emonaculate

[emonaculate]

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hi, yeah I know it has been a really long time, but I wanted to come back with something old and make it better! This was a project that they brought back from 2020 that has been reprised and taken in a new direction. Please tell me what you all think and if I should continue this into a short 5 or 9-chapter series. Im thinking it will mostly be dark content as it follows the troupe of stockholm syndrome, enemies to lovers, and a mafia au!!

The Devil You Cross

❥ AU: Modern!Mafia AU

❥ Genre: Future Smut / Angst / minor Violence

❥ Rating: 18+

❥ Pairing: Eren Yeager x Black!Reader

❥ Word Count:

❥ Warnings Include: Domestic abuse, Profanity, Mentions of Assault, Murder, Violence, Corruption,

Summary: Y/n L/n is a world-renowned detective-turned-attorney with a perfect track record—until now. Her newest case pits her against Eren Yeager, a dangerously charismatic criminal mastermind accused of orchestrating a string of disappearances tied to the shadowy, cult-like organization known as the Yeagerists.

The sharp click of So Kate's Louboutins struck the pavement like gunshots, each step echoing beneath the paparazzi’s relentless and blinding flashes. The camera shuttered so rapidly, it was eerily like automated weaponry, desperate to catch a glimpse of the fool who dared to defy him. She didn’t slow. Clutching her file against her chest, she shoved through the courthouse doors, ignoring the swarm behind her.

Inside, the air turned cool and sterile. Y/n paused, lifting her sunglasses onto her head, smoothing her blouse, and tugging the hem of her pencil skirt. A glance ahead told her the jury was already seated. So was the judge, who didn't appear to be all that happy due to the crowd that had swarmed outside,

“Showtime,” she muttered under her breath, slipping into her seat at the prosecution’s table.

Y/n checked her watch. The defendant was late. Not surprising.

Her glossed lips curled into a diplomatic smile, but beneath the surface, her pulse was more irregular than ever before. This case wasn’t routine; it was so much worse than the usual nutjobs she dealt with. Dozens of victims—disappeared, mutilated, or worse—and every lead pointed to the same name: Eren Yeager. Charmer. Playboy. Psychopath.

No one dared to take him head-on; the District Attorney before her had stepped down altogether when he initially found out about the investigation opening up against Eren.

She flipped open her case file, her dark brown eyes scanning through the photos the police had sloppily collected. Every blurred image and poorly filed report stank of a cover-up. Eren had far too many unaccounted for funds for the police department not to also be in his pockets. Y/n had a hunch that Yeager’s name kept officers conveniently blind. But she’d taken down worse with less. And this time, she had an edge, a loophole he wouldn’t see coming.

“All rise!” the bailiff barked.

Y/n stood, spine straight, gaze forward. The courtroom doors opened and in strolled the devil himself.

Eren Yeager sauntered in like he owned the place. His man-bun was lazy, his shirt half-tucked and streaked with lipstick. He didn’t bother to look presentable, he didn’t need to. Women threw themselves at him. Judges bent for him. The law barely touched him.

Y/n’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t even glance his way as she took her seat again. The "Playboy" look he was going for wasn't going to work on her. She saw right through his little act and knew that this man was nothing but a stoic, cold-blooded murderer.

“You may be seated. The court is now in session: Paradis vs. Eren Yeager.”

Y/n rose before the judge could call her. She smoothed the front of her skirt as a nervous tic and stepped toward the floor.

“I’d like to call the defendant to the stand. I have a few questions,” she said, voice steady, sweet, but sharp.

The judge raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Yeager?”

Eren shrugged and rose lazily from his seat. “Sure. Let’s dance.”

He took the stand with that same smug calm she loathed, reclining like he had nothing to hide. But Y/n knew better. Everyone cracks. You just have to find the right fault line.

Y/n especially didn't like the way he was looking at her; it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. To anyone who actually believed the Playboy bullshit, he portrayed it would appear like he was undressing her with his eyes, but Y/n knew better. He was memorizing her face, making sure to get every detail just right. Like a hunter with its prey.

Oh she couldn't wait to tear him apart.

“Mr. Yeager. Let’s begin with your ex-girlfriend—Historia Reiss.”

A flicker of amusement danced across his face. “You think I killed my ex?”

“We’ll get there,” Y/n replied coolly. “As you know, the evidence handed to me came from Paradis Police. It's no secret that things tend to go missing in their hands. So, I did my own research.”

“A good little girl, aren’t you?” Eren leaned forward on the banister, eyes glinting. His toned and inked out arms flexed slightly at the movement.

“There’s nothing little about me. But yes—being thorough is one of my stronger suits.”

The courtroom tensed at the undertone in their exchange.

“You and Miss Reiss dated publicly for two months, then split. Correct?”

“Mutual breakup.”

“So you felt nothing when she was seen with your brother just two days later? No jealousy, no resentment?”

“I felt nothing,” He stated. “Historia lived for the moment. Her favorite color changed weekly. Honestly? Zeke was more her type. I'm pretty sure she only dated me to piss her rich daddy off.”

“So she was a fling.”

“Precisely.”

Y/n’s smile wavered, just for a breath. She bit her lip, considering the risk. What she was about to say might backfire. If she could lose the favor of the Judge if she fucked up or went too far. But calm, collected Eren Yeager was exactly the problem. She needed to rattle him. She needed him to slip up and show the whole court the true monster he really was.

“She had been shot execution-style. Her autopsy revealed signs of torture. Mutilation. And still here were signs of struggle. Why would someone in that state fight so hard... unless she was trying to save her unborn child? Was that child yours, Mr. Yeager?”

Silence.

Eren’s turquoise eyes darkened. His gaze bore into hers, colder now. It was a low blow, maybe even a sick one, but for a monster like him.. it had to be done.

The judge stirred. “Miss L/n—”

“My apologies.” Y/n offered no smile. “No further questions.”

She turned to walk back until his voice cut through the air.

“I heard what happened to her,” he said, low. “But I had no part in it. She was my friend before becoming my temporary lover.”

Y/n glanced back. Just a flicker of something cracked his mask. Small. But just enough. She sat back down and sipped her water, eyes locked on him as the courtroom continued. Families took the stand, voices breaking, tears falling. They begged for answers. Names. Closure. And Eren? He didn’t flinch. But Y/n wasn’t finished. She rose again, case file in hand.

“As previously stated, the victims share consistent patterns. However, I want to focus on the women victims. I feel like the pattern is more noticeable there."

Eren’s stare narrowed.

“They all mirror the death of one woman in particular, Karla Yeager.”

The courtroom dropped into stunned silence. It was quiet enough to hear the sound of Eren gripping the podium stand. Y/n didn’t smile this time; she had to push further. Break him beyond what would be redeemable.

“Your mother was gunned down in broad daylight. And no one saw a thing, except you. Isn't that right?”

The judge snapped, “Miss L/n—!”

“Just a moment,” Y/n said, stepping forward. “Eren, you were a boy when she died. You told them Titans took her. No one believed you. But every victim besides Historia has ties to the same group: the Marleyan Mafia. Otherwise known as, Titans. I located a police report from that faithful day and I believe you were quoted to have said you'd slaughter every last one of them.

Y/n moved closer to the podium, her eyes filled with hatred and anger as she continued digging into the man.

"Well congratulations, you almost did it. Kind of funny how you have improved so little since then. You failed to bring your mother's killer to justice. You failed at getting rid of the very group you swore you'd end. And you failed at making sure mommy made it back alive from the measly grocery store. You're fucking pathetic. ”

And that was it. The mask shattered.

Eren’s fists clenched. His shoulders trembled not with fear, but fury.

“I have no further ques—”

BOOM.

The floor trembled. Screams rang out. The courtroom exploded into chaos. Smoke poured through the doors as the walls splintered. Y/n hit the floor, dazed. Gunshots followed. Screams. Blood.

The judge’s body dropped from the bench, skull cracked open.

Y/n blinked through the haze and saw Eren walking toward her, untouched by the madness. She knew she needed to move to get out of there, but the ringing in her ears made it hard for her to think coherently.

Smoke swallowed the room. Gunshots still cracked like thunder overhead, drowning out the screams of jurors and spectators as they scrambled toward exits or hit the floor. Blood streaked the marble. A bailiff collapsed beside Y/n, unmoving, his eyes wide and glassy.

A trickle ran down her temple, warm and sticky. When had she begun to bleed? She didn't even feel the cut. How deep was it? Y/n coughed, the taste of ash burning in her throat. The marble floor was cold beneath her hands.

And then footsteps. Measured. Calm. Out of place in the chaos. Like they belonged here. She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Eren. He emerged through the smoke like a ghost, untouched by the carnage he’d orchestrated. His shirt was still half-tucked, now streaked with blood and dust, but his posture hadn’t changed. He looked like he was walking into a boardroom—not stepping over bodies.

Y/n tried to move, but pain lanced through her side. Her limbs were heavy, slow. She blinked hard to focus. He crouched in front of her. Just out of reach. His turquoise eyes drank her in.

“Look at you,” Eren murmured, voice soft and mocking. “Still trying to crawl away. So stubborn, pájaro.”

“Pájaro?” Her glare hardened.

“It means bird,” He explained, moving closer to her level. “Caged. Pretty. Always trying to escape, always fluttering just out of reach.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe.. You look like hell though.” Eren casually spoke, brushing a blood-specked strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’ll feel worse seeing your face.”

Eren smirked, standing back upright, brushing soot from his cuff. “Still mouthing off. Good. I hate it when the fight goes out too early.”

Her lips curled into a sneer. “What do you want? Come to gloat?”

“No.” His eyes scanned her face, calculating. “I came to collect.”

Before she could spit another insult, one of his men approached from behind.

“She’s armed—was armed,” the man said. “Want me to finish her?”

Eren’s expression didn't change. But his voice dropped like a guillotine.

“No.”

The man faltered. “Sir, she—”

“I said no.”

The silence that followed was sharper than a gunshot. The soldier backed away.

Eren turned back to her, unbothered. “Killing you would be too kind, pájaro.”

She gave him nothing. Nothing for him to feed off. Showing any sign of fear would mean feeding that sick side of him that enjoys being feared.

He smiled wider. “You don't get it, do you? Death would end this. But you, stuck in that pretty little head, stewing in failure? That’s more satisfying.”

“I’ll never beg.”

“I’m not asking you to.” He leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Begging would mean surrender. But you—you're still so sure you're in control. It's adorable.”

She glared. “You think this makes you powerful?”

“I am powerful.”

“You’re a coward with guns and a God complex.”

He clicked his tongue. “And you're a caged bird pretending your song is a war cry.”

He tilted his head, inspecting her like a curious predator.

“You remind me of a falcon I once saw in a zoo,” he said. “Sharp talons. Beautiful feathers. Eyes that promised murder. But she never flew. She couldn't. Her wings had been clipped. And still… she looked like she believed freedom was one scream away.”

She laughed bitterly. “Trying metaphors now? Who gave you that one, Zeke?”

His jaw ticked. She noticed. Good.

“Don’t pretend this is about justice,” she said, forcing herself upright against the pillar. “You wanted a stage. Blood. Screams. You murdered civilians. Pregnant women. Children. Historia. ”

Eren didn’t deny it. “Would it change anything if I didnt kill her?”

“No,” she said flatly.

“Exactly. Because you’ve already built me into the villain in your head. Every piece of evidence, every connection, it’s all to support your version of me. But have you ever asked yourself what happens if you’re wrong?”

Y/n’s fingers flexed, searching blindly for something, anything sharp.

“I’m not wrong.”

“No,” he said softly, “but you’re incomplete.”

Behind him, masked men filtered in, his crew, armed and wordless, like shadows. Y/n’s breath caught. She counted three. Maybe four. Two at the exits. One lingered by the judge’s bench. All coordinated. Clean.

“And to think you were so confident earlier that you actually had me.” He studied her, almost admiringly. “Funny, isn’t it?”

“You set this whole thing up to what—kill me?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I brought you here because you won’t break. And I want to see how long you last before you beg me to end your life..”

“You’re disgusting.”

He leaned in, close enough to smell the smoke in her hair, the blood on her breath.

“You want to hate me,” he murmured, “but you don’t know where that line ends and where something else begins.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re addicted.”

She turned her face away. He caught her chin gently, almost tender then gripped tighter.

“I watched you in that courtroom, pájaro. Watched how you looked at me like I was your ruin and your obsession. You were trying to figure out how to kill me and save me in the same breath.”

“You’re not worth saving.”

“You studied me. For weeks. Looked through every file, dug up every photo. You made this case your life. I’d be flattered if you weren’t so damn angry about it.”

“I’m not obsessed,” she hissed. “I want justice.”

“No. You want answers. You want me.”

Her stomach flipped something ugly, primal, and uninvited.

He leaned in until his breath tickled her ear. “You dream about me, don’t you? Hate dreams. Lust dreams. I’m in your head, Y/n. And you’re in mine.”

She twisted, grabbing for the pistol still hidden beneath her blazer, but he caught her wrist mid-lunge. His grip was steel.

“Still playing cop?” he asked, pressing her arm to the floor. His voice dropped. “Still pretending this is about law and order, when all you really want is control?”

“You wanted the truth,” Eren continued. “I’ll give it to you. But not here. Not like this.”

She stiffened. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I’d rather die.”

He grinned. “You’re too stubborn to die, pájaro. Besides...” He leaned in again, his lips brushing just near her ear. “You’re too curious.”

She flinched. He lingered.

“You hate me, don’t you?” he asked, tone almost dreamy.

“Every inch of you.”

“And yet…” He looked into her eyes. “You’re still here. You’re still talking to me. Still trying to understand.”

“That’s called building a case.”

He hummed. “You can tell yourself that if it helps you sleep—well, once I let you sleep.”

One of his men stepped forward.

“She’s not sedated,” the masked man said.

Eren didn’t look away from her. “She doesn’t need to be. She’ll behave.”

“Like hell I will—”

CRACK. Pain exploded at the back of her skull. Her vision doubled. Then blurred. Her limbs turned to lead, her body sagging forward. As she collapsed, Eren caught her. Arms strong. Too careful. Too practiced.

“Easy,” he whispered, cradling her as if she were delicate crystal and not the woman who’d just tried to destroy him. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

The last thing she saw through flickering lashes was his face. That maddening, infuriatingly calm face. Those eyes—sharp and stormy. His lips, moving just before she blacked out, words she couldn't make out, but whatever they were made her stomach drop in such an uneasy way.

[emonaculate]

NOBODY TOLD ME NOTHING 😭😭

Sneaky Link PT. II 💙 (Gojo x Black!F!Reader 18+ One Shot)

“You know you want this.”

Pairing: College Student!Gojo Satoru x Professor!Reader (FWBs to Lovers)

Synopsis: After the events of your latest night with Gojo Satoru, your former student and the new employee at your husband’s firm, you attend a party for your husband’s firm despite the arguments that have been brewing between you two lately. While there, find yourself face to face with Gojo again after months of avoiding him. When he offers another night with him, will you take that chance in fear of him telling your husband about your sneaky link? And what of that BIG little problem that may be possibly growing inside of you? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); College AU; MILF!Reader; FWBs/Fuck Buddies; Toxic Fuckboy!Gojo; Switch!Gojo (MDom + msub); Switch!Reader (FDom + fsub); Public Sex; Infidelity/Cheating; Oral (Giving + Receiving); Deepthroat; Facefucking; Head Hanging Off Table; Spit Play; Pussy Drunk!Gojo; Cock Drunk!Reader; Daddy + Mommy Kink; Multiple Positions (Doggy, Missionary); Dirty Talk; Possession/Ownership; Cum Play; Breeding; Unprotected PIV; Raw Creampie; FWB to Baby Daddy; Accidental/Unplanned Pregnancy; Cliffhanger Ending (tee hee!)

Read Part I HERE!

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! I've gotten so much air play on this lol. Thank you so much for reading the first installment! I hope y'all enjoy this one! -Jazz

**********

You stared at the little pink stick for a while, not doing anything with it when you knew you should have…but you couldn’t. 

Fear and apprehension paralyzed you, afraid to see that little + signal once you finished your task. You didn’t know what you would do if the universe or God made it your reality. You had a hard enough time picking up the damn box at CVS that day while on an errand run while your family was out and the house was empty. 

You purposely waited till your mother came to scoop up your kids for a day at the zoo and your husband is at work to do this. You didn’t need anyone or anything interrupting you…but now as you stood among the silence of your bathroom, you kind of hoped that something or someone would. Your guilt and regret was already seizing your gut, making you want to throw up. 

You didn’t know why you decided to pick up a pregnancy test that day. Perhaps it was because you took Plan B within three days after your last hookup. Perhaps it is because you scheduled that doctor’s appointment at the end of the week and it came to mind. 

Perhaps it is because just two weeks ago, you let both your husband AND your fuck buddy, who is also your former student, creampie your walls.

Plan B has never failed you before, so you couldn’t see it failing you then…though there are always chances. It is a flip of a coin and you prayed to God that that coin landed on the side that would benefit you. So you took a deep breath, followed the instructions of the test, and watched with shaky hands as the stick revealed your results.

It felt as if the entire room had gotten smaller, squeezing and boxing you in as if you were Alice and you just drank a strange potion. Especially since the stick read “+”. Positive.

You stared so long at the sign that your eyes began to grow blurry and your hand shook so badly that you dropped the stick in the sink. “Oh, God,” you whispered in horror. You did so as if your entire life had just been slaughtered right in front of you. 

Your mind raced with multiple scenarios, and various possibilities and reasons of how this could have happened…and who could have made it happen. Was it your husband? God forbid, but was it Gojo? What will you do if it is him? After all, you slept with both men in one night and let both bust inside you raw! 

Your husband, sure, maybe this could work in your favor, but Gojo?! Your former student, fuck buddy, and the twenty-something year old man that you were cheating on your said husband with?! What were you thinking?! How could you possibly let this man fuck you and cum inside of you without protection?!!  

‘Because you’re a desperate cumslut,’ a voice inside your head hissed. ‘Because it was the hottest sex you’ve had in ages. Because you wanted it to happen.’ 

You pushed the accusatory voice away and immediately raced to the bathroom for your phone sitting on the nightstand charging. You immediately dialed your friend’s number despite her possibly being asleep because of an overnight shift at her hospital job yesterday. You needed to talk to her. Only she could pull you out of the mess in your head. 

With each tortuous ring that went by, you paced back and forth in your silk slip, refusing to sit down. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. Sure enough, she answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?” she groggily asked. You found that you could not answer because the tears had begun to rise to the surface. You sniffled, covering your mouth to hide the beginning stages of your sobs.

“Y/N?” she worriedly asked, all sleep gone now. “What’s wrong? Where’s your husband at?” 

“H-He’s at work,” you managed to hiccup, calming yourself. “The kids are with my parents at the zoo. I was at CVS today and I took a pregnancy test.” Your friend was silent as you explained, waiting for you to continue. “And?” she probed when you didn’t. 

“I’m…” You took a moment to compose yourself, sniffling and biting back more sobs of pure fear. “It’s positive,” you whispered. Your friend was once again silent, letting your news sink in. 

“Is it your husband’s?” she questioned. You bit your bottom lip, afraid to tell her the rest of the messy ass, soap opera story. “It could be, but…” 

You trailed off, the big, fat tears welling up in your eyes as you pictured that beautiful man with his white hair and blue eyes. Mr. Long Dick himself. Uncontrollable sobs began to escape you, unable to be bottled up anymore. “I fucked up so bad!” you continued to wail into the phone. “I don’t know what to do! I-I–” 

“Okay, okay, let’s hold on,” your friend cut in, gently and comfortingly. Your voice of reason. “First thing’s first: who else have you had sex with recently other than your husband?” 

This is what you were afraid to tell her. More than anything, you were afraid of how she would look at you. But you also knew that she was one of the people where keeping secrets was not going to fly with her. “Gojo,” you confessed with a solemn, defeated sigh. 

“Oh, shit, Y/N,” she gasped like you just confessed to murder. “So you’re saying this baby might be his?”

You sniffled, indicating that yes, this may be true. Saying it out loud like that made it feel more of a concrete fact. It was out in the air and it could not be taken back now. Oh, what would your husband think? What would anyone think if they found out? 

“So what do you wanna do?” your friend asked. “Or what are you thinking about doing?” You bit your lip, wiping away your tears and snot nose. “I can’t tell him,” you said, vaguely. Your friend was understandably confused by this statement. “Tell who? Gojo or your husband?” 

You felt stupid for even saying it like that. It just blurted out of you to the point where you didn’t even know what you meant. “Both,” you lamented. “Not when my husband and I have been fighting for days now, and Gojo is the new employee at the firm.” 

It has been over two weeks since your latest “hookup” aka booty call with Gojo Satoru, your former student, college graduate, and campus fuckboy and hottie. Since then, he had been blowing up your phone to the point where you had to mute his calls.

While that night laid dormant on your mind, mostly because of the fact that Gojo dropped a heavy bomb on you before he slipped out the door and the possibility that you could’ve been caught by your husband, you have not spoken to him since that night. 

The graduation ceremony for the senior class of 2025 was just last weekend and you only muttered a mere “congratulations” to Gojo when he shook your husband’s hand after the commencement. He looked so handsome in his cap and gown, and you so desperately wanted to say more to your dazzling student…but you held your tongue because your husband was there. 

Even if he wasn’t, you doubt you would even spend more than a minute around Gojo. With how good his cologne smelled and the painfully dazzling smile he wore, you could not be sure that you wouldn’t have folded for him. 

You were a damn statue around him all day, refusing to touch him for too long (or at all if you could help it) and standing rigidly next to him when you were forced into a photo with him, Geto, Shoko, and golden boy Nanami, all students of yours in the four years they have been attending university. You tensed when you felt Gojo’s hand on the small of your back, his piano fingers gliding gently across your spine. 

He didn’t say anything inappropriate while you were there. But of course, he confronted you about your behavior in text, asking you what your deal was. This had been his go-to form of conversation when you refused to answer his calls. You wouldn’t even answer those, contemplating whether or not to delete his number completely…but you never did.  

Tarou 💙: First you don’t return my calls or texts…now you’re acting like you’re scared of me?? 

*Read at 7:09 PM*

Tarou 💙: Fuck buddy or not i was still your student. You didn’t have to act that way with me 

*Read at 7:09 PM*

You: I’m sorry Satoru but my husband was there at the ceremony & I got scared. 

*Read at 7:12 PM*

Tarou 💙: Scared of what??? He doesn’t know anything?? 

*Read at 7:13 PM*

You: But he might!! I can’t risk it!!

*Read at 7:15 PM*

You: I did what I thought was right so you can move on. I’m so proud of you, but you need to focus on your summer and YOUR FUTURE. NOT ME. You were an amazing student Satoru & you always will be, but that is all that there is. 

*Read at 7:20 PM*

He didn’t respond to that one and left you on read (which admittedly stung but you knew it was for the best). And after a while, his calls and voicemails fortunately stopped. You thought that this would be the last you would ever hear or see of him. 

To make your life even harder, on top of Gojo’s borderline stalker tendencies, you and your husband had been at each other’s throats for weeks now. And over the smallest shit in existence too! Stuff like why he kept washing the colored load of clothes with the whites when he could’ve separated them; why you were stealing the covers at night and leaving him cold; why you weren’t wearing lingerie to bed anymore. 

And big things too, like why you haven’t had sex in over two weeks. Why you are too busy to fuck him even though the fall semester isn’t until September. Why you keep faking your orgasms when you do manage to have sex because you felt guilty about cheating with Gojo (yes, he finally caught on). The last thing you wanted to tell him was that you’re pregnant. You couldn’t be sure how he would react. 

“Well, whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you, hon,” your friend gently said. “Don’t feel bad about your decisions. This is YOUR life and YOUR body. I just hope you know what’s best for you.” You sat with your hand on your temple, rubbing away the oncoming headache pounding against your skull. “Obviously not,” you glumly sighed. 

That was a week ago. Fast forward a week later and you have yet to tell your husband or Gojo the news. You refuse to. Even thinking about approaching this Pandora’s Box nearly gives you a panic attack. You have yet to make an appointment to terminate the pregnancy either, and you know that time is of the essence when it comes to that. 

While you wholeheartedly support women’s reproductive rights and will stand ten toes down for abortion rights, the idea of going through with it makes your stomach roil. Every time you look in the mirror, you rub your stomach, thinking you can see it getting bigger with each passing day. You remember how joyful you were when you were pregnant with your two babies, counting off the days until you could finally meet them. 

You have always wanted to be a mother and have as many children as you can…but the idea of birthing this child when you have no idea who the father is stabs you with immense guilt. How would you explain to your husband why the baby popped out with white hair and blue eyes? What would you tell that child later if Gojo isn’t in the picture? 

“Hey, Y/N.” 

You blink, startling yourself out of your thoughts. You are sitting in the passenger seat of your husband’s car, dressed to the nines in your pretty red cocktail dress, red bottom heels, and your hair pinned up in a braided updo.

You look at your husband in his ironed suit and concerned expression. “Hey, honey, we’re here,” he announces. “You’re lost in thought again. You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” 

You are confused about what he means by “here” until you turn to peer out of the car window. The banquet hall stretches before you, standing on top of a flight of steps like a wedding cake, teeming with guests in their best banquet outfits to greet the doormen and sign the guest list. 

“O-Oh,” you stammer. “Sorry. I just had a long morning. Couldn’t go back to sleep.” 

The lie is so bad that you cringe, though it isn’t entirely untrue. You did have trouble sleeping this morning…as you have for the past several weeks since you got your big news. You can’t even feel sexy or luxurious in your pretty dress and expensive heels because of your anxiety. 

Your husband gives you a strange look between a frown and a grimace, a look you know means he is displeased. “You know, you didn’t have to come if you were just gonna be tired.” He sounds less than sympathetic to your situation. Of course, he would be; he has cared way more about his job and sex than he has been your well-being, you feel. 

And again, you find yourself trying to soothe some balm over the opening wound. “No, I wanted to. This is important to you, so it’s important to me too.” But he snorts, making you flush with irritation. “That’s such a cliche response,” he chuckles, turning to check his mirrors. 

You could burn a hole in the back of his head with the way you’re glaring at him. “So what would you rather have me say?” you pointedly ask. “That I didn’t want to come and leave you high and dry at your own work event?” 

He catches the sharp edge in your tone and turns to scowl at you. “No, but at least you would’ve been honest. You never had a problem with it before.” You know what he’s talking about: all of those times after lackluster sex where you stopped keeping quiet about your feelings and let him know how displeased and unsatisfied you were. 

This is what led to you fucking Gojo in the first place. As guilt eats you alive, you gently grasp your husband’s hand. “Hey, I’m happy to be here with you.” And you mean it…at least you think you do. You used to get so excited to go to parties and work events with your big-time corporate lawyer hubby, but now? You don’t even feel a spark. Yet you still act the part and press a kiss to the back of his hand. “You look so handsome,” you coo. 

Your husband manages to smile a bit, relieving you. His eyes roam over your dress, making you nervous because you feel like they stick too long on your stomach. “And you…you look–” 

Knock-knock! 

You both jump, looking behind you at your window to see one of your husband’s work buddies already carrying a champagne glass. “There’s my favorite couple!” he shouts through the window. “C’mon, come join the party! You’re on the guest list!” He gives you both a wink before he tots off to the doors, being trailed after by other guests. Your husband laughs, shaking his head at you. “Duty calls, I guess. Let’s just try to have a good time and meet the new recruits.” 

Oh, yes. The reason why this banquet was held in the first place: to welcome the new recruits to your husband’s law firm. New recruits like Mr. Long Dick aka Gojo Satoru, your A+, Summa Cum Laude, bright, sunshine sparkling student and aspiring attorney who was just hired as a summer intern. If he shows good progress and work ethic, he could be hired fulltime and gain money from work for law school. 

You are damn near sweating in anticipation to see your former student as you walk into the beautifully-decorated banquet hall with your husband, your hand hooked through his elbow. “Wow, they really went all out this year!” your husband guffaws. “Just look at this place!” The entire place is surrounded with your hubby’s work friends, colleagues, higher-ups, and associates in their best dressed, dancing near the stage in the far back of the room where a live band places or conversing at the various mini bars and snack tables at each corner of the room. 

You scout out the multiple exits just in case you need to find somewhere to retreat. And, suddenly to your horror, there he is: the very man you have been avoiding for two weeks now and possibly the father of your child. 

He stands by the snack table with the other interns, all of them bright-eyed and full of hope for the future having graduated or about to enter their next semester. He is among the tallest of them, standing with a glass of champagne and wearing a crisp black suit that he looks absolutely delicious in. He is also wearing glasses. Glasses. You can’t remember if you ever saw him wear them in class before. You know that if you did know he wore spectacles, you would demand he wear them during sex just because of how damn sexy he looks in them. 

You are absolutely transfixed and stunned by the sight of him. Especially since you haven’t seen him since the graduation ceremony. And almost as if he senses your eyes, his head turns just a slight right and his ocean–blue eyes lock directly onto yours. You think he would be angry to see you or ignore your presence altogether…but instead, he smiles. 

That dazzling stretch of his lips makes your heart pound and your stomach flip. You are so glad that your husband finds a table to sit at, and luckily by a nearby snack table piled with champagne flutes, because you need to feel grounded. You are so sure that your legs would give out if you kept standing. But you don’t tear your eyes away from your ex-FWB, especially when he begins to walk over to you. 

No, not walk. Stride. He takes his sweet time excusing himself from his group and making his way through the party, the group’s eyes lingering on him as he leaves them. You understand; his confidence and attitude are magnetic, his stride accentuated by his long legs and tallness. He gathers attention like Pied Piper and his band of children. Unfortunately, he has your attention too, even though your husband is sitting right beside you. 

When he grows closer, your body grows hot and the walls close in around you, making you want to hide under the table. But you can’t. Not when he’s standing above you and wearing that charming smile. “Mr. L/N,” he greets, grinning at your husband. He then shifts his attention to you, still wearing that polite smile on his handsome face. “Professor L/N.” You think you detect a seductive, lower tone to this voice when he speaks to you. “Such a pleasure to be here and see my favorite couple.” 

“Mr. Gojo!” your husband greets, abruptly standing. “So nice to see you looking so dapper. First impressions are important for a firm like this.” He shakes Gojo’s hand firmly, earning a light, sexy laugh from your ex-student that makes your stomach flutter. “Oh, I know. That’s why I bought the suit.” 

“Well, you look fit for the role,” your husband chortles. “Not at all the college boy I knew. Graduation changed you.” He turns to you, expecting you to answer. “Doesn’t he look good, sweetie?” he probes with a bright-eyed look. You realize you haven’t spoken–or breathed–at all since Gojo’s arrival. 

Your eyes nervously flit to his, blue and intense. The same eyes you stared into while he was above you, covering your body in his as he drilled his cock inside of you. “Uh…yeah,” you reluctantly reply. “You look very nice, Satoru.” You offer him a smile that you hope is polite enough. 

Before he can say anything to you, you quickly turn your head to stare at the champagne flutes. Your escape route. “Ooh, champagne!” you loudly announce. “I’m gonna go get myself a glass, babe. Stay here and chat.”

You give both men a tight smile before you make a beeline for the table, having no intentions of drinking. Instead, you get yourself a glass of water instead, needing it to soothe your parched throat. Finally being free from the trap of Gojo’s cologne and intense, flashback-evoking gaze, you can finally breathe. 

“Ms. Y/N?” you suddenly hear from a deep, semi-familiar voice.

You turn around to find Geto Suguru, one of your other bright students, college basketball player, and aspiring surgeon. He is just as tall, just as charismatic, and just as hot as his longtime friend Gojo is with his long raven-black tied into a bun and the purple tie tucked into his suit trailing up to his thick neck. 

Geto was always a little quieter and more reserved than Gojo, but he was always quite smart and you’ve heard he can be a partier too…and an even better lover. “Mr. Geto!” you chirp, happy to see another familiar face from your classes that isn’t Gojo’s. “What a surprise to see you! It feels like I haven’t seen you in years.”  

Geto looks at you with those violet eyes that seem to make young girls’ panties drop. You can understand; the eyes combined with his charming and sweet smile would definitely hook you if Gojo didn’t. “Ms. L/N,” he greets in his deep, melodic voice. “Wow…it’s great to see you too. I thought I’d never see you again.” 

He actually looks stunned to see you here. You can’t understand why. You’ve spoken about your husband before in class, so Geto knows his practice. And you’re sure Gojo mentioned that he would be working with your spouse. “Oh, please; this world ain’t that big,” you joke, passively waving a hand. “So tell me, what are you doing here? You here with Gojo?” 

“Yeah, I’m his plus-one.” He rolls his eyes when you coo in adoration. “He forced me to come here, but a lot of the other new interns and employees here are from my classes, so we’re just chatting.” He turns to get himself a glass of punch, spooning the liquid from the big glass bowl into his glass. 

“I hope this perks him up a bit,” he says, more to himself than to you. “He’s been so out of sorts lately.” You feel your brows furrow in confusion and concern at this. “What do you mean?” you ask when you shouldn’t. 

Geto looks like he doesn’t want to continue, but you have caught him in a trap. “I dunno, just…not himself. He barely seemed excited about graduating, even after the ceremony when we went for drinks that night. He usually picks up a girl for some fun, but…” His eyes widen and he abruptly comes to a halt in the rest of his sentence. “Sorry, Ms. L/N,” he sheepishly says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s always been so easy to talk to you.” 

You don’t mention that you’re one of the girls his friend has picked up before. “It’s okay, Suguru,” you reassure him. “I’m happy to hear out anything you wanna get off your chest. Being an adult is hard enough.” 

Your ex-student looks reassured by that. “I think he’s just kinda bummed out about graduating, y’know? No more college life. Now everything’s about work and bills.” He chuckles to himself to soften the blow, but you can tell he is fearful about this. You briefly wonder if maybe Gojo is too. 

“Well, that’s not all true,” you giggle. “Life after college is about freedom too; freedom to choose what path you want to go down.” You sip your water, finally feeling calmer. “What was your path, Ms. L/N?” Geto curiously asks. “Did you ever find it?” 

The question grasps you hard and you have no idea why. You would’ve simply replied a simple yes and told him about your path from high school to college, meeting your husband, becoming a teacher, and having your children. But for some reason, you are too dumbfounded to speak. You suddenly have no idea if you found your “path” or not now. Everything seems so muddled and confusing. 

But with Geto still giving you that expression, awaiting your response, you give him a fake smile. “Yeah, I did,” you vaguely reply. “Excuse me for a moment.” Quickly, you put your water down and head for the nearest exit, strutting off in your red bottoms. You don’t turn to look behind you or anywhere else but forward, even when you think you hear someone calling your name. 

You move faster, feeling your body becoming overheated and your head pounding from the instruments of the live band. You feel as if you’re about to drop dead if you don’t get out of here now. Finally, you shove the exit door open and venture out onto the railing of the building that overlooks the clean, cut lawn behind the banquet hall. It is quiet; just what you need. 

You find solace in the cool night’s air; in the silence only interrupted by the muffled band music and applause resonating from inside. You know that a grand toast to welcome the new recruits will be soon, so you will have to cut this private time as short as possible…even if it does help you clear your head. 

So you turn around to walk back inside, begrudgingly so, but jump when you suddenly see Geto blocking the door. You didn’t even hear him come outside. “Oh, Suguru!” you gasp. “You scared the crap outta me. Did I miss the toast?” 

He doesn’t even answer you. He barely even smiles. Instead, he wears a rather stone-cold expression; one that is void of emotion. He comes up beside you, arms behind his back, overlooking the view before you. “You know, you don’t have to act so oblivious with me, Ms. L/N,” he suddenly says. 

You blink at him, confused. “What?” you cluelessly ask. 

“About Gojo,” he clarifies. “You don’t have to.” 

You instantly feel your heartbeat grow faster than a hummingbird’s fluttering wings. There is no way he can know. “What about Gojo?” you ask, still playing the dumb role. “I don’t know what you mean, Suguru. Is there something you want?” 

Slowly, Geto turns to face you, his violet eyes piercing a hole in you. He lowkey reminds you of a wolf or a tiger, hiding in a bush and staying hidden to size up his prey before pouncing on it, making it his dinner. “I know,” he says lowly. “About you and him fucking around.” 

And there it is. Just as you were hoping it wasn’t, but knew it was. Your brain goes blank and you cannot speak, not even to deny it. Geto’s lips curl into a slight, sympathetic smile as he lightly chuckles at your stunned reaction. “You don’t have to look so scared, miss. I’m not gonna tell anyone and no, he didn’t tell me. He’s just shit at keepin’ things a secret from me.” 

You can feel your body quivering in fear. He knows. If he knows then who else does? “Suguru…” You try to think of something to say. Anything at all! But your paranoia and fear have left you too shaken. 

Geto’s gaze is almost comforting as he stares down at you in the white of the moon shining high in the sky. “You have nothing to worry about, Ms. L/N.” 

‘Yes, I do,’ you think. He has no fucking idea how much you have to worry about this situation. 

“Except for Gojo, that is,” he continues. “He really likes you, I think. He’s never acted this way after any breakup that I know of. I think you’ve got him whipped for you.” 

He smiles at you as if you should feel flattered or be happy about this news. You’re not. AT ALL.  “It would never work,” you firmly say. “He is way too young and he is my former student. It’s inappropriate and unacceptable.” 

Geto’s smile fades, replaced with a tight-lipped frown. “And yet that I didn’t stop you from fucking him,” he bluntly replies. You flush with shame at his quick remark. “I’m not judging you,” he continues, noticing your defeated body language, “but I’m also not gonna sugarcoat nothin’ either. Avoiding him isn’t gonna solve much, ‘specially when he’s about to work alongside your husband.” 

And he’s right. Goddammit, he’s right! Whether you like it or not, Gojo will be working very closely with your husband for the time he is working at the firm which means he will still be in your life. Perhaps indirectly if this child isn’t his, perhaps directly if it comes out that part of his DNA is growing inside of you. 

Geto must take your faraway look for one of guilt because he gently, and carefully, pats you on your arm. “He deserves to move on from this and so do you,” he comforts. “Just think about what I said. Have a good night, Ms. L/N.” He then takes a step back to give you space and returns to the party, leaving you alone to brood and wallow in guilt once more. 

As if the universe is punishing you further for your horrible decisions, your phone begins to ring. You open your clutch to fish it out, heaving a sigh when you see your husband’s name pop up on the screen. You pick it up, doing your best to sound as upbeat as possible. “Hey, baby,” you greet with a smile. 

“Where are you?” he hisses, knocking that smile right off of your face. “You’re missing the grand toast!”

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, coming up with a lie right on the fly. “I had an emergency call with my mom. I’ll be back inside soon though, I promise.” He sighs, obviously tired and disappointed, and you already know that another argument is coming. “Y/N, you know how important this event is to me.” 

You immediately feel offended by his accusatory tone. “Why do you think I put on my dress and got a babysitter for the kids?” you huff, not appreciating his tone. “And if I can remember correctly, you were complaining about the venue and having to buy a suit before we came here!” 

Your husband is silent, the sound of someone talking into a microphone muffled in the background. You suddenly have an urge to say fuck this banquet and leave, order a Lyft and escape this horrible place…but even if you do, your problems will follow. Your rocky marriage will follow. Your unprepared pregnancy will allow. So you sigh, placing a hand on your hip. “I’ve been thinking–” 

“What have you been thinking, Y/N?” your husband cooly asks. You swallow, doing your best to ignore the sting of his tone in your chest. You want to make this work as much as you can. “That we do counseling,” you pointedly reply. “For the sake of our family and because I can’t keep doing this with you. The bickering and fighting and…” ‘And the bad sex,’ you think, but don’t say. 

But your husband is having none of it. “We can figure this out ourselves. We don’t need a fucking counselor and I refuse to discuss this right now. We can talk about it at home, okay?” As usual, he shuts you down. As usual, he shrugs off your problems and acts as if this isn’t a big deal. As usual, he is avoidant and prideful, too involved in himself and the stigma around having problems in a marriage to see that he is part of the problem. 

You feel the urge to cry coming on, knowing that this will never be fixed…and that your decisions have made that fact even more apparent and way worse. “Fine,” you grit out and immediately hang up, shoving your phone back in your clutch. 

You do go back inside, but you don’t go back to the banquet. Instead, you venture into the hallway in an effort to find a place to be alone. Luckily, you find a staircase leading to the second floor of the hall and you take that chance, not caring if anyone sees you. Fortunately, guests aren’t out here and the security guards standing by the front door are busy having cigarettes. 

As you walk upstairs, one step at a time to avoid tripping in your heels, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of breaking into sobs. You quicken your pace, your heels clack-clacking up the steps until you reach the empty hall. You go straight down the hall and choose the first door you find that isn’t locked, pushing it open. 

The room is dark with only the glow from the moon and the street lamps illuminating the various white tablecloth tables, chairs, and extra silverware surrounding the room. A storage room, it looks like. And empty. Perfect for you. When the door shuts behind you, you finally let yourself breathe and press yourself against the wall. 

You feel the tears bubbling up, making your face flush hot. You cannot stop the sobs that push past your mouth. They start as a stutter and then turn into full on, uncontrollable blubbers and whimpers as tears stream down your face, ruining your mascara and blended eyeshadow, but luckily not your faux lashes. 

‘Don’t cry, you selfish bitch,’ the same accusatory, critical voice in your head hisses. ‘You did this to yourself. You caused this. You don’t deserve any sympathy.’ And you don’t. You don’t deserve empathy or pity either. You don’t even deserve a husband who will go to counseling or marriage therapy with you. This is what you deserve: to stand in a dark storage room in your pretty cocktail dress, defeated and oh-so alone. 

“Y/N?” You turn, gasping in alarm and surprise at being caught. The door is cracked open, revealing a spot of light from the hallway that illuminates Gojo’s concerned expression. You quickly wipe your tears away and clear your throat, doing your best to act as if you weren’t just sobbing your eyes out. “What are you doin’ in here?” he questions. “Why’re you alone?” 

You turn away from him, facing the window instead. “M’fine,” you murmur. He scoffs in response, making your stomach clench. “Oh, so you’re still actin’ like I don’t exist,” he pointedly responds. “I thought you would’ve at least said hi.” 

You groan, feeling a headache coming on. Whether it be from the crying or your FWB’s uninvited presence, you are still deciding on. “Gojo, please don’t do this right now,” you tiredly say. “I’m sorry that I didn’t properly greet you, but this is awkward for me.” 

“And you don’t think it is for me?” he argues. “And don’t do what? You mean talk about our relationship like adults? You mean me being real about how I feel for you?” 

Finally, you turn around after hearing the yearning in his voice. He stares at you, jaw tense and expression heated with a mixture of anger and longing. But you cannot find it within yourself to feel any ounce of gentleness right now. This isn’t just about him. “We don’t have a relationship, Satoru!” you hiss. “We were just sex and that was it! I couldn’t possibly…we couldn’t possibly…” 

You pause, feeling the tears rush to the surface again. You abruptly turn away from Gojo’s softened gaze. “Oh, dammit,” you groan, your voice broken and stuffy with emotion. You feel a hand on your shoulder and flinch away. You can’t trust yourself around his touch. “Y/N,” he coos. 

He places his hand on you again, but this time, you don’t flinch away. Instead, you lean into his piano fingers, even as he reaches to grasp your other shoulder to twist you around to face him. His hands ground you, making you feel real and present. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “I didn’t want any of this to happen. It’s all my fault.” You don’t elaborate on what you mean, not feeling brave enough to tell him the truth. 

“I-I’ve ruined everything,” you continue to lament. Gentle shushes escape your ex-student’s mouth as he wraps his arms around you, bringing you into an embrace. “You haven’t ruined anything,” Gojo gently says. “C’mon…c’mere.” 

And to your utter horror, you find yourself hugging him back. His lean body presses against yours, making a warm feeling twirl in your chest, traveling down to your tummy and then between your thighs. You haven’t felt his body against yours in so long. “It’s okay,” he shushes you. “Everything is going to be okay.” But you shake your head, sniffling into his chest, ruining the fabric with your tears and wet makeup. Nothing can ever be okay again. But in Gojo’s arms, you feel a little bit differently. You can at least pretend that things are the same. That things are perfect. 

Then Gojo’s hand moves down to your waist, his fingers pressing into your spine. “I can make you see it,” he whispers. “I can show you that everything will be alright.” He holds you to him, securely and almost possessively. You pull away just enough to look up at him. And then you realize very quickly that was a mistake, because the way his Bahamian ocean-blue eyes stare down at you make you feel like you’re swimming in them, being cleansed and swept away into a sea of bliss. 

“Satoru,” you softly whimper. His big hand presses against your cheek, his thumb gently caressing it and wiping away a lone tear. He gazes upon you so tenderly. In a way that your husband has rarely done. And then before you even realize it, he is leaning in (or is it you who leans in?) and his soft lips are on yours. 

“You shouldn’t be doing this!” the imaginary angel on your shoulder screams. “This is wrong! You said you would stop!” 

But it feels so right. And it feels so good. The way his lips move against yours and his hands grip you to him all feels so correct. You softly moan against his mouth as the kiss continues, deepening, going straight into heated territory as your hands grip his collar. Gojo takes the hint; you never have to tell or show him twice. 

Immediately, he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in for a deeper kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You eagerly accept it and press yourself flush against him, so close that your hips press into his, his belt pressing against your core. Gojo is an even better kiss than you remember. He is a kisser that you have longed for with the thickest, juiciest lips you have craved for. 

And the thickest, juiciest ass too. You accidentally brush it as your hands caress his back as you kiss, but when you quickly pull them away, he takes your hands and places them back on his ass to indulge in. He pulls away from your slow, sloppy kiss to speak to you, his voice hushed and breathless. “I’ll say it again: your husband is one lucky motherfucker to bag you.” 

He ducks down to kiss your neck, hitting all the sweet spots you like. Your eyes flutter closed, some lone tears dripping from your thick, black lashes. “Oh,” you sigh. “Satoru, wait.” Your brain grows foggy with pleasure, all common sense and guilt leaving you. 

Gojo’s pillowy soft lips trail down to your throat before moving on to your chest, kissing the tops of your cushiony, soft breasts sitting deliciously up because of your strapless push-up bra. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of the house,” he groans. He looks up at you, his eyes hooded and playful. “And if I can remember correctly, you said you were mine that night, right?” 

A whimper escapes you, one that makes the handsome devil smirk. “T-That was just sex talk,” you defeatedly argue. Gojo’s smirk continues to grow against your skin as he presses more heated kisses to your skin. “Uh-huh,” he chuckles. “Maybe you need to jog my memory a little, baby.” 

He takes your hand and leads you over to the door where he takes his free hand, reaches behind him, and– 

Click. 

He locks the door. And you don’t stop him. Instead, you only stare at the man in front of you, helpless to his charm, seduction, and the need he has for you. “We’ll have to be quick,” he says, his voice hushed and low. “We might get caught or someone might notice we’re gone from the party.” 

In an instant, all of your guilt, anguish, and shame disappears, replaced with a hot, throbbing need that starts in your panties and courses through your veins. “Then we’ll be quick,” you whisper, seduction lacing your words. You walk up to Gojo and begin to quickly take off his suit jacket. He doesn’t stop you, his eyes locked on you as you swiftly undress him. 

Then you undress yourself, washed in heat and arousal. It is so weird how this man can swoop in and completely change you…and also very thrilling. He watches as you reach behind your back and unzip your dress yourself, dragging the zipper down, down, down until the sexy cocktail number drops to the ground. You are left in your strapless bra, lace panties, and red bottom heels. A sexy combination. 

“Now please fuck me,” you whisper. Gojo doesn’t have to be told twice. Immediately, he swoops in and wraps his arms around you, his mouth enveloping yours in a hot, sloppy kiss where his tongue swirls with yours. Your moans escape you and enter his mouth, the both of you sharing in the sounds of your arousal. “Jump,” he grunts out. You do so, jumping up against him and wrapping your legs tight around his waist. He catches you, hooking his arms beneath your knees and grasping your ass as he carries you over to one of the empty tablecloth tables. 

He gazes down between your inner thighs as he peels your panties aside, the fabric sticking to your wet pussy lips. You moan as the cool air hits your sensitive lips and slit, all glistening and wet for the man staring at your pussy like a dessert plate. “Oh, look at this,” he stutteringly whispers. “Look at you.” He takes two fingers and begins to stroke you there, making your toes curl in your heels and pleasure build in your core. “You’re so wet here, mama,” he dreamily sighs, practically drooling at the sight of his digits becoming coated in your wetness. 

You softly mew and keen like a kitten from the tiny ministrations that give you immense pleasure. Gojo chortles, finding your reactions and the expression you’re wearing so adorable. You are sure that it is very embarrassing, but you cannot help your brows furrowing and your bottom lip sinking between your teeth due to the tingling sensations you’re feeling as Gojo rubs your clit. 

He does so in semi-circles, applying the right amount of pleasure that makes you grip the tablecloth underneath your hands. His touch is so gentle that it is almost painful. You can feel your impatience growing; you need more. “Tarou, please,” you softly whine. “I need you.” 

Gojo stares up at you from between the V of your thighs, your panties pushed to the side. “You do, huh?” he asks, quirking a brow at you. “Bad enough to say you’re sorry?” 

You whimper pitifully as he continues to tease you, even leaving wet kisses along your inner thighs, leaving tiny hickies in his wake as he nibbles on your skin. “F-For what?” you stammer, biting your lip against his thumb rubbing your clit. 

“For ignoring my calls and actin’ like I ain’t shit. For neglecting poor little me and this big ol�� dick.” He smirks against your thigh, sucking gently on the tender skin. “Satoru,” you begin, but you’re cut off by Gojo leaning in to give your clit a big, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. The act leaves you trembling and your head wrapping around his scalp to push him into your pussy. 

“Tell me, baby,” he whispers, his breath fanning against your sensitive cunt. “Tell me you’re sorry and I’ll eat this pussy like you need me to.” He runs his nose along the hood of your clit, making sparks travel from your core up to your hardening nipples. “I’m sorry! “I’m sorry, Tarou, I promise!” you desperately wail, tears prickling your eyes. But these tears aren’t from sadness or guilt. They are from sheer desperation and need. 

You stop Gojo short from giving you another clit kiss and hold his face in your hands. His pretty, dreamy face with those soft, blue eyes and pouty, pink lips. “Please,” you whimper. “Make me cum with your mouth.” 

Gojo smiles at you, eyes lust blown and cheeks flushed from arousal. “That’s a good girl,” he coos. He then spreads your legs wider and consumes you like a piece of the sweetest cake he has ever had in his life. You are once again reminded of how much of a munch and a certified eater your ex-student is as he slurps and slobbers all over your pussy, making it wetter and juicier than it was before. His spit and your arousal drip down to your asshole that Gojo’s finger gently rubs, making sure he stimulates both holes the only way he can with his wicked tongue and piano fingers. 

“Ah!” you moan, the sound exploding out of a desperate part of you nestled deep in your chest. You can’t seem to keep quiet. Sounds that have been locked up deep inside of you come rushing out as Gojo dives deep into your pussy, dipping his tongue inside of you and trailing it up to your clit, swirling the button around. “That’s it,” you groan, nodding in approval. “Just like that, baby boy.” 

That pet name flips a switch in Gojo as he peers up at you. There is nothing but molten lust and a sinfulness that has you melting like ice cream on his tongue. “Like this, Mommy?” he teasingly asks before continuing to swirl his tongue along your slit before dipping back into your dripping hole. His nose brushes your clit, making you tremble and shake. 

“Ahhh, shit,” you groan, tossing your head back. Your hands grasp the back of his head to push his face flush against your pussy. Gojo moans, his voice muffled by your thick thighs and juicy pussy lips smushed against his handsome face and mouth. Sloppy, squelching sounds of his tongue sloshing inside your pussy emit from his lips as you moan and whine, your heels dangling off of his shoulders. 

Gojo licks and sucks and slurps, barely coming up for air. He eats you out like he craves it, making you feel a way that your husband never has or tried to in the past several weeks. The feeling makes your body tingle and your core tighten like a fist, about to snap. “Tarou, I-I’m gonna cum!” you squeak out, your legs shaking around his head. “I’m gonna…I’m g–” 

The rest of your sentence dies off as your mouth forms a silent O, the pleasure electrifying you. Then your moans come out behind Gojo’s hand that he lifts to muffle the sounds of your release as you cum all over his tongue. His moans are appreciative and greedy, as are his tongue flicks and swirls as he cleans up your mess. “Mmm,” he hums against your lips, still licking. 

Even when your orgasm fades and you come down from the clouds, he continues to lick, stimulating your overly-stimulated pussy. You shake like a leaf, the pleasure too much. “A-Ah, wait, Satoru,” you stammer out. “I-I’m…oh, fuck! M’sensitive! S-Stop, stop!” 

Gojo laughs, pulling away from your pussy. His lips and chin drip with your wetness, much to your arousal. “Sorry, pretty girl,” he chuckles. “You just tasted so good. You made me so fuckin’ hard too.” When you peer down at his crotch, you see that he has unbuttoned and unzipped his dress slacks, leaving his leaking, hard, throbbing dick jutting out of the hole in his fly. You gape at it, stunned as if this is the first time you are seeing it for yourself. Gojo wraps a hand around his cock, his long fingers stroking himself to your heart’s content. “I was strokin’ it ‘cause of you,” he purrs. “I couldn’t help myself, baby. You felt so good wrapped around my tongue.” 

Oh, how you’ve dreamed about this dick. How you’ve fantasized about touching, tasting, and fucking it for weeks now. In your haze of drunk lust, you peer at Gojo through your lashes, a slut slinking into your skin. One who doesn’t care that she is married and possibly carrying the baby of her spouse or side dick. “Lemme help you then,” you seductively uttered. 

You trail one finger down Gojo’s broad chest, teasing him. You smile at the way his Adam’s Apple bobs just as you begin to pop open the buttons to his top, exposing each sliver of his pale skin and toned muscles to you. “Take off your clothes first.” Gojo’s own slut creeps into his skin; you can tell from his lust-drunk expression as his hands fly to his slacks. “Yes, miss,” he purrs. 

He slips off his pants and boxers in one sweep, leaving him naked from the leg down when he kicks off his shoes too, leaving him in just his white polo socks. You leave his button-down open, liking the way he looks with his abs on complete display as they peek through the opening of his crisp, white shirt. Your eyes indulge in his muscular thighs and thick, long cock swinging between them. 

“Perfect,” you murmur, your glossy nails dragging down his abs, earning a hum of pleasure from Gojo’s mouth. He truly has a body of pure art. It’s a body you’ve missed. It’s a body you’ve craved and dreamed of for days now. You can’t resist stroking his cock, watching in awe as both of your hands struggle to wrap all the way around him because of his girthiness. “I wanna taste you,” you whisper, peering up at him through your thick lashes. 

Gojo blushes, making you giggle. He can become so bashful and flustered when he wants to be. 

He then feeds you his cock as you sit on the table, legs folded beneath you and your hands jerking his shaft, the vibrancy of your glossy, red nails popping against the lighter yet slightly tanned skin of his cock. You moan around his cock, the muffled vibrations drawing straight to his balls. 

He tilts his head back at the feeling, his white lashes fluttering as his eyes close. “Fuck,” he groans, that sweet voice making your pussy turn to a puddle. How you’ve missed those sounds of his. And how you’ve missed his taste. He is delicious, filling your tastebuds as he fills your mouth the more you push and pull yourself onto his cock. His hands move to your hair, carefully unlacing the braids from your bun and letting them tumble down your back. You don’t even care. You don’t mind it either. 

After sucking on him for a while and relishing his moans, you peel your wet mouth away from his dick head though still stroke him up and down. “Can we try somethin’?” you softly question, relishing his soft moans and hums of pleasure. Lazily, he nods, his eyes hooded and a darker shade of blue than before. You sluttily smile up at him, giving his dick a quick kiss before you tear yourself away from him. 

You twist around and lay back, hanging your head off of the table so your braids cascade down like a coiled river. You stare at Gojo from your new position, realizing that he looks sexy at every angle. “Ah, fuck,” he shudderingly moans. “I’ve seen a lot of porn with this move in ‘em. I should’ve known your freaky ass would too.” 

He comes closer, his hard cock and heavy balls hovering above your mouth. You salivate for both, needing him back in your mouth, filling your throat up so you choke and gag along his shaft. “Tap me if you need to breathe.”

You nod and you are once again silenced with his dick, your throat making a squelching sound as he pushes himself inside of it. He allows you to get used to this new position and feeling with shallow thrusts until you finally relax enough to allow him deeper access. 

Gojo bites back loud, porn-worthy moans as he fucks your throat dumb, growing harder at the sound of you gagging and the saliva dripping down your mouth and over the side of your cheeks. He fucks your throat like it’s a toy, his face flushed and jaw clenched. “Fuck, Mommy!” he whines. “That feels so good! I’m so f-fuckin’ deep!” 

And he is. He has never been so deep, you don’t believe. You feel as if he is reaching your uvula–or that dangly thing swinging at the back of your throat, as Cardi B rapped about–and beyond that the more he plunges himself in and out of your mouth, fucking it as if he were his personal flashlight. “Need to breathe yet, baby?” he huffs out. You shake your head as best as you can, humming out a “Mmm-hmm!” 

“No?” he chuckles, raising a brow in surprise. “Damn, you’re such a trooper.” He takes both hands and drags your bra down your chest to expose both juicy breasts, cupping and massaging them for yourself. “Or maybe you’re just a good slut for me.” At the mention of that one word that makes your pussy throb, you slide your mouth off of his cock and proceed to suck on his balls hanging down and lightly brushing your chin. “Oh, shit, baby,” he groans, his voice growing high-pitched and oh-so slutty. 

You allow your throat to expand, opening it on an invisible yawn to allow him better, deeper access. Gojo moans and grunts in appreciation for this, his hips bumping against your mouth to fuck his cock with your sloppy, wet, tight throat the way he would your pussy. “Fuck, Mommy, you’re too good! I’m ‘bout to cum for you!” And as much as you want to feel him spray his spunk into your throat, you want him to hold off just a little longer. So you tap him on the thigh and immediately, he pulls out of your mouth with a wanton groan. You take a moment to recover, taking in some breaths, before you explain yourself. “Wait, wait,” you protest. “Not yet.” You peer up at him, giving him a sexy little smile that makes his cock twitch as it hangs at eye level to you. “I wanna feel you first.” 

He knows exactly what that means. You can tell from the way he bites his bottom lip and obscenely strokes his cock in an effort to keep himself hard. “Stay right there,” he orders. “I’ll fuck you just like that.” You do as he says, staying with your head hanging off the edge of the table as he comes around to face your feet. You yelp and giggle as he tugs at your ankles, spreading your thighs for him. 

“Gotta make this quick,” he pants, a smile curling onto his lips. “Just keep it down, will ya?” You stare up at the beautiful, young man, smirking as he pulls your panties aside once more to expose your sodden pussy to him. “You should be tellin’ yourself that, baby boy,” you remark. “You’re always so loud when you’re in this p–” 

The rest of the word is cut off when his thick, long dick is suddenly sliding home inside of you. Finally. You moan in unison with him, grabbing his forearms as if to balance yourself despite lying down. You need to be grounded because the dick is THAT good! It wipes your mind and takes you far away from reality in a way your hubby’s never could. Especially when Gojo starts to fuck you. 

You see stars as he begins to slowly roll his hips, building momentum and a pace that has your pussy opening up more and squelching so lewdly for him. Soon, he begins to draw himself in and out of you at the perfect speed and pace–not too fast but not too slow, allowing you to feel everything and rub your clit in tandem with his thrusts. “And you called me loud,” he grunts through your moans. “How does that dick feel, pretty girl?” 

You can’t speak. The only coherent words you can form are “fuck” and “shit” combined with “oh, oh”s and “ah, ah, ah”s that you shout like damn mantras into the dark, sex-scented room. He grins down at you, the cocky fucker, his pearly whites gleaming with pride as he sluts you out the best way he knows how. 

He then pulls you up by your hand, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him so he is fully standing between your thighs. The new position drags needy moans and gasps out of you, his cock stroking your walls just right at this angle. You toss an arm over his shoulder, pressing your tits into his chest. “Faster, Tarou!” you beg. “Please fuck me faster!” 

Your young lover doesn’t need to be told twice. He stares down at you with eyes full of lust and adoration. All for you.

“Faster?” he parrots, smiling at you. “Whatever you want, miss.”

And then gives it to you like you need, fucking you hard and faster on the table with every intention of making you cum. He fucks you so fast that the table squeaks across the floor and one of your heels falls off of your foot, clattering to the floor. 

You don’t care. His sex takes you away from yourself, his pistoning hips sending you on a journey filled with nothing but pleasure. He kisses you, sloppily and messily, his tongue swirling with yours, leaving his mouth coated in your lipgloss. You love feeling his skin against yours, your nails digging into his back as you get closer and closer to your end.

“Baby, m’almost there!” you warn. “I can’t take much more!” 

Gojo pants in your ear, lightly laughing. “You wanna cum all over this dick, huh?” he huffs. He pauses and draws his dick, sticky and shiny with your juices, out of him. “Then bend over for me,” he demands. His molten stare makes it almost impossible to resist. 

You slide off of the table, still gripping the edge of it due to your wobbly, jelly-like muscles in your limbs. “Yes, Daddy,” you obediently reply.

That lights a fire in Gojo that makes him roughly and impatiently place you in position himself. He bends you over himself, one hand on the small of your back, and slides back inside of you. Your mouth falls agape, your eyes fluttering shut as his cock opens your pussy up, sinking deep, deep, deep inside its wet depths. 

“Keep fuckin’ callin’ me that,” he demands, gripping your hips as he slides his cock in and out of you. “Tell Daddy how good this dick feels.”

You nearly melt around him at his dirty words, loving when he refers to himself as such. You can hardly explain the sheer bliss you feel as his long cock kisses that spot inside of you that makes you see the entire galaxy, shooting stars and the like exploding behind your eyelids. 

“So fuckin’ good, Daddy!” you gasp. “You fuck this pussy so good!”

Your pussy concurs, gushing and squirting around him as he fucks you faster, his balls bumping sweetly against your needy clit. “I know I do. Your bitch-ass husband never could.”

He wraps a hand around your throat, somehow intensifying your pleasure with the way his fingers squeeze your neck. “That’s why you started this, right? So this young dick can take care of you properly?” 

You moan in response, verbalizing your enjoyment from that “young dick” fucking you stupid against the table. With every push and pull of his cock in your wet hole, your legs shake and your clit sings in satisfaction, your fingers moving down to frantically rub at it in time with Gojo’s thrusts.

With one hand, he holds you still by one of your asscheeks while he grips your throat with the other. “Tighten that pussy up, baby,” he grunts. “Lock me in so I can fill you up.”  

You do so, squeezing your inner thighs as you clench your pussy up as best as you can, earning a loud groan in response to your trick. You grin, almost deliriously, and begin tossing your ass back into his cock, slamming your pussy back into him to fuck yourself. “Thaaat’s it, fuck me back,” he moans. “That’s my good fuckin’ girl. Such a little slut for me.” 

SMACK! 

You yelp at the pleasurable sting of his hand coming across your ass, the feeling creating a cocktail of mindblowing pleasure that nearly sends you over the edge. “Gojo, I’m close!” you whine, your voice broken as you bounce on his cock, desperate to cum. “You’re gonna make me–” 

Knock, knock! 

Immediately, you both pause in your fucking and look at each other, wide-eyed and scared shitless. “Shit!” you both whisper-hiss to each other. 

“Hey, somebody in there?” the stranger shouts outside the door. You swear you would’ve pissed on yourself if Gojo’s cock wasn’t inside of you. You hold your breath as the doorknob begins to jiggle, sending your heart into a frenzy. 

There are more footsteps and you cover your mouth to avoid breathing too loud. “What’s up?” another worker asks. The doorknob jiggles again and the first worker huffs impatiently. “The door’s locked.” He knocks louder this time, Hellooo?! Hey, unlock the door! We need to get those tables out!” 

You turn your head to look over your shoulder at Gojo, fear written all over your face. Surprisingly, he looks pretty calm for a guy about to get caught with his dick out and inside his ex-professor. He presses a finger to his lips, telling you to keep quiet, and clears his throat. 

“I’m one of the guests!” he hollers through the door. “Sorry, but I’m changing. I spilled wine all over myself and the bathrooms are full.” 

It’s a shockingly simple lie that slips right off of his tongue. You wouldn’t have thought of that in your panicked state. The workers pause, obviously confused and professing Gojo’s explanation. 

“Ah, well…no disrespect, sir, but ya may need to hurry up,” one of them gruffly replies. “We need more tables for this party and–” 

“Totally understand!” Gojo interrupts him. “Five minutes tops, I promise! Just let me clean up…unless you two wanna see me naked.” He gives you a playful smirk and you nearly laugh behind your hand. You can’t believe he can even find the gull to play games and joke around right now. 

But that gets the workers to fortunately leave. “We’ll be back!” the worker calls before he and his partner head off, their footsteps vanishing down the steps. You and Gojo wait awhile, waiting with baited breath as you both wait to be reassured that you are alone again. When you hear nothing, you let out a breath you were holding for dear life, relieved. 

Gojo sighs too, comfortingly and thoughtfully stroking your ass. “That was close,” he sighs. “We’ll have to make that nut quicker, baby.”

Shockingly, he hasn’t gone soft inside of you. If anything, he is harder and throbbing more than he was earlier. What a freak! “Mmm-hmm,” you hum, wrapping an arm around the back of his head to pull him closer. “We can do that.” 

You turn your head and sloppily kiss him as he begins to fuck you again, rolling his hips into your backside…but not at the pace he did before. It is slow. Painfully and agonizingly slow, taking his sweet time fucking you. “Go faster, Tarou, c’mon,” you demand, pressing your ass farther into him. “Why’re you goin’ so slow? They’re gone, Satoru.” 

SMACK! 

You gasp in surprise, your toes curling at the sharp sting on your ass. You think you hear Gojo groan at the recoil. “Patience, slutty girl,” he growls in your ear. “First, you need to tell me somethin’ I wanna hear if you wanna cum.” Oh, God, not again. You groan in agony and displeasure, deciding to unwind your arm from him to bend over again. 

Deciding to do this yourself, you prepare to fuck yourself back onto him, but his grip on your hips stops you. “Tell me you’re mine again. Tell me you’re my baby, my girl, and mine alone. Tell me you love this fuckin’ cock.” 

Plap-plap-plap go his hips as he slams himself into you, his cock plunging inside of your pussy faster now. “Oh, fuck, Satoru!” you sob, gripping the tablecloth so tight that your knuckles turn pale. 

SMACK! 

“I can’t hear you, mama,” he teasingly says. “Say it and I’ll give you all of this cum.” He pulls you closer by your hips, your ass bouncing against his pelvis with the force of his fucking, causing the table to wobble and shake beneath you. “Tell me, baby,” he pleads. “I need to hear it. Please.” 

Almost as much as you love his dominance, you love his submissiveness too. Hearing him plead with you like that strikes a fire in you that can only be snuffed out by him. So you turn to stare at him over your shoulder, admiring his flushed cheeks and squinty eyes. “I’m your baby,” you softly moan, twirling your ass around and around, much to his enjoyment. “I’m all yours, Daddy. And you’re all mine.” 

You push yourself back into him, bouncing yourself up and down, back and forth onto his dick. “Cum for me!” Fuck me and cum with me like there’s no tomorrow!” You beckon him closer, causing him to stick his face through the crook of your elbow as you once again wind your arm behind his head. He holds you close, pressing his front flush against your back. 

“I want to be yours,” you whisper before giving his bottom lip a gentle suckle. They are forbidden words, words you should not be saying, but they get the job done. Gojo’s hips have a mind of their own as they piston against your ass, slamming his cock in and out of you at a pace that has you both moaning and cussing, pants and gasps leaving your lips. 

You can hardly hold on anymore. Your body is giving out and your thighs are twitching with desperation. You feel like a balloon about to pop as your end crests. Finally, you feel your pussy tighten around his cock and that pleasure builds to a heightened frenzy, crashing down around you. “M’cumming, Tarou!” you sob. 

Gojo digs his face into your neck, breathing in your scent as you blindly drag your fingers through his hair as he rails you. “Me too,” he groans into your neck. “Gonna give it all to you right now. Gonna fuckin’ fill you up again.” 

Reality strikes and it’s like a record scratches somewhere. “W-What?” you stammer.

He doesn’t pay you any mind as he continues to fuck you hard and fast, chasing his oncoming orgasm as his cock swells inside of you. “Wait, wait, Satoru!” you shout. But your shouts of warning and protest fall on deaf ears as Gojo keeps going and going, bringing you along for the ride. 

“Cumming!” he bellows. “M’cumming, miss, fuck!” 

You cannot stop him as he sprays his spunk deep inside of your pussy just as you cream all over his cock. The moment of euphoria takes you away from your absolute horror at the obvious: he came inside of you. Raw. Again.

It is the reason that your high doesn’t last long despite its intensity, causing your mouth to form an O as a long, loud moan drips from your lips, your pussy creaming and dripping around Gojo’s cock. 

But as soon as the feeling comes (or cums), it goes and you are left feeling dirty and manipulated. Gojo wraps his muscular arms around you tight, pressing a kiss to your tremble. “Ah, shit,” he chuckles. “That was amazing, baby. You came so much for me.”

He slides his cock out of you, groaning at the loss and the feeling of you dripping down his balls. “You enjoy yourself?” he teases, his lips tickling your neck. He nuzzles his nose into the space behind your ear, gently nipping at your earlobe. 

“Get off,” you snap. 

He pauses, the silence thick and tense. “What?” he questions, confused and hurt. 

“Get off me!” you angrily snap, pushing him away from you. Gojo stumbles back, nearly tripping into another table since his pants are around his ankles. He stares at you in shock, his blue eyes wide like a doe’s. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?” he meekly asks. 

You almost feel bad for shouting at him so. But you are absolutely furious and can hardly see past your anger. “I told you not to cum inside me! I told you not to, Satoru!” Your shouts are enraged and shrill, stopping your former student short.

“I-I’m sorry, Y/N; I didn’t hear you. Plus, you never told me to stop before, so I didn’t…” 

He trails off, awkwardly standing there as you hurry to put on your cocktail dress. He watches, scowling as you find your other shoe and clutch. “Where are you goin’?” he demands.

You barely spare him a glance; you don’t even zip up your dress or wipe his cum from your dripping thighs. “I’m leaving,” you snap. “Do not follow me.” 

You find the door and tear it open, quickly rushing out into the blinding hallway light. But since Gojo is a rebellious little brat, he follows you, zipping his fly as he does. He has gotten dress, haphazardly so: his shirt is buttoned incorrectly and he is carrying his shoes, making it very obvious that you both just had sex. 

“Sooo that’s just it?” he asks, glaring at you as you head for the stairs. “You fuck me and then leave after tellin’ me all that ‘I wanna be yours’ shit?” 

You pause, your hand on the banister, and you turn around even when you know you shouldn’t. “Gojo, you know that was just sex talk. You act like I haven’t said worse. Please don’t do this now.” 

The young man stares you down, his expression steely despite his wilted, white hair and flushed cheeks. “Do what?” he wryly chuckles. “You mean make you take responsibility for your actions? You mean being real with you about how I feel like adults?” 

You glare at him, hating how condescending he is being. “Don’t talk to me like that!” you snap, wanting to throw your clutch at him in the heat of your rage. “And don’t try to make this my fault when you’re the one who came into that room and kissed me.” 

Gojo huffs, smiling wryly to himself. “Sweetie, that was a joint decision, number one. And second of all, I only came in there to try and fix things with you.” 

You guffaw, dry and humorous. You hate the sound and you know he does too. “Fix things?” you parrot dryly. “Fix things how, Satoru? What, you mean take advantage of my vulnerability and fuck me again?” You scoff to yourself. “Thanks, but you see how that went before.” 

Gojo quizzically squints, cocking his head at you. “Da fuck does that mean?” he demands. But you ignore him, too involved in your own head. “This was a mistake,” you lament, pinching your sinuses. “That night I called was a mistake. You never should’ve come over.” 

“Oh, so this is MY fault?” he growls, pressing a hand against his chest. Against the same heart you’ve heard beating in your ear when you fell asleep on his chest. “If I can remember correctly, YOU called ME after you said all that bullshit about our relationship being wrong and not calling you again. And I listened to you.” He says it so venomously that you flinch. 

“Did you really expect me to say no when you hit me up that night? Seriously, Y/N? You know how I felt about you and you used that to your advantage. This was something we both wanted.” 

And he’s right; you can’t deny it. You wanted him then and you wanted him just a couple minutes ago too. 

The tears come again, fresh yet familiar, and you cover your face in an effort to hide yourself. 

“I fucked up so bad,” you sob into your hands. 

And like your knight in shining armor, even after you just bitched at him, Gojo comes to your rescue. “Hey, hey, shhh,” he gently shushes. “Don’t cry, baby, okay? You’ll ruin your makeup even more.” 

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in despite your resistance. “Listen, if this is really tearing you up, we can end this…but is it really what you want?” You pause, unprepared for the question to be asked. “I see the way you look at your husband,” he continues. “There’s no affection. You two argue a lot. You’re not happy, Y/N.” 

You glare up at him through your tears, even as he looks so concerned and pained for you. “And you think you can help with that?” you scoff, wrenching yourself away from him. 

Gojo scoffs, his blue eyes tantalizing as they are enraging. “I could damn well try…I mean, I’ve been doin’ a pretty good job so far, haven’t I?” He cracks a dry smile that you don’t return. You will admit that you have thought of what it would be like to end up with Gojo and often feel guilty for even cooking up the stupid idea. Now you just feel immensely guilty. 

He takes your silence as sadness and does his very best to change that, as gentle and as sweet as a first time boyfriend. “I just want you to be happy, Y/N, and if I can do anything to make that happen–” 

“I’m pregnant,” you blurt. The words explode out of you, blowing off your top like a teapot. Your eyes widen at the words and you cover your mouth in an effort to perhaps stuff them back inside…but you can’t. The truth is out in the open now, hanging in the air like cigarette smoke, present and thick. 

You watch as Gojo’s blue eyes widen in shock, his jaw slightly slack from your revelation. 

“You’re…” It’s the only word he manages to get out of his pretty, pink lips, shock and confusion evident in his face. You tremble in pure terror, stomach roiling and heart clenched. You could just about die right now. 

Suddenly, Gojo’s lips curl into a smile. One that is obviously hurt, but still dazzling. “Wow,” he exhales. “Baby, that’s great. I know you’ll be an amazing mommy…and your husband will be–” 

“It may not just be his,” you cut in once more. Gojo quickly shuts his mouth, his smile fading. “I had sex with both of you the night you came over.” You flush in your dress with heat, suddenly bashful. “Both of you came inside,” you quietly add. 

The pieces click together for Gojo, evident by the way his brows furrow at you. “Wait…so you’re tellin’ me that I’m the father of your child?” he asks. 

Hearing aloud makes it sound all the more real. And fucking terrifying. “I’m saying you could be,” you reiterate. “There’s a possibility, but we shouldn’t jump to conclusions so quickly. I haven’t had a DNA yet, but not that that would even matter because…” You stop, your eyes trailing off to stare at your shoes. 

“Because what?” Gojo pushes. “You’re not gonna have it?” He says it so gently and carefully that you almost feel bad for thinking of the option. He then scoffs, the sound sharp and raucous. “So why tell me then?” he asks, raising his arms in confusion. 

“Because you needed to know,” you reply, your tone cold. “And even if I was gonna have it, I wouldn’t want you fathering it anyhow.” 

Hurt registers across the young man’s handsome features, making you feel even more like a total bitch. “I’m sorry…that came out wrong,” you sigh. “I just meant I’m not gonna saddle you with a kid and you just graduated college, Gojo. You deserve to live your life without consequences.” 

“But you’re not a consequence,” he impassionately says, taking your hands in his. “This? With you? Is not a consequence. And if you decide to have that baby and let me father it, that won’t be a consequence either.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles, somehow making the urge to cry again push up against your chest. “Don’t you get it?” he groans as if panied. “I want to be with you, Y/N. I love–” 

“Don’t.” 

The word is cold and final, left suspended in the air as you tear your hands away from his. “Do not say you love me, Satoru,” you hiss. “I am married and I’m your former teacher, so don’t think we could ever be together or that you could father this baby. We weren’t even dating before this whole mess started and I got pregnant! We were just fucking!” 

“What?” 

At the other voice, you turn around, alarmed, and your mouth falls agape. “Honey,” you gasp, startled half to death. And you most definitely could die right here, right now. 

Your husband stands at the end of the hallway where the elevators are, rage and devastation radiating in his eyes. “You’re fucking your student?” he snaps. 

You can feel Gojo behind you, his shock and fear felt throughout your body. You stare at your husband, speechless, your stomach dropping into your ass. “H-Honey, I can explain everything,” you stammer. “I was going to–” 

“And what’s this I hear about you being pregnant?” your husband hisses. You swallow hard, your mind growing blank and the urge to run blooming inside of you. Oh, shit.

To Be Continued…

[emonaculate]

warning 18+

bulking season bf!toji fushiguro x f!reader🍫 ─────────────────────────── you should’ve known better than to bake aphrodisiac-laced chocolate for a man whose cock is already this heavy on a rest day.

cw: aphrodisiac use, dubcon energy, intense size kink, morning-after continuation, heavy creampie detail, degradation + praise, light choking, possessive, rimming, piss kink, thick cock worship, finger sucking, spit

───────────────────────────

you didn��t even mean for it to get nasty. you were just playing around, honestly. the aphrodisiac chocolates had been sitting in your drawer since that one dumb tiktok trend went viral, and you bought them as a joke, more curious than anything. they were shaped like hearts, barely smelled like cocoa, and supposedly made with some obscure herb that increased sensitivity and blood flow. whatever. they’d probably do nothing. but it was a boring saturday, his stupid team was losing again, and he was in one of his bulking moods always grumbling about macros and how his legs were sore and how his back felt tight even though he spent the entire day sprawled on the couch. so you figured, why not. you crumbled up three of those little hearts and stirred them right into the muffin batter, along with his favorite chocolate whey protein, flaxseed, a little oat flour, and that fake sugar he liked. they looked innocent. smelled good too. you even sprinkled dark chocolate chunks on top so they felt indulgent.

you were still mixing when you felt that big fucking hand smack your ass, the sting warm and sharp.

he walked by without looking at you like it was nothing, wearing nothing but his black compression shorts and one of those old tournament tees that clung to his back. his arms looked thicker than usual he’d been on some mass phase that turned his triceps round and full and his stomach into that heavy, firm softness that made him feel dangerous when he pinned you down. his thighs were beefy and slow-moving, and when he bent down to grab a beer from the fridge, you watched the fabric strain around the curve of his ass like it owed you something.

he popped the can open and took a long drink, foam sliding down the corner of his mouth. you laughed, swatting his arm as he kissed your cheek.

you smell like powder and beer. move.

he grinned, grumbled something about the game, and walked back to the couch.

you baked the muffins. pulled them out golden, warm, fluffy, dark chocolate bleeding from the tops. you left them to cool on the counter and slipped away to the bathroom to rinse the sticky batter off your hands. maybe three minutes, tops. when you came back, the tray was empty except for one.

he didn’t even hide it. he was leaning against the counter with chocolate crumbs on his lip, chewing the last bite of the second-to-last one, like he didn’t just eat five muscle muffins in under three minutes.

you stood there in silence.

toji.

he looked up, mouth full, blinked slowly.

hmm?

you pointed at the tray.

what the fuck, babe. you ate all of them?

he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugged, tone smug.

i left you one.

you stared harder.

wow. thank you. king shit. leaving me one of the muffins i made from your expensive ass protein powder.

he smirked, walked past you toward the living room again.

could’ve eaten that one too. i was nice.

you followed him.

you’re a fucking jerk sometimes, toji. greedy ass.

he turned, and his face looked different. not defensive. flushed. like the heat hit him late. his eyes were a little too half-lidded, that casual post-meal glow a little too glassy. he leaned back against the counter, beer still in hand, and you noticed the way he adjusted his waistband. the compression shorts weren’t hiding anything. his cock was already thickening, heavy and outlined, hanging to the side and rising slow, fat from the bulk, veins showing along the shaft like he was halfway hard without even trying.

he blinked at you again.

you say that like it’s not sexy watching me eat.

you squinted.

you high?

he looked confused, then smirked wider.

nah. i just feel good. what’d you put in those muffins?

you crossed your arms.

…chocolate.

his hand reached down and adjusted again. his cock twitched under the fabric.

mm. you put steroids in that shit? ‘cause i feel like i could fuck you through the wall right now.

you rolled your eyes but your thighs clenched.

you’re so full of yourself. big back.

he laughed, deep and slow, took another sip of his beer and tilted his head.

big back that’s gonna fold you over the sink in five seconds if you keep mouthing off.

you stared at the outline of his cock fully hard now, straining, the tip pressing high, the shaft wide and curved with the kind of bulked-up heaviness that made your mouth ache just thinking about it. he was flushed down to his chest, neck pink, voice deeper. the aphrodisiacs were kicking in hard, and he had no idea why just knew he was turned on and looking at you like you were a cheat meal and a challenge all in one.

his beer hit the counter with a loud clink.

you still mad about the muffins?

you didn’t answer.

his eyes dropped to your thighs.

yeah. thought so.

he didn’t give you time to run. didn’t even pretend to play nice. one second you were glaring at him, hands on your hips like you were gonna keep arguing, and the next, he had both your wrists in one of his hands and your body bent clean over the kitchen counter, your cheek pressing into the still-warm granite like it was punishment. the tray clattered next to your face, one lonely muffin left behind, and his beer bottle rolled sideways, forgotten. his grip on your wrists tightened just slightly firm enough to hold you still, loose enough to tease. his other hand slipped under your shirt, palm dragging over your stomach, and you felt the weight of him behind you, chest hot and solid, that firm bulked-up belly pinning your hips down like he was built to keep you there.

you felt it before it hit. his hand lifted, then cracked back down on your ass hard, a full open-palm slap that made your hips jerk forward and your mouth fall open with a breathy yelp. the sting bloomed fast, heat spreading, and he leaned over you, lips against your ear as he growled low.

that’s one muffin.

you twisted your face against the counter, half-laughing, half-squirming, the ache spreading deeper with every second. your skirt was already pushed up, your thighs open, panties crooked and damp from how hard your heart was beating. you wanted to be mad. you were mad. but your ass lifted again, greedy and twitching, and he noticed. his hand came down again. same cheek. sharper this time, more of a slap than a spank.

two.

fuck you, you overgrown glutton.

he chuckled dark against your neck and licked a slow stripe up the side of it. you felt the curve of his cock pressing against your ass, thick and full and leaking into his shorts now, the head wet and bulging against the waistband. his body felt like a furnace, bulking-season heat turning his whole chest into something heavy and suffocating as it dragged down your back. his hand reached around and shoved your panties further to the side, two fingers sliding through the slick between your thighs.

mm. you’re wet. you like being punished for chocolate, huh?

i liked the part before you opened your mouth..

another slap. harder. lower. made your clit jump from the vibration of it.

three.

you hissed through your teeth, but your ass stayed up, back arched like you needed more. he grabbed the side of your jaw, turned your face toward him, and shoved two fingers past your lips sticky from your own slick, the taste already faintly sweet. you sucked them in slow, dragging your tongue along the pads, teeth brushing just barely.

he looked down at you, smirking, and started moving his fingers in and out of your mouth like he was testing depth.

four.

you moaned around them, lips popping, and he shoved your face back down onto the counter, fingers dragging out wet. he spanked you again, same rhythm, a little higher this time, making your whole body jerk forward from the impact.

five.

you giggled breathlessly and rolled your hips back into him.

can you count without losing breath?

he grabbed your hair and yanked your head back just enough to make you gasp, your spine bowing beneath him. his cock pressed harder against your ass now, twitching visibly through the fabric.

don’t make me count with my cock instead.

you moaned louder than you meant to. your pussy was dripping, your thighs sticky, clit swollen and throbbing from the slap-rub rhythm he kept grinding into you with that brutal body weight. he was sweating now too, heat radiating off his skin, mouth hot against your neck as he whispered—

six.

you didn’t even feel the slap before you felt yourself twitch. your clit rubbed up against the edge of the counter. your mouth dropped open in a low gasp.

seven.

he kissed your shoulder, still smirking, and dragged his fingers between your legs again, then brought them back to your lips, slick and warm. you sucked them without hesitation this time. your body was swaying, rolling back into his grip like instinct, ass high and cunt dripping while he lined himself up behind you, rubbing the thick head of his cock between your folds like he was testing how far he could stretch you before you even said a word.

eight.

you heard yourself laugh and sob in the same breath. he didn’t let up.

the whole thing stopped when your phone started ringing loud and shrill, cutting through the heat like cold water. you jumped off the counter fast, pulling your shirt down and stumbling into the hallway while muttering something about it being your friend and how you’d deal with him later. he grunted something but didn’t follow, probably still standing there half-hard, flushed, and foaming at the mouth. you shut the door to the bedroom and answered the call like your face wasn’t red and your thighs weren’t sticky with your own slick. tried to focus. nodded through the updates about someone’s breakup and how the group chat was dead without you. you were just starting to feel normal again, legs still sore, when you heard the door creak open.

he didn’t say anything. just walked in like he had every right to interrupt. sat next to you on the edge of the bed, shirtless now, that thick bulked-up body warm and sweaty, the smell of chocolate and protein powder still clinging to his skin. you tried to keep your voice steady, but he leaned in close and started pressing soft kisses to your cheek like he was innocent. like he wasn’t the same man who spanked you eight times in a row like a delinquent five minutes ago.

you ignored him.

he licked the shell of your ear.

you wet right now?

you flinched, elbowing him off, mouthing shut up, i’m on the phone, but he just grinned and pulled you closer by the waist, mouth dragging along your jaw.

did you touch yourself today?

you hissed through your teeth and turned away from him, still nodding to the phone, but your eyes rolled when you felt the shape of his cock through his shorts pressing to your side.

do you like my cock?

he said it with a straight face like he was asking you about the weather. you shoved him again, whispering you’re disgusting and i’m tired, and he just blinked, offended.

you stood up, phone still to your ear, and said you were going to shower and do skincare. tried to escape. told him to wait for you, literally begged him not to be a freak for ten minutes. but he followed you down the hall like a damn animal, dragging his feet, head tilted low, big arms hanging loose, shorts tenting with the outline of his thick cock already half out the waistband. you were halfway into the bathroom when he yanked them down to his thighs and slapped the heavy thing against his stomach with a loud thwack, the sound echoing off the walls.

you turned around with wide eyes, still holding your cleanser bottle.

you need help. what the fuck is wrong with you tonight?

he was sweating. hard. chest flushed, lips parted, cock twitching thick and veiny with that full weight. he gripped the base lazily, stroking it slow like it owed him answers.

lemme have your panties.

you laughed like you were being pranked.

no. they’re gross. literally sweaty and full of discharge. stop being weird.

he growled, eyes locked on your hips like you were already undressing.

that’s why i want them.

you looked at him like he needed a hospital. you rolled your eyes and tossed them at him from the doorway, half expecting him to joke except he didn’t. he grabbed them like they were sacred, wrapped them around his cock and started stroking harder, groaning under his breath as the fabric dragged slick down his shaft. he smelled them first. then kept going.

baby, come back.

you stared, stunned, jaw dropped, laughing as you backed into the bathroom like he was possessed.

you’re actually disgusting tonight. i’m scared.

he grinned like it was a compliment. still stroking. cock gleaming with spit and your old discharge. voice low and hoarse like he was pleading now.

just come back. five minutes. c’mon, let me fuck you up a little.

you shut the door before he made you say yes.

but you were smiling.

you walked out of the shower with wet hair, a towel wrapped high around your chest and steam still clinging to your legs when you saw him on the bed legs spread, back against the headboard, one hand stroking his cock slow while your panties were on his fucking face. not just held there. stretched across his mouth, the fabric pulled tight under his nose like he was breathing in the scent of you, huffing hard while his palm glided up and down his thick shaft. he was already flushed. drenched in sweat. eyes glassy and wild like he’d been edging himself with your name in his head the whole time you were gone.

you stopped cold in the doorway, one leg still in the bathroom.

are you serious right now?

he looked up slowly. didn’t move the panties. didn’t even blink.

you took too long.

you rolled your eyes and turned back toward the closet, muttering under your breath, already reaching for a shirt. your towel was still clinging to your hips, and the moment he saw you grab anything, he growled.

don’t put that on.

you ignored him.

toji, shut up.

he stood. fast. his cock still in hand, hard and leaking, bouncing with every step as he moved toward you, thighs thick and full and loud against the floor. his shadow covered you in one step. your towel was gone in the next. yanked clean off and tossed straight over the balcony like he had no sense of reality left.

you screamed.

what the fuck?!

he didn’t answer. didn’t care. just stood there staring at you like you were made of gold and filth and his name written on skin. his cock twitched in his hand again, a string of slick still connecting his thumb to the flushed tip, the whole thing fat and swollen and angry looking, like it had been waiting too long. he started stroking again, eyes dropping straight to your tits and lower. your stomach. your thighs. your pussy still damp and shiny from the shower. his gaze slowed down, mouth hanging open a little, lips pressed into your soaked panties again as he moaned like he’d been starving.

you’re fucking insane. what is wrong with you?

he didn’t flinch. his eyes stayed on your pussy. his hand stroked harder. faster. your insults didn’t even register. he was jerking off to the way your thighs rubbed together when you shifted your weight, to the curve of your ass from the side, to the way your nipples perked from the cold air. he kept moaning low, soft, not loud but desperate. the kind that scared you. his chest was rising fast. face flushed, forehead damp. the chocolate definitely hit too deep. and the way he looked at you wasn’t romantic or sweet. it was deranged. feral. the kind of hunger that had no language.

you’re a fucking psycho tonight, oh my god.

he dropped the panties. grabbed your face with one hand, rough, fast, and kissed you like he was dying. not gentle. his lips crashed into yours and his tongue shoved in immediately, messy and hot, licking over your tongue and sucking on it like it was wet candy. you tried to pull away but he held your jaw tight, chest pressed against yours now, heavy and hot and huge, cock still rubbing up against your belly as he ground against you, growling like a man who hadn’t cum in a year.

you tasted the sweat. the chocolate. the spit. your own slick.

his other hand grabbed your thigh and lifted it, shoving it between his legs so he could grind on it, cock dragging across your skin, wet and heavy, the head leaving smears on your inner thigh as he humped it slow, panting harder.

baby. baby fuck. you feel so small. so soft. so tight.

you whimpered when his hand wrapped around your throat, thumb pressing up under your jaw, not squeezing hard but firm enough to make you feel it when you swallowed. his kisses didn’t stop. he was biting now. licking the corner of your mouth. pulling at your lips with his teeth. his whole body was crushing you against the closet door and you could feel the thickness of his arms pressing in from either side, his back broad enough to block the hallway.

you dug your nails into his shoulders, scratching, hissing between gasps.

you’re fucking disgusting tonight, jesus—

he humped harder. his cock twitched. he slapped it against your belly again with a thick wet thud and groaned into your mouth.

he didn’t ask. he picked you up. your leg still caught around his waist, his arms under your ass, that towel long forgotten, your clothes gone, his body hot enough to steam glass.

you weren’t escaping. you didn’t want to.

your back slammed against the wall, chest heaving, breath caught halfway in your throat as his cock rubbed slick and hot between your thighs. he was still grinding on you like he couldn’t think straight, his sweat mixing with the water on your skin, his lips open against your mouth, panting like an animal that couldn’t stop pacing. you pushed against his chest just barely, enough to give yourself space to breathe, but not enough to stop him.

i gave you something, you muttered, almost breathless, voice shaky as his mouth trailed down your collarbone.

he didn’t stop.

something like what?

your hand pushed weakly at his shoulder. you weren’t even sure why you said it. maybe guilt. maybe pride.

in the muffins. they had… like, aphrodisiac shit in them.

he froze. only for a second. just long enough for his eyes to flick up and look at you with something new hunger wrapped in something sharper. his jaw clenched. the muscles in his arms flexed where they held you. then he grinned.

you dirty fucking girl.

he grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up like you weighed nothing, your back thudding against the wall again as he shifted his hips and lined his cock up with your entrance. he didn’t tease. didn’t ask. he just pressed in raw and thick, your walls stretching fast around him as he filled you in one long, punishing stroke. your nails dug into his shoulders, mouth open in a gasp, the pressure dizzying. he was too big like this, too warm, his cock fat and swollen and harder than it had ever been, the aphrodisiac still burning through his bloodstream like fuel.

he fucked into you like he was chasing something down, every thrust heavy and deep, his hips snapping forward fast enough that your whole body bounced up the wall with each one. the air got knocked out of you every time he bottomed out. he grunted into your neck, the sound low and guttural, his words hot against your ear.

you feed me that shit just to get fucked stupid like this? you wanted this cock that bad, baby?

you didn’t answer. couldn’t. your head rolled back against the wall, legs locked tight around his waist, cunt clenching around him so hard it made him groan. he kept fucking you through it, through the twitching, through the tight squeeze, through the way your slick dripped down his balls and hit the floor. he didn’t slow down until your whole body started to go limp.

then he dropped to his knees with you. laid you out flat on the floor and spread your legs wide with both hands, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs like he was bruising ownership into you. he didn’t even wait to kiss. he dove in like a man gone mad, his tongue flat against your folds, dragging up and down through the mess he left inside you, nose bumping your clit, jaw grinding against your pussy like he was trying to pull another orgasm out of you just by sucking.

he licked like it was work. like he was mad about it. tongue shoved into your hole, fucking you open, then licking his way back up only to slap your clit with the tip of it over and over until you were jerking under him, your legs kicking, hands fisting the sheets.

fuck, toji, you’re gonna make me—

he didn’t let you finish. didn’t care. he moaned into you, tongue curling and dragging, mouth open and messy, chin soaked, his whole face buried between your legs like your pussy was the only thing keeping him alive.

this what you wanted, huh? you wanna drug me, make me lose my fuckin mind?

you slapped at his arm, still shrieking, but laughing now too, twisted and gasping.

you’re fucking gross, jesus christ—

gonna fuck this apology out of you. you wanna feed me sex drugs and then leave me hard? thought you were gonna shower and sleep and not let me breed this pretty pussy?

he had you bent over the balcony railing with your tits smashed against the cold metal, breath fogging up the night air, thighs trembling and slick. his cock was already buried halfway in you and he hadn’t even moved yet, just grinding slow against your ass like he wanted to remember how tight you were before ruining it completely. his body was hot behind you, chest soaked with sweat, the bulk of him weighing down every inch of your spine. his stomach rested on your lower back, firm and heavy from the bulking phase, and the thick stretch of his cock had your cunt fluttering before he even pulled back. he exhaled against your ear rough, panting, jaw clenched so tight you could feel his breath shudder when he spoke.

you think this shit’s funny? you fed me some nasty little pussy drug and then ran away to do your skincare like i’m supposed to sit there hard as fuck and not take it out on you?

you shook your head, voice breaking as you tried to form a sentence, the pressure too much already. your hands scrambled for grip, your hips jerking forward when he shoved in deeper, the base of his cock pressing up against your puffy lips and the weight of his balls slapping hot against your clit. you moaned, loud and unfiltered, thighs already sticky from a mix of sweat, slick, and his spit.

i-it’s not a drug, i swear, i just— it was stupid, i saw it online, it said—

he cut you off with a loud grunt, hips snapping forward, dragging a cry out of your chest as your cunt swallowed him to the root. his cock throbbed inside you, so thick and stretched from bulking it felt like you were stuffed with a hot pipe, every ridge of his length dragging against your walls with slow, deliberate friction.

it’s not a drug, huh? then why the fuck does it feel like i’ve been edged for three hours straight with my cock full and my brain empty except for how bad i wanna watch your pussy leak?

you choked on your moan, your body trembling under him. he pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, hard, so loud it echoed across the balcony and bounced off the buildings across the street. you barely noticed the air. barely noticed the night. all you felt was the weight of him, the rage, the obsession, the way his hips snapped like it was punishment.

he started fucking you harder, rougher, and mid-thrust he suddenly paused, grabbed the base of his cock and pulled out, spit dripping from the head, thick veins bulging. you gasped and tried to turn, but his hand was already in your hair, pressing your face down to the rail as he shifted his weight and growled low.

don’t move. fuck shit, baby, i gotta piss.

your whole body tensed, panic crawling up your spine, and you cried out, struggling under him, your voice sharp.

toji—no, the fuck is wrong with you—

he laughed, soft and low, teeth showing in a grin you couldn’t see, voice hoarse.

nah, this is what you get. you feed me some slick little chocolate pussy poison and leave me like a fuckin dog? you get all of it.

he gripped the base of his cock with one thick fist and let go, piss splashing hot against the top of your ass, between your cheeks, running down over your pussy and inner thighs. your back arched and your moan broke into a sob, the sound caught somewhere between disgust and overstimulation as the heat of it soaked you and dripped past your clit. you thrashed once, gasping your voice cracked and hitched.

you’re fucking sick—oh my god, you’re disgusting, what the fuck is wrong with you—

he moaned louder than you, hand stroking himself through it like it was pleasure, not releases, hips jerking with each squeeze.

mm. you like it. feel that? feel how my cock’s still hard even while i’m marking you? fuck, look at that pussy, twitching while i piss on it. can’t believe you thought you were gonna sleep tonight.

you sobbed again, shaking, cunt clenching involuntarily from the humiliation and the heat of his body, and when he was done he didn’t even give you a second. he gripped your hips and shoved his cock back inside raw, sliding through the mess he left like it was lube, his thrusts wet and vicious, his balls still dripping, the slap of skin on skin louder now, filthier.

he grabbed your throat from behind and yanked your back into his chest, voice rasping into your ear.

you don’t feed me shit like that unless you wanna see what it does, yeah? look what you did. look how fuckin big you got me. made me this way. now take it.

you couldn’t even speak anymore. only sounds. gasps. wet moans. tears on your cheeks while he kissed your jaw with too much tongue, licking your face, biting your earlobe, rutting into you like a dog in heat while one hand slid down to rub your clit fast and messy.

that’s it. let me fuck it out of you. cry about it. you don’t get to come until you learn.

you nodded fast, mouth open, drooling now, body convulsing every time his cock kissed your cervix.

i said cry about it.

you sobbed harder. said sorry. begged. not for forgiveness—just to come.

he let you. and when you came, it was so hard your vision blacked, cunt squirting around him like a faucet, legs giving out, and he held you there, fucked you through it like he wasn’t done.

because he wasn’t.

you woke up sore. not just sore wrecked. your thighs ached deep in the muscle, your cunt was tender and raw, still sticky where it rubbed against the sheets, and your whole lower body pulsed like something had been pulled too far open and left that way. your skin smelled like sex. your breath tasted like his spit. your arms were limp, your mouth dry, and for a second you thought maybe he’d finally stopped.

until you shifted. and felt it.

his cock. still heavy. still thick. pressed to the curve of your ass under the sheets like it had been sitting there all night waiting for permission.

you groaned, tried to roll away, but his arm slipped around your waist and held you there, one big hand splayed over your stomach, pulling you back against the heat of his chest. his voice was low and rough in your ear, sleep-wrecked but alert.

where the fuck you think you’re going?

you sighed, already annoyed, already tired, but he didn’t loosen his grip. just slid his hand down over your hip and cupped your bare pussy from behind, fingers dragging through the dried mess between your folds like he was checking inventory.

you’re still soaked. feels like you leaked in your sleep. maybe we didn’t finish.

you elbowed him weakly, face hot, cunt clenching involuntarily against his palm.

shut up. you’re disgusting. that shit wore off hours ago.

he laughed, deep and low in his chest, cock twitching harder now where it rested against your ass.

nah. i still feel it. still fucked up over you. you think you can drug me, get used like a toy, and then act shy when the sun comes up?

his hand slipped back up to your tits, squeezing one lazily, then back down between your thighs, rubbing slow circles into your sore clit. your body jerked, half-flinched, half-needy, and he kissed your neck.

ride it out. burn off the rest of the dose. sit on it and make it go away.

you turned and stared at him, annoyed, blinking against the light, but the look in his eyes was already glazed over, half-lidded and waiting. he looked like he hadn’t even gone soft in his sleep. you threw the sheet off with a huff and swung your leg over his hips, straddling him. your cunt dragged against his cock, both of you still sticky from the night before, and you rolled your eyes as he groaned under you.

you’re nasty. i should make you apologize.

he grinned, arms behind his head, cock thick and upright between your thighs.

do it with your mouth then.

you paused, breathing heavy, and dropped your hips down, taking the tip in slow, your body already twitching from the stretch. he was hot. swollen. too much for the morning, too much for your still-aching pussy. but you sank down anyway, inch by inch, cunt stretching open around him like it was made for it. when he bottomed out, you gasped, hands planted flat on his stomach. he reached forward and gripped your waist.

now say sorry.

you started riding. slow at first, the slide messy and loud, your thighs smacking against his with each bounce. you felt everything. the weight of him inside, the slick of old cum and dried slick, the sweat that never left his chest. he watched your tits bounce, watched the way your stomach pulled tight with every roll of your hips, his cock dragging up and catching on your clit at just the right angle.

you said nothing.

he sat up. grabbed your face. kissed you full on the mouth, licking your teeth, spitting into your mouth as he growled against your lips.

say sorry, baby. say you’re sorry for getting me addicted to your fuckin pussy.

you whimpered. hips rolled faster. the slap of your skin against his thighs louder now, filthier, the sound of your breath tangled in moans and curses. his cock pulsed inside you.

then make me forgive you.

he didn’t let you clean up. didn’t let you pull your legs together or roll away or even think about the mess between your thighs. you were still catching your breath, chest sticking to the sheets, cheek smushed against the mattress and your whole body soft and fucked-stupid when he pulled your hips back toward him and slid a pillow under your stomach. you barely moved. just let him do it. your arms were slack, tits resting heavy against the bed, lips parted and eyes half-shut as he pushed your thighs apart again and settled behind you.

he was still hard.

you moaned when he pushed back in. not loud, not shocked just a slow, tired moan, your voice almost sleepy from how full you already were. his cock slid in with a wet glide, pussy fluttering open from how wrecked you were, the stretch not sharp now, just deep. aching. familiar. his hips moved slow, shallow thrusts that rocked your body forward gently against the mattress. his hands stayed on your ass. never left. he massaged it in slow circles, thumbs digging into the softness, fingers spreading you apart to watch how your pussy stretched and swallowed him all over again.

good girl. so warm like this. open for me even now.

his voice was low, almost lazy. not teasing just full. like his mouth couldn’t help it. one hand slid lower, fingers pressing between your folds to spread the mess there, the mix of cum and slick and sweat still dripping from where he’d been in you all night. his other hand gripped one cheek and spread you wide, thumb brushing up between your ass slowly, slow enough for you to feel the anticipation build before he dragged it down again. your rim twitched.

you whispered something, slurred and soft, but it came out as a moan when he pressed his finger there just resting the pad against it, not pushing yet, just rubbing slow. he leaned over you, spit pooling in his mouth before he let it drip down between your cheeks, warm and thick, landing right where his finger was. you gasped and arched your back, more from the feeling than the surprise. your thighs trembled.

don’t tighten up, baby. it’s just me. relax for me.

his finger circled again. then slipped in.

not all the way. just the tip. just enough to stretch your rim a little, his finger slick with spit, his cock still dragging in and out of your pussy slow and heavy. your ass clenched and he moaned under his breath, fingers flexing as he pushed a little deeper, then pulled out. he brought it to his mouth and licked it clean like it was natural. didn’t rush. just sucked it slow, tongue dragging over the tip, eyes half-lidded as he groaned.

you taste like sin. i swear to god, you were made for me.

you whimpered into the sheets. your breath stuttered. your cunt clenched.

he leaned over your back, his belly warm against your spine, one hand still stroking the cleft of your ass, his other sliding under to rub your clit slow with two fingers.

pussy’s still milking me. like it doesn’t know we’re done. look at you, twitching like you want more even while you’re falling asleep.

you whispered don’t be gross under your breath but your hips pushed back into him, slow and instinctive, your body chasing the rhythm even if your brain had clocked out.

he chuckled against your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin softly as he whispered against it.

you say that but this messy pussy says otherwise. you want it even like this, all quiet and stretched out and tired. good little fuckhole. can’t help it, huh?

you moaned again, louder this time, breath breaking as his hips met yours harder now, slow but deep, each thrust rocking you into the bed.

you clung to the sheets, fingers weak, nails dragging lazy against the cotton.

he parted your ass again and spit one more time, rubbing it down between your cheeks before sliding the tip of his finger back in, slow and deliberate, while fucking you with his cock at the same time. your body shook. your mouth dropped open.

good girl. let me keep you open a little longer. just like this. just like you were made for it.

he fucked you slow and didn’t stop until you came again. barely able to breathe. moaning into the sheets, cunt tightening, ass twitching around his finger, his cock buried deep while your whole body pulsed around every inch of him.

and then he pulled out, kissed your spine, and licked your hole one more time. slow. wet. his tongue dragging low and filthy as his breath shivered over your skin.

you tasted like something he’d never stop wanting.

(๑･̑◡･̑๑) thank you for reading, you nasty little angels. this was unhinged, sweaty, and absolutely necessary. reblogs keep me fed, filthy comments keep me harder. see you next sin🎀

onlypinkslut

[emonaculate]

Season 3 didn’t happen

Season 3 didn’t happen

Season 3 didn’t happen

Season 3 didn’t happen

Season 3 didn’t happen

Season 3 didn’t happen

Season 3 didn’t happen

Season 3 didn’t happen

Season 3 didn’t happen

Season 3 didn’t happen

Season 3 didn’t happen

[emonaculate]

Netflix will be hearing from my lawyers because WTF was this season of Squid Games? My eyes BURN from the amount of tears I’ve shed. I HATE EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE!

I want to rant so bad but no spoilers yet. Just pain, that’s all I can feel rn and a bunch of fucking anger

[emonaculate]

NIC AND OLANDRIA KISS WAS HOT AF I GOT HOT IN THE FACE SJSJDJDNDKSJDJD WE RISEEEEE ! MY COUPLE IDC

[emonaculate]

gojo gets sooo upset when you talk while you two have sex.

“f-fuhuckkk baby…” gojo groans out, his beefy arms encaging your head. “please, please..” you moan out, holding satoru’s face in your hands. he furrows his eyebrows together and huffs, bringing two strong hands up to unlatch your ankles from his waist and push them against your torso. this new angle has you screaming, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

but you’re still fucking talking. “i can’t! y’too deep!” you cry out, clawing at his scarred up back. is he not fucking you good enough? why are you still able to talk? his thrusts turn from rapid to more precise and deep, making you lose your mind. your body locks up almost, your toes curling and your knees buckling. satoru smiles at your reaction, still fucking your through and after your orgasm.

“w-what’re you doin’?” you ask, tears brewing in your eyes. “you can still talk, baby. i want your brain leaking out of your ears…”

[emonaculate]

Reading my own fanfiction is basically just a rollercoaster of emotional whiplash.

20% of the time: “Hold on. I wrote this? This is fire. This is emotionally devastating in the best way. This scene is dripping with tension. I’m a literary perfectionist. Someone give me a book deal.”

80% of the time: “Straight to jail. Immediate prison. Why is everyone’s breath hitching?. I used the word ‘gaze’ three times in one paragraph like I was possessed. Did I think 'his eyes darkened' was profound? Why is everyone clenching their jaws? Why is someone whispering 'their name like a prayer' again?? No one talks like this. What is this dialogue. Why are there so many weird metaphors and em-dashes…”

[emonaculate]

“First and foremost I’m writing for myself,” I hiss through my teeth, resisting the urge to refresh my email for an Ao3 message for the 100th time.

[emonaculate]

Not like my usual posts, This is a personal Story.

but I can’t stay silent about what’s happening in the United States with immigration and ICE. I’m “American” now—but before anything, I’m Latina.

When I was six years old, I migrated to the U.S. with my mother in search of my father, who had left for America before us. We left our hometown in Honduras at night. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to any of my friends.

We traveled from bus to bus with our coyote—the person responsible for guiding us across the border. Sometimes we had to walk for hours. My mother remembers us trekking through mud that reached up to my knees.

Eventually, we arrived at a house near the Mexican-American border, where many others were waiting to be transported across. Some were sent back to their countries if their payments couldn’t be met.

That house was also where we said goodbye to our original coyote—his job with us was over. I cried. He had once told me to pretend he was my father in front of some men, for our safety. I missed having a father so much that I sat on his lap, called him papi, and didn’t want to let go. For a brief time, I believed he could be mine.

And then, just like that, another father figure was gone.

I remember when we finally made it to the Rio Grande. The water was calm that day. We sat on a small floating boat, and after nearly two months without seeing a river, I reached down excitedly to touch it. My mom quickly warned me not to. She told me about the dangers hidden beneath the surface—the animals, the current. I pulled my hand back.

Once we reached the American side, we quietly said goodbye to everyone and split up. My mother and I ran toward U.S. territory. Once your feet touch American soil, they have no choice but to let you in.

I still remember the detention center. There were so many other Hispanic families being held—men, women, and children. We were given foil blankets to sleep with. My mom gathered extra, bundling some into a pillow for me, using the rest to cover our bodies, head-to-toe since the lights never went out.

There were maybe 20 to 25 people in one cell. No privacy. We all shared a single, open toilet. I had to use the bathroom while my mom shielded me with her body.

One of the border patrol agents took a liking to me. He’d bring me a box of snacks just for me, and I’d share it with the others. The people in the cell would even ask me to talk to him again so he’d bring us more. That was my world for about a month.

Then they released us. My father met us, and I remember hugging him tightly. He showed us around the city, took us to our first Walmart. Everything felt so big. So new. So American.

But even now, it’s not fair—what ICE agents are doing to my people.

I know these people. I come from them. My family—like so many others—worked jobs no one else wanted. Underpaid, undervalued, but necessary. I’ve seen my people work long hours, get home late, and still keep going because they didn’t have another option. Because they came here chasing the promise of opportunity.

And still, they live in fear. Fear of being stopped at night. Fear of being asked for papers. Fear of being separated from their children.

It’s not fair what ICE agents are currently doing to my people. I see the news. I see the raids, the cruelty, the indifference. But I also see the mothers, the fathers, the kids—the families just like mine—who still believe in this country because they have no choice but to.

I was taught to love America since I was little. I recited the Pledge of Allegiance in school. I memorized all the holidays. I chased the dream like everyone else.

But the truth is—America has never fully loved my people back. And yet we continue to love it. We show up. We work. We raise our kids. We start businesses. We live with dignity even when it’s denied to us.

This story may not be new to the world. But it’s mine. It’s my mother’s. It’s my father’s. It’s the story of millions of us.

- To my people, who welcome me back with open arms when the Americans look at me differently.

[emonaculate]

I shit y’all not, I just saw someone ship Gojo x megumi and it was the most violent and depraved thing I’ve ever read. Yo deadass block me if that’s what you’re into. I can deal with a lot in this fandom but no revenge p*rn of megs and his fucking mentor. Some people belong on a watch list 🤢🤮

[emonaculate]

house party 𝜗𝜚⋆

cw: plot, eventual smut, drunk gojo, college au, alcohol, dubconish

satoru’s house parties are flings of the century. rowdy and plenty of alcohol and weed and don’t you dare think he doesn’t have a game of football on and he’s not jumping up and down when the players score.

it’s loud. so, so loud.

but as his grumpy roommate, the only thing you can do is shove your airpods in and nestle deeper into your sheets and will him to just please, tell them to go home!

but unfortunately, such an anti-party attitude doesn’t fly over with satoru too well!

partygoers (a drunk shoko and utahime) pound on your bedroom door, slurring their words and laughing about how lame you are, and you’ve finally had enough.

“gojo! tell all these people to go home!” you snap, sticking your head out your bedroom door.

but your snowy haired roommate is busy wasted on the couch, slugging another bottle of beer with that annoying wide smirk.

“somethin’ wrong, babe?” he teases. “not one for parties, huh?”

you scowl at him. “I’m not your babe. get over here, I need to talk to you.” you hope you can knock some sense into him, maybe he’ll kick everyone out if you tell him you’ve got exams tomorrow.

anything to get this ruckus out!

well, maybe not anything, but it’s too late because now he’s in your room, closing your door, meeting your angry gaze with his bright blue — drunk — eyes.

“did ya need me for something?” he purrs, his voice is smooth.

“what i need you to do is get these people out. i can’t believe this, I’m asking you for what, the sixth time this week?” you say harshly. “in my opinion, you need to study more than party.”

he frowns.

walks over to you. says, “well, this just won’t do.”

you have no idea how you’ve gotten yourself into this mess, bent over the same desk you study on, satoru spearing your poor, gushy cunt on his twitching cock, tears streaming down your cheeks as you bite down your moans.

“t-toru, please,” you whimper, as low as you can. “c-can’t, I don’t wanna..”

“shhh, angel,” satoru croons. “thought you liked the — ah, shit — quiet, mm?” his cock is so long the tip brushes your cervix as he pounds into you, unrelentless. he grabs your panties, discarded on the floor, shoved them in your mouth.

his grip on your hips is bruising each time he slams into your ass, grunting with each thrust. “so fuckin’ tight, baby,” he moans into your ear.

“please,” you beg, muffled, ’cause it’s the only thing you’re able to say when you’re getting railed by a huge dick.

“nah. dunno how I ever let a pussy this tight — shit, fuck, fuck!” he cuts himself off as you clench around him, eyes rolling back because he just hit your g-spot (but typical satoru talks too much to notice). “you like that, hm?”.

you just moan in response, too fucked out to do anything else.

he slams into you rough and faster now, his fat, cum-filled balls slapping your swollen, neglected clit and making your hole flutter around his thick cock, your creamy pussy squelching loud and nasty as his cock lurches straight into your guts over and over.

“fuck, baby, I’m close,” he whines into your ear, his thrusts coming sloppier as he hears his climax, burying his face in your shoulder.

you’re close, too, that ball of heat in your stomach feels like it’s about to explode when his cock just hits your cervix just right, and you cum hard on his cock, clear liquid squirting on the desk.

“that’s right, cream on this fuckin’ cock,” he snarls, feeling your walls flutter, “fuck, i’m gonna —” he pulls your hips impossibly closer to him.

“T-toru, pull out!” you plead, you’d almost forgotten, but it’s too late now isn’t it? he fills up your greedy little pussy with so much cum it trickles down your legs, can you even remember why this happened?

you’re too cockdrunk to even think straight. “need..more,” you mewl, because his cock is just that good.

he’s shocked, more shocked when you shimmy your ass backwards to nudge his softening dick. (well, now he’s hard again).

“i, uh, think the party ended,” he grins cheekily at you. “like, an hour ago.”

oh. so that’s why it was so quiet.

© vanilabaebo 2025.

[emonaculate]

Let me lust over fictional men in PEACE

Fandoms stopped being a fun escape from reality when people started spreading the belief that you should prioritize purity over pleasure and the art you create must be a reflection of your moral standards at all times.

[emonaculate]

⊹ ࣪ ˖౨ৎ 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭... 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐢𝐞 <𝟑

𓂃 ♡ epitome of loser in a hot body; like choso isn't just skin and bones. The way he easy carries you with one arm whilst asking if he can use your products at times? How he gently manhandles you? Every now and then you stare at him in disbelief until your burning holes in his abs.

𓂃 ♡ the kind of boyfriend who’ll roll your joint too fat on accident, pass it to you like it’s nothing, then forget what he was saying mid-sentence because your lips looked too good wrapped around it. “Wait—hold on, say that again. You’re just—fuck, you’re distracting me.”

𓂃 ♡ sooo easy to prank; once you did the m&m prank on him randomly one Friday night. "Okay so you see this one right?" You shook the bottle with your sleeved hand before setting it down." Just follow it baby." Your movements deliberately slow as you moved the container around, plastic clinking softly. Choso watched the damn candy tins like they owed him money. Entire focus on the middle one, tongue peeking out his mouth just a bit. Brows furrowed. Arms crossed. Brain running at full capacity.

"The middle." You bit back laughter as you glanced at your boyfriends serious face, taking your empty hand to shake the middle cylinder. Nothing. His eyes squinted, "How the fuck.." He muttered under his breath, you giggled. Hard. Falling back onto the floor with your legs kicking.

Choso just blinked down at the tin like it had personally betrayed him. Then at you. Then back at the tin.

“…You tricked me, huh.” You could barely breathe. “No, no I-pfft I didn't. Here I'ma show you again."

𓂃 ♡ So affectionate when he's faded; tugging on your sleeve, laying on your lap, burying his face in your stomach like it’s his personal pillow. “wanna stay like this forever don't move” he mumbles into your hoodie.

𓂃 ♡ such a boob guy; thats why when the summer rolls around and he sees your pretty boobs all on display in a sexy black tank he can't help but oogle your chest.

𓂃 ♡ can’t look into your eyes for more than three seconds; it’s not even like he’s shy (he’s far from it), but every time you look at him you get that sparkle in them, that pretty shimmer that makes his heart race every time you blink at him.

and if you smile? just a little bit? he’s gone. “stop,” he mumbles, looking away with a hand over his mouth. “you’re doing that thing again.” “what thing?” you laugh. “...shut up”

𓂃 ♡ still gets flustered when you call him “baby.” like… that soft, affectionate “baby” that rolls off your tongue all syrupy sweet when you’re sleepy or asking for something. Just one “baby, pass me the remote?” and he’ll freeze mid-motion, blinking like you just proposed. “…yeah. yeah okay.” (He's giggling and kicking his feet in his head like a damn preteen.)

𓂃 ♡ does push-ups in the living room shirtless for no reason. claims it’s “just a quick set,” but positions himself right in your line of vision. and when you call him out? “oh? sorry, was I distracting you?"

𓂃 ♡ talks you through it; always soft, always a little teasing: “like that, angel? yeah? you sound so good right now. keep talkin’ to me.” Presses kisses to your jaw, your neck, anywhere he can reach. “let me hear it, angel. let ‘em know who’s makin’ you feel like this.”

𓂃 ♡ helps with wash day; after watching you a few times, he's actually learned how to care for your curls pretty quickly. His favorite thing is when you fall asleep in between his legs on the floor cheek pressed into his leg.

Everytime you do he takes pictures <3

[emonaculate]

Canon.

au where gojo gets more into guitar and starts a band called 6 eyes

[emonaculate]

“We’re in a fanfic drought” Tell the writers you like their work.

“All Tumblr ever does is write oneshots now” Tell the writers that you’d love to see them write longer things.

“Nobody updates their fics anymore” Tell the writers you love the fic and want to see more of it.

Tell the writers.

[emonaculate]

you know a joke that never EVER gets old is when a character says smth like “I will NOT go to [place] and that is FINAL” and then it cuts to them in that place I eat that shit up every single time