#GOJOU SATORU X READER

[madthetruemad]

"satoru?"

"hmm?"

you rested your head on his bare chest, your eyes soft as he looked down at you. His hand in your hair as he gently ran his fingers through it.

"where does the cum go after you release inside me? i mean, does it get absorbed? does it just spill out slowly? or does it all just sit in there until it just disappears?"

satoru laid their for a few seconds. he was expecting words of love and adoration since you both just had sex, but definitely not this.

"lets go to sleep..."

[gojosluut]

Thinking about kissing Satorus face scars after the fight against Sukuna.

You were straddling his lower abs your hands on the nape of his neck, as your soft lips kiss each scar on his face. Satorus eyes were closed his large scarred hands on your waist the only feeling was your lips kissing his face.

You pull away your hand gently pushing back his white locks on his forehead, “you’re so gorgeous ‘toru..” you whisper looking into his ocean blue eyes. His hands gently rubbing up and down your waist with the most lovesick smile on his face.

“thanks baby,” he says back his voice filled with so many different emotions. At first Satoru was a bit insecure by the scars all over his body, since he didn’t know what you would think of them. That little insecurity melt away quickly from the moment you straddled his lap kissing each scar on his face with love and tenderness for the first time.

And now it’s a morning and night time routine to straddle his lower abs, kissing all over his face whispering soft affirmations with each kiss to his pretty face.

*๑♡՞——*๑♡՞——— *๑♡՞—- *๑♡՞

A/N —> quick drabble !! i might do a more detailed version soon !! i just thought of this and needed to share it :3 —

[yerchokito]

Do you have any hybrid!reader stuff??

ooo I’ve never done a hybrid reader before.. until now.

contents! - satoru and size difference, not proofread

notes! - honestly this sucks, but I wanted to get something out :(( I think I’ll properly elaborate on this later..

being brought in to be a companion for another wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, even if said companion-ee is really annoying.

snowleopard!satoru was ecstatic— bouncing off the walls happy when you, a small housecat breed, was brought to his enclosure. finally! a playmate other than that bore suguru, and that drunkard ieiri.

you one the other hand, did not like satoru as much as he liked you.

as you were originally bought to help satoru relax during a particular season, snowleopards are far too tense to essentially mate— but jeez, this guy doesn’t seem to shy.

snowleopard!satoru nearly bulldozed you over with how excitedly he tried (literally) to tackle you, only to end up being scolded for his behaviour. though, satoru never listens anyways. that’s one thing you learn of him. as soon as the snow-haired bastard is set free— he pounces, giggling weirdly; poking at your cheeks, cooing at how much smaller you are to him.

he’s just ginormous, your normal size.

snowleopard!satoru spends his time as such, rubbing himself all over you— purring n all! scenting you, essentially. he’s just so happy to have a new (and much cuter) playmate! he doesn’t want anyone to steal you :((

why must he rub his musk over you.

snowleopard!satoru can never fully relax around you. being so small compared to him gives him primal urges— those cute twitching ears and that stupidly short tail of yours makes him go crazy! he loovvess how you feel against his body, fitting like a puzzle piece— sometimes he just wants to take a bite out of you!

[tvgals]

pussydrunk! puppy hybrid! satoru who gives you backshots for the first time, he can’t help but let his tongue drop out his mouth as his calloused hands grip hard onto your hips.

pussydrunk! puppy hybrid! satoru who moans and whimpers more than you do, his eyes roaming all around your pretty, pliable body. you praise him and tell him; “you’re doing so well for me, baby..keep going” and that only coaxes him to fuck you harder.

pussydrunk! puppy hybrid! satoru that leans his upper body over your back, his head resting on your shoulder as he drools on on the pillow laying under you. you bring your hand up to squeeze his cheeks and you turn your head to press quick kisses to his face.

pussydrunk! puppy hybrid! satoru who twitches as he feels his high coming, your manicured hands scratching his head. “you can do it, ‘toru…cmon.” you whisper. satoru cums into your wet, warm pussy with a loud moan and quiet chants of your name.

he loves his pretty baby so much 😚

[itadorey]

𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐓! — gojo satoru

pairing: gojo x gn!reader summary: little snippets showing how gojo satoru has always been a pain in your ass genre: fluff and angst #lol #soz word count: ~3k notes: sorry. spoilers for shibuya arc and onwards, mentions of jjk 236. also this is the only thing i've written in months so i'm kinda rusty

Gojo Satoru is a pain in the ass.

More specifically, he's a pain in your ass, especially once he discovered that you're so much easier to rile up than Utahime.

It starts in high school, with meaningless bets made between the two of you that all result in endless lectures and reprimands from your respective school principals. But it's hard for you to stop agreeing to these deals when Gojo offers you a week without his presence if you manage to win.

Victories for you have become more common in recent years, with you learning how to words your agreements in a sly way that makes Gojo huff out a little laugh whenever you manage to outwit him. But your losses far outweigh your triumphs and you constantly find yourself dragged onto missions or out to new restaurants whenever Gojo wins. Which happens to be pretty often.

"I bet that the first years can beat you in a fight," Gojo says, snickering when you shoot him a nasty look. He takes a step closer to you, pouting when you distance yourself from him and speed up.

"I bet you that they can't," you retort, unable to stop yourself from disputing his statement. You don't turn to look at him, merely grumbling under your breath when he easily matches your stride.

You have no idea how you've ended up here, transferred (against your will you might add!) to Tokyo Jujutsu High to teach alongside the only man who has ever made you feel feral. And not in a good way.

The very reason for your arrival is none other than Okkotsu Yuuta, an overpowered, meek-looking teen with a cursed technique that seems to be a little more trouble than you originally thought. That's the only thing going through your mind when you're introduced to him, leaving you inattentive to the way Gojo slings an arm over your shoulders and introduces you as his significant other to the first years.

You're only brought back to the present when Panda— yes, an actual panda— congratulates you loudly, causing you to scowl and push Gojo far, far, away from you. You're the only one who doesn't notice how you actually make brief physical contact with him.

"I am not dating him. I'm your new instructor," you say sharply, introducing yourself before turning and walking out the door. The first years all share a glance before following, Zenin Maki leading the small group as she eyes you with interest. You come to a stop in the middle of the training field before flashing them a grin that can only be described as dangerous. "Now, we're going to see how much combat experience you have, so give me all you've got."

You then proceed to take on all four of the first years, all too aware of the way Gojo's stare never leaves your figure. At the end of the day, you're the proud winner of a Gojo-free week.

Your first year teaching at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech is a tumultuous one.

You learn to treasure your friends a little more, and you find yourself thinking that you've become a pro when it comes to grieving.

(You remember Geto's defeated form as you arrived just in time to see the last smile he ever gave Gojo right before he took his last breath—)

The stress of everything even has you appreciating Gojo's presence in your life a little more, and when you tell Shoko this development, she merely snorts and pulls out a cigarette. You chide her for failing to break her habit even after she's promised you multiple times, only falling silent when you realize just how tired she looks.

You've become a pro at grieving, but that doesn't mean everyone else has, so you silently slide the cigarette packet back towards her and leave her to mourn in a way that seems to work for her.

The months that follow feel like a blur, and you get sent on plenty of missions to fill time. Your bets with Gojo seem to occur more often, and you find that you don't necessarily dislike hanging out with him whenever he wins. You wonder if the previous year has helped him mellow out, and you find yourself thinking a friendship with Gojo is possible. Especially after everything the two of you have dealt with.

Your appreciation for Gojo ends up fizzling out when you learn from Maki that he's been telling the new first year, Fushiguro Megumi, the same lies he tried telling the second years when you first arrive. It isn't long before you find out that Megumi is incredibly perceptive, and he doesn't fall victim to Gojo's lies about your nonexistent relationship.

Unfortunately, the two other first years aren't necessarily as... insightful as Megumi is, and all it takes is for them to see the way Gojo smiles when he's around you to believe that the two of you are meant to be.

Itadori Yuuji is a young boy that you think is a little wise beyond his years. When you hear about how he ate— yes, consumed— Sukuna's finger, you change your mind. He's seen a lot in the past few days, and it almost amuses you to see just how upbeat but jaded he seems. Seeing him interact with Megumi reminds you of sweeter times, back when you were their age and spent your afternoons sharing snacks and chatting with Utahime, and you feel an awful heaviness weighing down your heart when you realize just how small they seem.

You're tending to Megumi's wounds when you meet Yuuji for the first time, and you can't help but roll your eyes when you hear Gojo call out your name.

"This is my partner," he whispers loudly to Yuuji, lips turned up in a fond smile as you give Megumi the all clear. There's a mildly irritated huff that escapes you as you turn to greet the newest first year, but you can't help the way your lips twitch when Gojo tries to pinch your cheek and you swat his hand away. Megumi's suspicious eyebrow raise goes unnoticed by you as Yuuji bows in greeting, an easy smile on his face as he looks between you and Gojo.

"The two of you make a nice couple," he comments before his gaze drifts over to Megumi. You open your mouth to dispute Yuuji's statement but he makes his way over to Megumi before you have the chance to actually speak. "Woah! Fushiguro, what happened to you?"

The two boys walk into Megumi's bedroom, softly conversing as Yuuji pokes at the bandage on his cheek. You watch them fondly, sighing softly before turning around to leave.

"I bet I can also convince the third first year that we're dating," Gojo sings as he walks beside you, causing you to flinch away from him.

"I bet you can't," you respond automatically, feeling your stomach drop when he shoots you a cocky grin. He doesn't say anything before splitting off down another hall, shouting a quick goodbye to the two boys who are still wrapped up in conversation. You hope that Kugisaki Nobara is smarter than Yuuji.

Kugisaki Nobara is not smarter than Yuuji.

You have hope for the first five minutes you interact with her, fighting a smirk when you notice her immediate disdain towards Gojo. There's a judgmental look on her face as he introduces himself, and you can't help but straighten up when her gaze lands on you and her eyes sparkle with curiosity.

"It's very nice to meet you," you say softly, introducing yourself and giving her a soft smile. She smiles back at you, her expression becoming strained when Gojo pulls you into his side.

"We're dating!" he proclaims proudly, earning a quiet groan from you. Nobara looks between the two of you skeptically, and you feel confident that she's going to call out his lie until she turns to look at her fellow first years.

There's a bored look on Megumi's face, but Yuuji is nodding his head enthusiastically, his eyes shining as he glances at you and Gojo. You shake your head in response, and Megumi's lips twitch in amusement at your contrasting demeanors. Your embarrassed state is apparently proof enough for Nobara, and she gives you a sympathetic look as she turns to face you once more.

"You're so brave," she whispers to you, wiping a fake tear from her eye before turning to Gojo. "And you're punching above your weight."

She promptly turns around and walks off before he can respond, leaving you fighting back a giggle as Megumi and Yuuji follow her. Gojo wilts at her words momentarily before turning to give you a dazzling smile, lifting his blindfold just enough for you to see him wink at you.

"I win!" he declares, laughing when he notices the way your eyebrows furrow in frustration. He turns to follow after Nobara, casually reaching for your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours before pulling you along. "Come on! We can't stand here all day, we might lose the kids."

He smiles when you don't really make a move to pull your hand away from his and makes a mental note to take you to your favorite restaurant this time.

"I bet I can take out more curses than you."

Your statement is quiet, a familiar phrase meant to try and calm your nerves. You're met with a bored glance from Nanami, and you huff when he crosses his arms and shakes his head.

The atmosphere in Shibuya is unsettling, and even though you have complete faith in your abilities as a sorcerer, you can't help but feel a chill run down your spine when you think about what's to come.

"You should be making that bet with your boyfriend. Not me," Nanami says in response. You scowl at him in return, rolling your eyes when you catch sight of the amused smirk on his face.

"He is not my boyfriend," you mutter petulantly, all too aware of the way your statement lacks its usual bite. There's a quiet hum from Nanami before silence engulfs the two of you, and then—

"Are you sure about that?"

"Nanami!" you snap, feeling your cheeks warm as you turn to shove him. He barely moves, and you half-heartedly let out a string of curses as he chuckles. The tension you previously felt is broken momentarily, and you feel a brief moment of happiness as you joke with your friend. "Yes, I'm sure."

"I'm just saying," he continues, his tone even as he does his best to not give anything away. "Yuuji seems to think that the two of you are perfect for each other. I've heard quite a lot about how sweet he thinks the two of you are together."

"I can't believe Yuuji believed him," you mutter, shaking your head. There's a part of you that can't help but wonder what exactly it is that Yuuji sees that makes him think you and Gojo are a bona fide couple, but you tell yourself that now is not the time to dwell on that.

"Well, those younger than us tend to be more perceptive sometimes," Nanami says, unintentionally answering your internal question.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

There's another moment of silence between the two of you before Nanami calls your name, bringing your attention to him once more.

"I'll accept your bet, but when I win, you have to take Gojo out to dinner."

"When you win?" you ask mockingly, raising an eyebrow as you stare him down.

"Yes, when I win," he says, doubling down on his statement. "You need to take Gojo out. As in a date. Who knows? Maybe you'll finally understand Yuuji's point of view when it comes to you two."

"Deal," you say, eyes narrowing when he holds out his hand for you to shake.

That's the last time you ever have contact with Nanami, and later on in the night when you find his body, you can't help but wonder which one of you had actually won your silly bet.

But as you discovered a year ago, you're a pro at dealing with grief, so you give yourself fifteen minutes to collect yourself before setting out to find your students.

After all, you now have to figure out a way to get Gojo free from the prison realm and maybe even honor your bet with Nanami regardless of who won.

The relief you feel when you see Kurusu Hana unseal the prison realm is overwhelming.

When you get told by Shoko that she's giving Gojo a checkup, you act before you can stop yourself, bursting into the infirmary and throwing yourself into Gojo's arms. You let out a stuttered breath when he catches you effortlessly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as you hide your face in his neck, and when he laughs you can feel your throat tighten up as you try to hold back your tears.

"Missed me?" he asks, cocky tone still present in his voice. His actions present a stark difference to his tone, and you can't help but think to yourself that he's holding you so tightly because he's scared of being separated from you once more.

So much, you think to yourself. But you're as stubborn ever and so you resolutely shake your head, drawing another laugh out from him as turns his face to press a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head.

"I did," he murmurs, voice soft as he pulls you even closer. "Miss you, that is."

There's a moment of silence as Shoko pulls Ijichi away, attempting to give the two of you some privacy as she gathers up the necessary tools. There's a mischievous glint in her eye when Gojo gives her an appreciative nod, but she refrains from teasing either one of you for the time being.

You make a move to pull away from the hug, a soft gasp leaving your lips when Gojo's arms tighten around you and pull you flush against him. You fight against his hold, pulling back just enough to see the pout on his lips. A breathy laugh escapes you, and your hands come up to cradle his face as you take the moment to process the fact that he's finally back. There's a softness in his blue eyes that makes you choke up once more, and you impulsively pull his face towards yours and press a kiss to his forehead.

He freezes beneath your touch, eyes fluttering closed as his breath hitches. His arms loosen in shock and you take the opportunity to slip out of his hold, cheeks burning when you turn and see Shoko and Ijichi watching the two of you with matching smiles on their faces. Gojo's hand darts out to grab your wrist before you can get too far, and he gently pulls you to his side, resting his head on your shoulder as Shoko proceeds with her checkup.

The days leading up to December 24 are eerily calm, and you make sure to take time for yourself in order to properly grieve Nanami and pray for Megumi and check up on Nobara's condition. Gojo joins you most of the time, silent but always within reach, with his hand holding yours or resting comfortably along your back.

"You know," you randomly say, walking alongside Gojo on your way to meet up with everyone else. There's a pit in your stomach as you glance at him, the knowledge of his upcoming fight weighing heavy on your mind. "I actually made a bet with Nanami before he..."

"I thought that was our thing," Gojo muses. His eyes linger on you before he turns back to face the road in front of you, tucking his hands into his pocket with an air of nonchalance.

"Nanami said something along those lines too," you say, laughing softly at the memory. "He still agreed to it, but he said that if he won I'd have to take you out on a date."

"Oh?"

Your words have piqued Gojo's interest, and he comes to a stop at the top of a staircase. You can see Yuuji's tuft of pink hair in the distance, and you drag your eyes back to your companion as you come to a stop as well.

"Too bad we never found out who won," you say flatly.

"Oh," Gojo repeats, his dull tone matching yours. You turn to face the staircase once more, trying to ignore the way Gojo's stare burns into you. You don't think you'll ever get used to those eyes of him.

"How about we make a bet?" you say lightly. There's a twinkle in your eye that sends a thrill down Gojo's spine, and he smiles before motioning for you to continue. "I bet that you can't beat Sukuna. If I win, you leave me alone for longer than a week, even though I know that'll be hard for you. If you win, I'll take you out on a date."

"Sounds like an easy win to me," he comments, laughing when you toss him a sly grin over your shoulder. "Betting against the strongest? I think you're guaranteed to lose."

"Perhaps, but I can't imagine I'll be all too upset about it," is all you say, shrugging your shoulders before descending down the stairs. Gojo smiles dazedly for a couple more seconds before following after you, effortlessly scooping your hand and entangling your fingers the same way he did when the two of you met Nobara for the first time.

The two of you are greeted with grins from all the students, the sight of your linked hands a welcome reprieve from everything bad that's happened so far. You hold on tight to Gojo until the very last minute, now all too aware of how awful it is to truly have him missing from your everyday life. You are unaware of what's to come.

You thought you were a pro when it came to grieving, but winning the last bet you ever made with Gojo has proved you wrong.

ty for reading. rbs appreciated <3

[adoresia]

꣑ৎ contains ★ Fluff ft Satoru Gojo :: dad gojo , domestic fluff , comfort moments , gojo is acting like a man child , light humour . W/C ★ 0.4k

˙🧷 ̟ Sia here ! :: Based off of this request from @alixezae !! Sorry for the long wait 😣 Had to put these in queued order because tumblr hates me apparently but I could never forget thank you very much for the request 😋😋😋 also not really a part two of morning monologue but still.

˙🏷️ ̟ Satoru’s masterlist | JJK masterlist | Main masterlist

Satoru was sat on the couch, his baby nestled against his chest, small fists clinging to his shirt. His normally smug grin was nowhere to be found — replaced instead with a dramatic pout as he watched you move around the room, effortlessly drawing the baby’s attention without even trying. You must be wondering how we got here.

It had been weeks since he’d noticed the shift. At first he thought of it as a silly coincidence. Babies went through phases right? But this definitely was not a phase. Your baby loved you in a way that made him feel like he wasn’t even there, you could say. It left THE Gojo satoru — the most charismatic person in existence — relegated to the sidelines.

He tried everything. From silly faces to floating toys. Peekaboo could only go so far — nothing seemed to work. His precious baby would giggle politely and act humoured for a few seconds, but then immediately looked out for you again.

It was funny at first but now it’s humiliating, Satoru would say its not fair how much his baby gave you so much attention so much that eventually it made you wonder if you gave birth to two big babies instead of just one.

“You’ve bewitched him,” he muttered, his voice low and accusatory. You glanced over your shoulder, brow raised. “Satoru- What are you talking about?”

“Satoru junior,” he gestured dramatically to the tiny bundle on his chest “We were supposed to be each others number one fan. But he treats me like some guy at the park trying to lure little kids into the back of his van with dorritos.”

“Firstly, I dont remember agreeing on such a name. Secondly, You kinda do” you teased, leaning down to press a kiss to your baby’s head. “But I guess he just loves me more.”

Your baby babbled in agreement.

Satoru groaned flopping back onto the couch like the weight of the world had just crushed him. “This is betrayal on the highest level.”

Before you could respond your baby stirred, letting out a soft — sleepy whimper. And without missing a beat, Gojo shifted them against his shoulder while his hand instinctively pat his back in gentle, rhythmic motions.

You watched as the tension melted from his face, replaced by something softer and more genuine. Your little baby’s tiny hand clung to his shirt, his breathing evened out as he drifted back to sleep.

Satoru looked up at you, his expression smug once more. “See? I’ve still got it.”

“That was a pity nap,” you said grinning.

“Stop trying to steal my credit,” he huffed.

And as your baby nestled closer to him, Gojo decided that maybe being second place wasn’t so bad — especially when it came with moments like these.

[fumiliar]

i think satoru gojo would call you the sickest and most cringiest pet name for fun. but slowly, he'd start calling you that constantly. so now you both have to live with the embarassment whenever someone asks why that nickname

[baepsays]

Love Hangover⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

synopsis: "Call me back. Call me back. Call me back." — love hangover by Jennie & Dominic Fike

Cw: toxic relationship, emotional cheating, manipulation, just sex and NSFW stuff, choking (took something from the mv and applied it where I think they implied it :3 ), lot of back and forth, use of the word 'bitch' to refer to the reader (not by Gojo), hate sex, oral sex, fem anatomy, no particular use of pronouns for reader, lowkey angst sorryyy, they are just both pretty shitty lol. Mention of alcohol consumption and cigarettes

'Call me back' received. 2.13AM 

You and Gojo Satoru might be great people, your respective friends will agree. But when you're together it's as if all hell breaks loose. They do not understand. Neither do you two. He makes you so unlike yourself, so unrecognizable, it's often difficult for you to fathom the person you become around him. 

He becomes an unbearable prick; controlling and smothering you, simply too much for you to handle. In return you become a shady bitch; criticizing his every gesture. “Roses instead of lilies? Did you confuse me for someone else?” One day you would be joking over the dinner you made him, next day you would be wishing he was dead. Going through his phone, shouting at him and asking if he is speaking to his exes, was a regular occurrence. Then you won’t talk altogether, but just fight constantly—while lying under your covers together, while eating, on the phone, in public— just making things harder for everyone and yourselves. Until one of you goes;

‘I’m over, I'm so over.’

But you two would always end up where you started. One coincidental meeting with Gojo Satoru somewhere, anywhere, could be that you're across the street from each other; sitting in different restaurants, with different people— and that would be enough for both of you. Doesn't matter he has some girl hanging off his arms. Or the fact you are on a second date with some guy, thinking this might be something serious; a single, double, triple back from him, and suddenly the fact that he was still entertaining his date while you could practically feel his gaze burning your skin, won’t matter—not that it did not bother you. In fact, to put it simply, you do not really mind when he plays you. Because you two will always end up back in each other’s arms. 

‘One minute, we're growin' apart, and next, I'm in her apartment.’

And here you go again. Doesn't matter how many times either of you tell yourselves and your friends that ‘I swear I'll never do it again!’ But you always do it again, and again, and again. He always ends up ringing your doorbell, unannounced. Does not matter you did not pick up his calls, does not matter you did not answer his texts— One “Call me back” at 2 AM, then suddenly he is at your door. And you know he will be there. No matter what, you two always end up in front of each other’s doors. You may not answer his texts or calls; but when you open the door for him and beckon him inside, he will always be welcomed with two glasses of wine. For the sake of the pretense of wanting to have a civil conversation over wine like two grown adults, finally resolving this push and pull and drawing a firm boundary— is all a faux excuse. you still have the keys to his place, and he still has the keys to yours. And they are not being returned any time soon.  

In a flash you're on your couch, back arching off from its surface and fingernails digging in and ruining the fabric. Again. The other hand would be a tangled mess in his hair. The bigger mess would be pooled under you and around his mouth. Again. Eating you out like he has never before, or he might never again. But he knows better than that. 

So, you would start all over again. Things would be blissful for a while. Sweet talking, going on dates, reminiscing about everything which was good. Thinking this time you would take it slow. Take your time with just hanging out and getting to know each other all over again, promising to not repeat the past. All over again. Though when you two would go out for dinner, all that talk would bore you to death. It is not that you feel like staying with Satoru because of who he is, in fact the more you think about that the more it makes you want to leave him, but you want nothing more than to keep him around, forever. And Satoru knows that, hates that really. Always thinking “what's up with that?” — but just as the waiter would bring out the check, you would gaze at him all sultry and go, 

"Let's head to mine."

And all Satoru would be able to utter is , "Okay, awesome."

Subsequently, there would be just lots, lots of sex. Spending days in bed; skipping work, calling in sick, flaking on friends and practically going missing. And everyone would already know what to expect, nothing new, just the cycle repeating itself. 

Spending days in each other’s company giggling about, high on sex and the thrill of having each other back. Then the nights would pass with him being  buried, as deep as he possibly can be, inside of you. Just spending nights watching you get naked instead of watching the movie he chose himself— roaming his hands all over every ridge and curve on your body, encoding new details, leaving kisses and marks all over you. Places where everyone will be able to see, but also places only he would be able to access; tucked away safe even from your own eyes.  Letting the muscles inside your pussy hug him snug, fitting like she has never known anyone but him, because even she knows no matter who comes and goes— his shape will stay. 

As soon as he would get his hopes back up again. Just as soon the momentary bliss would be unexpectedly cut short. One day you are holding each other to sleep after indulging in each other’s bodies, the next moment you are shaking his hands off you and he is waking up with cold sweat all over him. Then you would stop reciprocating his kisses, leaving his lips cracking. Giving short and curt replies to questions, getting irritated over small things. Not that this is unprovoked. Unknowingly to Satoru, before he could delete the texts from the girls flooding his phone and block their numbers; you saw it all.

Back to square one. Fights and nights spent away from each other doing reckless stuff to provoke each other. Because why are you kissing his eyelids and calling him your one and only one moment, and then accusing him of ruining your life another day.

Soon enough you’re going to a club and letting people openly hit on you. Ignoring his calls and texts, to a point he has no choice but to pull up your location (do not ask how he got that). Then letting him drag you back to his place, shout out profanities at you, rip off every piece of clothing from your body. Doing nothing about him pushing you face down on the bed, pulling on the necklace— which he gave you—on your throat from behind and practically choking you, as the necklace leaves behind marks on top of the marks he previously left behind with his lips and teeth. As he thrusts himself inside you, mercilessly, not even letting you turn back around, putting all his body weight on yours— very literally smothering as always. One hand keeping a firm grasp on your throat while the other comes down to place slaps on your thighs and ass, from time to time. You would barely phrase something between loud moans and whines, “F- fuck you.” 

“You are. As always” all he would reply with with a singular impactful thrust. 

Next morning he would wake up to  empty, cold, and wet sheets. A singular half burnt cigarette would be lying on his bedside table, from the stash of cigarettes in his dresser, despite the fact he does not smoke. And a bottle of whisky would be gone from his collection, even though he does not enjoy whisky. All that would be left of your immediate presence, are the shredded to nothing flimsy pair of painties, which you wore last night. Not like you ever went out of his apartment with the same panties you entered through his doors with. 

Concurrently you would be drowning in alcohol, shooting glasses of shots after another to cure the hangover from the day before. You were not one to drink, but you were also not one to be irrational. Yet here you are, hungover and functioning on autopilot. If anyone asked what is wrong, you would not have an answer. Though you do know what this is, the need to never get over this hangover, instead perpetuating and fostering it. Because you know better than anyone that no alcohol will relieve the itch in your throat the way the whisky in Satoru’s cabinet burns down your chest, and alleviates you. You can buy similar whisky, the same brand even, or maybe even a wine or rum— but it won’t taste the same, it won’t get you drunk the same. 

‘I swore l'd never do it again.’

And after a month, Satoru would wake up to a singular missed call from you. 

‘you know I'm gonna do it again.’

a/n: dividers by @/dollywons & @/aquazero, header from the mv for the said song. essentially saw @jumpinglillies talking about wanting to read a Satoru fic based on this song, thanks to them for bringing the song to my attention i hope this lives up to your expectations <3

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tag list: @madamechrissy @cuntphoric @moonlitwitchdaisy @rriwyu @gojocon @aishi-toru @cuntyji @arcanarix @lover-lyn @kazupop

[joemama-2]

"are you the fairy?"

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: You meet Gojo Satoru in a place untouched by time, where his laughter rings through empty streets and his hands chase yours like a promise he fully intends to keep. He is younger, reckless with his love, blind to the weight of the years that separate you—years that have taught you that love is not always meant to be kept. You let yourself have him anyway, knowing all the while that his future is stretching toward a horizon you cannot follow. When the time comes, you do what must be done—let him free.

wc: 7.3k

tags/warnings: angst, eventual comfort, suggestive content, older! reader, dividers by @/cafekitsune, HOPEFULLY PROOFREAD ENOUGH :(

Aging. A fear most people have. The fear of growing old, growing weaker, needing others to rely on for simple tasks, no longer being in your ‘prime’, and of course—the grey hairs. While it can be argued that aging is a natural, human process; it can also be argued that no one ever really wants to grow old. No one wants to see everything they knew and loved vanish before their own two deteriorating eyes, no one wants to become just a distant memory. But no one wants to be immortal either. It’s a weird push and pull, leaving humans with only one choice: enjoy it while it lasts, and make the most of your life.

And so, that’s what you have been doing.

Graduating, getting a nice paying job, having a good place, traveling the world, making a name for yourself, being…happy. Sure, you’ve made friends and connections, but none of those amount to being in the peaceful solitude of your lonesome. You’ve faced adversaries in your life, and you’ve overcome them—that’s what making the most out of your life means. But you know what doesn’t fall under that category?

Allowing yourself to fall in love with a man almost two decades younger than you. 

But with life comes spontaneous events, debating the pros and cons and wondering the ‘what ifs’. 

And what if—against all logic, against every carefully laid plan—you let yourself have him? What if you ignore the whispers in your mind that warn of fleeting youth, of inevitable goodbyes, of the cruel march of time that will leave you grasping at something you were never meant to keep? Gojo Satoru is reckless in his affection, undeterred by the years between you, pressing himself into your life with an audacity that makes it impossible to push him away. He tells you that love doesn’t care for numbers, that age is nothing more than an arbitrary construct, and when he looks at you with that unwavering gaze, you almost believe him.

Almost.

You’re forty-five when you meet him, he’s nothing but a young and adventurous thirty-year-old. You remember being thirty. 

“Are you from here?” you asked, resting your palm against your cheek. The coldness of the bar’s countertop sits underneath your elbow—you regard him with a curious gaze. The first thing you noticed was the pretty eyes he had. The next was his smile—that handsome smile that was doing weird things to your heart. You remember your late husband smiling at you like that every day, every chance he got. Your lip quirks up. 

“No, I’m from Japan,” he replies smoothly, jutting his chin in your direction. “And you?”

You tell him. 

“Oh, that’s nice. So, what are you doing all the way here?”

“Vacation.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Pretty well. Italy is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

A cheesy pick-up line you’re more than accustomed to. You save his awkwardness with a small laugh, eyebrow raising. “Thank you,” you glance down at the dark liquid in your cup, swirling its contents. “Though you aren’t the first to tell me that.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick with the weight of history you’ve long since buried. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? To be flattered but not fooled, to hear compliments that once would have made your heart race but now only bring a faint ache, like a ghost brushing past your skin. You didn’t expect to be here, sitting in this foreign bar, in this foreign city, drinking away the remnants of a life you thought you’d left behind—no more waiting for a man to come home, no more running on borrowed time. And yet, here he is, his smile still holding the weight of something undeniably fresh, something he hasn’t yet had time to tarnish with the passing years.

He chuckles, and it’s sincere. Like he knows how to handle this situation and like he’s done it a hundred times before—charming the older woman, never realizing the danger he’s flirting with. You can’t help but notice how easily he fits into this moment, how the energy between you feels almost too comfortable for something so unexpected. His youth, his vitality—it’s intoxicating, and yet, you know it’s only a matter of time before you have to draw the line, to remind yourself that he’s playing with something far more fragile than he understands.

You meet his eyes again, and for a second, you let yourself indulge. He’s not just handsome; he’s magnetic. And though you’ve seen his type before—young, reckless, full of life—there’s something different about him. It’s that smile, that easy confidence as if the world is nothing but a playground for him to conquer. Your heart stirs involuntarily, the edges of something you thought was long gone starting to flutter back to life.

"So, do you always travel alone?" you ask, your voice a little softer now, more curious than before.

His grin widens, pleased by the shift in your tone. “Not usually, but this time I decided to take some time for myself. I needed a change of scenery.” He leans in a little, dropping his voice to something almost conspiratorial. "It's nice to get away from it all, you know? To meet people who don't know your story."

The irony of his words doesn’t escape you. Here you are, a stranger in a new city, with a lifetime of stories you no longer tell, and yet, his openness makes you feel like you’re both speaking the same unspoken language. You could tell him everything, share the years of love and loss, of heartache and healing, but you don’t. You keep it hidden, tucked away where only time and memory can touch it.

“That sounds familiar,” you say quietly, glancing down at your glass again. Your fingers trace the rim absently. “Sometimes it's the only way to find peace." You don’t know why you’re telling him this. It’s not as though you’ve shared your soul with a stranger in a bar before. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something open and unafraid, that makes you think—just for a moment—that maybe this conversation, this meeting, isn’t entirely by chance. Something you haven’t felt in…a long time.

“Do you usually travel alone?”

You hum. “I do now.”

“Why now?”

“Because my husband doesn’t come along with me anymore.”

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?” He sips from his own cup, but when he puts it back down, its fizziness tells you it’s just coke. 

You take a moment to reply, unsure if you should trauma dump on a stranger. But he did ask. “Because he’s dead,” you simply comment, leaning back in your stool and gauging his reaction. 

But he doesn’t show a face of surprise or a face of regret. He doesn’t offer his unwanted apology. He nods, humming softly in thought. But his eyes change—and you think for a second that it looks like a silent sense of understanding—like he’s lost someone too before. “And what was his name?”

Your cheeks pinch up, smile widening in fondness. Looking down at your left hand that once housed a beautiful, golden ring. “Masamichi.” 

There’s a stillness in the air for a second, the kind that doesn’t feel heavy but rather reverent, as if time itself paused to acknowledge the weight of your words. You look at him through the corner of your eye, seeing how his gaze softens—not with pity, but with something deeper, something far more intimate. It’s the kind of understanding that doesn’t come from words, but from shared experiences, and you’re struck by the thought that perhaps, in some quiet corner of his heart, he knows what it’s like to lose the love of your life.

He doesn’t speak for a while, but there’s something in the way he leans forward that tells you he’s listening in a way that feels different than the usual casual conversations you’ve had with strangers. His eyes are fixed on you, almost as though he’s waiting for you to continue, to say something more, but he doesn’t push. He waits—patiently, and respectfully. "Masamichi," he repeats the name softly, as if he’s testing it on his tongue as if it’s a secret he’s now been entrusted with. “That’s a really cool name, sounds like he was a hardass.”

You chuckle lightly and nod, not trusting yourself to speak again for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat. “He was, but he had his moments.”

“When were those?”

“When he’d call me pretty names.”

“Like?”

You bite your lip, smile wavering a bit as you recount ever beautiful name he used to call you. One always stuck out. “Well, he used to call me a fairy.”

He chuffs. “Why a fairy?” 

"He told me I was delicate, elusive, like something too beautiful to be real. He used to say I’d flown in from some distant place, where the sky was always clear and the air was always fresh." The words feel like they’ve drifted in from a different lifetime, a time when love was a constant companion, not a faint, distant echo. You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth turning up. "I think he liked that idea, that I wasn’t tied down to anything—just... floating through life, free. He said I made him believe in things he never thought possible."

His gaze softens as he watches you, leaning a little closer now as if drawn into the quiet weight of your story. "That’s beautiful," he says, his voice low, almost reverent. "It sounds like he saw you in a way no one else could."

You nod, the memory of his warm words filling the space between you. "He did. And sometimes... sometimes I felt like I was a fairy, too. Like I didn’t really belong to this world. But when he called me that, it made me feel like I was meant to be somewhere, meant to be his." A quiet moment hangs between you, the air heavy with the soft intimacy of shared vulnerability. You meet his eyes, feeling an unexpected connection—the kind of unspoken understanding that can only exist between people who have known the depths of love and loss.

Then, just as you’re about to pull back, he asks, with a gentle curiosity, “Do you still believe in fairies?”

You blink at him, a little taken aback. The question seems simple enough. You shrug, half in amusement, half in disbelief. "I don't know if I believe in them, but... I like to think that maybe they’re real, in some way. In the things we can’t see, in the moments that take our breath away."

His eyes seem to light up, almost as if he’s surprised by your answer. There’s a long beat of silence before his lips curl into a smile that reaches his eyes. "Maybe you’re still a fairy, then," he says, voice warm with something like wonder.

You shake your head. "Yeah, maybe."

The words hang between you, filled with something gentle, something fleeting but real. You feel the stirrings of a connection, fragile and unexpected, like the wingbeats of a fairy. There’s a hollow space in your chest where his memory used to sit, and it takes everything in you not to let it show, not to let the quiet ache spill over. The ring on your finger is long gone, but the phantom of it lingers—an unspoken promise that can never be fulfilled, a history you no longer share with anyone. “What about you?” You shift the conversation, trying to keep the tears at bay, trying to pull yourself back from the edge of vulnerability you’re teetering on. “Do you have someone, someone you’ve loved the way you were loved?”

His smile falters a tad, a flash of something—pain, perhaps, or nostalgia—passing through his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the easy grin you’ve already grown accustomed to—the one that doesn’t let anyone get too close. But the silence that follows speaks volumes, and you almost feel like you’ve crossed some invisible line. Fearing that you’ve peeked into a part of him he didn’t mean nor want to reveal. "I did," he says quietly, almost to himself, the words hanging between you both like a secret. “But sometimes, we love people in ways they can’t love us back.”

The weight of his words sits heavily in the space between you. It’s raw, vulnerable in a way that contradicts his earlier bravado, and you find yourself wondering how much more of him there is behind that smile, behind the charming facade. In that moment, you see something that mirrors your own grief, your own loneliness, and it’s unsettling. “Is she still around?”

“He’s not,” he shakes his head.

You take a sip from your glass, the sharp bitterness of the alcohol grounding you, and give him a small, knowing smile. “Well, I suppose we all have our stories.”

His eyes lock onto yours for a long, unspoken moment. You wonder if this is one of those rare moments in life where people truly see each other—not just for the faces they wear, but for what’s buried beneath. What they carry in the silence. “I think you’re right,” he finally says, his voice soft, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet tenderness that wasn’t there before. "But not everyone’s story is meant to be told in one night."

Your heart flutters for a reason you can’t quite place, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, fate isn’t as cruel as it’s always seemed. Maybe, in this strange twist of events, you weren’t meant to run away from the past after all—but to face it, alongside someone who understands what it’s like to love and lose.

“I’m too old for you,” you laugh off his subtle suggestion, looking over to the opposite corner of the small, dim-lit bar. There are two girls sitting at the booth with obviously wandering eyes toward your new, unexpected companion. “Maybe them.”

He follows your gaze, his eyes flickering briefly to the two girls in the corner, before turning back to you with that signature, easy grin—unchanged, unaffected. The playfulness in his smile doesn’t reach the depths of his eyes, though. You wonder if he’s seeing something entirely different than the charming stranger you’ve made him out to be. You can feel the shift, subtle but undeniable, as if he’s testing the waters of your words, gauging how much of this is just casual banter and how much of it has an undercurrent you aren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Maybe," he replies, leaning back slightly, but there’s a glint of something else in his expression now, something that makes the air between you feel heavier. "But you know, I’m kind of having some fun with you right now." His voice drops, a playful edge softening into something more serious, and it makes you wonder if he’s teasing or if there’s something deeper in his intentions that hasn’t fully revealed itself yet.

“I don’t think we’re having fun.”

“Then what are we having.”

“A simple conversation, nothing more, nothing less.”

He chuckles, leaning closer and tilting his head towards you. “Just how old do you think I am?”

You meet his gaze, noticing a small twinkle. Your eyes move down, analyzing his features. He lets you do so in an untimely manner and when he sees that you’re looking lower at his arms, he playfully flexes. An amused snort that almost sounds like a scoff leaves your lips. “Young enough to be my son.”

“Do you have children?”

“And if I do?”

“Then that’s even better because I love MILFS.”

You scoff for real this time, eyes narrowing at him. “I don’t, but what you just said further proves my point.”

The air between you both shifts, like a quiet storm brewing, though neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge it. His words hang there, an almost careless suggestion laced with mischief, but they are impossible to ignore. You try to brush it off, laugh it off, but something about the way he leans in—his proximity, the way his gaze never wavers from yours—makes it harder than it should be. There’s something in his demeanor that says he’s not just playing, not just following the familiar rhythm of flirty banter. It feels like he’s pushing against the boundaries you’ve set, testing them in a way that catches you off guard.

He watches your every reaction carefully, his smile just a little too knowing, a little too calculated for someone so young. You can feel the heat of his gaze as it lingers, catching you off guard in a way that leaves your words hanging in your throat. His comment about MILFs—joking or not—makes your skin prickle uncomfortably, and for a second, you wonder if he’s being more sincere than you care to admit. But you can’t show it, not when you’ve already drawn the line, already told yourself this was just a fleeting moment in an unfamiliar place.

You clear your throat, trying to bring the conversation back to familiar ground, but the awkwardness lingers. “I’m sure you have better things to do than sit here with a woman who could be your mother.”

“Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he says, the playful edge in his voice softened by something deeper. There’s a sudden, subtle weight to his words, as though he’s no longer speaking just to entertain or to flirt, but to convey something more. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it catches you off guard. His eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. The playful front cracks, revealing a hint of something you can’t quite name.

You shift uncomfortably, your thoughts creeping in again. "Well, you’ll find plenty of people who can keep you entertained around here." You gesture vaguely to the bar, the people milling about, the noise, the chatter. "I’m not the one you’re looking for."

His expression dampens. “Maybe you’re right. But maybe I’m just looking for someone who sees me, you know?”

The words hit you harder than they should, a soft pressure in your chest that you quickly try to dismiss. What is he saying? He doesn’t know you, yet he’s almost acting like he does. "I see you," you respond, your voice quieter than before, the weight of the statement hanging between you both like a truth neither of you is willing to face.

He doesn’t say anything right away, but his eyes darken, the smile fading into something more thoughtful, more introspective. You begin to think he might say something that cuts through all the barriers you’ve put up, something that challenges the notion that this is just a casual encounter between strangers. But instead, he shifts in his seat, taking another long sip of his drink. “I don’t know if you do,” he finally says, his voice lower now, the playful lilt gone. 

When he puts his drink down, you blame it on the alcohol from the way your skin flushes in a girlish way as he leans in—his breath fanning your ear. You also blame it on the alcohol when you’re reciprocating his advances, meeting his stare with an equally heated one of your own. And finally, you blame it on the alcohol when you tilt your head to whisper something in his ear. 

“Do you want me to look harder?”

That was the first night you went home with him—the first night you indulged in the warmth and pleasure a man—Satoru—can bring you. And even after sharing your ages, that never stopped. It somehow…never stopped you either. You found yourself giving in—almost craving the way his hands grip your hips, the way his slim and long fingers dance along your ribs in a soft manner. 

You didn’t expect yourself to be falling over the edge, finishing on just the tongue of a man younger than you. You always prided yourself on wanting—needing—an older man. And god, you were really missing out, weren’t you?

But it wasn’t just the way he touched you, the way his mouth knew exactly how to undo you piece by piece—it was the way he looked at you. Like you were something untouchable, yet here he was, holding you, ruining you, worshipping you in ways you hadn’t let anyone do in years.

It was intoxicating.

You told yourself it was just a fling, something fleeting, something fun. A vacation romance, a secret indulgence that you’d tuck away once you boarded your plane back home. But Satoru wasn’t the kind of man you could forget easily. His touch lingered, his voice echoed, and before you even realized it, you were answering his calls. Responding to his texts. Finding yourself in his arms again, even when you swore it would be the last time. You found yourself smiling at him when you believed he wasn’t looking, stifling a peal of laughter at his stupid jokes that he only said so he could see the way your eyes crinkle at the edges—you were finding comfort in him. 

A warm, tentative comfort that only one other man had brought you before. 

There were times you felt guilty, believing you were still bound to your late husband even in death, and at times—you almost compared the two. However, you know Masamichi would’ve wanted you to move on and care for yourself in ways he couldn’t do anymore. He would’ve smiled and encouraged you to find pleasure in your life. 

And you did. 

Because somewhere between those nights tangled in silk sheets and the hushed laughter over shared meals, you forgot to remind yourself of the one thing that mattered most: this was never meant to last.

But at the same time, you almost didn’t want it to end. You enjoyed the way he kissed your knuckles, moved strands of hair out your face, and complimented you when you felt at your lowest. He was seeing every part of you—the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly. You were letting him. 

One night, after a particularly passionate session, he’s running his fingers along the curve of your spine. Naked bodies huddled next to one another, and the sheets offer a nice little coverup. The moonlight peeks through his blinds, the plush mattress sinking further underneath your weights. He kisses the top of your head softly before moving to your temple. Once again, you’re smiling. Tracing mindless circles on his bare chest, your foot rubbing up and down his calf. No words are spoken, there usually aren’t. But the silence doesn’t feel deafening; it feels comfortable. You found yourself snuggling closer to him.  “Satoru?”

“Mhm?” he hummed back, sighing lightly, his smile never wavering. 

“Where do you…see yourself in ten years?”

He hums again, this time in thought, his fingers never ceasing their lazy tracing along your spine. You feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath your palm, steady and unhurried. You wonder if he’s really thinking about your question, or if he’s simply enjoying the feel of you against him. “In ten years?” he finally repeats, voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile moment. “I don’t know…Happy, I guess. Settled down; I’d like to have kids by then.”

Your fingers pause against his chest. You don’t know why, but his answer catches you off guard. Not because it’s shocking—he’s young, full of life, full of potential—but because it’s something you’ve stopped thinking about for yourself. “Kids?” you echo, tilting your head up to look at him. His pale lashes flutter slightly as he meets your gaze, and there’s something soft in his expression, something almost wistful.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a small chuckle escaping him. “A couple of ‘em, maybe. A little girl who’s just as stubborn as me, a boy who’s just as curious. Someone to pass everything down to, y’know?” His hand moves from your back, up to your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he exhales. “I think I’d be a good dad.”

You don’t doubt that. Satoru is many things—annoying, arrogant, childish at times—but he’s also deeply caring. He loves with his whole heart, even when he pretends he doesn’t. You can see him being the kind of father who carries his child on his shoulders, who spoils them with sweets, who makes bad dad jokes just to hear their laughter.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to say that out loud. Instead, you settle for a noncommittal hum, lowering your head back onto his chest, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Ten years from now, he’ll have a family. He’ll have everything he wants. And you won’t be part of it.

That’s when reality hit for you. You’re holding him back. You can’t give him what he wants, what he longs for. It’s a bittersweet, brutal reminder that this little world you’ve built was only meant to be temporary. That the laughs, touches, kisses, the sex, it’s fickle. You’ve blinded yourself and let yourself sink too far deep to understand that what Satoru wants…he can’t experience with you. 

And so, it started small. Days spent out with him, your eyes would flicker around, moving from one woman to the next. Pointing them out to him in an encouraging way. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” “Maybe you should go ask for her number.”

“You’re both tall, you would go well together.”

It honestly hurt to push him away—to open his eyes to the other fish in the sea while a small part of you wished he could only be yours. But you’d never ask him to stop following his dreams of becoming a family man for your own selfish desires. 

At the start, he humors you. Rolls his eyes, scoffs, plays along like it’s just another one of your little jokes. “She’s alright, I guess,” he shrugs when you point out a woman at the café, her long legs crossed elegantly as she sips on a cappuccino. “But I prefer my women a little more…experienced.” He flashes you that cocky grin, the one that always makes your stomach flutter.

You laugh, but it’s forced. You ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him. But then you do it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t take him long to catch on.

One evening, when you offhandedly comment on the cute waitress who just served your drinks, something shifts in his expression. His smile dims, his fingers drum idly against the table. “Y’know,” he says, tone too casual, too light. “You’ve been doing this a lot lately.” 

You feign ignorance, sipping your wine. “Doing what?”

“Trying to set me up like some kind of matchmaking service.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, gaze sharp. “You got tired of me already?”

You force back a sigh. The way he says it—half-joking, half-serious—makes your stomach twist. “Satoru—”

“No, really,” he cuts in smoothly, tilting his head. “Is that what this is? You pushing me away? Guilt-tripping me into realizing you’re too old for me or whatever bullshit you’ve been telling yourself?”

Your fingers clench around the stem of your glass. He sees right through you. You swallow, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

His laugh is sharp, humorless. “Looking out for me?” He leans back, stretching his arms along the booth. “Or making decisions for me?”

You hate how much that stings. You hate how right he is.

“I just…” You exhale, setting your glass down. “I just don’t want to hold you back, Satoru.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue. You think he’s going to tell you you’re being ridiculous, that he wants you, that he doesn’t care about the future you keep running from.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really that convinced this can’t work, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

His lips press into a thin line. He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his drink. “Message received.”

And just like that, the air between you shifts.

Colder.

More distant.

Like the beginning of the end.

Your heart drops, looking back down at your wine. For a second, you felt like you ruined things. But it’s better to nip things in the bud than let them bloom, is it not?

Even after that, he was still adamant about seeing you. You let him, deciding to relish in these last few tender moments you may have with him. The sun was shining and beaming down on you two as you ate your brunch. It was a pleasant day. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that made you wonder how someone like her could even exist in this world. The type of beautiful that turned heads and left impressions. The type that had Satoru slowly following her with his eyes. You tell yourself this is a good thing. That this is what you wanted. That you should feel relieved that, finally, he’s looking at someone else the way he shouldn’t be looking at you.

But it doesn’t feel like a relief. It feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

You lift your mimosa to your lips, taking a slow sip, pretending you don’t notice the way his gaze lingers on her. She’s stunning—long legs, flawless skin, a radiant smile that could stop anyone in their tracks, and long black hair. She looks like she belongs in a magazine, not in a small café, laughing at something her friend just said.

You force yourself to smile. “She’s exactly your type.”

Satoru’s attention snaps back to you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression. He blinks, then exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

You tilt your head, feigning confusion. “I’m just saying, you should talk to her.”

He scoffs, pushing his fork around his plate. “Yeah? And then what?”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Satoru sets his silverware down with a quiet clink, resting his arms on the table. “Let’s say I go up to her. Get her number. Take her on a date.” He shrugs, giving you a half-smile. “Then what? I sleep with her? Take her on more dates? Marry her?”

You stare at him, not sure where this is going.

“And then we have kids,” he continues, his tone light, but his eyes—his eyes are sharp, cutting right through you. “That’s what you want, right? For me to find someone younger, someone who can give me the future I want.”

Your throat tightens.

He leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. “So, tell me something.” His voice drops, softer now, almost vulnerable. “If I wanted all of that with someone else, don’t you think I’d already be doing it?”

Your breath catches.

He waits.

But you don’t have an answer.

All you can do is encourage him to go up to her.

And he did.

He was reluctant, of course. Only doing it to shut you up. 

But you saw the way his expression softened, the way his dimples poked out when he’d talk about her. You were there on the side, watching what he once thought would be a simple meeting, to finding a woman he’d started to fall for. 

It was like watching a slow-moving car crash—one you orchestrated with your own hands. You had done this. You had led him to her, pushed him in her direction, knowing full well what it would mean. And yet, knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The texts started. Little mentions of her here and there. You caught the way his face lit up in a way you hadn’t seen before, the way he spoke about her with that quiet sort of wonder like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he never expected to solve. You were still a part of his life, still, someone he made time for, but something between you had shifted irreversibly. The stolen moments, the lingering touches, the whispered confessions under moonlit sheets—they grew fewer and further between, replaced by something… distant.

She was such a kind and lovely woman, her voice made of butter when she spoke to you about him. And when you caught him smiling at his phone one evening, thumb idly tapping out a message to her, you knew.

He had found what you wanted for him. What he deserved. What you couldn’t give him.

So why did it feel like you were the one being left behind?

“Are you happy?” you had whispered, holding him tight in a hug, eyes beginning to water.

He held you back, arms secure around your waist. His icy hair tickled your skin, and he planted a soft, reverent kiss on your cheek. Pulling back to look at you, he didn’t have that fiery, teasing sparkle in his eyes like usual. No, this time, all that was there was just…him. Just Satoru. 

“I am,” he had said with a genuine finality. 

The trickle of warm tears slid down your cheeks, his thumbs swiping softly at the skin. “Good, I’m…I’m happy too.”

Truthfully, you were. Because if you had to let Satoru go, if you had to let him be the man he should be, you knew he was doing it beside a woman that was worth it. She was worth it. And you were beginning to be okay with the fact of being a memory to him, as long as it meant his wishes came true.

You left him, never once looking back, answering his texts or his calls. 

You don’t know how you had the strength to do it, how you managed to pull yourself away from the man you’d poured so much of yourself into. There was a time when you thought you’d never be able to let go—when you believed you’d somehow convince him that the life he envisioned with someone else wasn’t worth pursuing. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep holding onto him, not when the weight of your love was slowly suffocating him, not when you knew that he needed to step into a future that wasn’t tied to a past that could never fully be his. You didn’t want to be the one who held him back, no matter how much it hurt.

The hardest part was the silence that came after. You told yourself it was for the best, that you were doing him a favor, letting him breathe, letting him live without your shadow hanging over him. But the quiet was unbearable. Slowly, the hole he left inside you grew wider, the void left by his absence swallowing you whole. It felt like a slow, silent death—a death that had to happen for him to thrive, even if you weren’t ready for it.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.

But somehow, that was for the best. He was with her now—his beautiful, young, hopeful future. And you? You were learning to accept the peace that came with being the past. The bittersweet relief of knowing that you had let him go, even when it felt like a piece of you was missing forever. You were learning to find happiness and acceptance with that. But you knew deep down, a part of you would always love him. And that part would remain tucked away, hidden, safe in the quiet recesses of your heart where no one could touch it. Because, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much life moved on, Satoru would always be the one who made you believe in the fleeting beauty of something that could never truly last.

Seven years had passed, and time had etched its marks on both of you. You were different now—wiser, perhaps. Life had moved on, as it always did, carrying you forward in unexpected ways. You found a home in Japan, a little place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, a perfect reflection of the peace you had slowly cultivated within yourself. It was the kind of home you never thought you'd need after him, but somehow, it filled the emptiness that had lingered for so long.

When you saw him again, it felt like a thousand memories rushed back to you in a single moment. His shock was palpable—eyes wide with disbelief, brows furrowed as if trying to make sense of the woman standing before him. The same Satoru, yet different in small, subtle ways. His features had softened, a few lines around his eyes that spoke of time passing, of laughter shared, of a life fully lived. He was healthy, vibrant, the man you’d once known and the one who had continued his journey without you. "Y/N?" His voice was quiet at first, unsure if this was real or just a figment of his mind. His gaze swept over you as if trying to understand how you could still exist in his life after everything.

And then, he smiled. It wasn’t the same playful grin that had always been there, the one that had once made your heart race. This one was softer, warmer—gentler. It carried the weight of the years apart, but also the familiarity of someone who had once been an integral part of your soul.

And you smiled back again.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, the embrace as natural as it was unexpected. It wasn’t just a hug; it was a reunion, a silent acknowledgment of everything that had passed between you both. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting strength of his hold, the warmth of his body that you once thought you'd never feel again. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, just the undeniable connection that had never truly disappeared. It was as though time had been kind to you both, erasing the pain and replacing it with something softer, something more peaceful.

“Satoru,” you muttered softly, almost in relief. 

"You look good," he said softly, pulling away just enough to look at you, his hands lingering on your arms as if testing the reality of this moment. 

You feel something cold pressed against your arm, looking down…there’s a golden ring on his left ring finger. Your lips parted with mild surprise before looking up at him with a sense of blitheness. You couldn’t help but chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way he loved—loves. “...is it her?”

He nods, glancing down at your own hand. And look at that; he’s not the only one with a gold ring. “And what about you?’ he asked, a softness in his voice.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, bringing your hand up and admiring the band around your finger, the diamond saying hello once more. Memories of your husband’s gruff voice, his frown that he tried so hard to keep etched on his face, the spiky black hair you loved to comb your fingers through, the scar on the corner of his mouth that you loved to kiss. “His name is Toji.”

He nodded with a wave of approval. “How long?”

“Three years. And you?”

“Four.”

You guys laughed simultaneously.  The sound of your shared laughter fills the quiet space between you two, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. There’s an ease to it, an old familiarity that you never quite lost, even with the years between you. The weight of everything that had happened—your separation, his journey, your own—seems to melt away, leaving only the lightness of the present moment. It feels almost surreal, standing there with him, both of you changed yet still the same in many ways.

You glance down at your left hand again, the ring catching the sunlight that spills through the window. The cool metal seems to hum with its own kind of quiet significance. Toji. 

But now, standing here with Satoru, there’s a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with contentment. You never imagined this—standing side by side with him, sharing your worlds as they are now. When you look up at Satoru, you see the same softness in his eyes that’s always been there, but now it carries with it the weight of time. He has a family, a future that doesn’t include you, and that’s okay. There’s peace in that. He’s found what he was always meant to have, the thing that once felt like an impossibility between you two.

“Four years,” you repeat, your voice soft, taking in the new ring on his finger. “That’s beautiful, Satoru. I’m…I’m so happy for you.”

He grins, that same playful glint in his eyes, but this time it feels like it’s tempered by something deeper, something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “She’s incredible. I’m really lucky.”

The warmth that spreads through you isn’t jealousy, or bitterness, or anything like that. It’s something else entirely—pride, maybe. Or relief. You always knew that Satoru was meant for something bigger than what you two could have together, but seeing him happy now, seeing him settled with someone who makes his eyes light up the way they used to with you, it’s the closure you never thought you needed. 

“You?” he asks again, as though sensing the unspoken question between you two. His gaze shifts to your hand again, then back up to your face. 

The words come out easily now. “He’s my rock,” you say simply, the affection in your voice unguarded. “He makes me better, makes me whole.”

Satoru’s expression softens, and you see the flicker of that old tenderness—the way he used to look at you before everything got complicated. But it’s not painful, this time. It’s not heavy. It’s just… understanding. Like he’s happy that you’ve found that kind of peace. The kind of peace he’s found with her. “You both deserve it,” he says with a nod, as though sealing the quiet approval between you two. “You deserve everything good that comes your way.”

It’s a simple statement, but it carries so much weight. The unspoken acknowledgment that the two of you, after all this time, have moved on, and have created lives for yourselves that reflect who you’ve become. And for all that has happened, all the loss and the love that came and went, there’s something beautiful in knowing that this chapter—this shared history—is now something you both cherish without needing to hold on to.

He invited you over that day and you accepted. 

His wife runs up to you, hugging you like you’re an old friend. “Oh my god!” she exclaims in a gasp, her red-tinted lips curved up into a wide smile. You hugged her back, mirroring his reactions. “It’s so great to see you again, Miss. Satoru and I have never forgotten you.”

“Utahime…” he mutters with slight embarrassment. 

You chortled and patted her back. “I haven’t forgotten about you too either.”

She pulls back, removing her arms from you. Satoru places a warm arm around her waist and brings her to his side. The display of affection has you melting on the inside, head tilting in fondness. Satoru looks at you. “So, there’s someone we want you to—”

The sound of little pitter-patter against the hardwood cuts him off, all of your attention being dragged to the little girl with white hair and auburn eyes like her moth bounding up to you in excited familiarity. Her tiny gasp as she looks up at you with wide, innocent, twinkling eyes. She looked up at you as if she had known you her whole life, bubbling with a sense of jitteriness, cheeks glowing with a youthful flush. You couldn’t help but crouch down to her height, head tilting. Your eyes glazed over with tears, holding a hand to your mouth to hold back the broken laugh you almost let out at the question she asked you. 

“Are you the fairy?”

a/n: this story is inspired by "a love not made for me" by aryana rose. please go hear her speak it, she tells it so beautifully :(((. anywho, thank u guys for 2k really. i love u all and I'm incredibly grateful for all the support and love and patience :))

i couldn't do it without yall. <3

[yoursmutsorcerer]

Just another night with Satoru Gojo

The night was quiet, save for the slow hum of the city outside. The dim glow of the moon filtered through the blinds, casting silver lines over the tangled sheets. Satoru Gojo lay beside you, his breath warm against your skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your bare shoulder.

"You look exhausted," he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement as his lips brushed against your temple. "Not that I blame you."

Your body still tingled from his touch, a shiver rolling down your spine as he pulled you closer. His presence was overwhelming—everything about him was. The way his silver hair fell messily over his forehead, the slight smirk tugging at his lips, the way his fingers teased at the curve of your waist like he had all the time in the world.

"You’re insatiable," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you—breathless, needy, still aching for more.

His laughter was low and sinful, his lips pressing against the shell of your ear. "And you love it."

He shifted, pinning you beneath him with an effortless grace, his weight pressing into you in all the right ways. His eyes, usually hidden behind those dark shades, bore into yours—brilliant, endless, knowing. His hands roamed, slow, teasing, as if savoring every inch of you.

"You still have energy left," he mused, lips trailing along your collarbone, nipping just enough to make you gasp. "Guess I'll just have to wear you out properly."

The night stretched long, filled with whispered promises, stolen breaths, and the kind of pleasure only Satoru Gojo could give.

And he wasn’t finished yet.

Satoru’s fingers dragged slowly down your spine, the heat of his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His lips followed the same path, lingering at your shoulder, pressing kisses so soft they made your breath hitch. He was teasing, savoring the way you trembled beneath him, his smirk growing with every shudder of your body.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, voice deep and laced with something undeniably wicked. “I could do this all night.”

His hands mapped your body like he was memorizing you, exploring every inch with a deliberate slowness that bordered on torturous. He knew exactly what he was doing—every kiss, every touch, every whisper against your skin was calculated to leave you desperate for more.

When his lips found yours again, the kiss was deeper, hungrier. His hands tightened on your hips, pressing you closer, pulling you into him. He wanted you to feel everything—to know that no barrier, no space, no hesitation could keep him from claiming you completely.

“Mine,” he breathed against your mouth, voice husky with desire. His teeth grazed your lower lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp, and he swallowed the sound with another kiss—this one rougher, more possessive.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails grazing his scalp as he let out a low, satisfied hum. “I love it when you do that,” he admitted, his breath warm against your neck before he dipped lower, lips trailing over the rapid beat of your pulse.

The world outside didn’t matter anymore. Not when he was here, worshiping you with hands that knew how to break and mend in the same breath, with lips that tasted like sin and promises of something deeper, something endless.

And from the way his body pressed against yours, from the whispered curses and hushed praises spilling from his lips, you knew—this night was far from over.

Satoru’s hands gripped your hips with just enough force to make you feel utterly claimed, his fingers pressing deep into your skin as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His breath was hot, uneven, and every deliberate movement sent another wave of fire spiraling through your body.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he murmured, voice husky with satisfaction. His lips found yours again, deep and possessive, stealing what little breath you had left. His body moved against you, slow at first—torturous in its control—before he pressed harder, deeper, making you arch beneath him.

The room was filled with heat, with the sounds of your breaths tangling together, the way your bodies melted into one another like a slow-burning fire finally consuming everything in its path. He knew exactly how to push you closer—how to draw out every ounce of pleasure with practiced, deliberate precision.

“Satoru—” Your voice was barely a whisper, lost in the intoxicating haze of his touch, of the way he knew your body, responding to every movement like he was attuned to your every desire.

His lips ghosted over your ear, his voice dark, teasing. “Say my name again.”

He moved against you again, sharper this time, drawing a helpless gasp from your lips. His smirk was sinful, his satisfaction clear in the way he held you, the way he refused to let a single second pass without making sure you felt everything.

The tension built like a coil winding tighter and tighter, his rhythm relentless, his grip unwavering. Every whispered praise, every teasing brush of his lips against your skin sent another shock of pleasure through you, pushing you to the very edge.

And then—everything shattered.

A rush of pure sensation crashed over you, overwhelming, electric. Your body trembled beneath his, his name spilling from your lips in a breathless, uncontrollable cry. He held you through it, guiding you through the storm with whispered praise, his touch never leaving you, never relenting.

When the haze finally cleared, you found yourself pressed against him, his arms wrapped around you as if he had no intention of letting go. His lips brushed against your forehead, his breath still ragged, a satisfied chuckle escaping him.

“You look stunning like this,” he murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles along your spine. “But I hope you didn’t think that was the end.”

His smirk was unmistakable, his hands already teasing lower, sending another ripple of heat through you.

“Because, sweetheart…” His voice was a promise, dark and full of wicked intent. “I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

[sandiaarts]

Original idea by @nkogneatho

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

[minicookiedemonx]

I’m going to be posting all my stories on my page as well!

Hi guys, it's mini back with another Gojo fanfic!! This one is more up my alleys in terms of what I am into. So I hope you guys enjoy! I present to you.

DEFYING GOJO; A Tale of Dominance and Desire

Summary: Gojo and the femreader are a couple; Despite the female reader initial defiance, you quickly becomes enthralled by his expert touch and commanding presence. As their passion intensifies, your is pushed to the brink of submission and back again, discovering the thrill of being dominated by the man who can bring you to the edge of pleasure and pain.

Warnings: BDSM, borderline CNC, toy play, edging, slapping, choking, hair pulling, degradation kink, teasing, fingering, brat kink

Word count: 4k

You never intended to let things escalate as they did, but you couldn't help it. The evening's events led you to sit in Gojo's opulent car, with his faithful chauffeur driving you home. You were all alone. You gazed out the window as the city lights merged into a stunning mesh; you could admit that you were more than a little tipsy.

You began to replay the events of the night over and over in your mind, and it was utterly tantalizing.

It was a formal ball hosted by the finance company Gojo worked for, attended by many high-profile clients. While Gojo had always enjoyed public play, tonight was important. Networking was crucial for the company's survival.

And you might have been selfish tonight, prioritizing your erotic pleasures over the company's interests. To be honest, you couldn't care less, but it meant something to Gojo. A part of you felt guilty, while a larger, more sensitive part of you yearned for the punishment that would inevitably follow your reckless decisions.

You teased, taunted, and maybe even flirted with one or two patrons, but you knew what you were doing. No matter how much you blamed the alcohol as a feeble excuse to deflect Gojo's warnings, it was all on you. "Get in the car. Go home. We'll discuss this when I get back," Gojo said sternly, his anger barely concealed beneath his authoritative commands.

As you recalled the night's events and fantasized about all the different ways you could be punished, your phone rang. You picked it up, and Gojo's contact information lit up your screen in the dark car, casting a pale glow on your face. You smirked. No matter how much he disciplined you, you couldn't help but misbehave.

You let the phone ring a few more times, savoring each passing moment that made Gojo's blood pressure rise. Finally, you decided to answer. "Hello," you answered innocently. At first, Gojo didn't say anything; you only heard his breathing, as if he was trying to maintain control. You could hear voices in the background, indicating that Gojo hadn't left the ball yet.

"When I get home, you better be on your fucking knees. And naked," he growled before hanging up, leaving you breathless and eager.

You pondered whether you would follow his instructions or not. Submitting would be beneficial in the long run and might even lead to a reward. But in Gojo's unpredictable state, he could devise a series of punishments that would leave you both blissful and in pain, a perfect storm. As the chauffeur pulled up to your elegant home, you stepped out of the car, unable to ignore the fact that your panties were soaked through.

After entering the house, you pampered yourself with skincare, lotion, and oils. You styled your hair naturally yet presentably and contemplated your plan of action. Would you submit or disobey? You chose the more scandalous option.

You picked out a casual cropped tank top that accentuated your breasts and tight short-shorts that did the same for your rear. No panties, of course. You sat on your bed, flipping through one of your recent reads, not paying much attention. Your phone buzzed beside you, displaying a notification with Gojo's text. "Be ready for me. I'll be home in 20." You smiled at the screen before setting your phone back down, not even bothering to reply.

That would really infuriate him.

As you continued to read, you heard the front door unlock, open, and close with a bang downstairs. You loved it when he was angry; that's when he fucked you the best.

You heard his footsteps pause at the foot of the stairs, probably realizing that you had disobeyed him. You would have given anything to see the look on his face right now. Then, you heard his footsteps ascend the stairs, heavy with each step. You continued to read, pretending to be unaffected by his intoxicating presence.

Gojo burst through the door, and your eyes met his, making it evident that he was livid. His brows knitted together, and his lips slightly parted as he panted, as if every primal instinct within him was about to break free. "You were supposed to obey my commands. You should have been naked, kneeling before me, but instead, here you are, being defiant."

He took slow, deliberate steps toward the foot of the bed. By now, you had set your book aside, your back pressed against the bed frame, knees drawn to your chest. Your arms wrapped around your knees as you looked at him, mischief lurking beneath your gaze.

"What made you think I'd listen to you?" you challenged, "It's not like you own me or something." You rolled your eyes, and when they returned to Gojo, the fierceness in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. He reached forward and swiftly pulled you down to the edge of the bed by your legs. Suddenly, he was on top of you.

His body pressed against yours, the heat emanating from him, and his pheromones filled your senses, driving you wild. He leaned in close enough for your lips to nearly touch, his soft white hair falling around his face as his piercing ice-blue eyes held you captive.

"On the contrary, I own every part of you," he murmured, his thumb tracing your lips, "Your lips," then trailing down to the valley between your breasts. "Your breasts," his fingers continued to glide over every area of your body he claimed. "Your pussy," but before he could reach your aching core, his grip shifted to the back of your head. He grabbed your hair with one hand, lifting your body to sit on the edge of the bed.

As he held tightly to your hair at the back of your head, he brought his face level with yours. "And it's about time you fucking understood that." With that, he used your hair to guide you to stand up. He released his grip before stepping back, turning to face you as he approached his favorite leather chair.

Once he reached it, he turned to face you, sinking into the chair with ease. He beckoned you with a crooked finger, "Come here. Now."

You gradually approached Gojo until you were merely a few feet away from him. One hand rested on the chair's arm while the other stroked his chin, as if he was pondering how he was going to proceed.

"Strip," Gojo commanded with a stern tone, leaning forward in his chair to observe you more closely. You bit your lip as you slowly began to remove your clothing, starting with your top. You crossed your arms over one another, hooking your hands underneath the hem of your shirt before lifting it over your head and tossing it to the side as seductively as possible. You then began to shimmy your way out of your tight shorts, stepping out of them, leaving you completely naked before Gojo.

Once you were entirely bare, Gojo exhaled loudly, easing back into his chair. He ran his fingers through his hair, "God, your body is fucking perfect. If you weren't acting like such a naughty slut, I would take you right here, right now." He stood up and walked towards you, slowly circling you like a shark stalking its prey. He stopped behind you and leaned towards your ear, "But naughty sluts don't get rewarded."

Gojo bit your earlobe before forcefully smacking your ass, causing you to gasp loudly in response. He soothed the lingering burn by roughly grabbing your ass with both of his hands. "Mm, baby, the things I'm going to do to you," Gojo whispered in a husky voice. He slid his hands between your legs, dragging his finger from your clit, all the way through the slit. Gojo moaned, "I love how wet you get for me; it makes me want to fuck you so bad." He teasingly inserted the tip of his finger in and out of you.

You rocked your body against the rhythm of his fingers, desperate for more. Gojo tsked at you before quickly removing his hand. He stepped in front of you and put the same finger that had been inside you in your mouth. You made eye contact with Gojo as you eagerly sucked on his fingers. Gojo hummed at the sight, "But only good girls get rewarded, remember?"

"Now I'll give you one more chance...if you apologize like a good girl, I might throw in a reward...or two..."

You kept your gaze on the floor, contemplating how you wanted to play this. Though submitting would bring many pleasures, being defiant caused a thrill out of you like no other. Nothing felt better than being dominated by Gojo Satoru.

Gojo, sensing your hesitation, knelt down beside you, his face inches from yours. "You know, it's not always about the punishment," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Sometimes, it's about the surrender. The trust. The release." He paused, his eyes searching yours. "Don't you want to experience that with me?"

Finally, you raised your head to meet his gaze, your eyes flashing with defiance. "I'm not sorry, Gojo," you said, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. "I won't apologize for something I don't believe I did wrong."

Gojo's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of surprise in their depths. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. "Is that so?" he drawled, his voice low and dangerous. "Well then, we'll just have to continue with the punishment, won't we?"

He walked back towards the play cabinet, his movements fluid and graceful like a predator stalking its prey. You couldn't help but watch him, your body tense with anticipation as you wondered what he had planned next. Would he choose the crop again, or perhaps something else entirely?

As Gojo rummaged through the cabinet, you took the opportunity to assess your situation. You were on all fours, completely naked and vulnerable, with no idea what Gojo had in store for you. A shiver of excitement ran down your spine at the thought, and you realized that this was exactly what you wanted - to be pushed to your limits, to feel the sting of the crop and the heat of Gojo's body against yours.

With a triumphant grin, Gojo emerged from the cabinet, holding a new toy in his hand. It was a paddle, similar to the one he had used earlier but with a slightly different design. You couldn't help but gulp at the sight, wondering how it would feel against your already tender skin.

"Now, where were we?" Gojo said, his voice dripping with mock innocence as he approached you with the paddle. "Oh yes, you were about to receive your punishment for being such a naughty girl."

He raised the paddle above his head, and you braced yourself for the impact. But just as he was about to bring it down, he stopped, his eyes narrowing as he regarded you with a mixture of amusement and frustration.

"You know," he said, "I'm starting to think that you actually enjoy this."

You couldn't help but smile at that, your defiance shining bright in your eyes. "Maybe I do," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I like the way you make me feel, the way you push me to my limits and make me crave more."

Gojo's eyes darkened at your words, and for a moment, you thought you saw something resembling desire flash in their depths. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that infuriating smirk once more.

"Well then," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I think it's time we found out just how much you can take."

And with that, he brought the paddle down, the sound of it connecting with your skin echoing through the room as you cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

Gojo's eyes never left yours as he raised the crop, the air in the room charged with anticipation. You braced yourself, your heart pounding in your chest, but instead of bringing the crop down on your exposed skin, he merely traced it along your back, the leather cool against your heated flesh.

"Naughty girls don't get rewards, remember?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

"But maybe, just maybe, if you beg nicely..."

You gritted your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you plead. Instead, you met his gaze head-on, your defiance shining in your eyes.

"I won't beg, Gojo," you said, your voice steady despite the trembling in your limbs. "I won't give you the power to make me beg."

A slow smile spread across his face, and for a moment, you thought you saw something akin to admiration in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a predatory glint that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Oh, but you already have, my dear," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Your defiance, your determination... it's all a form of begging. Begging me to break you, to make you submit."

He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing against yours, and you could feel his breath on your skin. "But I'm not going to do that," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Not yet, anyway."

Gojo, however, was not one to give up so easily. He could see the fire in your eyes, the defiance that made his heart race. He loved it, craved it even. It was a challenge, and he was more than willing to rise to the occasion.

"Very well," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "If you won't submit willingly, then I'll have to make you."

With that, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Your eyes widened at the sight, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through your veins. You had never been into bondage before, but the thought of being completely at Gojo's mercy was intoxicating.

"Get on the bed," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing, but ultimately, your curiosity and desire to experience this new form of play won out.

You climbed onto the bed, your heart pounding in your chest as Gojo approached. He grabbed your wrists, his touch firm but gentle, and secured the handcuffs around them. You tested the restraints, finding them secure, and a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine.

"Now, we'll see how defiant you are," Gojo murmured, his voice a soft growl as he loomed over you. He ran a hand down your body, his touch feather-light, and you couldn't help but shiver at the sensation.

He began to explore your body with his hands, his touch lingering on your most sensitive areas. Your breath hitched as he teased your nipples, rolling them between his fingers, and you felt a dampness between your legs.

"Spread your legs," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. You complied, feeling vulnerable and exposed, but also incredibly turned on. He ran his hands up your inner thighs, stopping just short of your aching core.

"Please," you whispered, your defiance crumbling in the face of your desire. "Please, touch me."

Gojo grinned, a predatory glint in his eye. "Finally, some submission," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He dipped his head between your legs, his tongue tracing your folds, and you gasped at the sensation.

He continued to pleasure you, his skilled tongue driving you to the brink of orgasm. Just as you were about to fall over the edge, he stopped, pulling away with a wicked grin.

"Not yet," he whispered, his voice a tantalizing promise. "You'll beg for it first." Gojo backed off the bed to strip himself of his clothing before returning on top of you.

"You're such a stubborn little thing," Gojo growled, his eyes dark with desire.

"But I love a challenge."

He straddled your face, his arousal pressing against your lips. You opened your mouth, and he forcefully thrust inside, fucking your mouth with abandon. He moaned as he thrust deeper, his grip on your hair tightening as he used your mouth for his pleasure.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted, his voice heavy with lust. "Being used like a cheap whore, taking my cock down your throat."

You gagged and moaned around him, the sensations overwhelming as he continued to degrade you. Finally, with a grunt of satisfaction, he came, his release filling your mouth as you struggled to swallow it all.

He pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Now that's what I call a good girl," he said, his voice dripping with condescension.

But your defiance was not so easily broken. You glared up at him, your eyes blazing with determination. "I'm not done yet," you declared, your voice hoarse but strong.

Gojo's eyes widened in surprise, and then he laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, I can't wait to see what you have in store for me," he said, his voice full of anticipation.

He returned to his position beside you, his hand reaching out to tease your body once more. You braced yourself, ready for the next round of his relentless assault. You were determined to show him that you were not so easily broken, that your defiance would not be easily quashed. He began to tease you once more.

Gojo's smirk widened as he watched your defiance, the fire in your eyes only serving to fuel his own desire. He leaned down, his lips close to your ear as he whispered, "You want it so badly, don't you? To feel me inside you, to be filled and used."

His fingers teased your entrance, circling your clit before slipping inside you, his thumb rubbing circles over your sensitive nub. Your body trembled, your breath hitching as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of release, only to pull away at the last moment.

He then positioned himself between your legs, his tongue tracing the same path his fingers had just moments before. He teased your entrance with the tip of his tongue before delving inside, his hands gripping your hips as he feasted on your sweetness. Your body bucked, your cries of pleasure filling the room as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Please," you gasped, your voice barely audible as you pleaded with him. "Please, let me come."

Gojo's laughter echoed in your ears, a cruel sound that made your heart race. "Beg for it," he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Beg me to fuck you."

You closed your eyes, your body shaking as you whispered the words he wanted to hear. "Please, fuck me. Use me. I'm your whore, your toy. Do whatever you want to me."

Satisfied with your submission, Gojo removed the handcuffs from your wrists, flipping you onto your stomach before pulling your arms behind your back and cuffing them together. He positioned himself at your entrance, his arousal pressing against your folds as he teased you with the tip.

"Are you ready to be fucked?" he asked, his voice heavy with desire.

"Yes," you gasped, your body trembling with need. "Please, fuck me. I need you inside me."

Gojo thrust forward, filling you completely as he began to pound into you from behind. Your cries of pleasure filled the room, your body trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. And this time, when the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you, he didn't pull away. Instead, he drove you over the edge, your body shaking as you came undone around him.

Gojo's smirk widened as he gripped a handful of your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. He leaned down, his lips close to your ear as he whispered, "You're mine now, and I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."

He slapped your ass, the sound echoing in the room as he began to pound into you from behind. His grip on your hair tightened, his other hand wrapping around your throat as he choked you, the pressure sending a thrill of fear and excitement through you.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted, his voice heavy with lust. "Being used like a worthless whore, taking my cock from behind."

"Please," you gasped, your body trembling with need. "I need to come. Please let me come."

Gojo's laughter echoed in your ears, a cruel sound that made your heart race. "Beg for it," he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Beg me to let you come."

You closed your eyes, your body shaking as you whispered the words he wanted to hear. "Please, let me come. I'm your dirty little whore.”

Gojo's thrusts grew more frantic, his grip on your hair tightening as he pulled your head back, exposing your neck to his biting kisses. He slapped your ass again, the sting mixing with the pleasure coursing through your body.

"You're so tight," he growled, his voice low and rough as he fucked you harder. "So fucking tight."

He choked you harder, the pressure sending a thrill of fear and excitement through you. It was a dangerous game, but you trusted him completely. He was in control, and you were his to use as he saw fit.

"Please," you gasped, your body trembling with need. "I need to come. Please let me come."

Gojo's laughter echoed in your ears, a cruel sound that made your heart race. "Beg for it," he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Beg me to let you come."

You closed your eyes, your body shaking as you whispered the words he wanted to hear. "Please, let me come. I'm your good girl. I'll do anything you want.”

Gojo pulled out of you, flipping you onto your back before he repositioned your legs near your head. He loomed over you, his eyes dark with desire as he wrapped his hand around your throat, choking you as he slammed into you.

"You're so fucking wet," he growled, his voice low and rough as he fucked you harder. "Your pussy is gripping my cock so right baby.” Gojo moaned loudly, whimpers escaping his lips here and there.

He leaned down, his lips close to your ear as he whispered, "You like this, don't you? Being used and degraded like the dirty little slut you are."

His words degraded you, but they only served to fuel your desire. You were his to use, his toy to play with as he saw fit. And in that moment, as he fucked you rough and violent, you knew that you would never be satisfied with anything less.

The handcuffs dug into your back, but you didn't mind. The pain was a welcome distraction, a reminder that you were alive and at his mercy. You were his to use and abuse, his toy to play with as he saw fit. And as he choked you and fucked you harder, you knew that you were exactly where you wanted to be.

As Gojo continued to pound into you, he placed his hands on your throat. His grip tightened, the pressure making your head spin. His thrusts grew more erratic, more desperate as he chased his release. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening, your own climax imminent.

"I'm going to fill your dirty little pussy up with every drop of my cum," he growled, his voice thick with lust and possessiveness. "You're going to cum with me, understand?"

You nodded, unable to form words around the pleasure coursing through your body. You were so close, so fucking close.

With a final, brutal thrust, Gojo came, his body shuddering as he filled you up with his seed. The sensation of him cumming inside you sent you over the edge, your body convulsing as you came around his cock.

He pulled out slowly, his spent length slipping from your body. You could feel his cum running down your thighs, mixing with your own juices. You lay there, panting and spent, your body aching in the best possible way.

Gojo loomed over you, his eyes dark and satisfied as he watched you. "You did well," he said, his voice low and approving. "You were a good little slut for me."

You smiled up at him, your body still buzzing from the aftershocks of your shared climax. You were his, his toy to use and abuse as he saw fit. And in that moment, as you lay there covered in his cum, you knew that you would never be satisfied with anything less.

HOPE YALL ENJOYED!

[make1wish]

Gojo fanfic: Erotic Education

Gojo Satoru X Fem! Reader

TW: 🔞NSFW, student gojo(19)

Setting: I’m the assistant supervisor responsible for Gojo’s missions. During a mission at a love hotel, we witnessed a curse born out of human desires between men and women. This piqued Satoru Gojo’s curiosity about such matters, and he asked me, as an elder, about it. At his insistence, we decided to try using the toys available in the love hotel.

The neon lights of the love hotel cast a soft pink glow through the window, painting shadows across the room where we had just eliminated the curse. The air still crackled with residual cursed energy, mixing with the lingering scents of desire that had birthed the spirit in the first place. I was gathering our equipment, ready to leave, when Gojo's voice broke the silence.

"Say," he drawled, lounging against the heart-shaped headboard with casual grace. "Isn't it interesting that such strong emotions could create a curse?" His eyes, usually hidden behind dark glasses, were fixed on me with unsettling intensity.

I continued my task, trying to maintain professional composure. "Many curses are born from human emotions, Gojo-kun. We should report back to the school."

"But this one was different," he persisted, his voice taking on that playful tone that always preceded trouble. "It was born from passion, from desire." He rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands like a curious child. "Have you ever experienced that kind of desire?"

The question made me fumble with the cursed tool I was packing. "That's hardly appropriate, Gojo-kun."

"Why not?" He sat up, his white hair catching the neon light like a halo. "I'm nineteen, practically an adult. And you're supposed to be teaching me about the world, aren't you?"

I turned to face him, ready to scold, but the words died in my throat. He had removed his glasses completely now, and his piercing blue eyes held a mixture of innocent curiosity and something far more dangerous. The way he looked at me reminded me that despite his playful demeanor, he was already the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in existence.

"Besides," he continued, gesturing around the room with its mirrors and subtle implements of pleasure, "we're already here. And who better to learn from than someone I trust?"

The air seemed to thicken with tension as he rose from the bed, moving toward me with that fluid grace that made him so deadly in battle. "You're always so careful with me, always so protective." His hand reached out to touch a strand of my hair. "Won't you protect me from my own curiosity?"

My heart raced as he stepped closer, the professional distance between us shrinking with each movement. The pink neon light caught the angles of his face, making him look older, more dangerous. "Gojo-kun..."

"Satoru," he corrected softly, his fingers trailing down from my hair to my neck. "If you're going to teach me about desire, you should at least use my first name."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. Before I could formulate a response, Satoru's attention was caught by something else. He moved past me to the ornate cabinet beside the bed, pulling open one of its drawers with childlike curiosity.

"What's this?" he asked, lifting out a length of soft red rope. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he let it slide through his fingers. "Is this what adults use to make those curses of desire?"

I reached to take the rope from him, but he held it just out of reach. "Satoru, that's not something we should be discussing."

"But look at all of these," he continued, opening more drawers to reveal an array of implements that made my cheeks burn. "There are so many interesting things here. What's this one for?" He held up a sleek vibrator, examining it with genuine curiosity that somehow made the situation even more dangerous.

"Put those back," I commanded, trying to maintain my authority despite the heat rising in my face. "This isn't appropriate for—"

"For what?" he interrupted, stepping closer. "For someone my age? Or for someone as powerful as me?" The playfulness in his voice had an edge now, reminding me that beneath his casual demeanor lay immense power. "Shouldn't I understand all aspects of human nature? Isn't that part of my education?"

The rope was still dangling from his fingers, swaying hypnotically in the neon-tinted air. "You're always teaching me about control, about restraint," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "But how can I understand those things if I don't understand their opposite?"

I found myself backing away until I hit the wall, but Satoru followed, closing the distance between us with fluid grace. "I've seen how you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention," he murmured, bringing the rope up to brush against my cheek. "Always so careful, so professional. Don't you ever want to let go of that control?"

The soft fibers of the rope traced down my neck, following the path his fingers had taken earlier. My breath caught as he leaned in, his lips nearly brushing my ear. "Teach me," he whispered, the words carrying both a request and a command. "Show me what these toys can do. Show me how to make someone lose control."

His words sent shivers down my spine, and I found myself nodding almost imperceptibly. Taking this as permission, Satoru's movements became more deliberate, more focused. The rope in his hands began to move with surprising precision, guided by his innate understanding of technique and control.

"First lesson," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear as he slowly wound the rope around my wrists. "Anticipation." The soft fibers caressed my skin as he worked, each loop perfectly placed. Despite his inexperience, his natural talent was evident in the way he instinctively knew how tight to make each bind.

My breath hitched as he tested the restraints, his fingers trailing along the sensitive skin beneath the rope. "Is this how it should feel?" he asked, but the innocent question was belied by the knowing glint in his eyes. "When the body starts to respond to the slightest touch?"

To demonstrate his point, he picked up the vibrator he'd found earlier, turning it over in his hands with curious fascination. "Show me how this works," he commanded softly, pressing the smooth surface against my lips. "Guide me."

The professional distance I'd always maintained was crumbling rapidly. Each brush of his fingers, each subtle shift of the ropes, sent sparks of pleasure through my system. The student was becoming the teacher with frightening speed.

"Like this?" he whispered, activating the device and trailing it down my neck. The vibrations made me arch involuntarily, drawing a pleased sound from his throat. "Your body's so honest, even when you try to resist."

His free hand began working on the buttons of my blouse, each movement deliberate and teasing. "I'm a quick study, aren't I?" The pride in his voice was unmistakable as he exposed more skin to the cool air. "But then, you always said I was a natural at everything I tried."

The vibrator traced lower, following the path of my newly exposed skin. Satoru's eyes were intense, taking in every reaction, every subtle shift of my body. "The curse we fought," he mused, pressing the toy more firmly against my breast, "it fed on desire like this, didn't it? On the way the body betrays its own wants?"

My attempt to respond was cut off by a gasp as he found a particularly sensitive spot. His smile grew wider, more predatory. "I think I'm starting to understand why humans get so consumed by this." The vibrator moved lower still, tracing patterns across my stomach. "The way power and pleasure mix together..."

The ropes seemed to tighten slightly with his words, reminding me of my bound state. His other hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back to expose my throat to his exploring mouth. "Tell me what comes next," he breathed against my skin. "What other lessons do you have for me?

My answer came in the form of a desperate moan as Satoru's hand slipped beneath my remaining clothes. His touch was no longer tentative - each movement was calculated, precise, as if he'd already mapped every sensitive spot on my body. The vibrator continued its maddening dance across my skin while his fingers explored deeper, drawing out responses I couldn't suppress.

"You're so wet," he observed with fascination, his voice a mix of innocence and dark satisfaction. "Is this what desire feels like? When the body betrays all rational thought?" His fingers curled inside me, making me arch against the ropes that held me bound.

The professional distance I'd maintained for so long shattered completely as Satoru pressed closer, his body trapping mine against the wall. The raw power that made him the strongest sorcerer was now focused entirely on drawing out my pleasure, and the intensity was overwhelming.

"I want to try everything," he whispered, his free hand working to remove what remained of our clothing. "Every toy in this room, every position possible." The vibrator's intensity increased as he spoke, making my legs tremble. "I want to see all the ways I can make you come undone."

(More spicy content on Wattpad!)

[orieriee]

Chapter 10 ✦ I Can Protect Our Clan

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Sypnosis: Y/N L/N is a special shaman from a jujutsu family. Y/N was sent to Tokyo to go on missions to prove their worth as the next heir. With the ability of 'flow', a cursed technique that allows its user to see and manipulate forces of energy freely. Y/N stumbled across Geto Suguru amidst a dark aura, carrying a weight of chaotic and dark energy. Will Y/N be able to help Geto overcome his turmoil? Will Y/N fulfill the lifelong anticipation and succeed in becoming the next heir?

Time setting: 2007, a year after Amanai Riko's death, before Geto Suguru's breaking point. gn!reader. I use they/them pronounce for neutrality.

Disclaimer: This will be a slight crossover with chainsaw man because I needed a mentor figure who is not known in Jujutsu Kaisen. I do not own any of the characters from Jujutsu Kaisen or Chainsaw Man. The characters belong to Gege Akutami as the creator of Jujutsu Kaisen and Tatsuki Fujimoto as the creator of Chainsaw Man. I only own the story plot of this work of fiction. I will also mix in a written story for the plot so it's not just the SMAU story. Also english isn't my first language so excuse any grammar errors in the story (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

also warning! Dark humor (?), your grandpa in this story wants you to marry Gojo who's still 18

quick note! The black bubble color refers to you, the blue one is Geto, and the purple one is Gojo

Taglist: @inthedarkshadows000

© published on 02/02/25 by orieriee

author's note: I'm still alive!! I'm sorry that the update was delayed for a bit😭 I was busy with life, but dw I'll be updating again!

[metranart]

Imagine Satoru Gojo being your sensei but internally desperate to be something more, waiting years, holding back, trying his hardest not to be tempted by the way your skirt wraps around your hips or your breasts bounce lightly when you laugh, trying not to give it any other meaning when you sit on his lap while he explains a new technique from a book, or when you intertwine his fingers with yours while walking back from a mission.

Sweating profusely from the anxiety of being discovered while he buries his face in your pillow for over forty minutes, feeling like a fucking pervert and a scumbag for his lack of control, until one day-

"Ngh-"

As was his custom, Gojo allows you to sit on his lap, as he had always done, but an accidental movement of your hips, a slippery moan from his tight lips, and the notorious wetness of your panties are the perfect combination to let himself go.

"I'll d-die if you stop, my sweet girl…"

Your warm asscheeks hug and pump that hard cock still trapped behind the black fabric of his pants, in eager sways, it started as an accident but now it is deliberately obscene. You are stepping over his sanity on a whim.

"…Am I doing right, sensei?"

(This is a POV of Gojo's cravings for you, from my series "My only one wants you, so he'll have you" on Tumblr.)

[stqrlverr]

ART DECO

nsfw! s. gojo x fem! reader // w.c 2763 // g.mlist

synopsis: it was a shame for gojo satoru, who had grown up surrounded by preserved artistry, to learn firsthand that not all art was everlasting.

a/n: reblogs and likes appreciated! n no, this was nawt inspired by dat Lana song, only da title >_<

Frothed blooms of salmon and apricot enriching Tokyo’s eventide proceeded to be serenaded with Indigo, the populated city’s horizon an essential pillar to an aesthetic landscape.

While the Earth executed a divine pirouette, observing the lethargic alternation of shifts between the sphere of molten aureate and silver mercury, the inky atmosphere synchronised its presence with its minuscule counterparts, a harmonised choir, with each luminous orb appointed an opportunity to glimmer.

L/n Y/n’s evening typically consisted of dropping by a sumptuous storehouse displaying century-old creativity, consistently consuming the lineage of artists’ breakthroughs displayed throughout every quarter of this specific residency she favoured in visiting.

These timeless pieces professed an irreplicable craft she aspired her own artful originals to be able to achieve; these homages not only enlivened her passion but triggered her artistry, her fixated gaze acknowledging the seamless flicks of professionalism and the tonal range of neutrality gracing ethereal portraits, the delicacy of intention was a mere delight.

The lean male who had lingered on a whim had also noted her physical mannerisms. His abrupt intervention, providing her with untold history behind the particular painting, a discreet ploy to accompany her before closing.

A chance encounter with the male identity she promptly learnt was named Gojo Satoru followed an exchange of her own moniker and ambitions. Regular attendance to that specific establishment swiftly substituted for her unpretentious abode; a studio apartment now a persuasive invite for herself and Gojo to indulge in fornication, the modest interior graffitied with euphonic moans extracted from their previous gatherings; the melodious remembrance an intoxicating rapture one would plead to undergo.

Currently settled at the edge of her bed – the prime and involuntary witness to their limitless rendezvouses – her plush thighs caged his lean waist, clammy surface subtly sticking to the inner expanse of her limbs as she tiredly bounced upon his stoic cock, the continuous sequence of her hips smooching his, arduous (considering this was far past their first round), yet compelling, as her sensitive clit yearned for the male, rapacious of her talents beside swivelling frazzled bristles into tattered acrylic pallets, to centre some pressure onto the raw bud rather than steady her hips which were bruised with rosy imprints.

“Not enough,” He mumbled, pale lips usually saturated with premeditated taunts now clasped around her perked nipple, darker areola already savaged with oblong engrains via his brutal bites was awarded a sensual stride of his flattened tongue, followed by a teasing flick whilst the other roused bud (already spoiled with moisture) somewhat twisted further from his mere pinch before both his palms discovered differing purchase upon her figure defaced by the intimate hues of his venereal gestures.  

In response to Gojo’s complaint, she merely whined, having felt the caress of his rough palm sprawled against her back, subtly shoving her further into his chest, prominent rouge blemishing his fair pigmentation or rather, indications of intercourse which was once sacrilege with intent of offspring tarnished by society’s progression.

“Fuck,” He spat out, clenched jaw an insinuation his feral characteristics had begun to surface whilst he thrust up into her, the intensity increasing and aimed as Gojo’s neatly trimmed nails clawed crescents into her waist as if he had located leverage– the piercing smiles a selenic homage to the soul depraved canopy encompassing their scandalous location – though the deliberation behind his movements remained insufficient.

The straight row he considered as his tongue’s dental guards scraped her jugular in desperation before he panted against her craned throat. “Not fucking enough, Babe.”.

A firm tug on his snowy strands, dishevelled and slightly clinging to his perspired forehead embedded with furrows of concentration, reeled him back with the abrupt roll of his cerulean irises abruptly forced to greet hers, which provoked a brazen moan of her name. “Yeah? You agree with me, don’t you, Sweetheart?”.

“Don’t tease Satoru,” she intended to chide him, which more so sounded as a plead, aching arms clinging around his broad shoulders as the emergence of his cockiness projected itself through his familiar grin that grazed her neck before she was effortlessly laid on her back, the velvety duvets accommodating their entangled frames.

Momentary emptiness between her sopping folds followed suit – which she protested – whilst he adjusted above her, simpering at her partially dominant resolve gradually deteriorating (as if his own front was any better).

Briefly kneading both her hips, he shook his head, blanche fringe briefly obscuring his immersed sight that leisurely absorbed his exquisite work.

“A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt.” He pointedly stated, edging his mushroom tip, already prepared to be suffocated once again, towards her entrance that clenched at his absence, which he cursed at, his harmless jabs tormenting him.

“I know.” She replies with nonchalance as his frenzied breath fused with her own as she noted the pearlescent bead frothing at his red tip, eager but restraining from any further berating of her walls as Gojo’s prideful demeanour faltered once she reached beneath them, the pad of her thumb swiping the pre-arousal and coating his puffy lips with himself before planting her own against his; a self-invite to dissect his sensuality smothered across his mouth which propelled him into the realm of insanity.

“But you don’t really care about that crap, do you ‘Toru?” she coyly sneered, his merciless cockhead returning to accommodate past her homey folds and ploughing into her with unrelenting motions as her sore legs wrapped around him instantaneously.

“Say it again,” he groaned, expressing fidelity by complimenting her cunt’s heavenly suffocation and informing her its walls had been granted the divine purpose to be moulded solely for him as her hazy stare stirred with transient lust.

“Call me that again, Baby.” He rephrased, his implore a delicate murmur, as her pussy fluttered at his exhort and his thrusts held less force as an opening for her to gratify his demand.  

“Need you ‘Toru,” she softly surrendered, as did her eyes which temporarily shut, jaw hanging as he inched his cock in further as if he had been urging her to succumb to his wishes from the drive of his tip rather than his needy mouth.

His forehead hovered above hers as the frantic snaps from his hips vibrated off the thin walls of her cosy apartment littered with art equipment, another erotic composition of their lustrous rhapsody annexed with the previous symphonies, expanding the lingering collection permeating the crevices within her home.

“How’d y-you always pull this off, hm?” He croaked out as the simplistic sobriquet pummelled another bout of mania, her parted lips emitting endless moans, which he encouraged her to repeat, her grip tightening around his neck.

Her gummy walls were venerated as his salvation, the vocalisation carved beside her pulse point before confirming his devotion with a chaste kiss on the exact spot, once again slowing his hips to savour the intimacy of her being his midnight muse as his calloused digits successfully tilt her face towards his, the tip of his nose cascading against her own with delicacy.

Satoru was a fervent advocate for these particular moments, where she was sprawled out beneath him how he liked it – all. At the same time, he unveiled a vulnerability; only she’d been granted access to witness, and the exposure was inconsistent, but regardless, visited.

And though he was fully appeased with the aftermath every time, tonight he internally demanded more – for her to swivel her paintbrush between her dainty fingers purged with concoctions of jumbled shades and divide his toned chest that had been splashed with a romantic sheen of light rogue, in half – pry open his protective ribcage and enter the secluded area of his heart by dabbing the brush into the four chambers and utilise the scarlet gore as a primary base to invent shades only she would be able to formulate, or brush across her canvases with the carmine fluid when expressing the associations of passion or power, snap apart his bone marrow, to either lighten or darken the formula withdrawn from the captor of pumping blood and oxygen.

Her fingers trailed absentmindedly over his prominent collarbones before instinctively lifting themselves for him to bite on as a pacifier for his noises of pleasure. He sucked after nipping on them and twitched inside her from the gesture.

Meanwhile, his calloused palm laid flat on her neck, thumb pressed into the side as one finger at a time rested before his whole hand had itself enveloped around her throat. 

“You’re so thoughtful, Sweetheart.” He mushed her flustered cheeks together, unceremoniously parting her lips, which unlocked the empty enclosure within her mouth. 

Warm saliva safely trudged down and moistened her dry walls, hesitating to detach from her taste buds and drip into the onyx tunnel leading into the depths of her inner body. She gulped down the tiny sample with appreciation and lifted her hips from the grasp of her bed until Gojo’s tip prodded the specific spot aching to be met.

“F-fuckk ‘Toru,” she choked out, ankles carelessly caressing the sides of his back, which contrasted the relentless slapping of skin, its loudness continuing to reverb throughout her accommodation whilst her chest pressed against his as some pathetic escape of the climax they both enthused over, tender nipples pleasurably pained when squished against him.  

“Come on, sweet girl, make a mess on me,” Gojo grunted as her hips deliberately bucked upwards to mirror his erratic pace.

Azure wells dilated by his stygian pupils, enlarged from an urgency to ravage her entirety, annihilation obscuring his sanity as the low but vehement mantra of his name tickled his ear canals. The longer their visions remained attached, the further she implored beyond his celestial lenses, empyrean domain summoning her presence – silvery lashes tickling his cheeks that cloaked pricked thorns beneath.

Satoru Gojo is a successful tempter, ensuring unexplainable delectation in exchange for indulging in the hedonistic pathway and disregarding the afterthoughts; the cadence of his verbalised signals he was exceedingly close disrupted when his lips pursued the pearl pendant settled into the pit between her collarbones, lightly suctioning the bead into his mouth, suckling on the sphere as he gritted the thin chain between his teeth when she etched linework into his taut back; metal satiating his wet appendage an aftertaste upon releasing the gleaming charm with a hiss.

“I’m, I’m gonna cum –” she attempted to alert him but was shushed by the sloppy merge of his mouth enticing her tongue into an intense tandem – his assurance she was not required to state such as her sexual tendencies represented such once her spine arched into his heated touch, his hand slipping beneath to ensure she remained flush against him whilst he rolled his hips with precision.

“That’s the spot, isn’t it Sweets?” He voiced in search for confirmation, already aware he had been hitting the exact area but attempting to remain smug during moments of rising action, the events consisting of urgency that shall culminate into the climax.  

Despite his ability to converse with her, he melded his talkative cavern with her own, trembling breath and gravelly grunts unable to be concealed by his assured claims as both mouths collided in an untimely manner, canines lightly bumping against the others’ from the profound sensation.

“God, I love you, Fuck I love you, so-so-soo fuckin’ much,” he lowly managed to babble whilst heaving for leverage of a few spare molecules to inebriate his veins.

Obscene gasps suffused her bedroom, the pre-warnings of coming undone rapidly dividing the shared tension between the two. Finally, attaining the desired goal as they both subconsciously peeked down to survey her snug cunt, ravenous, swallowing every inch of him accordingly.

The sudden glimpse launched Gojo to bury himself as far as humanly possible, filthily stretching her further as he finalises tonight’s unity with his slender cock infiltrating her supple cervix with ivory evidence of debauchery, an overstimulated torrent provided by his combusted tip persuasion enough to be requited with an identical spillage of immorality webbed between her thighs and stringing to the patch of neatly kempt pubic hairs.

Several minutes passed.

Bleary sight silently observed her composed figure situated on her terrace bestowed with a few basic ornaments of greenery, nothing too out of character, before noting the graphic tee she’d decided on never returning. However, he never intended to retract the apparel from her care.

She stood facing his direction. Her head remained twisted over her shoulder, glare occupied by physical puffs of charcoal disrupting the navy scenery, pollution at an extreme due to risen citizens deluged with Japan’s work culture; multiple avenues and crossings swarmed with throngs of exploited employees.

Finally, he zoomed in on the cigarette nipped between her teeth, supported by the plump cushioning of her velvet lips. 

The chalky stick perished to depressing graphite with every inhale, billowed leaden breath unhelpful to the climate crisis and titillating the back of her windpipe, tingling from the slight gnaw of spiteful tabaco, though accustomed to the muggy corruption acquire her senses.

Reticence appeared as a tradition between them, stillness somewhat comforting.

“You seem to enjoy staring…” she murmured loudly enough, harshly tapping away the clingy ash as his esteemed vision remained on her.

Gojo raked his hands over the sheets now blanketing his legs, printed duvets, ones he had grown accustomed to these past few months, more than his own, as he delayed his response. “I can’t help it. “. 

Adoration swelled within him upon noting the evident curves of her breasts, an invocation into admiring his newly accomplished compilation of strategically aligned paints splashed to form a beautiful balance of an occurrence that he could relive comfortably; attentiveness rendered him from speaking further, a simple glance her way revelled in his artful techniques – her knotted tresses, slight limp, and splotched skeletal exterior to name a few.

“So you’ve said,” she sniggered with another puff of the cancerous stick.  

Gojo shrugged, a sheepish grin presented, having realised he relayed his thoughts aloud.

“If I had a talented hand, I would paint you myself. Force you to stay put where you are now, right leg slightly crossed over the left, thighs unconsciously squeezing as you try to withhold my seed whilst you look to your left, cigarette hanging between your pretty lips – like always. “.

She chuckled, the envision of him attempting to realistically maneuverer colourants quite humorous although his world revolved around such.

Bidding the decayed tube farewell when carelessly tossed over the steel black railing, she sauntered over. She slid into the vacant space, the other side occupied by Gojo, who had yet to exhibit any indications of leaving, likely to stay until the duties of an heir to the well-renowned museum beckoned his return.

Ever so slightly, the curious tips of her dainty fingers shadowed over the turquoise strings riddled beneath his pale flesh; projected veins a deep blue comforting and somewhat semblance of domesticity she wished to experience whilst the muse faintly shuddered – which hadn’t gone unnoticed by her.

He hummed a naïve tune he had randomly produced before the placement of a cigarette into his mouth disrupted his creation, flame ignited by hers truly.

“It’s a shame this won’t ever expand past sex,” he cooed, barely tilting his head to see her as he shuffled, still sitting up against the headboard.

“We could have a kid, tell them about the story of how we met: a pessimist always uncertain of her future but too in love with her hobby to back out and a guy who just so happens to be involved in the world of art, trying to get her a big breakthrough – and even though they both had different outlooks, they managed to create a small ball of sunshine amidst it all. What do you think?”.

She entertained his imagination by resting against his chest but shook her head, treasuring how his hypnotic eyes lit up at the mention of their non-existent offspring. 

“You should do that with somebody you love, Satoru.”.

“Right.” he shallowly inhaled, concluding the indulgent fume with a swift twist in the ashtray beside him. “Unfortunately, that won’t be you, Y/n.”.

She quirked her brow at his vocabulary selection. “‘Unfortunately’? Please,” she scoffed with a coy smile he matched.

“We both like the attention. There’s no love between us; this just fills the void.”.

Gojo turned to her with curiosity.

“If I did love you, would you love me back?” He queried seriousness, which was a stark contrast to his general vibe.

She studied his alluring mouth tainted with her imperfections, his own printed against her physique for any to view.

“Probably.” She muttered.

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