! Satoru just gets major FOMO when you and Suguru cuddle without him, that’s all!
His words, not yours.
The sunlight beaming in from the open balcony door warms your skin, heating the curve of your jaw, the flesh of your cheeks buzzing with warmth. You look down at Suguru, wondering if you should close the curtains before the light bothers him—
He’s like a baby, just laying there on your chest.
From here you can see the edge of his shoulder, a soft red mark blooming on his bare skin. Was that you? No, you don’t remember doing that. Maybe it was Satoru.
Maybe it was the both of you. You can never tell.
Suguru shifts, nuzzling his head into you, tip of his nose in between your breasts, and you wonder if he can even breathe like that.
He babbles something mindlessly, and his arms snake around your waist, pressing his weight firmly on top of you. Curious, you move a tuft of hair out of his face.
His eyes form soft slits, moisture tickling the edge of his dark lashes from sleep, his lips parted slightly with soft breaths. He’s beautiful like this.
“...Did I wake you?” A whisper comes from across the room, and you turn your attention from Suguru to where Satoru is leaning against the doorframe, shirtless and eyes heavy with sleep.
Carefully, you check on Suguru before you glance back at Satoru. “No, you’re fine…” You whisper back, hyper aware of your volume. “I got warm, is all.” The last thing you want to do is wake Suguru, and Satoru gets the idea quick as he steps over to the end of the bed.
“Warm?” Satoru repeats, rubbing a fist over his eyes, before he glances over at the open balcony doors adjacent to the bed, the baby blue curtains swaying softly with the little wind. And it clicks in his brain. “Yeah, the thermostat is still busted — I tried fixing it,” he murmurs, taking a seat at the edge of the bed, back turned to you. “I’ll just call someone to get it fixed later.”
Suguru stirs atop your chest, and you pat the top of his head, coaxing him to sleep more.
“Do we even have the money to get it fixed anyway?” You ask, soft.
Sometimes, the three of you tend to forget you’re just kids. Fresh out of highschool and starting from scratch — desperately trying to make something of your own. “I can ask Nanami to look at it tomorrow—”
“I don’t want you to ask Nanami, though.” Satoru cuts you off, and you breathe a sigh.
“Don’t be prideful, ‘toru. It’s just a thermostat.”
Satoru feels a foreign feeling bubble in him. Rather, not foreign, but a variation of the same feeling he’s been feeling these past days.
Ever since he decided to put his inheritance from the Gojo clan on hold, so the three of you could do this on your own. Ever since Suguru started taking extra missions to help with rent. Ever since you started taking half of Nanami’s overtime shifts — is pride the name of the heat bubbling inside him? Or is it disappointment?
“It’s more than the thermostat, name.” He whispers, looking over his shoulder for all but a mere second, waiting for Suguru to stir again. But he doesn’t.
He can’t run to Suguru to stall this conversation. “It’s the bathroom sink—”
“Suguru tied a bandana around the bottom of the faucet, it’ll stop the dripping until we can—”
“No.” He shakes his head, shifting to fold one leg under him as he finally turns to look at you. “It’s the whole apartment, it’s the late shifts — it’s all the things I can’t do.” Satoru’s voice cracks an octave higher than it should.
You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Suguru’s body rolls to the side and you take advantage of this to slowly start sliding up against the headboard.
“All the things I can’t give you two.” Satoru whispers, mostly to himself than to you.
Suguru sleepily stretches his arm to you, his fist curling around the hem of your shirt just as your back leans against the wood of the headboard. “I never asked for anything though… I doubt Suguru has either.” You reply in a mumble.
You’re right. Satoru knows that. But why would you and Suguru ever need to ask him for anything?
It’s what he’s supposed to do. That’s what love is. He’s supposed to want to give you two the best. He’s supposed to do all the heavy lifting — he’s the strongest. He's supposed to take care of the both of you.
“You’re stupid if you think we care about all that.” Suguru’s voice cuts through the air, hoarse from sleep but thick with something other than sleep — conviction, pride.
Pride in Satoru. Pride in you. “Who cares about the thermostat? Who cares about the sink?” His head lifts only a few centimeters away from your chest, his eyes still closed but his voice showing no signs of slumber at all. “I could drown in the bathroom tonight for all I care.”
You smile a little. And Satoru looks over at you two, albeit a little incredulously.
Why are you looking at him and smiling like that?
Why is Suguru so unbothered?
Satoru tries to wrap his head around it but for the life of him he can’t.
“What the hell is wrong with you two…” Satoru mumbles beneath his breath, turning his body completely, both legs crossed as he sits on the bed. “This isn’t— this isn’t what we wanted…”
The three of you wanted peace. A life full of shenanigans and sporadic missions. A life where you’d worry about nothing, do nothing but feel everything.
Satoru can’t help but burn inside at the way you two don’t even realize you’ve gotten the short end of the stick with this life. This life with him—
“name.” Suguru mumbles into your chest, just as he raises his head to your eye level, the first time he’s opened his eyes since morning. And yet, there’s a softness in them you’ve never seen before. “Are you happy?” Suguru asks, simply, straightforward.
In your mind, you think of a million different ways to answer the question, a million different ways to break down and explain and talk and talk and talk about how you feel but ultimately it all leads back to—
“One word, yes or no.” Suguru tilts his head, looking up at you expectantly yet prepared. Like he already knows what you’ll say before you think it.
“Are you happy?” He asks again and Satoru strains his gaze to the bedsheets, waiting for an answer he thinks he doesn’t want to hear. Because how? How can you be happy?
“Yes.” The answer leaves your mouth with a fluidity, like it came out absentmindedly, without needing any thought. And Satoru is about to say something like about it not being so easy or Suguru’s question being dumb and vague, but—
“Now, Suguru, are you happy?” Suguru mimics Satoru’s voice, dramatically raising his pitch a few tones, even going as far to open his eyes wide — like he’s got six eyes to spare. “Oh, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been—!” Suguru raises his arms in an over the top gesture and you can’t help but laugh.
You look over to Satoru, and he’s looking at you and Suguru like he’s seeing something he’s never seen before.
And the knot twisting inside of him loosens. Just enough for him to have to force himself to bite back a chuckle. I don't even talk like that, he wants to say.
“Are you happy, Satoru?” You ask, and he stills for a moment. And now he thinks he understands Suguru’s dumb not so easy but extremely vague question.
He’s never not been happy when he’s with you two. It shouldn’t even be a question.
“I’m never… not happy…” He whispers, his shoulders slouching forwards. “But it’s not—”
You cut him off with a grin. “One word.”
Suguru laughs. “Yes or no?”
Satoru sits a little straighter, and he feels like he can breathe easier.
“Yes. It’s always yes with you two.”
#★ DRIASWRLD#tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen#satosugu x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#satoru gojo#suguru geto#gojo x geto x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen drabbles#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jjk fic#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#gojo satoru#geto suguru
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lovers rock — gojo satoru and geto suguru.
wc : 2.7k
summary : over a bottle of ill-gotten vodka, the trio has a tipsy conversation about kisses.
part of : the star paradox collection.
(comment if u wanna be tagged for tsr!!)
notes : this is heavily based off the fact that reader DID in fact have secret feelings for geto and gojo but never said anything ab it until before the star plasma incident (fic ab that coming soon dw) you may interpret this as reader fell first, they fell harder bcus that's exactly what happened fr
other : satosugu makes fake IDs (based off that one fanart), literally underage drinking??? toru cant hold his alc but wbk this, suguru smokes here too, suggestive convo, mentions of like one curse word i think
current casette : lovers rock - tv girl (anything by tv girl is a tsr song okay?)
The dorms at Tokyo Jujutsu High operate on one solid rule.
All lights out by ten, no exceptions, no buts, ands, ifs or becauses. Curfew is at ten, be in your damn room by ten.
Naturally, Satoru and Suguru mistake ten for twelve.
It’s 9:53 when you walk into your dorm room, and the first thing that greets you are hushed whispers and a smoky smell.
Why is it so dark in here?
From your place at the door frame, your eyes flit to the back of Satoru’s head, silver white strands tickling his nape, uniform replaced with a blue hoodie. Suguru’s sitting across from him, slouched, cross legged like Satoru, hair tied into a ponytail and lips twisted into a thin scowl.
“—wasn’t yours.” Suguru grumbles beneath his breath, a pair of dice clinking softly in his palm, the light from your bedside lamp giving you a sneak peek of the numbers resting.
Three and six. Oh, no, that's definitely five.
“Cost me six hundred yen to get it.”
Satoru seems to ignore him, letting out a huff in defiance.
Suguru grunts, leaning over the side of the bed to pick up a half smoked cigarette, pressing it softly against the edge of your favorite incense holder to collect the stray ash.
“Broke ass.” Satoru mumbles, and though you can’t see his expression from here, you know he’s rolling his eyes. “Freeloader.” Suguru counters, cigarette lodged between his middle and index, and he brings it up to his lips and draws in softly.
He leans forward to drop the dice on Satoru’s leg.
“We’re supposed to split it equally.” You hear a clinking noise coming from Satoru’s lap.
“Like hell we are.” Suguru scoffs, a wisp of smoke leaving his mouth.
“I should get first share, it’s only fair.”
Suguru gets up from the bed, back turned to you as he slides the window open halfway. “We’re not sharing anything.” He flicks the cigarette outside. “I don’t know where your mouth’s been—”
“You tryin’ to fight—”
“Are you two getting high in my room?” Your voice makes them both freeze, and Satoru folds over the bed backwards, head upside down and staring straight at you with a guilty grin, all while Suguru is discreetly trying to fan the rest of the cigarette smoke out the window.
“What gave you that idea?” Suguru murmurs, squinting his eyes to make out your expression in the dim light with a faux innocent smile.
You breathe a chuckle, dropping your bag by the door and clicking it shut behind you. “How did the studying with Nanamin go?” Satoru asks, as if you can’t see him folded over the bed like he’s hiding something while Suguru fans the smoke through the window.
“I fell asleep halfway through, we got boba with Haibara instead.” You say, feeling blindly on the wall for the light switch.
“And you didn’t bring some back for me?” Satoru gasps, near offended.
“Don't change the subject,” you roll your eyes, pinky finger bumping against the light switch, and you flick it upwards with your index. When the light comes on and you face them, your jaw drops.
“Surprise…?” Suguru’s cheeks puff up in a wide thin lipped smile, almost mockingly. Satoru is still hanging off the edge of the bed, cigarette ash curdled on your incense holder, the pair of dice laying on the bedsheets and sure, they kinda made a little mess of your room.
But it's the bottle of vodka sitting between Satoru’s legs that takes the cake.
“You have to be kidding me—”
Suguru shrugs his shoulders, sliding the window fully open, the night air wafting inside.
It's almost curfew. And here they are. You're not even surprised, this is totally in character for them. “Wow, no, Satoru, you're such a rebel?” Satoru kicks his legs back and forth, voice mimicking a girly pitch. “Bad boys are so hot! Tell me all your secrets, toru-kun! None of that?"
“I was there too, idiot.” Suguru grumbles, shoving one of Satoru's legs aside as he steps over to the bedside table to grab the ash covered incense holder.
Satoru flails his legs like Suguru just smacked him, ever so dramatically. “How did you do it though?” You ask, with a near wince, exasperated but curious.
Unexpectedly, Satoru swings the vodka bottle sideways and into Suguru’s arms, the glass making a soft set of clink! sounds from Suguru’s rings as he catches it, both your eyes going wide as Satoru stands on the bed, striking some sort of elaborate pose.
“The date, June fifteenth ‘06—”
You turn to Suguru, confused but he only shrugs in response. “My assistant Sugi-san and I walked into Shinanoya—” Satoru continues his elaborate presentation, meanwhile you and Suguru whisper between his words. "Never call me that again—"
“So that's what you two were doing while you were supposed to be exorcising that curse?”
“He forced me to go along—”
“With these!” Satoru pulls out a mini plastic card, which is supposed to look like an ID, but really it's as flimsy as a piece of paper. You had to admit though, they really did get his good side in the picture. If he even has a bad side, that is.
“And we got the liquor at half price.” Suguru mumbles as you nudge him, and he pulls out his own fake ID, which looks the same as Satoru’s — you think you might want to print these pictures for a scrapbook or something some other time.
“I thought you said it was six hundred yen!”
“I added my service charge.”
“Service? What are you, a whore?”
You take the bottle from Suguru to feel the weight in your hands, and the liquid inside sloshes a little to the side.
Out of sheer curiosity and despite your better senses, you mumble, “Let's play a drinking game then.”
Forty minutes later.
It's drawing near to eleven. The lights are turned off and all that's coming from your dorm room are the sounds of yours and the boys’ whispers and hushed giggles from time to time, barely drowned out by a soft song playing from Suguru’s phone, playlist laying open on his phone, one of Satoru’s picks.
Are you sick of me?
Would you like to be?
“—turn it to your head if you can't answer.” Satoru grins, cheek resting on his palm as he lays across the bed. “Have you ever gotten freaky with a milf?”
A chortle leaves your mouth when Suguru twists his lips into an expression of shock and utter disgust, and you have to cover your mouth to not laugh out loud.
“A milf? Like… forty or something?”
“Not really — just like a hot older woman.” You say.
“Oh, she was around that age then, I guess…” Suguru grumbles, clutching the half empty vodka bottle in one hand, eyes squinted. “I didn't sleep with her though— I don't just… sling dick around like Satoru— I have morals.”
“Says the one who sucked tongue with an elderly woman.”
Suguru scoffs and takes a swig from the bottle, passing it over to you.
You shrug, coming to Suguru’s defense with a mumble. “I mean, Satoru… you are common—”
“Don't pretty it up, he's ran through—”
“Like hell I am!”
The three of you fold over in a fit of laughter, gasping for air, faces hot from the alcohol and the sheer idiocy of the moment.
It takes all your energy to muffle your combined laughs, and Satoru leans over Suguru’s phone to increase the music volume just a little, lightheaded and nearly knocking the vodka out of your hand, mouthing the lyrics with a lopsided toothy grin.
You like a pretty boy
With a pretty voice
“Your turn.” Suguru nods to you and the liquor in your hand sloshes to the side. “Make it good—”
Satoru tries to interrupt but has to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh when you take a whiff of the vodka, head tilting back and mouth forming an ‘o’ shape — sure, you three were already a little tipsy, but you’re pretty sure this is way past your limit.
Not like you could hold your alcohol anyway.
Suguru was the only one who could survive, you and Satoru were certified lightweights by default.
“Dare me to do anything and I’ll throw up on you.” You huff, and both boys raise their arms up in surrender.
It’s these things, small moments like these that make you want to live forever.
Minus the aging part, or maybe with the aging part — if it meant doing stupid stuff with Satoru and Suguru, young or old, you’re sure you’d have no complaints.
Because it’s them.
“You scared?” Satoru chuckles, drawing you out of your thoughts.
The way he says it, in that tone – it’s the same tone that would make you follow him anywhere.
The same tone that makes Suguru roll his eyes so far in the back of his head you’d think he had a leading role in The Conjuring.
“Should I be scared?”
It’s paired with bated breath, and the way Suguru looks up at you, dark eyes glazed over with a hint of inebriation, waterline bordering on crimson from the lit cigarette tucked between his middle and index – it makes you feel naked.
In a way you’ve never felt before.
“That depends,” he murmurs. You gulp. It’s like the air in here has changed, foggy with a foreign feeling surrounding you three. “Do you wanna be scared?”
Suguru takes a deep inhale of his cig, leaning over to breathe out a plume of smoke. You and Satoru inhale it like you’ve neglected oxygen your whole lives.
Maybe if it were anyone else you’d call it want. Or need.
Something in your soul tells you it transcends that.
She might want a kiss before the end of the song—
“Suguru—” His name doesn't get the chance to leave your mouth entirely, Satoru’s thumb and forefinger already have your chin in his grasp, turning your gaze to him instead.
“What’re you looking at him for?” Satoru mumbles, and you hear Suguru stifles a laugh across from you.
“You think he’s gonna save you?”
You want to laugh, it’s a running joke anyway.
No matter what, you run to Suguru to put Satoru in his place. That time Satoru got you kicked out of a movie theater, or the time Satoru tripped you up during a mission in front of the first years, or the time Satoru ate the cheesecake you hid in your mini fridge —
Whenever little name gets her strings pulled by Satoru, she goes running off for Suguru to save her, right?
But it doesn’t feel like he’s talking about that.
“You need me to save you, name?” Suguru chuckles, and from the corner of your eye, you see him pull his hair loose, dark strands cascading over his shoulders.
“Gonna let him call you weak like that?” He chides, and the cool pad of Satoru’s thumb taps against your bottom lip twice, as if challenging you to say something – to give him your attention instead.
“Nah, don’t need a hero.” You whisper, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “Toru might though.”
Suguru bites back a snicker, head tilting back as he draws in another inhale of smoke. “Aw, don’t bully him, name.”
Because love can burn
Like a cigarette
“C’mon, don’t look at him,” Satoru tilts your head in his grasp, a soft grin forming on his face, dimples on showcase. “Look at me.” He whispers, tugging you closer, and you have to tighten your grip on the neck of the bottle so it doesn’t slip, your palms sweating from the proximity.
“Satoru—”
“Don’t double back now, you laughed a bit too hard at me just now, y’know?”
You open your mouth to protest, shivering when the tip of your tongue grazes the pad of his thumb. Satoru makes a noise in the back of his throat, something between a groan and a scoff.
You wonder if the vodka made you imagine the way his pupils dilated. “Just ask the stupid question—” You try to turn your head away in vain, and this time, Suguru laughs at your expense.
“You ever been kissed before?”
And leave you with nothing
You stiffen, gaze snapping up to meet Satoru’s, only to find him dead serious.
Ofcourse you’ve been kissed before. But not like that— not like—
Like… oh no…
And if you start to kiss—
You bring the bottle of vodka to your lips, and both boys watch with amused gazes, and hint of something you don’t have a name for yet.
“You could’ve just—” Satoru’s hand falls loose over your shoulder as you take a swig, and Suguru shifts forward in curiosity. “—said no.”
“Nobody’s kissed you?” Suguru echoes and you grimace from the alcohol and the sheer embarrassment, shoving the open bottle to stand in the space between Satoru’s legs.
“Your turn,” you grumble, wiping remnants of the sweet liquor from your mouth with the back of your palm.
And the record skips—
Satoru and Suguru exchange a look, one you immediately assume is them reading each other’s minds and gearing up to laugh in your face.
Truly, you wouldn’t blame them — because here you are about to graduate in a year and still haven’t gotten your first kiss.
And it’s not like you haven’t like… gotten close to it— it’s just that the circumstances are never perfect and other things always get involved and you get all in your head and your mind just starts to do the thing—
“Hey,” Satoru’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, and your palms go clammy, folded over your lap. “We don’t care about it, it’s nothing.” He whispers.
“Pretty sure there’s nobody who even deserves to kiss you anyway.” You glance over to Suguru, who’s already outing his cigarette and scooting closer.
Flip it over
And sit a little closer
If anything, it makes you swell with shame rather than comfort.
“Not like that, I didn’t mean—”
“Great job, Suguru—”
“As if you were doing any better—”
And despite yourself, you chuckle. They’re idiots. God, they’re fools.
Now, how many men have you kissed?
Satoru’s fingers dip under the collar of your shirt, playing around with the loose thread.
They made you laugh, that’s enough for him, always has been. He knows Suguru feels the same, but why… why doesn’t he feel satisfied with just that? Like there's something else he should be doing?
“Not fair,” he mumbles beneath his breath, cheeks flushed as he slumps forward, resting his head in the crook of your neck. You think he might be past his drinking limit, he always gets all babbly like this when he is.
“Not fair?” Suguru questions, resting a hand over his knee.
“Yeah, ‘s just not fair — who wouldn’t wanna kiss her?”
“I’m literally right here—”
“Keep listening then, it’s not like I’m lying or nothing.”
You’re not strong like Satoru and Suguru.
You’d say you’re not as beautiful either, or eve half as smart sometimes – you never compare yourselves to them but in the great grand scheme of things— you’ve never wanted to be kissed anyway, not by anyone you don’t feel for.
Not by someone who doesn’t know you in the ways you don’t want to be known.
Very few
In the way you know Satoru hates alcohol, but he only ever drinks it when you and Suguru are around. The way Suguru never likes taking pictures but manages a smile when you and Satoru pull him in for a group photo.
“If I kissed you, I’d never stop.” Suguru breathes, laying back on the bed, rumble of a sigh leaving his lips.
But you offered me a kiss
In the way they both know what you’re thinking before you even say it. The way grocery runs, 24 hour mart stops, week long missions, midnight talks, belly laughs and breaching curfew feels like a love language – something only the three of you speak – like something so foreign yet so familiar.
Why?
“I don’t think I’d remember to breathe again if I kissed you.” Satoru grumbles in the crook of your neck, somewhere between a yawn and whine. “You could have anyone you want, name, a whole line full of kisses…”
“Never really wanted to be kissed to be honest,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, your eyelids drooping shut.
Such a foolish reason, I’m afraid.
I just wanted… to kiss you.
#★ DRIASWRLD#tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen#satosugu x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#gojo x geto x reader#suguru geto x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#gojo satoru#geto suguru#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk fic#jjk x reader
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apocalypse — gojo satoru and geto suguru.
wc : 1.5k
summary : suguru comes back from a mission, with more hurt than he left with. reader and satoru pull him out of the abyss he's headed to.
part of : the star paradox collection.
notes : the beginning before the beginning. really, this is how it all started in terms of how the trio branch off into their new life taking caring of the kids, starting off with the twins first and rlly just how suguru felt during it all. IM SORRY U WILL GET MORE FLUFF SOON !! this is more hurt/comfort than angst though.
other : fem!reader but no prns rlly stated, star plasma incident spoilers!! dating but not dating stsg x reader, mentions of blood, death, nothing too dramatic dw
current cassete : cry - cigarettes after sex
September 2007.
You woke up in Suguru’s dorm that night, the spot beside you where Satoru should’ve been lying empty, pillow cold and hanging off the side of the bed.
Something feels wrong.
Suguru had left for a mission earlier in the day, you tied his bun tight while Satoru helped him get dressed, the fluid routine you’ve developed becoming nothing but second nature, a simple promise of – you carry me and i’ll carry you and we’ll figure it out through crumpled sheets and eyebags and too many syrupy pancakes.
But something felt wrong the moment you rolled over to your side and the clock on the bedside table read 2:18 am.
Barefoot and dressed in one of the boy’s shirts, hands stuffed in your pajama pockets to ease the chill of your fingertips, you stalk through the darkened corridors, past empty dorm rooms, searching for any sign of where Satoru disappeared to, or any sign that Suguru had come back safe.
It’s been a month since Haibara’s death.
A little over a year since Riko’s.
The pieces haven’t been put together. You know deep down that maybe, there’s no recovering from this. Everytime the three of you weather one storm, another appears, and you’re back where you started.
“...Suguru.” A breath leaves you, something between a gasp in relief and a sigh of exhaustion. The door to the infirmary is ajar, and you lean against the door frame, Suguru locks eyes with you from where he stands next to the examination table, the curtain behind him drawn, a tuft of Shoko’s brown hair peeking out.
“Name—” Satoru peers around the corner, your eyes never leave Suguru’s. He has his arms around himself, a coping mechanism — he doesn’t want to be touched.
“What’s going on?” You ask, just as Satoru rounds to stand in front of you, hair tousled and eyes heavy with sleep, there’s a soft jingle in his pocket everytime he moves.
Keys.
He went to pick up Suguru.
But—
“It’s okay, everything is—” Satoru begins to say, but you ignore him, stepping forward to get a good look at Suguru, the dark haired boy tensing under your gaze, screwing his eyes shut. He doesn’t look the same as he left. Something’s wrong, you can feel it. “Tell me,” you whisper, and a soft clink comes from behind the curtain, and it’s pulled aside by Shoko.
Two little girls, no older than five years old, peer up at you from the examination table.
Shoko looks at you, and before you can say anything, or ask more questions, Suguru’s hand is holding onto your arm. Even now, he’s still the most rational, says so much without even speaking.
Not here, not in front of these two, whatever happened to them must be too much to even question right now. You close your mouth — Suguru’s hand is cold, and when you look to Satoru, he has his head down.
And there’s the tinge of a familiar metallic smell, crimson against your elbow.
“Suguru… why are your hands bloody?”
The sun rises, and you’re sitting in the stairwell opposite the infirmary.
Suguru sits to your left, between you and Satoru, his breathing soft, yet heavy, almost pained.
In the silence of the orange sky, autumn air finally beginning to take, you and Satoru have your arms wrapped around Suguru’s shoulders.
“What… do you need me to do?” Satoru whispers, and Suguru’s head falls limp on your shoulder, a shaky breath leaving his lips.
It’s different, it makes your heart feel heavy, you’re scared even.
If Satoru is an empty map, and you the pencil freehanding lines of latitude and longitude, Suguru is the coordinate. Always guiding you two, always the voice in the back of your heads that you consult.
Satoru doesn’t trust his own instinct, you don’t trust your own emotions.
You both trust Suguru’s heart.
But now, the moral compass you two depend on, points nowhere.
“I don’t need you to do anything.” Suguru whispers, and he looks at you from the corner of his eye. “I need to—” He moves, as if to get up, as if to walk away again, like the three of you have been doing too much this past year. But you grab his arm.
His hands are still cold. A little wet from you and Satoru scrubbing the blood off them.
Suguru remembers the first time he met Satoru, the first time he met you. His hair was shorter then, things were simpler, he didn't feel like a parasite in his own body back then.
“We.” You say, firm.
Satoru looks like he wants to cry, and Suguru’s gaze is turned away from you. How can you say that so simply? Suguru doesn't even know what he's feeling right now. It's something akin to a blade twisting inside his gut and bile collecting in the back of his throat.
We. Together. Not as the strongest, not as sorcerers, but as friends. As...
“We need to and what we will do.” Your voice goes soft, and here it goes to weathering another storm. But this time, not with syrupy pancakes or crumpled sheets or eyebags. “We’ll carry each other — just…”
Just don’t walk away from us, Suguru.
Suguru has always prided himself on his level headed abilities, his attentiveness. The way he can see beyond Satoru's limitless and through the gaps in the keyholes of your heart. But now, he feels naked.
Is this what it feels like to be seen?
“You called.” Satoru smiles a little, and he tugs you and Suguru close to his side, your face in the crook of Suguru’s neck and his pressed against Satoru’s chest. “I’m sorry,” Suguru whispers, and for the first time in a long time, he cries.
“No, don’t say sorry for that.” Your breath goes inaudible against Suguru. How long? How long have the three of you been ignoring this hurt? “Don’t ever think we wouldn’t answer you if you called out.”
Maybe things have changed.
Satoru keeps a roll of bandages in his uniform pockets now instead of sweets. Suguru doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat, there's a stranger where his reflection used to be. You can’t look at them without seeing the strength you failed to have, the end of everything you once knew.
He shouldn’t be sorry for hurting. He shouldn’t be sorry for feeling trapped.
He should never be sorry for feeling so alone.
Because you and Satoru feel it too. Maybe you were just cowards for not saying it out loud.
“I should’ve heard you two sooner,” It leaves Satoru’s mouth like a confession, an admittance of failure, and your heart clenches. “I should’ve known.”
“We’ll figure it out…” You whisper, and Suguru thinks his whole body has gone numb, he doesn’t think he can feel anything right now.
For once, just this once, he’ll let you and Satoru do it for him.
He doesn’t want you two to let him go, because if you do, he’ll disappear into a corner of his mind he didn’t even know existed til tonight.
Or maybe it was last month. Or a year ago. He doesn’t know. He’s just tired. So tired.
“Sleep… I want… I need to…” How does a person ask for help? Suguru cries. The ugliness of everything in this world bubbles beneath his skin like acid. “Please.”
Who said the word please for you to hate it so much, Suguru?
I did.
“—mhm! It’s so pretty!” Mimiko is clutching the strawberry colored doll to her chest, giving it a few happy squeezes. Sure, it was a little torn when she first came with it a few days ago, but now, it’s all stitched up and good as new. “Yeah? I’m really glad you like it, Mimi” You grin at the dark haired little girl, your head tilted to the side.
Across the vacant classroom, Suguru is hyper focused on trimming Nanako’s hair, his fingers measuring at the strands, not so subtly eavesdropping on your conversation with the other twin, the softest sliver of a smile twitching on his lips.
It's been three days since the twins came. Three days since your lives flipped on its axis again. The girls live at the dorms now, taking Suguru's old room instead of moving into a new one.
It's new, it's scary. But you'll find your footing bit by bit. Sometimes it helps to remember that you're not alone. That none of you were ever really alone.
Because between the bad things, there's always good. Always.
“I’m hungry!” Satoru groans from where he’s laid atop two desks pushed together, sunglasses dangling from his hair — You all ignore him for a beat, as Nanako tosses crumpled paper balls towards him, infinity bouncing it off and making the blonde girl giggle. “You’re just mad ‘cause you’re not getting a cool haircut.” You ruffle Mimiko’s hair, and her eyes go a little glossy, no doubt still entranced by Satoru’s antics, and dopey from being next in line to get her hair cut by Suguru.
“Bleh.” Satoru grumbles.
Suguru makes a face, his nose scrunching up. “I want my hair all white like Gojo-san’s!” Nanako says to Suguru and for a moment, it almost looks like Suguru’s considering it, with the way he pulls the scissors away and tilts his head in thought.
“You want your hair all messed up like that idiot?” Shoko slides the door open and enters, white plastic bag rustling in one hand and a lollipop in her mouth. “It’ll all fall off soon, you know?”
Satoru winces. “Women like my hair just as it is!”
God forbid someone tells him that the messy playboy hairdo is not what he has.
“I want my hair like Geto-san’s…” Mimiko whispers to you. “I think it’s prettier.” You nod and lean over to her, “Girls like Suguru’s hair better, you know?”
“Don’t lie to children, name!”
And Suguru bellows a laugh. A loud one — just like he used to.
It’s just that, in this world,
I couldn’t laugh from the bottom of my heart.
“Suguru…” You look up at him, and his eyes are shut, laughter rattling his chest, shoulders trembling. You’re in awe of him.
Laugh more, Suguru. Never stop letting us make you laugh in this twisted world.
Satoru looks over to you and then to Suguru, and he can’t help but laugh too. Shoko rolls her eyes and you chuckle, Mimiko and Nanako covering their mouths in between soft giggles.
Maybe everything has changed. Maybe Satoru will continue covering his eyes more, maybe Suguru will never just see himself anymore - the person that he used to be, maybe you'll never truly be strong enough.
But, if change is unstoppable force, you three are immovable object.
“What’re you laughing at mop head?”
“Huh!? We were having a moment, Suguru!”
“So sappy, ‘toru.”
“You two tryin’ to fight!?”
September 2007. The new beginning.
#★ DRIASWRLD#tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen#satosugu x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#gojo satoru#geto suguru#gojo x geto x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk fic#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#satoru gojo#suguru geto
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cash in, cash out — gojo satoru and geto suguru.
wc : 1.7k
summary : the one where the boys pick the kids up, satoru loses his wallet, megumi almost throws up, the twins argue color theory, tsumiki gets the aux and suguru has a coupon.
part of : the star paradox collection.
notes : this had me cackling a bit as i wrote it i love the family dynamics esp since this is when the trio is new to the kid thing (around 2009) ALSO yes, suguru has a love for y2k girl groups : pussycat dolls being one of em don't @ me gege told me it's canon.
other : fem!reader, rs label undefined so can be read as platonic or poly (they're lowk dating w/o knowing) mentions of unsafe (?) driving?? mentions of bribery and also tomfoolery and shenanigans
current casette : father stretch my hands pt.1 - kanye west
“—now we do headcount.” Suguru turns in his seat as Satoru slows the car and shifts the gear stick to neutral. “If you’re hungry, say I!” Satoru raises a hand up, his knuckles smacking against the roof of the interior, and Suguru internally dies.
“You’re hopeless.” Tsumiki laughs to herself, rolling the window beside her down, leaning against the frame, spring breeze warming her cheeks.
“I…” Mimiko raises her tiny fist upwards, mimicking Satoru, all while Nanako unclicks their joint seatbelt and breathes a puff of air, exasperated and hair a mess.
Megumi grunts, giving a weak thumbs up. He almost looks like he’s about to throw up.
The car ride was… something to say the least—
“—buckle the seatbelt already, brat!”
“—swallow your spit before you talk, you pig.”
“Steer the car for me, Suguru.”
A click reverberates through the car as Satoru unclicks his seatbelt and turns, ready to dive out of the driver's seat and into the backseat of the car, with arms outstretched to grab ahold of six year old Megumi’s neck.
Suguru’s arm flails to the side as he steadies the abandoned steering wheel from the passenger seat.
“Why didn’t name pick us up?” Mimiko mumbles, clutching onto her strawberry colored doll to her chest.
Ignoring the repeated smacks of Megumi’s foot to the side of Satoru’s cheek, Tsumiki shrugs, gaze fixed outside the window at other cars passing by. “She had work, I think—”
“So we’re stuck with the idiots.” Megumi grunts, and Suguru’s head whips around, lips morphed into a thin line.
Pride, oh sweet pride. Nanako, busy typing away at some cute game on her tablet, looks up for a second and locks eyes with Suguru, who withers a little under her gaze.
“He called you an idiot, Geto-san.” She says, ever the little instigator.
“Take the wheel, Satoru.”
But anyways.
Satoru huffs, almost pouting as the car in front of them stalks forward into the KFC drive thru. “It wasn’t even that bad,” he murmurs as he shifts the gear stick once more, moving the car forward.
Suguru can only chuckle nervously. “Yeah, not too bad…”
Behind Satoru’s back, he gives the kids a funny look, and they all snicker quietly. Well, save for Megumi who’s bordering on car sickness from that messy car ride.
“Alright,” Satoru mumbles to himself before he pushes his sunglasses up to rest in his hair, one arm hanging out the window, looking over his shoulder for a brief moment to check everyone over. “What does everyone want off the menu?”
Honestly, he’s a little proud of himself and Suguru.
Usually, you’re the one who handles picking all the brats up after school, but somehow, the boys managed to do it.
Although, it did take a bit of crisscrossing with seatbelts shared in pairs of two— hey, at least they’re all in one piece, right!
“Twister!” Nanako exclaims with a grin and Mimiko nods along with her twin sister, setting her doll down in her lap with a smile that Suguru mirrors, something so small making him feel so… soft inside. “I want the one with the sweet flavored chicken inside—”
“I want the spicy one.” Nanako nods along, turning her attention back to her tablet, clicking away.
Satoru hums, turning his head a little to the side, and Tsumiki mumbles, “Maybe just a chicken sandwich… with some coleslaw too.” He looks to Megumi, who still has his mouth twisted into something between a frown and a pout, so cute—
“And what do you want, Megs?” Suguru asks before Satoru can, as the car treks forward in the drive thru line, drawing closer to the order speaker.
“Whatever Tsumiki gets, I’ll get that too.” Megumi shrugs a little and a smile stretches on Satoru’s face — though he hides it well, straining his head forward.
(Mimiko can see him through the side mirror but he doesn’t even remember that.)
After ordering and making it halfway down the length of the drive thru, there’s only two cars ahead until the pay window.
Suguru is helping Tsumiki plug the aux cord into her ipod touch — a birthday gift from Satoru.
“I don’t think the cord’ll fit,” Tsumiki mumbles, peering over his shoulder, head leaning against the headrest. “It’s probably too big or something.”
All while Mimiko and Nanako are arguing over a dress up game on their tablet.
“She looks better in purple—”
“But I like the yellow better—”
Megumi narrowly dodges Satoru’s elbow as he bends his arm to rummage through the storage compartment of the armrest.
“Don’t worry too much, Tsumiki—” He mumbles, haphazardly searching for another aux cable, and his wallet, because for some reason he didn’t feel it in his pocket just now. “Suguru’s good at making all kinds of things fit—”
A smack to the side of his head sends his sunglasses flying off his head into Nanako’s lap, and the twins share a look with each other. “We should try sunglasses on her—”
“I don’t want her to look like Gojo-san—”
Megumi snickers just as Suguru snatches the shorter aux cable from Satoru’s hand.
Tsumiki tilts her head to the side, a grin reaching her lips once Suguru finally gets the aux connected. “Hold on,” Satoru whispers to himself, shifting back in the driver’s seat and moving forward to take the place of the car that was just in front. “Suguru, I can’t find—”
“Check under your seat or something.” Suguru cuts him off, scrolling through the sheer ridiculous list of songs on Tsumiki’s ipod touch — most of which are Taylor Swift and a few J-Pop groups. “It’s not there.” Satoru huffs in defiance.
From where Megumi’s sitting slumped in the backseat, he can see the shadow of Satoru’s billfold laying under his seat.
Naturally, Megumi wants to watch him squirm a little. Afterall, Suguru told him to look there and he was too proud to, so…
Satoru’s phone vibrates from inside the open glove compartment where it’s charging.
“I’m sure I had it in my side pocket…” He mumbles to himself, and Suguru gives him a look of absolute defeat with a hint of nonchalance.
“Well I don’t have any money on me—” The timing couldn’t be worse really. “Of course you don’t. Because all of you freeload off me—”
Megumi rolls his eyes, “As if you don’t make six figures.”
The phone vibrates again, and it’s the least of Satoru’s problems, really.
“Is that all I am to you? Some bank?”
Because here he is, next in line to pay and he doesn’t have his card in his hand, Suguru is still flat broke as always, you aren’t here and it’s not like the brats in the back have a steady flow of income coming in.
Why didn’t he just set up his damn online accounts when you told him to?
“Maybe you should answer that,” Suguru shrugs, damn near unable to hide his little smile when he comes across a song by the Pussycat Dolls. He has half a mind to say out loud that he’s raising Tsumiki right.
The phone vibrates again.
“Satoru—”
“Jeez, fine, damn.” Satoru is shifting around in his seat like he’s possessed, patting down his pockets, all while the phone keeps vibrating.
He reaches over with a frown, yanking the charger out and answering the phone with a single tap and a curt, “I’m busy right now, what is it?" Putting it on speaker as he leans over in his seat again to search his pants.
“Hello to you too, sunshine.” Your voice echoes through the phone and Satoru winces, pink tinging the tip of his ears. “Sorry name, I just—”
“He lost his wallet and we’re going to starve.”
Megumi leans forward, sticking his head out and leaning against the passenger seat.
Tsumiki and Suguru stifle a laugh, and Mimiko lifts her head with a pout. “But— I don’t wanna starve!”
“Oh, Mimi…” You sigh, damn near ready to punt Satoru into the sun. “That’s not going to happen, Megs is just making fun—”
“I have a coupon for a biscuit from that magazine yesterday,” Suguru says and he locks eyes with Satoru who glares straight at him. “Hey, I’m just suggesting solutions!”
Shoko, who’s sitting beside you in the vacant classroom looks up from the mission report she’s signing up for the both of you and bellows a huge laugh. It really doesn’t help Satoru’s pride at all, and he grabs the phone, clicking it off speaker and hugging it against his ear.
Suguru watches as Satoru slumps in his seat, one arm hanging over the steering wheel and another out the window. A grown man, twirling the side of his hair and pouting.
He doesn’t even think twice before snapping the photo — he ends it off to the twins’ tablet, and they exit their game to open it, giggling into their tiny fists.
“name…”
“I’m not sending you money, Satoru—”
“Please! I promise I just misplaced my wallet,”
The twins pass the tablet over to Megumi who folds his lips to hide his laugh, nudging Tsumiki who leans over to giggle at the picture too.
“Pleaaasee! C’mon, I promise I’ll even set up my account like you told me to—”
Suguru sends a sneaky wink to the kids and they all burst out laughing, to which Satoru whips his head around, only to find everyone ducked down in their seats, suspiciously minding their own business.
Suguru’s even gazing out the car window, a guilty whistle leaving his lips.
“I let you two pick them up one time and—”
Satoru cranes his head out the window, his voice lowering to a whisper. “name, I’m begging you. This is a man’s pride we’re talking about here—”
“You can always use Suguru’s coupon—” You murmur.
“I’ll get a chocopie with your order.”
"I'm literally paying— hey, what do you take me for? I have some semblance of self respect—”
“Two chocopies and a twister.” He looks around before ducking his head again in a whisper, “I’ll even pay for all your meals this month— matter of fact, you can just take my card—”
“Two months, including takeout.” You grumble. “And add an egg tart, I’m sending the money to Suguru right now.”
#★ DRIASWRLD#tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen#satosugu x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#gojo satoru#geto suguru#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#suguru geto#satoru gojo#gojo x geto x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader
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satosugu x reader . . .
the star paradox : a curated masterlist
⋆·˚ ༘ * “ how much they loved each other these three ”
synopsis : three bestfriends. sun, moon and star, come to realize that love comes in many forms, and sometimes, ends up being the only thing so easily divisible by three.
trope : friends to lovers
tag : tsr ⭐️
update status : paused (not a series, only a collection )
⋆·˚ ༘ * “ maybe things are best shared in odd numbers ”
photo album '05 — '07 :
city boys — grocery shopping in the summer of '06. should be easier.
what was i made for? — that summer, everything changed between you three.
apocalypse — you remind suguru that maybe the three of you weren't so alone in this world afterall.
ultraviolence — sometimes love isn't enough. it gets worse before it gets worse again, you three are sure.
i'm just — a morning talk gets a little heavy. but satoru still feels weightless with you and suguru around.
to be added.
photo album '08 — '12 :
cash in, cash out — the boys pick the kids up and satoru loses his wallet in a kfc drive thru.
to be added.
photo album '13 — '18 :
to be added.
hidden polaroid stash :
one night only — dancing with satoru and suguru gives you a funny wavy feeling.
lovers rock — you've never been kissed before and you're beginning to think there's a reason why.
apocalypse ( extended cut ! )
to be added.
pictures we never talk about :
(ii) the unconscious consciousness — satoru wonders if he can explain love to someone who's never felt it.
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🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT
LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *
🪷 dearest gentle reader, in matters of love and longing, prince satoru comes to the realization that love may only visit the fearless, whilst prince suguru comes to terms with the taste of hope on his tongue... 5k words.
🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, romeo & juliet esque balcony meeting, fruit flavored jealousy.
CHAPTER TWO. . . ˚ ༘ *
GRAPE FLAVORED.
Sleep eludes you tonight.
Two nights have passed since the first feast and despite Areta’s consistent chatter of appearances and well needed fun time for a lady of your stature — you’ve chosen not to attend the others for the time being.
You’re assured that Satoru’s presence at the feasts and balls in between remain slim to none unless called upon by his mother, a notion that you would be grateful for under any other circumstance to dodge the question everyone at the palace court whispers behind your back—
( why hasn’t the prince married her yet? )
—but you miss him.
Embarrassingly so.
With palms outstretched, you cradle your weight against the concrete rail of the terrace adjoined to your bedroom. A wisp of wind cooling your cheeks, realization settling in.
You miss Satoru — your best friend, your person.
You miss when he’d sleepily stumble into your alcove by the palace’s west wing and lay dramatically before you, begging you to paint him or at least sketch the width of his shoulders ; begging you to 'immortalize the omnipotent beauty of the realm’s strongest' — his words not yours.
The way he’d linger by your side, laugh at your jokes and make even cruder ones of his own—
This yearning settled deep within your bones akin to that of a grieving widow doesn’t feel the way it should feel when one misses a friend.
( satoru does not yearn for you in this way, you know it. )
It’s hot, a boiling pit within your stomach and it never leaves your veins—
—not until two nights ago, that is.
Two nights ago when he reappeared.
“Your highness?”
Dearest gentle reader,
in these delicate matters
of love and longing—
“My lady,” Suguru calls out in a similarly hushed fashion. “You're awake.”
Down below the terrace, he stands on the trimmed lawn in his sleep trousers and shirt, dark hair tousled and eyes half lidded — you would've laughed at him if the air between you two hadn't settled with something else.
“I couldn't sleep,” you respond, watching with bated breath as he steps forward, one foot resting atop a raised brick in the mud, eyes trained above, where you stand.
“You often take late strolls, your grace?”
Suguru laughs, breathy, soft. “Your grace,” he repeats your words, mockingly. A few dark strands fall over his eyes as he tilts his head back to look up at you. “You’d think having me in my sleeping trousers alone would be enough for you to discard all formalities—”
( right, this encounter is improper. )
“Forgive me, Suguru,” leaves your lips in correction. You lean further over the terrace rail, body bent in near half to gaze down at him. “It isn't often I speak with men while in my dressing gown.”
“Dear God, I hope not.”
A laugh of your own breaks through and he joins in unison.
So far, and yet so close.
A soft silence soon passes over the two of you under the moonlight.
Suguru, who’d been away for so long, could make years of absence feel null — as if he’d been residing here with you all this time. As if he had been keeping your company in tow, as if the breath of your laugh belonged to him.
As if he hadn't left you.
“I wondered,” Suguru breaks the silence, pale fist wrapping around a stray vine along the wall. “If I would get the chance to speak with you like this.” He whispers, but even from so high above, you hear him clearly in the night's silence.
You know what he means. Just us two. You’ve wondered the same, albeit too often through the years.
Why didn't you write to me? You want to ask. Why didn't you come to visit? Follows next in your brain. Did you move on? Did you fall in love?
( have you been happy away from me? )
“Did you read my letters?”
—often we forget
just how greedy
the heart can be.
“All of them,” Suguru breathes, almost like it hurts to say.
As if it pains him physically to remember how he tore the wax seals open with his teeth, licked the flap of the envelopes and nearly cried when it tasted of you—
“More than once, more than I ought to.”
Suguru grips the vine tighter in his fist, stilling himself and invoking restraint. This isn't his place, not anymore.
If he had it his way, he’d be on the terrace with you, and he’d tell you every thought he had about each word you’d written, with his hands, his teeth, his tongue.
“Suguru. . .”
It reminds you too much of your childhood.
Often you would chase after Satoru and Suguru.
Always both, never one.
And though you knew your fate as a Princess — who would marry a crowned Prince — your foolish heart, so greedy and naive. . .
“I have my obligations.” It leaves your lungs like a lie, something you won't even begin to believe.
You're betrothed to Satoru. It's set in stone.
But the both of you know that's not why you're saying no. “The solstice ends in a week and you will be—” He'll be gone again.
“I’ll not wait a whole week.” Suguru’s voice is still quiet, but even you can't deny the raw hunger behind his words. “If I apologize and say that I wish—”
“You will do no such thing,” you warn, shakily. “Not now, not. . . because of this.” Not because in nearly every way that matters, you’re Satoru’s.
( i wish i told you. i wish i wasn't too late. i wish )
Suguru wished he had stayed.
He wished he had made do on the promises he made to you as children and been at your side, not just as your friend but as the man you would marry—
All those things he had sworn upon his own heart. . .
“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”
“And if I say I will, what then?” Suguru had scoffed at your cousin back then. At the mere age of twelve.
“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”
“Don't be so crass, Satoru.” Suguru grumbled, grabbing ahold of your hand and tugging you forward the moment you fell behind. “She's my friend.”
( and yet. )
Lady Dria writes : Prince Geto to assume royal estate in the North following rumored betrothal to mystery woman! Is this the end of our beloved royal trio?
( duty came first. )
“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”
“I’ll let you keep your tongue,” Satoru scoffed, stepping between you and one of the ladies at court the day after Suguru left. “But address the Princess so loosely again and I swear—”
That night, you cried in the confines of Satoru’s private chambers, your fingers bleeding ink and red wax staining the front of your dress.
What was her name? How long had Suguru known it was arranged? Why didn't he tell you? If you ask him now, will he tell you? Is he ever coming back?
Does he love her?
And it was then, when you didn't have any more words to write, nothing left to say to Suguru that he might not have known, did Satoru tell you,
“I’m here.”
And you believed him.
“Name—” Suguru calls to you and you shake your head, straightening your posture and leaning off the terrace rail. “I wanted to say it before, you were gorgeous at the first solstice feast. . . Still are, even after so long.”
Suguru bites back the words he really wanted to say. I dreamt of you, you look the same.
“You flatter me,” it leaves you breathily, and the beats of your heart elude your better judgement.
“Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.” Suguru's words hold an undertone that’s lost on you in the moment, yet still you smile at him.
He doesn't see the expression on your face when you turn away, craning his neck to find something— some inclination that he has a chance—
“Goodnight, your highness.” In your voice he finds it, that small sliver of nostalgia, and his heart grasps it in earnest.
Beloved reader,
I fear I must also
impart the knowledge—
Satoru stops dead in his tracks, a single peach colored rose falling from his palm.
—that there are always
three sides to a story.
From across the way his cerulean eyes lock with Suguru’s darker ones, and there is nothing to be said, as they both know what the other is thinking.
You are not worthy of her.
Morning gives way to the first of three hunting days.
As per the terms of the competition, all commoners go ahead before nobles to keep the proceedings fair.
Satoru sits still atop his horse, cerulean orbs downcast and flitting through the mass of bodies in the crowd riding ahead of him.
“Have you and Suguru finally fought?”
Satoru’s eyes widen for a brief moment, turning his head to the side and loosening his grip on the horse’s reins, his mother standing at his side, caressing the mare’s mane with jewel adorned fingers.
“I’ve no idea what you mean, mother.”
The older woman scoffs, the horse leaning eagerly into the touch of her palm.
“When you and Suguru were but meek babes, you two had your first fight you know.” Satoru’s mother smiles a little at the memory.
Back then, both boys were merely toddlers and squabbling with tiny fists over nothing but a simple rattle.
Neither would concede to the other.
Even so young, they fought as they still do to this day. As rivals, as best friends.
“Did I win?” Satoru asks, lifting his gaze to the scenery of dawn before him, drowning out the eager shouts of men and women alike, placing their bets for the competition to come.
“No,” she responds and Satoru’s lips curl into a small frown. “The rattle you fought over snapped in two, ‘toru.”
This isn't about a rattle, is it?
“I won't concede, if that’s what you’ve come to ask of me.” He affirms, and his mother shakes her head, stifling a laugh.
“She isn't a rattle, nor is this a battlefield—” Satoru’s mother is observant, painfully so. “I asked your father to arrange the match myself for the sole purpose that I know you care for her, and I would not subject you to a fate not of your choosing—”
( she can choose, whereas a rattle could not. that is the sole difference is it not? )
“But you would have me sit here and let her choose him?”
Satoru Gojo is many things.
Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.
He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.
But when it comes to you. . .
Doting reader,
our beloved Prince Satoru
has yet to realize—
“I did not raise a selfish fool. Maybe a proud fool but not a selfish one—” She smacks the side of his leg to which he immediately recoils with a pout on his lips. “You never win love, you earn it.”
As if love can be akin to fleeting favor.
“I am selfish,” Satoru confirms, not shy of shame though. “She would hate me for it, if she doesn't already.” He hangs his head for a brief moment, a puff of a sigh leaving his parted lips. “But can you blame me?”
Satoru is many things.
But not blind.
How can he tell you that he cares for you, that he’s fallen helplessly and carelessly in love with you knowing that he’d be imprisoning you to a fate he loathes?
Whispers behind your back the more you are seen with him or without, the more he puts off the betrothal, the more he leaves your side the more he hopes you’ll learn you don't want him—
That this life, at this palace is less than you deserve.
And yet. . .
—that love is not
a war you march into
of your own accord.
He’s selfish.
“Have you asked her what she wants?”
No, because he’s afraid you’ll say what he wants you to. That you don't want him.
That by the hour you grow more miserable the more he keeps you waiting, tethered by a short thread just waiting to snap—
Satoru convinced himself that if he waited just a little longer, that maybe you’d grow tired and snap the thread all together in one go.
And then the marriage wouldn't happen, you’d contest it and he'd agree. He could keep you close like before, without breaking your heart, even at the cost of his.
“Satoru.” His mother warns, deep azure boring into the side of his face. “That debutant at the dinner—” God forbid she did raise a selfish fool, who would selfishly self sabotage—
“I never touched her.”
“You say that and then you do these things as if I'm to be convinced you've changed.” His mother sighs, as if history has come around to repeat itself. “You don't even realize you're clutching your end too tight.”
And you’ll break if he doesn't let go.
“I can't tell her.”
“You must.”
Who is he to condemn you to the life of a Queen?
In the same way his father did his mother?
That spark in your eyes will go dim, and he’ll watch you give yourself to your duty and it’ll kill him, even worse than you not wanting him will.
He’d prefer you hate him altogether.
“Are you happy with father?”
Darling reader,
perhaps love
only visits the fearless.
“Your father is a good man.”
Satoru would rather die by his own hand before he hears those words from your lips too.
“My lady?”
You visibly wince, cowering behind one of the marble columns in the ballroom.
The few chandeliers that provide light do little to help your situation as Areta’s voice had already notified a few of the dancing nobles of your presence — to which you were met with confused stares.
“Please, keep your voice down.” You hush her, sliding around to the other side of the column where Areta stands, eyes wide and curious.
Areta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, her lips parting, about to question your odd behavior.
You're hiding. Or at least trying to.
You had no choice in coming to tonight's festivities, as you were already knee deep in your pre-arranged afternoon nap when your dearest mother barged in and asked ( read : demanded ) that you attended tonight's ball to quote en quote ‘keep up appearances.’
With much practiced skill, you’ve eluded Satoru and Suguru by barring yourself in your room recently.
But, cowering behind a column won't get you far, right?
“I don't think hiding is what I mean when I encouraged you to have fun, my lady.” Areta speaks hushedly, joining you behind the column, two full glasses clutched between her fingers. “And if it’s the Prince who you—”
“Oh, spare me, which one?” You chuckle, tilting your head back onto the marble with an eye roll.
“You’ve had trouble with Prince Geto too?” Areta gasps, though not shocked, the young girl's eyes gloss over with curiosity — ever the devoted gossip.
( perhaps if you stay here and sip drinks with Areta, no one will even notice your presence ! )
Devoted reader,
our protagonist
has a pattern of
terrible judgement.
“Hardly trouble, I’m afraid.” You take one of the glasses from Areta’s hands and bring the rim to your nose — grape juice. How fitting. “Trouble would be better, I can handle trouble.”
What you can't handle is both your childhood friends driving you mad with feelings you never even knew existed.
One who torments you with mixed signals and provokes new feelings in the pit of your stomach.
And another who stirs and awakens old feelings inside of you that you thought were long lost.
“Well, I doubt trouble is what you need presently, my lady.” Areta chuckles a little, her voice soon trailing off as she takes a sip of her own drink. “Oh! You wore them—”
“I thought perhaps,” You murmur, more to yourself, fingers fiddling with the edge of your silk gloves – the same black ones from a few nights ago. “I’d wear them once more before I set them aside.”
Now that you think about it, Satoru never said anything about the dress or the gloves — not that it matters to you anyway.
Faithful reader,
it matters.
Too much.
“They're quite beautiful, as are all Prince Satoru’s gifts.” Areta affirms with a soft smile as you drink from your glass, leaning off the column and straightening your posture. “But, I thought he usually had more of an affinity for lace—”
“I was called?”
You jump just a little, turning immediately to meet the source of the intrusion, to which you bump straight into Satoru, spilling the contents of your cup on both of you.
“I’m sorry—” “Grape juice—”
You take a few steps back, immediately crouching to retrieve your fallen cup, but Areta beats you to it, not shy of shooting you a quick wink before she scurries off into the crowd. Deviant.
“You don't like the wine tonight?” Satoru hums, outstretching a hand to pull you to your feet, and you hesitate for a moment.
Only for a moment.
“I didn't think drinking would be wise,” You take his hand, silk sliding soft against his awaiting palm. You don't miss the way his shoulders tighten. “And grape juice—”
“Is your preferred drink of choice, I know.” He finishes, cerulean orbs gazing into your very soul.
You can feel the thrum of his pulse speeding up against your fingertips, calling you, like a siren song. . .
( you should've stayed in bed tonight. )
Admittedly, Satoru was never the type to drink either. He could never hold his alcohol, hated the taste, even if it was just a drop in fermented fruit.
Grape juice was his drink of choice.
And then it became yours.
“I’m sorry, again.” It leaves your lips in a hurry as you look away from him, pulling your hand back as soon as you're upright. “My head must've been somewhere else. . .” Last night on the terrace. Your mind remains there.
Is Suguru going to magically appear too?
You furiously rub a fist over the purple stain forming at the front of your gown. “I need to change my dress—”
“It's not your fault, silk can be slippery.” Satoru bites back a grunt, bringing a palm to your elbow as he guides you off to the side, towards the adjacent corridor. “Come, I’ll help.”
Silk.
( what's his problem with the gloves? )
You follow his lead, a sigh escaping your lips as you both come upon the nearest alcove in the dim light.
You can barely see the velvet cushioning of the sofa tucked away neatly in the back.
The soft moonlight falling through the open window brings a sense of calm when you take a seat, eyes catching on the violet smudge against Satoru’s pearl white vest.
Often in your youth between balls, you, Satoru and Suguru would sneak off to the nearest alcove you could find, pry the window open and sit together on the sill—
“Your vest—” He follows your gaze as he bends a knee, kneeling at your feet casually.
Satoru presses his middle finger over the damp fabric, and unabashedly sticks the digit into his mouth. “Mhm, that's grape juice.”
“Satoru!” You scold.
He only laughs, strands of snowy hair bouncing with each shake of his shoulders. It's a very Satoru-like laugh, but there's something else you can't quite place—
“It's just a juice spill, I’ll live.” Satoru’s smile dips into his cheeks. Dimples. “Hated this stupid thing anyway, I should be thanking you for ridding me of it,” he murmurs, rolling his shoulders back to slip the vest off, muscles taut against his shirt with each movement of his arms.
“Hey— hey—!” You raise your palms to push against his chest to stop him, heat rising at the back of your neck. “Don't do that—” It comes out too late because Satoru is in the middle of rolling the vest off his arms. "You can't just undress—"
The way Satoru only leans forward, shades of azure searching your gaze for something, it's like he's daring you to not look away as he slips the vest off his arms bent behind him.
( why did you run away from me? )
You hold his gaze, the longest you have in days, manicured nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.
( why didn't you give chase? )
“Name,” he whispers, as if he’s holding back, but he refuses to look away from you. Not right now.
“Don't look at me like that, ‘toru. . .” You whisper, and it takes everything inside you not scream at him, to say everything you've been wanting to say, everything that's burning your insides.
( don't look at me as if you know desire. )
“Name.” Satoru calls your name, firmer this time, just as his vest drops to the floor behind him.
His knees burn, or maybe his eyes — he doesn't know, his mouth has gone dry and oxygen eludes him.
He's not how he was in your youth.
Satoru slides a pale hand up to grasp one of your palms against his chest, pads of his fingers hooking under the dark silk, and in one fluid motion, he's pulling the glove off your hand.
“That's disrespectful,” you breathe, voice barely audible, the echo of classical instruments sauntering through the vacant corridor. “You can't have two times the favor in any competition—”
“It's not your favor I want.” Satoru grasps the silk in his palm, biting back a grimace.
I’m jealous, he wants to say. Instead he leans closer, and without letting go of your bare hand, he’s aiming to toss the glove over your shoulder and out the window.
“Satoru—!” You retract your hand from his chest to paw at the glove, trying to get it back, and his breath tickles the skin of your throat, his eyes looking down at you, only this time a few shades darker — royal blue, cobalt.
Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.
( so that's what suguru meant. . . )
“Are you—”
“Jealous? Me? Never.” Satoru rasps the words out like a cancer, his heart seizing and doing somersaults against his ribcage.
“I have to commend Suguru though, the North does make the finest silk. . . Any lady would be glad for such a gift,” he whispers. Even praising Suguru is like an act of surrender to him.
“I wasn't going to say jealous, my Prince.” Your brain melts to a mush of questions.
Satoru isn't jealous because of you— no, that can't be right— he’d be jealous if someone bet on the same horse race as him and won—
( you’re thinking too much, name. )
It's the assessment of his audacity that has the back of your neck heated.
Satoru bites down on his bottom lip, and for a second he squeezes his eyes shut.
Everything burns, it's a miracle he can still see straight.
“What were you going to say?”
You swallow, hard.
Satoru’s face is so close to yours that every word he speaks reverberates through your being like electricity. “I was going to ask if you were okay.” A half truth, really. "Your vest is stained—"
First, you were going to ask if he’d lost his damn mind.
“God, name.” Satoru grunts, dropping the glove dramatically onto the velvet sofa, instead moving his hand to cage you between his arms, his hips against the outerskirts of your dress. “You don't even know what you're doing. . .”
His lips curve into a smile, dimpled cheeks staring back at you.
“Satoru—” It’s innocent enough, the way he leans forward enough to press the side of his face against your cheek.
It’s innocent enough, the way his hand grips your hip, firm and reassuring, the way he’d guide you on horseback. You only pretended not to be good so he'd teach you.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips soft against your burning skin.
“Do you even know all the ways a woman can be seduced?” It's a sultry tease that has your nails digging into the sofa under you.
Silk gloves, he wants to say. Men seduce women with silk.
Satoru dips his head in a swift motion, his mouth planting a ghost of a kiss to the corner or your lips, and his dimples deepen when your head moves forward to chase his taste, something you’ve never had but crave with every inch of your being.
“Satoru.” You whisper, desperate. He hates himself for wanting this so bad.
He doesn't make you wait long as he presses his lips to yours, it's rough, hungry — he sighs into your mouth, shoulders drooping like he’s finally found what he's been searching for all his life on your tongue.
He’s kissed you before, on the cheek, side of your neck, corner of your mouth — tasted the salty tears of your youth, licked his lips and drank in the remnants of your flavored lipgloss.
He was too young then, too foolish, too afraid to want more.
Satoru’s tongue slips past your parted lips, teeth on wet pink muscle and a shiver runs down his spine when he tastes you, truly tastes you for the first time.
Grape flavored and starving.
Your hand reaches for the collar of his shirt to tug him closer, to pull him deeper into you.
Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and your body trembles, unravelling, unravelling for him until—
He stops.
“Name,” Satoru breathes it in a broken whine, lips wet and swollen with you, each exhale he makes tickles your chin. “We have to stop.”
He’s made a mistake. A foolish one.
“‘Toru, it's okay,” you urge him, moving to pull him closer but his grip on your wrist tightens, keeping you still.
A frown forms on your lips when you see his gaze downcast, unable to meet you, and that gleam in his eyes — guilt.
“We should stop.”
Darling reader,
we all know
how the saying goes. . .
“Why?” The way it leaves your mouth so innocently, so small, in the same tone you had when you were little, chasing behind him no matter how he tried to leave you behind—
( why won't you look at me? )
It makes Satoru hate himself more.
“I’m a gentleman.” Satoru clears his throat and rises to his feet, folding his vest haphazardly over his arm. “You're a lady— a Princess— I can't just. . .”
“You can't just what?” Satoru doesn't recognize the bite behind your voice, the thread he kept toying at with razor blades finally thinning out, ready to snap and break apart. “You can't take me in a dark corridor as you do the other girls?”
He sputters.
It is that. But it's also so much more.
“Princess—”
“No.”
Nothing has changed. And you're not stupid, maybe slow, but never stupid. This isn't about a grape juice spill. It isn't about titles or being respectable.
( it’s about the three of you. )
Is it jealousy? Is this all about a stupid pair of gloves? About his pride? Why? Because he won't let Suguru win even if it means—
“Look at me.” Satoru is slouching in front of you, holding out his palm for you to take. He’s sincere, raw. “I swear to you, the way I feel about you cannot be likened to a secret in a corridor.”
( and yet, you always wished you were one of those girls with him in a dark corridor. )
. . . it's all downhill
from the first kiss.
“Your excuses again—” Satoru steps back when he feels silk stinging against his outstretched palm in a slap of rejection.
The glove he pulled off your hand, the glove Suguru gave to you, falls to the floor.
“And what even is it that you feel?” Your tone reverberates through his bones and Satoru’s considering finding purchase on his knees, where he’d show you what exactly he feels, he'd drink you in, drown in you and be done with the aftermath. “Do you enjoy this? Making me feel like a fool while you stay the bachelor—”
“This engagement was never my choice!” Satoru’s tone raises an octave, brows dipped and frown deep. “And I never—”
That's not what he means to say, not now.
( i never touched another since i laid awake thinking of you. )
“And that's why you won't touch me? Because I'm not your choice, I'm your duty?”
“God, ofcourse I want to touch you—” A guttural groan leaves him then, a rumble in the back of his throat. “If you would just understand—”
He’s a gentleman. Is what he says every waking moment he spends lying to himself that this is for you, that this is for your own good. . .
Because he knows—
( if he touched you now, he’d never stop. )
“Even now you can't say it.” How long have you known Satoru? How long have you been by his side, or rather, chased after him while he remained out of your reach? How long— “That you want me.”
It's almost comical, the way Satoru’s breath hitches in the back of his throat and the palm at his side forms a fist.
He wants you.
“Say it.”
Tell me you want me, tell me it’s me, tell me you feel what I feel too—
“I can't.”
You don't deserve this, I can't give you what you want, hate me so it hurts a little less—
You rise to your feet, the grape juice bleeding into your dress forgotten. “I always thought you were the bravest person to ever live. . .” The strongest. Prince Satoru, the realm’s omnipotent son — “You’ve fought in all these wars and you’ve fought and fought—”
Ever since you were children.
Satoru was every bit a soldier, princely and polished to perfection with his blade. He’s never lost a battle, you're sure, poets write about him.
( what does it feel like to be fought for? )
“Why won't you fight for me, Satoru?”
Satoru Gojo is many things.
Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.
He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.
But when it comes to you. . .
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Sorry, I’m so selfish. Sorry, I don't want you to leave. Sorry, it should be me and not him.
Sorry, I'm paralyzed in love with you.
He’s not asking you to stay.
This is what he wanted, right? For you to hate him — who is he kidding, you wouldn't hate him even if tried to make you — for you to realize he isn't what you need.
“You won't even give me one reason to stay.” Your throat hurts, you can still taste his tongue in your mouth, grape and mint, mint and grape. “Of all things, I never thought you to be such a damn coward—”
“I’m the Prince, for fucks sake!”
Your lips part then shut again, and Satoru takes a step back. This barrier between you two was always there, wasn't it? Invisible, cold to the touch.
Don't question me, I'm the Prince, he had said the day you asked him why, why can't I come play with you and Suguru?
( why won't you let me in? what are you so afraid of? )
“Then if it pleases the Prince,” It comes out shakier, in a voice that's barely your own.
Satoru picks it up before you do, you sound like a child — the same way you used to when he left you behind. “I’d like to be dismissed.”
The Prince.
Not your Prince.
( does a heart make noise when it shatters? )
“No,” Satoru steps forward, and you step back. It's like a sick game now, and with every thrum of his heart he swears he’ll die. “Name— just. . . no.”
He’s selfish. He knows that.
After this you’ll run off to Suguru won't you? And he’ll be there with open arms and words as soft as silk—
Satoru would know. Because he did the same thing once Suguru left.
But that was before it was this, before this was everything, before—
“Then forgive my defiance to the crown tonight.” You murmur and turn away, the glove is left behind.
Satoru is left behind.
You never win love, you earn it.
L’Incomparable is hardly the jewel on Satoru’s mind when you walk away from him for the second time.
( before he knew he loved you. )
🪷 taglist : @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnaboonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog @/baepsays @xxemmarldxx @/adoraspace @/hikaorinx @/lanecass @/theloveofnagiseishiroslife @/bajbbq @/jiraiyaisgod69 @/gojo-sunglasses @/in4rizaki @/chimsblogg @xkittiecatx @lordbugs @soultoru @ladytamayolover @the1exiled @pasta-warlord @drogonfruitzen @sexeyess @siren776 @v0ctin @scinclaitnoir @gugggu6gvai @shartnart1 @nnanamii @vanevafu @lillmyg @nikitopia @altyx @beaniedoodz @fubukeys @simpforramenboy @sinnerstardoll @coco-cat @melancholia-k
#⋆ 🪷 A ROYAL AFFAIR ! ˚ ༘ *#👑 TSCC — series.#★ driaswrld#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#satosugu x reader#satoru gojo x reader#suguru geto x reader#geto suguru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk fic
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what was i made for? — gojo satoru and geto suguru.
wc : 1.3k
summary : reader and the boys go through the aftermath of the star plasma vessel incident, which leaves reader questioning just how much things have changed and if there's even a way to move forward from here.
part of : the star paradox collection.
notes : this is readers pov of how things are going, and im hoping to do satoru and suguru's own parts as well bcus this really fleshes out the dynamics in the trio. also, the tsr collection will dive into more of this in terms of character analysis for the sake of the au - but i won't kill y'all with too much angst. yet. IM KIDDING CHILL!!
other : jjk szn two spoilers! mentions of toji incident, mentions of hickeys, reader dissociates, rs label is undefined (they're literally dating without knowing it bye) yes im also having thoughts abt barbie goodbye. @kfmcykdy gets the privilege tag today <33
current casette : what was i made for? - barbie, the album.
The summer of ‘06, everything changed.
It started days after the incident with Riko.
You’d been sitting on Suguru’s bed, back leaned against the headboard as he smoked a cigarette, shirtless and flat on his back, head leaned over the edge of the bed.
More often than usual now, Suguru smokes.
Satoru makes fun with it all in good faith most times and takes a few drags from the stick himself before coughing out the smoke.
He’d say something along the lines of him and Suguru being the first to kick the bucket, leaving you behind — one from lung cancer the other from diabetes, cause truly, there’s nothing in this world living and breathing that could kill them.
Suguru would say, he isn’t afraid of death. And if he goes out, he wants it to be because you and Satoru smothered him in his sleep.
Everything’s changed, hasn’t it?
“It’s raining,” he murmurs, a puff of smoke leaving his mouth. Subconsciously, you lean forward a little to inhale it, chasing him. Always chasing.
Because if Suguru is smoke and Satoru is fire, what are you? If they’re the strongest, what are you? “Satoru forgot his umbrella.” You finish for him, like you’ve taken residence in his mind.
Suguru hates it. But his existence, it’s yours and Satoru’s isn’t it?
There’s a hickey adorning the base of Suguru’s throat, another trail of marks covering his collarbone. If you looked lower, you’d see more of you and Satoru embedded in his flesh. But even now, you can’t move your eyes below Suguru’s neck. So you look away entirely.
Too many times these past days have you looked straight at him, and have your mind transported back to the image of him bloody and bruised, caked in crimson from the edge of his shoulders, across the expanse of his chest down to the curved line of his pelvis.
It's funny how now the scar is shaped like a star.
That day, you’d just returned from a mission, a day later than your arrival was scheduled for. Your bag clattered out of your hand the moment you opened your dorm door. Drops of blood in dried trails led from the doorway to your bed, to the bathroom then back.
He came to you first, and you weren’t there.
“name.” Suguru whispers, and when you look over to him again, he’s sitting upright and looking at you. “Where’d you go just now?” He asks, and a chilly feeling blossoms on your skin. But it’s not from the rain breeze wafting through the window.
If I tell you, you’ll hold me.
And if you hold me, I’ll shatter in your arms.
“Just daydreaming.” You say and he looks at you, one brow raised slightly. Suguru leans to the side and flicks the cigarette butt through the open window.
He doesn’t ask. Maybe because he knows if Satoru asked him, he wouldn’t say it either.
Everything’s changed.
“Okay,” he says and Suguru, your beautiful Suguru — “name.” He calls to you again, except this time it comes out softer, more like a plea.
His body shifts atop the sheets, curling into a fetal position, the side of his cheek resting on the fat of your thigh. “Don’t go too far away from me next time,” he whispers, your fingers sifting through his dark hair.
Two days later, Satoru leaves for a mission in Shinjuku.
He wakes early, knocks on your dorm door twice, slides a note under the door with a thin packet of powdered candy taped to it.
You don’t get out of bed to pick it up. Satoru thinks you must be tired again. You look so tired these days.
When you finally wake up, it’s afternoon.
Suguru is home from his own mission, and he makes you a cup of tea, kisses your cheek and heads to his room.
Lately, the thing you and Suguru have most in common is that you sleep. All the time, sleep. You wonder if it’s for different reasons.
Then later, the clock in the corridor of the dormitory building strikes nine.
You hear Satoru’s shoes against the hardwood floors and you look over your shoulder from where you’re seated on the common room couch, some cheesy romcom playing on the tv.
“Yo.” Satoru smiles, white plastic bag rustling in his grasp when he pushes his sunglasses up to rest in his snowy hair. You smile back at him, and despite yourself, your gaze goes back to the tv, the soft lighting hiding the furrow of your brow.
Does he not notice?
No, it’s not that.
“Did you eat already?” He asks, setting the bag down on the coffee table in front of you. Rather than sitting beside you on the couch, he pushes the plastic bag to the side and rests his weight there on the coffee table, one leg crossed in an ‘L shape’ over the other.
His collar is high, even though it’s hot out.
Maybe, if you didn’t know him enough, all these things would sneak past your gaze.
Everyday, every new detail, every new scar whether physical or not, gnaws at you like a disease stirring your insides.
Satoru won’t say it, but he doesn’t like when anyone touches his neck anymore.
He used to love it, when Suguru would kiss his nape, when you move the soft strands aside to cut his hair. When the tip of Suguru’s nose tickles his adam’s apple, or when you lick a stripe at the bottom of his throat.
Limitless. Infinity. Invincible.
Until it isn't.
“Yeah, Shoko brought over takeout,” you say and the glow of his blue orbs don’t really feel like Satoru right now.
If this was a month ago, you’d laugh at yourself for thinking that. When is Satoru never Satoru?
But, has everything really changed?
You want to reach a hand out to him and unzip the top of his uniform, maybe then he could breathe a little easier. But why?
Why do your fingers tremble in your lap?
Something inside of you feels like your fingers will be met with a barrier. And if you try to touch him now, with a barrier between you two, it will kill you again.
More than the sight of his near lifeless body ever could.
“name?” He tilts his head to the side, and your eyes dart back to him, unaware that you even looked away in the first place.
There’s a sound of static from the tv just as your eyes meet his, and the two of you rise from your seats at the same time —
Who’s chasing who this time?
There's a scar there on his neck, you know it. He hasn't given you the chance to look at it for longer than a few seconds — Toji is burned into his flesh.
Or rather, a reminder of his weakness is.
Satoru opens his mouth to say something. But he isn’t as easily read as Suguru sometimes.
His emotions are clouded by more complex emotions. When Satoru feels, he feels everything.
He comes in a box with one hundred different user manuals in different languages that no one knows. Suguru was a translator, and you, a scribe, committing him to memory. But even then —
Why won’t you say what you feel, Satoru?
He clenches a fist by his side, like he's holding back, his gaze drops from yours and he walks over to the tv, knocking the top of it a few times to get it to stop glitching out. In between that he whispers, “I brought noodles — somen for Suguru and the cold soba you like…”
Satoru looks tired, he falters in his stride.
Strength, huh?
The air around you feels cold with the weight of his cursed energy, no matter how thin and how much he tries to regulate the flow, you can feel it.
You would know him blind.
How long have you been seeing everything in the world but us?
You’ve never wanted to cry more in your life.
“I’m sure Suguru could eat,” you whisper back, voice a little hoarse. Suguru is probably asleep, or pretending to, like he does sometimes, just so he doesn’t have to see Satoru after missions like this – where he’s trying so hard. So hard to do more, to be more.
And you don’t see it, but you have a feeling Satoru’s heart is breaking in two. Why?
Why are things so different no matter how hard we try?
“Yeah? I have a dvd of that movie we never got to watch somewhere under my bed—”
Maybe.
Everything’s changed.
But maybe, things need to change.
#★ DRIASWRLD#tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen#satosugu x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#gojo satoru#geto suguru#satoru gojo#suguru geto#gojo x geto x reader#jjk angst#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk fanfic
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one night only! — gojo satoru and geto suguru.
wc : 2.1k
summary : fem!reader goes to a club with shoko to be free from her scary guard dog besties, satoru and suguru show up anyway, just a bunch of intimacy really. maybe one lil suggestive part w satoru?? mention of wlw shoko and possible insinuation of stoner geto lmao
part of : the star paradox collection.
notes : i headcanon poly satosugu as often toeing the line between platonic love and romantic love bcus these three idiots rlly can't tell the diff sometimes. also shoko is gay and is my gf don't @ me. also this is ooc of how satoru and suguru would be at a club cs lets be fr satoru would be an emotional drunken mess while suguru is in the bathroom smoking or smth
other : im having so many teenage romance thoughts ab poly satosugu. also this was kinda inspired by a poly marauders fic i read agesss ago
current casette : i was never there - the weeknd. me and your mama - childish gambino.
You can feel the bass of the music in your throat, your heartbeat racing to catch up with it.
Parties like these only had one common thread : brainless, brainless fun.
“That one over there,” Shoko murmurs against your ear as discreetly as she can, but just as loud as for you to hear her over the thumping music inside the club. Your gaze moves from the sequin strap across Shoko’s shoulder and over to a girl across the way, a redhead, leaning against the bar and knocking back an expensive looking drink. “She’s pretty.” You turn your head to Shoko’s ear.
Satoru and Suguru have been… hovering these past few weeks.
You love them, truly, the bestest best friends anyone could ask for. But two popular conventionally attractive men by your side at all times? It does put a damper on your love life. Shoko would be able to understand your point of view — if she wasn’t playing for the other team at least.
The redhead looks over her shoulder out at the mass of bodies on the dancefloor, the dark blue dress she has on really accentuates her figure — among other things. “You should go tal–” Before you can finish, Shoko’s mouth is agape, eyes fixed on the girl, and being the wingwoman that you are, you shove her forward a little. “Talk to her.”
“You sure?” Shoko wobbles forward, tipsy but sober enough to take a pretty girl home. The neon lights inside the club flash pink and blue then red and green then pink and—
“I don’t wanna abandon you, name.” You only laugh at Shoko, giving her two firm thumbs up, nudging her forward again, and still, she stands there contemplating. That is, until the redhead turns around and locks eyes with Shoko.
Oh, she’s far gone already.
“Don’t leave my peripheral.” Shoko kisses the side of your cheek and begins to saunter off, just as the song playing in the club changes to a softer, more sensual song.
There’s something about parties. Something that gives you the uneasy feeling two specific people could pop up at any time – two people you’re trying very hard to make clear to that you’re your own woman.
What makes a grown man wanna cry?
You slide back to the spot on the dancefloor you and Shoko shared moments ago, and with a sigh of near relief, you let the music transcend you to a different realm. Your body sways among the masses, a tinge of alcohol probably clouding your judgement because on any other occasion you’d find dancing in public embarrassing—
When it’s time, when it’s time, when it’s time, it won’t matter
There’s a sense of complete euphoria that washes over you, and before you know it, a slender arm snakes around your waist. And despite your better judgement, you know who it is before you look over your shoulder.
It’s an eerily intimate thing, feeling the chill of the six eyes raking over you.
You’re sure Suguru must be the only other person to feel how it feels, the goosebumps that rise on your flesh, hair standing on end. But not in fear. In something else entirely—
“You’re so pretty.” Satoru whispers against the edge of your ear. He doesn’t sound drunk. At the very least he barely sounds tipsy, just a small slur of speech in between, and you look over your shoulder at him.
“Prettier than you?” You stop moving and let out a laugh, and he goes brainless. Crystalline orbs stare down at you, and he pulls your body flush against him, pressing his body into yours from behind.
“Don’t stop,” he mumbles and your body sways, resuming with the rhythm of the blaring music. A whisper of the lyrics leaves his mouth, and you nearly forget how he knows the song — must’ve been in one of Suguru’s playlists. One of those playlists he keeps.
“Satoru—” you’re about to scold him, maybe tell him this is a thin line, one you’ve been toeing for too long.
Satoru brings his other arm around your waist, both his hands meeting in accord atop the flesh of your stomach. He waits for a beat, waits for you to tell him no, but it never comes.
I’m on the edge of something breaking
His head dips to your height, his hair tickles the back of your neck. You can feel the heat from his lips on your skin as he hums along to the lyrics. “Just feel it for a little...” He whispers.
Even in his tipsy but not-so-tipsy state, he knows exactly what he's doing. You think, maybe he’s always known. At least in body but not in mind.
If I keep going I won’t make it
A sigh escapes your lips, something akin to a breath of relief, like a weight lifts off your shoulders.
Satoru’s body grinds forward onto you, and your head tilts back onto his chest, a mouthful of lyrics leaving your mouth in a gasp. “Feels good, yeah?” He grins down at you, pleased, his voice a bit off-key in a more Satoru-like fashion.
“Didn’t know you knew the song,” the words leave your lips as you both lock eyes. He rolls his eyes and sinks his teeth into the exposed flesh of your shoulder playfully.
“Suguru plays it all the time—” He replies, then continues to hum along with the song, his voice barely sounding like his own. “It’s too sexy to not know.”
There’s a sense of comfort in not knowing the depth of what you feel in this moment.
Satoru spins you around to face him, and the breath leaves your lungs. And the moment in between knowing what your relationship is and not knowing all but fades to black.
And with the way he looks into your eyes, and leans forward, you think he just might break the line two.
And it’s all because of you—
The song fades out, to a more upbeat one, and Satoru’s hands fall limp at his sides. Suddenly, you remember how to breathe. And you swallow the lump in your throat, all while he gives you the signature goofy grin you’ve come to cherish.
You turn your head to look across the mini crowd, and Shoko is still there, one arm slung around the redhead as they both knock back shots.
Temporary. It’s no big deal, you and Satoru were just tipsy.
But that sense of relief is short-lived.
Embarrassingly so.
“Boo.” A sharp exhale leaves your lips as soon as you turn your head, and instead of Satoru staring down at you, your view is blocked by Suguru.
You look at him like a lost child, and he rears his head away to laugh at you. “Don’t look so scared, name.” He smirks, slyly, like Suguru always does when he’s taunting.
“You dumbass—” You breathe, a hand colliding with the edge of his shoulder in a soft shove and Satoru can’t help but laugh at the sight before him.
Then, Suguru’s fingers wrap around your wrist, two, then four then he’s tugging you forward, straight into him and Satoru. “Don’t be so mean to me, you’ll break my heart.” He says it so condescendingly, with such a smile that makes your heart leap at your current predicament.
Satoru really wasn’t done. He just brought in reinforcements.
“As if—” You grumble, and the lights dim for a second before flashing a neon purple. And that’s all the time Satoru and Suguru need.
“—I have a heart?” Suguru towers over you, and he bends his knees just a little, resting his chin against your shoulder so you can hear him. “Or as if you could break it?”
You think Suguru’s been smoking. The warmth of his breath against your bare skin makes you shiver a little. You think you feel a little dizzy just from looking at him.
The way his eyes are downcast, eyelids heavy, like he’s bordering on the precipice of eternal sleep or the best dream he’s ever had, one he doesn't want to wake from.
He looks at you like you're the latter rather than the former.
Satoru swings his hand forward, interlocking his fingers with yours, pale slender digits finding purchase between yours as he moves to your side. “As if to both.” He rolls his eyes, and Suguru lets out a soft whistle, “You’re so cold, Satoru.”
The song playing begins to fade out, and Suguru takes advantage of the few seconds before the song switches, that small gap of silence, and he whispers, “Dance with us..?”
“Duh.” You grab ahold of Suguru’s hand with your free one, all while Satoru’s grip on your other hand tightens just a little. “Who else would I dance with?”
These things are no secret, never have been and never will be. And you have a funny feeling you know why your love life remains so stagnant.
How does the old age thing go? Never let your girl have a boy bestfriend. Or worse, two.
The three of you saunter to the middle of the dancefloor, the neon lights flashing shades of blue.
And if you didn’t know better, you’d say whoever the DJ is, they’ve got a sick sense of humor.
Because they manage to play the most romantically erotic song you could ever hear in a club setting. Ironically, a song you recognize from your playlist — no doubt you learned it from one of Suguru’s tracklists. A very extensive one titled with a leaf emoji.
I’m in love when we are smoking that—
Suguru’s arm moves to wrap around your waist from in front, and he tugs you close as the soft tempo reverberates through the room. He shrugs some of his hair off his shoulder, dark eyes finding yours and he doesn’t dare look away for a second.
Suguru must think you're a pipe dream. That you’ll disappear if he blinks.
Your bodies rock from side to side and Satoru doesn’t let go of your hand, instead he slides behind you, following the rhythm you and Suguru have set in tune, raising your intertwined hands to his lips, and for a moment he uses them as a makeshift microphone to sing—
La-la-la-la-la
Suguru grins and he presses his chin atop your head, his other arm coming around to hug you close to his chest, while Satoru meets you both halfway, and it’s really just a sandwich swaying side to side with you in the middle.
I’m in love when we are smoking that—
What initially started off as something so simple, you coming to a club with Shoko wanting to finally get laid since your best friends managed to scare all the guys off — has turned into something so soft, so intimate.
There are never many words, never much explanation when you’re with Satoru and Suguru.
And it’s clear none of the three of you know what this is or where you stand. But for now, that’s okay.
La-la-la-la-la
“You okay?” Suguru dips his head to mumble into your ear, and you nod, words failing you.
In truth, you’ve never felt so soft, so safe yet so… vulnerable. But that’s also okay.
Satoru cranes his neck and leans his body over yours to look between you and Suguru, having not heard a thing. “You two okay?”
And you laugh. Suguru does too.
Suguru’s arms around you keeps you grounded against him, and Satoru’s weight against your back keeps you firm between them. “If you need us to stop… if you need a drink I can—” Suguru tries, but you cut him off with a soft pat to his shoulder.
“Don’t stop,” you mimic Satoru’s words from earlier as your own into Suguru’s chest and he melts. “Yeah?” He whispers.
“Yeah.” You affirm, and he nods, his chin going back to rest atop your head. And you wrap a free arm around Suguru’s middle, the other still softly interlaced with Satoru’s at your side. “M’ happy here.”
“In the club?” Suguru asks, albeit a little louder so you can hear him an amused smile slipping onto his features. “No, just—” Your words fail you. But this, there can’t be any intent without feeling, true unbiased feeling.
And you feel it, coursing through you in soft waves for them.
That unbiased wavy feeling, almost like you’re floating. That feeling for them. Though you don’t quite know what to call it yet.
“Here,” you mumble and a smile stretches onto your face. “With you, and Satoru too.”
Suguru stops swaying a bit, and at the change in movement Satoru stops too, peering over your shoulder to see what’s happening.
But Suguru only grins a little. “I’m happy too,” he says. Then he glances at Satoru, and Satoru glances to you. “I guess if you two are so happy, then me too.” Satoru chuckles.
#★ DRIASWRLD#tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen#satosugu x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#satoru gojo#suguru geto#gojo x geto x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#satoru x reader#gojo x reader#suguru x reader#geto x reader#jujutsu kaisen drabbles#jujutsu kaisen fic
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ultraviolence — gojo satoru and geto suguru.
wc : 3k
summary : suguru coming home was supposed to make things better. but, it's as if everything is going wrong again.
part of : the star paradox collection.
notes : pls read this and this first ty!! LORE DUMP 🤭 mostly from sugu n toru's pov dealing with their new life and the twins along with jujutsu society. reader is trying to be the mediator as always and shoko is the best ofc. just the one where everyone has an existential crisis. (part one of two hopefully)
other : I PROMISE YOU'LL GET FLUFF SOON 😭 mentions of alcohol, blood, smoking obvi, idk why i named this ultraviolence lmao (shit hits the fan in the next tsr im js trying to be kind i promise!)
comment to be added to the tsr taglist!
current cassette : pretty when you cry - lana del rey
You come home to a house colder than you left it.
There’s a small comfort in the droplets of water that splatter against the wooden floor when you hang your jacket up, having remembered the way the girls beamed up at you only an hour ago as you walked them to school.
The twins were adamant to hold your hands, Mimiko blushing the whole time and Nanako poking fun at it, promising to hold your hand everyday until they became big girls.
Big girls that would only need you to hold their hand halfway — the same way Suguru only walks you and Satoru halfway to the school before heading back.
But the sliver of a chill that reverberates through your bones doesn’t resemble the comfort of a morning’s soft rain drizzle.
“You can’t just dismiss the issue like this, Satoru!”
“Where’s my own will, huh? Can’t I just do this?”
“This isn’t about you.”
You hear everything for a moment, muffled shouts and grumbles from the bathroom.
“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear, haven't you?”
Then you hear nothing at all.
The investigation launched on the ninth day in December.
Suguru had all but been home for a week and then some, settling into the shoddy apartment you and Satoru called home between missions and meetings with Yaga and the higher ups.
It took half a day to move his old things out of the dormitory building, most of what really mattered was already sitting in the hall closet untouched, kept the way Suguru would’ve wanted it.
It was after he rifled through the closet in search of a fresh set of clothes did he realize, he had been mourned.
You and Satoru had mourned him like a mother would a child, like a womb stretched to make space, only to bleed.
His clothes smelled more like the both of you than it did him.
The fourth day, Suguru spent the night hunched over the balcony, smoking a silver blue parliament with Shoko while you and Satoru attended a hearing with the higher ups.
A necessary audience, they defined over the cryptic email.
Shoko described it as a means to an end, Satoru was still the strongest and you were his voice. The meeting was all but a farce to keep you two in check — but Suguru read it clearly for what it was.
A threat.
“He’ll be clan head,” Suguru murmured between plumes of smoke. “They won’t let him turn it down any longer, especially with me around.”
At this, Shoko chuckled, sucking in a sharp breath.
“You think he’ll do it this time?” She asked, somewhere between knowing and not knowing.
The higher ups want Satoru under their thumbs — not that you’d so much as let them come close — that much is evident. But it’s become a lose to win situation.
The guarantee that Suguru and the girls would remain untouched and hidden under the condition that he follows their rules, does it their way, doesn’t ask, doesn’t so much as breathe a word or commit an action using his own strength outside their command—
“Satoru as a lap dog?” Suguru laughs a little.
He just can’t picture it.
What he can picture though is the Six Eyes user backed into a corner, with no other choice but to concede. Then again, Satoru’s never been submissive to authority, no matter the setting.
A beat of silence passes over him and Shoko, and she knows what he’s thinking before he says it, yet she doesn’t caution him otherwise nor does she blame the nicotine.
“He could kill them.” Suguru says, “It wouldn’t take him long.”
The seventh day, Suguru stands in the middle of one of the many engawa corridors of Jujutsu High, dressed like a teenage dropout, teeth sinking into the inside of his cheeks until crimson stains his tongue.
You told him last night while cuddled into his side, Satoru’s head on his chest, “Walk away from it the right way, Suguru.”
And admittedly, he was going to laugh a little, kiss your cheek and maybe lull you back to sleep and ease your worries.
I don’t resent you,
for the path you chose.
As long as you swear,
yours and ours will converge.
“Geto, what is this?”
Suguru looks down at the sealed envelope he passed to Yaga seconds ago, the word resignation printed in bold atop the sealed flaps.
If he intends to kill himself, he should at least do it the way you asked him to.
He owes you that much.
Suguru never thought of himself to have been in a position where he could live past twenty ; he thought he was lucky Satoru even let him live to see the first snow, even if it was from the bittersweet solitude of the bed you three shared.
“I’ll graduate first,” Suguru says, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets.
For the sake of saving face he took a total of ten missions after his sentence was pardoned.
Five to prove he wasn't a liability to the Jujutsu world, two to hover by your side – he hadn't realized post traumatic stress could manifest in the need for more physical attachment – and three to see up close just how much Satoru had on his shoulders now.
To see just how different Satoru had become because of him.
“And then?” Yaga asks it like a cruel joke that only he and Suguru know.
People are talking. People have been talking.
Suguru Geto the defect. Suguru Geto the cancer of the strongest. Suguru Geto the curse. Suguru Geto—
“Maybe I’ll die of old age.”
I pray death finds me
under you two
in our bed.
If not,
kill me yourselves.
There’s meaning in that too.
That same afternoon, brandished with what should be newfound freedom – Suguru Geto. Not the sorcerer, not the curse, not the man – he drinks himself sick until he blacks out on the sofa.
Alcohol is cheap at Shinanoya, it’s been that way since he was sixteen and idle in the summer of ‘06, coaxed by Satoru into printing fake IDs, blacking out on the floor of your dorm room and waking up to throw up, just to blackout again.
Suguru took the train back and passed his stop two times.
Two times he thought of two different outcomes and two different destinations.
First, he’d go back to Jujutsu High and take the resignation back from Yaga before he signed it.
He’d call your cellphone, tell you how he's had a change of heart, whisper into the line : “We should celebrate. Me, you and Satoru.”
But you’d know it was a lie.
He still has twisted dreams of waking up in a gas station bathroom in a pool of blood that isn't his own.
Dreams that don't frighten him at all.
Second, it came to him the moment he considered actually getting off at his stop and going back to the apartment.
He’d let the train take him to Shibuya, stand in the middle of the crossing and scream.
People would look at him weird, others would walk by.
And the first monkey to reach out and offer him help, he’d—
“Suguru?”
He wakes with a startle, eyes bloodshot and half lidded.
“Name—” he opens his mouth, half empty vodka bottle tilted over and soaking the carpet. Satoru comes through the door a moment later, leading the twins to the kitchen to set their half eaten bentos down.
A shiver runs down his spine when he glances at the clock above the mantle. 12:53pm.
“School ended half day,” you say to him. Satoru doesn't so much as glance at Suguru when he steps back in to take the plastic bags of takeout from your hands. “They called but you didn't—”
Suguru's already sitting up, fishing through his pockets for his phone and clicking at the buttons.
Two missed calls from Mimiko and Nanako’s school.
Two missed calls from their homeroom teacher, Ms. Aiko.
Four missed calls from you.
One voicemail from Satoru.
“I'm so— shit,” Suguru sets the bottle of alcohol upright, pressing a palm to the carpet to find it damp.
His skin is hot, he feels like a mess, no doubt he looks like a mess with the way you're already kneeling beside him to screw the bottle shut. “I’m so sorry, I didn't— everything with the letter and then the train got delayed—”
“Suguru.” Satoru speaks for the first time, looks at him for the first time – behind bandaged eyes. “Sober up by tomorrow, yeah?”
Your head flits around to give Satoru a stare, as if to ask if that's all he has to say right now. But Suguru’s fingers enclose around your wrist, it’s okay, I was the one at fault.
“Satoru—”
“Just do this one thing right, please.”
The twins’ school dismissed half day due to heavy snow this early in the month. Suguru, listed as the girls’ primary guardian, gets the calls first.
He doesn't pick up.
Your work line rings next, and it goes to voicemail.
In between exorcising a special grade in Shinjuku, you don't hear it ring.
As the devil would have it made and done, Satoru’s line rings while he's at the school. Loud.
“Gojo-san!” The lady from the admin office knocks on the door twice, and is met with silence. The phone rings again, but this time it's the main line. The office extension.
The one he’s been using since he put in his teaching application.
The phone clatters against the desk in robust vibrations, Limitless almost bending the coily cord to nothingness.
The meeting room of four higher ups and two members of the Gojo clan watch him intently, scrutinizing him, waiting.
Beyond his better judgment, Satoru tells himself it's just you, calling to ask if you should bring back kikufuku or just the udon.
Or it's Suguru, who’s confused and can't find one of his things in the apartment and needs some guidance.
Satoru's not a pious person. But he wishes he’d have prayed the moment the call went to the answer machine.
“Good day, Mr. Gojo! I’m calling regarding the girls. School’s been dismissed half day today on account of the weather but Mr. Geto nor Ms. Name are picking up.”
“I’m hoping this reaches you soon so the girls can have a ride home. Thankyou! Stay warm!”
The eighth day, you wake to the smell of jasmine and hot oil. Four messages from Yaga, one email attached, forwarded to Satoru : Adoption fraud.
“—he hates me.” Suguru mumbles, shirtless and damn near cowering from your gaze, flipping the omelet in the frying pan, two steps away to avoid the oil splatter.
“Don't say that so casually,” you shake your head, shutting the fridge door, setting a carton of milk on the counter. “It's not like you believe that.”
Suguru flips the omelet with one hand on the pan handle, the other flicking the carton open and turning it to his head in a quick gulp.
He doesn't confirm it.
“Suguru—” you smack his arm and take the milk, turning away to rummage through the pantry for the pancake mix.
“I know.”
No, Suguru.
You don't know.
"I try to be patient," Suguru says quietly, shaking his head. "I know we're not sixteen and that this and then are two different things—” He turns the flame down, refusing to look over at you.
“Nobody's asking you to be perfect,” you cut him off, pancake mix forgotten on the counter. “You made a mistake, it happens—”
The higher ups are already breathing down Satoru’s neck about the twins now that they've been found out. It's an uphill battle in the Jujutsu world, your phone won't stop ringing.
Whether it's Yaga proposing damage control to have you and Satoru set apart on missions or another higher up waiting for you to slip up and beg for help, beg to be in their debt.
“I owe you better,” Suguru whispers, more to himself than to you.
He’s never been the type to ask for help or beg for forgiveness or cower at someone's heels. But you saved him — by putting your life on the line and in turn making Satoru cover it up — and he hates himself for it.
I wish
you would've
just let me stay dead.
“Because that's what I deserve? Better?”
Suguru gets the call from Shoko the next day.
December 9, 2007.
A formal investigation is announced into the involvement of [name] [name] in the case of Suguru Geto’s defection and pardon — alleged charge : fabrication of evidence.
Satoru makes his mind up the same day, sends the twins to stay at the dorms with Shoko for the weekend and brings you and Suguru with him to the Gojo estate.
“I can feel your eyes,” you whisper, seated cross legged on the tatami floor, nursing a cup of tea in your cupped palm.
You've never liked the Gojo estate. Not in winter at least, not when it's like this.
Satoru has his back turned to you, fingering the loose cloth of white bandages covering his eyes, almost hesitant. He recalls his mother's words to him from a few hours ago.
You look tired, Satoru. You're never tired.
There’s an unspoken thing residing here between both your energies and it becomes unbearably evident.
“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, slipping the baby blue haori off his shoulders, draping it over the edge of the bed. “Just the cold getting to me 's all.”
Loose and darkened strands of hair lay on the silk sheets where Suguru sat moments ago. Satoru holds his breath.
My lover’s hair is splitting at the ends, tearing apart at the seams just like me.
I pray you don’t notice.
“Is he okay?”
You set the ceramic cup down on the table, turning your head to glance over at Satoru, who despite himself, wears his emotions like a cardigan knit tight between his brows.
“Why won’t you just ask him, ‘toru?”
He thinks he hates you. He hates not being more like you.
With the way you say these things so easily.
Maybe it’s the deep rooted thrum of Suguru’s cursed energy in his veins, or the bitter taste on his tongue when he wakes in the middle of the night just to see if he’s still here—
Maybe it’s that voice in the back of his head, the instinct pounding on the walls of his heart, telling him this is only for a while, it won’t last.
“You can’t lie to me.” Satoru reasons, bending his knees and folding his body next to yours, wrapping and unwrapping the length of cloth around his fingers over and over again. “But he can.”
Or maybe it’s the way he knows even if Suguru lied to him again, said it was okay, said that he’d stay, said that he’d let you and Satoru be selfish for once and keep him here, keep him tethered to this existence he loathes so much—
“Satoru…”
—he’d believe him.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” He sighs, near breathless.
You lift your hands to cup either side of his face, hooking your thumbs under the pale cloth, unraveling and unraveling and unraveling.
How many more layers?
How many more walls?
How many—
“His energy is restless.” Satoru could find other words to describe it, the aura, the shape of Suguru’s soul, his scent, his being, his whole existence. Something only you could understand.
“It’s pouring into me, and I can’t— I pretend I don’t feel it, that I don’t know that he’s…”
Different.
Suguru is different now, he wants to say.
Suguru’s unhappy with me, unhappy with us.
I can’t give him what he needs.
I was too selfish to have asked him to stay. You were too selfish in saving him.
We were too selfish. Do you think he hates me for it? Do you think he wishes he were—
“He loves you.” You tug on the cloth, let it fall and pool in endless strands around his neck. “Isn’t that reason enough?”
Satoru’s eyes are dim, bleaky sapphire and cerulean staring back at you.
Don’t look at them, look at me, look inside me, my eyes are lying, that’s not how I feel—
“He loves you too,” he says it like a confession, a secret. Love can’t be enough, can it?
Love never stopped Suguru from leaving the first two times.
Love never stopped Satoru from waking up so many nights with tears running down his neck, from where you cried for Suguru in your dreams.
Love never stopped Satoru from not being strong enough to bend the world and stretch it to fit Suguru inside.
Why should you love him whom hates the world so?
Satoru lets his head fall into the crook of your neck, body slumped over yours and breath shaky.
Loving Suguru came as easy as breathing if not easier.
He’d spend nights curled in his bed at the dorms, clicking through photos he’d taken of you three, back then, when it wasn’t anything yet but still everything to him.
“Yaga-sensei, please pair me with someone else!”
“Hah!? We not good enough for you anymore, name?”
“Satoru, name, don’t yell so early in the morning…”
And even from the first mission, when Suguru’s hair was shorter and you hadn’t quite figured out how to control your technique.
When Satoru had to save you from plummeting to your death after you sliced a curse open just for grabbing Suguru and yanking him by his hair.
Satoru thinks, maybe, he came into this world loving you two.
Because he loves me more than all the world.
“I’ll protect you,” he whispers into your neck, full of conviction.
He’s never not the strongest, except maybe when he’s here, in these moments. “I’ll protect the both of you.”
Let me do this one thing,
just this once.
Let me be the one
who holds us together.
---------------------------------------
tsr taglist :
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#★ DRIASWRLD#tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen#satosugu x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#satoru gojo#suguru geto#gojo x geto x reader#jujutsu kaisen angst#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#satoru x reader#suguru x reader#geto x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#geto suguru#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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. . . 💬 ⋆ DRIA ₊˚⊹ just sent you a message ! she/they. black. 8teen. yuuji's girlfriend + naruto's crazy ex + higuruma's worst student. ⋆ (n)sfw ! not spoiler free ! ON HIATUS ! 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ
. . . 💬 ⋆ 10:33pm #NARUTO said i'm coming back for good so let him know it's mineeee !!
ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ a royal affair ˖ jjk bridgerton/regency au
ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ the star paradox ˖ poly satosugu collection
. . . 💬 ⋆ 10:33pm #YUUJI said see cause now i gotta pull up, everybody dying, me included. i'm not going to jail.
ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ masterlist ˖ rules ˖ tags
. . . 💬 ⋆ 10:33pm #HIGURUMA said your paper was due yesterday. answer the phone before i show up at your door.
ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ free palestine !! (2)
© driaswrld. all works are original and mine. please do not steal, copy, translate or reupload as your own.
#★ DRIASWRLD#on my 17263636 rewatch of naruto#new theme cs i miss naru :(((#best viewed in dark mode#templates from deviantart#₊˚⊹#header n contact info by hosiieok#mini banner msgs by yeonjvnz#header art by sesamefruit <33
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countdown to 500 followers event !
letters sealed and unsent.
— includes various charas x reader / charas x oc content.
how to :
fill out this request form for your own personal letter from any character of your choosing from jjk, bleach or one piece!
rules : keep it kind, respectful and nothing too outrageous! i trust you guys to have a good time ofc <3
also : there's no limits to request so keep em coming!!
requests closed !!
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ “ at least our paths have crossed... ”
letter box :
blue — you made my mom laugh, i haven't seen her laugh in so long. from akane to nanami.
enough — how does a person live without a heart? from akane to nanami.
curse — i didn't just take him from me, i took suguru from you too. from gojo to reader.
catharsis — i want my pain to be inflicted on others. i want no one to escape. but even after admitting this... from geto to knives.
i love you, please laugh — you never need to pretend to be okay, i'm here. from megumi to safi.
home — being away from you makes me homesick. from toji to khae.
#★ DRIASWRLD#lsu ✉️#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk oc#one piece x reader#one piece oc#bleach x reader#bleach oc
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DON'T BE SHY, SUBSCRIBE ! she/they. black. 8teen. yuuji's girlfriend + kashimo's obsession + higuruma's worst student.
(n)sfw blog / not spoiler free / semi-active !
# DRIA JUST UPLOADED ! ( click me! click me! )
MASTERLIST. RULES. TAGS.
WHILE YOU'RE HERE, TAP THE BELL ! currently : stressing ab finals, begging higuruma to tutor me ! writing jjk royal au event, baking christmas cookies w my bf yuuji !
CHANNEL FAVES. . .
© DRIASWRLD 2023. all works are original and mine. please do not steal, copy, translate or reupload as your own.
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FEELIN' CHRISTMAS ALL AROUND. . .
. . . AND I'M TRYNA PLAY IT COOL !
⋆ DRIA ! she/they. black. 8teen. yuuji's girlfriend + kashimo's obsession + higuruma's worst student. ⋆ (n)sfw ! not spoiler free ! semi-active !
╰ 🎁 MASTERLIST RULES TAGS
↻ “ babe i swear i didn't eat any of the cookies ! ”
currently : baking christmas cookies w my bf yuuji !
╰ 🎁 STVRPLANCT.INC ╰ 🎁 A ROYAL AFFAIR
FREE PALESTINE !! DEMAND A CEASEFIRE IN GAZA
© DRIASWRLD 2023. all works are original and mine. please do not steal, copy, translate or reupload as your own.
#★ DRIASWRLD#christmas theme bcus#y'all gave me fomo :((#happy holidays bby 🥹 !#yuu n i are baking cookies rn#sending them to you for christmas <33
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