#Gojo satoru x you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sixeyesonathiel · 1 day ago

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the spoils of sanctity

pairing — holy knight gojo x demon princess reader

cw: heavy dubcon, noncon elements, yandere themes, power imbalance, explicit sexual content (oral sex—forced fellatio, penetrative sex—vaginal, tail play, cock slapping, clit slapping, nipple play, edging, multiple orgasms, creampie, breeding kink, cervix penetration, sex positions—kneeling oral, bent-over doggy style, missionary with hips tilted, folded missionary, face-down doggy, pinned missionary, cowgirl), brat taming, dacryphilia, degradation/humiliation, corruption/dumbification, mind break, forced submission, public humiliation mentions, restraint/bondage (sashes, choker enchantment), asphyxiation (throat squeezing during oral), size kink, sadism, perverted behavior, religious sacrilege (mock prayers, holy/demonic themes), pseudo-marital dynamics (trophy wife as a literal prized possession), 18+ only, minors DNI. 10k+ wc.

a/n : damn. i may have written satoru here a lil too freaky.

the war had torn the world apart, kingdoms reduced to ash and bone, and satoru, the holy knight, stood as its shining fucking savior. the people wept at his feet, praising his blessed sword, his sanctified armor, his pure goddamn soul. they thought he’d dragged you—the demon princess, half-human spawn of filth and pride—back to the palace to purge the evil from your veins. to correct you. to save the world from your clawed, defiant existence.

they were wrong.

so fucking wrong.

behind the palace walls, he wasn’t saving shit. he was breaking you. claiming you. turning you into his collared little trophy wife, a prize he’d won with blood and steel. the world saw mercy in his grip on your leash. you saw the truth: a perverted freak who got off on your humiliation, who wanted to fuck the humanity into your demon half until you cracked.

his private chambers smelled like wax and sin, the air thick with the flicker of sanctified gold candles lining the walls. their light danced over the stone, over the tattered remains of your finery—black silk shredded at the thighs, clinging to your sweat-slick skin like a second hide. your wrists burned where the ceremonial sashes bit into them, the same ones that had once bound saints, now twisted to tether you to the floor. he’d repurposed them with a smirk, his big hands tugging the knots tight, like he was wrapping a fucking gift.

satoru loomed over you, all white hair and sharp blue eyes, his armor shed to reveal the taut muscle beneath a thin tunic. holy knight, my ass. he looked like a predator playing dress-up, and you were the prey he’d been salivating over since the battlefield. your tail twitched behind you, black and forked, a little rebellion against the restraints. he noticed. of course he fucking noticed.

“still got some fight in you, huh?” his voice was low, mocking, as he crouched down, fingers brushing the edge of your jaw. “thought i’d beaten that out of you by now, princess.”

you bared your teeth, a snarl ripping from your throat. “i’ll claw your fucking eyes out, you sanctimonious prick.”

he laughed—deep, filthy, and it made your stomach twist in a way you hated. “oh, i’d love to see you try. but first—” he reached into a velvet pouch at his hip, pulling out the choker. it glowed faintly, a thin band of silver etched with runes, pulsing with some holy enchantment that made your skin crawl. “—let’s get you dressed up proper.”

you jerked back, but the sashes held firm, yanking a hiss from your lips. “don’t you fucking dare—”

too late. his hands were fast, wrapping the choker around your throat, the clasp clicking shut with a sound that echoed in your skull. the enchantment hit instantly—your demonic power dulled, a heavy fog settling over the fire in your veins. but that wasn’t the worst part. no, the worst part was the way it fucking glowed, a soft pulse of light that brightened when your body betrayed you. and it was already flickering, damn it, because his fingers lingered on your neck, brushing the sensitive skin there, and you couldn’t stop the heat pooling low in your gut.

he stepped back, tilting his head like he was admiring a painting. “look at that glow, princess. you’re already begging—and i haven’t even touched you.”

“fuck you,” you spat, cheeks burning as the choker pulsed brighter. you hated it—hated him—hated the way your thighs clenched under his stare.

“oh, i will.” he grinned, all teeth and perversion, then grabbed your tail in one swift yank. the jolt shot through you like lightning, a gasp tearing out before you could stop it. your body arched, writhing against the sashes, and he tightened his grip, tugging just hard enough to make you squirm. “sensitive there, huh? perfect.”

you wanted to rip his throat out. instead, you glared, panting, the choker glowing like a fucking beacon. he watched it pulse, his eyes darkening with something sick and hungry, and then he moved. one arm slid under your back, the other under your knees, hoisting you up bridal-style like some twisted mockery of a wedding night. your tail lashed against his chest, but he just chuckled, carrying you across the room with infuriating ease.

“put me down, you bastard—” your words cut off as he dropped you, not gently, onto your knees. the stone bit into your skin, cold and unforgiving, and you glared up at him, chest heaving.

he didn’t say a word. just smirked, stepping back to grab something from the edge of the room—a mirror, tall and angled, dragging it over until it faced you dead-on. your reflection stared back: disheveled, flushed, the choker glowing like a neon fucking sign.

the candles flickered as he adjusted the mirror, the scrape of its base against the floor loud in the tense silence. you stayed on your knees, the sashes still binding your wrists behind you, your tail flicking uselessly against the stone. every muscle screamed to lunge at him, to sink your claws into that smug face, but the choker’s enchantment weighed you down, dulling your strength to something pitifully human. it pissed you off. he pissed you off. and yet, your body was buzzing, the heat from his touch still lingering, the choker’s glow a constant reminder of how fucked you were.

he didn’t rush. he savored it, peeling off his tunic slow enough to make you twitch with impatience, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the faint scars crisscrossing his skin—proof he wasn’t just some prissy knight playing hero. he was a fighter, a killer, and now he was your goddamn captor. the pants came next, sliding down his hips, and you couldn’t help it—your eyes flicked to the bulge straining his undercloth, thick and heavy, and the choker pulsed brighter. fuck. he caught it, of course, his grin widening as he stepped closer, cock springing free when he shoved the fabric down.

“like what you see, princess?” he taunted, fisting himself lazily, the tip already glistening. “don’t worry, you’ll get a real good taste.”

you snarled, baring your teeth again. “i’d rather choke on glass.”

“cute.” he closed the distance, towering over you, the mirror framing the whole filthy scene—your knees on the stone, his shadow swallowing you whole. “but you’re gonna choke on this instead.”

you fought the urge to vomit, glaring up, defiance blazing in your chest, lips sealed tight, jaw clenched. no fucking way you were giving him this. not without a fight.

“open up,” he said, voice all smooth mockery, like he was coaxing a stray dog. “don’t make me ask twice, princess.”

“make me,” you shot back, flashing your fangs, a bratty snarl curling your lips. your tail flicked behind you, smacking the floor, and his eyes gleamed—dark, perverted, like he’d been waiting for that exact answer.

“oh, i will,” he said, and he moved—fast as hell. one hand clamped your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open just enough, and the other swung his cock down, slapping it against your cheek with a wet, humiliating smack. your head jerked, a snarl caught in your throat, and the choker flared bright, glowing like a fucking spotlight in the mirror.

he did it again—harder, the head smearing pre-cum across your skin, the sound echoing sharp and filthy. your eyes watered, not from pain but from the sheer rage boiling up, tears welling up as you glared, unblinking, refusing to let them fall.

“look at that,” he purred, leaning down, breath hot against your ear. “tears already? didn’t know demons could get so worked up.” his thumb brushed the corner of your eye, smearing the dampness, and you snapped your teeth at him, missing by an inch. he laughed—low, nasty, and it made your stomach twist.

“you’re not a princess anymore,” he growled, straightening up, fisting his cock right in front of you. “you’re my wife. say it.”

“fuck. you,” you hissed, voice dripping venom, tears brimming but holding, your glare cutting through the haze. the choker glowed brighter, betraying the heat pooling low in your gut, and he grinned, all teeth and sick delight.

“wrong answer,” he said, and then he shoved himself in—no warning, no buildup, just the thick, hot length of him filling your mouth, hitting the back of your throat so fast you gagged hard. your eyes widened, tears welling hotter, stinging as you fought to breathe, your throat spasming around him. he groaned, deep and guttural, like it was the best fucking thing he’d ever felt, and his hand fisted in your hair, yanking the sash tied there, pulling tight enough to make your scalp burn.

“that’s it,” he grunted, hips rocking slow at first, dragging it out, letting you feel every inch. “take it, you nasty demon slut. choke on your holy knight.”

you did—fuck, you couldn’t stop it. your throat clenched, spit dripping down your chin, and every gag made him thrust deeper, harder, picking up speed until your head spun. the tears wouldn’t stay back now, pooling in your eyes, blurring your vision, but you glared through them, locking onto his face—his smug, perverted grin, the way his blue eyes drank in every twitch, every flinch. he slid his free hand down, fingers wrapping around your throat, pressing the choker into your skin, cutting off your air just enough to make your chest tighten.

“can’t breathe, huh?” he cooed, voice dripping with fake sympathy as he squeezed tighter, fucking your throat with a rhythm that left you dizzy. “poor little half-breed, choking on my cock. just relax—let it happen. i’ll take care of you.”

you gagged again, harder, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, and the tears brimmed over, not falling yet, just sitting there, heavy and hot, as you glared up at him, defiant even with your air gone. your tail lashed out, smacking his thigh, and he tightened his grip, cutting off more, his thumb stroking the glowing choker like it was a toy.

“keep fighting,” he rasped, voice rough with lust, hips snapping faster. “makes it better when you break. look at those eyes—fuck, you’re gorgeous like this, all teary and pissed.”

your lungs burned, your throat raw, every thrust making you gag louder, wetter, until your vision swam. he talked you through it, nasty and low—“breathe when i let you, slut. yeah, just like that, gag on it, let me feel that throat”—and you hated how your body reacted, hated the slick pooling between your thighs, the choker pulsing wild and bright like a damn beacon. he groaned again, louder, his grip on your hair tightening, and then he pushed deeper—nose pressed to his pelvis, air completely gone, holding you there as your throat spasmed helplessly.

“fuck, yes,” he growled, watching your eyes, the tears trembling but not spilling, your glare still burning through the haze. “look at you, choking so pretty. holy salvation’s too much for you, huh?”

you wanted to claw his face off. wanted to scream, bite, anything—but all you could do was glare, tears welling thicker, chest heaving as he finally eased up, pulling back just enough to let you suck in a ragged, desperate breath. spit strung from your lips to his cock, and he smirked, wiping it with his thumb, smearing it across your cheek.

“aw, poor thing,” he said, sarcastic as hell, when you coughed, gasping, throat wrecked. “can’t take it? too bad—i’m not done.” he shoved back in, slower this time, dragging it out, letting you feel every inch as he fucked your mouth again, hand still on your throat, squeezing light then hard, playing with your air like a game. “cry for me, princess. let me see those tears fall.”

they didn’t—fuck him, you wouldn’t let them to—but they sat there, heavy and defiant, as you gagged and glared, the choker glowing so bright it lit up the mirror behind you. your reflection showed it all: your wrecked face, his cock stretching your lips, the sashes binding you tight. his breaths grew ragged, his thrusts sloppy, and then he came—hot, thick, spilling down your throat in pulses you couldn’t escape. he held you there, choking you through it, forcing you to swallow every drop, his fingers digging into your neck as he groaned, long and filthy.

“good girl,” he purred, pulling out slow, a string of spit and cum connecting your lips to his tip. “look at you, all messy and fucked out.” he wiped your mouth with his hand, smearing it more, and you coughed, gasping, the taste of him bitter and overwhelming. your eyes burned, tears still welling but not falling, and you glared up, chest heaving, tail twitching uselessly behind you.

he didn’t give you a second to recover—just hauled you up by the arms, your legs wobbling, weak from kneeling, and threw you over his shoulder like a sack. your tail dangled against his back, smacking him weakly, and the mirror caught it: your flushed, teary-eyed glare, his smug grin, the choker still glowing faintly as he carried you off, ready to break you more.

the room spun as he carried you, the candles flickering low, wax dripping onto the stone like little tears he couldn’t wring from you. your throat ached, raw and bruised, spit and cum still slick on your chin, and those damn tears sat heavy in your eyes, stinging but stubborn, refusing to spill.

your tail flicked against his back, a weak protest he ignored, and your wrists burned where the sashes dug in, your body buzzing with rage and something darker—something the choker wouldn’t let you hide. he crossed the room in long strides, the mirror looming ahead, and then he dropped you—hard—onto your knees, the stone biting into your skin. you hissed, tail lashing out to smack his leg, and he laughed, kicking your thighs apart with his boot, setting you up for the next round.

the mirror threw it all back at you—your knees pressed into the cold stone, your flushed face staring back, hair wild, the choker glowing like a fucking spotlight around your throat. your tattered silk hung off you in shreds, barely covering shit, and satoru loomed behind you, all muscle and menace, his tunic long gone, scars crisscrossing his chest like some holy warrior’s badge. but there was nothing holy about the way his hands slid down to grip your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, or the way he tore the silk aside with one rough yank, exposing your ass and the dripping mess between your legs. the air hit your skin, sharp and humiliating, and he groaned low in his throat, like he’d just unwrapped a goddamn present he couldn’t wait to ruin.

“look at that,” he muttered, voice crude and thick, one hand sliding up to grab your tail, yanking it hard enough to make you yelp. the jolt shot through you, your body jerking, and tears welled up fast, hot and heavy in your eyes as you glared at him in the mirror. “already soaked for me, huh? some fucking demon princess you are—dripping like a cheap whore. you sure you’re not some lowly succubus?”

“die,” you snarled, twisting against his grip, claws scraping the stone, but he tightened his hold, pulling your tail up and back, forcing your hips to tilt for him. the choker pulsed violently, glowing brighter with every ounce of heat pooling in your core, and he laughed—dark, filthy, leaning down until his breath ghosted your ear, all teeth and sick delight.

“nah, you don’t get to talk back, slut,” he said, crude as hell for a holy knight, his free hand grabbing his cock—thick, heavy, way too fucking big—and lining it up, the head brushing your entrance, teasing, not pushing in yet. “you’re gonna thank me for this. every thrust—say it. say thank you, or i’ll leave you here, leaking and desperate.”

“like hell—” your words choked off as he slammed into you, no warning, no mercy, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. your scream bounced off the walls, raw and ragged, your body jolting forward until your palms slapped the stone, claws digging in hard. fuck, he was huge—too huge—stretching you so wide it burned, splitting you open, and the tears brimmed thicker, stinging your eyes as you glared at him, refusing to let them spill.

“say it,” he growled, hips snapping against your ass, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and obscene. he grabbed your tail tighter, using it like a goddamn leash to yank you back onto him, each thrust deeper, harder, his cock hitting spots that made your vision blur. “thank me, princess, or i’ll stop right now.”

you only gritted your teeth, stubborn, claws raking the floor, defiance burning even as your body shook under him. he stopped—dead still, cock buried so deep you felt it in your guts, the sudden lack of motion making you twitch, your breath hitching. “no? fine. then you don’t get shit,” he said, voice low and mocking, his hand sliding up to press your face against the mirror, smearing your cheek into the glass, your hot breath fogging it up.

“you bastard—” you started, but he pulled your tail again, sharp and punishing, and thrust once—hard, slow, dragging it out—before stopping again. your eyes fluttered, tears welling hotter, the choker glowing so bright it lit up your wrecked reflection—hair tangled, lips parted, those damn tears welling up as you glared.

“say it,” he repeated, voice dark and dangerous, his cock twitching inside you, teasing you with how full you felt. “or i’ll leave you like this, dripping and empty, with that pretty little choker telling everyone what a needy slut you are.”

you hated him—hated the smug tilt of his mouth, the way his blue eyes glittered with perverted glee, drinking in your teary glare like it was fucking wine. but your body was screaming, aching, and the words clawed their way out, bitter and sharp. “thank you,” you muttered, barely audible, venom dripping from every syllable.

“louder,” he snapped, thrusting again, slow and deliberate, dragging his massive cock out then back in, making you feel every inch. “mean it, or i’ll fuck you dry and leave you begging.”

“thank you!” you spat, louder, the humiliation burning hotter than the stretch, your tears trembling on the edge as you glared at him in the mirror. he grinned, satisfied, and then he let loose—fucking you rough and relentless, each thrust shoving you harder against the mirror, your cheek pressed tight, your breath fogging the glass in quick, desperate pants.

“look at you,” he purred, voice dripping with sarcasm, his hand sliding down to grip your hip while the other tugged your tail rhythmically, matching his brutal pace. “being good for once. my holy cock’s ruining you, huh? turning you into my perfect little cocksleeve.”

you couldn’t answer—couldn’t think—your body shaking under the onslaught, the choker glowing like a damn star as he pounded into you. the mirror showed it all: your ass bouncing with every thrust, your tail twitching in his grip, your flushed face with those tears welling up, defiant and furious. he leaned down, teeth grazing your shoulder, and his voice turned crude, nasty, a holy knight gone feral.

“what if your subjects saw you now, huh?” he growled, thrusting harder, his cock stretching you so wide it hurt in the best fucking way. “their proud little princess, ass up, choking on the dick of the knight who slayed her father for mercy. bet they’d love to see you crying for it—tears all pretty, pussy leaking like a tavern wench.”

“shut—up,” you gasped, voice breaking, the tears trembling heavier now, your glare sharpening even as your body betrayed you, clenching around him. he groaned at that, loud and filthy, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your head so you had to watch yourself—watch him fuck you into the stone.

“nah, i’d parade you like this,” he said, crude and gleeful, his cock slamming in so deep you swore you felt it in your throat. “show ‘em how their haughty little half-demon queen takes it—tail yanked, choker glowing, all teary-eyed and fucked stupid. they’d bow to me instead, huh?”

your claws dug into the stone, scraping hard, and you tried to crawl away—knees scraping, tail lashing, anything to escape the heat, the shame, the way his words made you throb despite yourself.

satoru only yanked your tail hard, pulling you back with a growl, his cock grinding in deep, holding you there. “oh no you don’t,” he said, breath hot against your neck, teeth nipping your skin. “you don’t get to run from this.”

he shifted, one hand sliding under you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast and rough while he fucked you, and the tears welled thicker, your glare burning through the mirror as your body tensed. “cry for me,” he muttered, voice low and nasty, his thrusts slowing but hitting harder, deeper, his dick so big it felt like it was rearranging you. “let me see those tears, princess—gimme something to jerk off to later.”

“fucking pervert,” you rasped, voice raw, the tears trembling on the edge, your hips bucking despite yourself as he worked you closer, the heat coiling tight, so fucking tight. he laughed, crude and dark, his fingers relentless, his cock grinding in just right, and you felt it—the edge, right there, your whole body shaking, the choker glowing blindingly bright.

“gonna cum already?” he taunted, leaning down, licking a stripe up your neck, his voice a filthy whisper. “thought you were tougher than that, demon slut. go on—thank me again. louder.”

“thank you,” you choked out, half-snarl, half-moan, the tears trembling, your glare locked on his smug face as your body started to unravel, the pleasure crashing in hard. but he stopped—pulled out completely, fingers off your clit, leaving you hanging right on the brink, a wrecked, shaking mess. your scream was pure frustration, raw and pissed, your tail lashing out to smack his chest, and he laughed, loud and filthy, stepping back to admire you—ass up, dripping, teary-eyed, and glaring like you’d kill him.

“not yet, princess,” he says, voice dark and promising, his cock still hard, glistening with your mess, bobbing as he shifts his weight. he leans in close, breath hot against your neck, and grabs your tail—fingers wrapping tight around its base, yanking it hard enough to make you yelp, tears pricking sharper, your hips jolting back into him.

“we’ve got more to play with,” he growls, crude and gleeful, tugging again, slower now, dragging you backward step by step, your knees scraping the stone as he pulls you toward the bed.

the mattress looms ahead, plush and draped in rich silks, and he shoves you forward, your palms sinking into its softness as you catch yourself, ass still raised, tail twitching in his grip. he releases it with a rough swat, climbing onto the bed, settling back against the headboard, legs spread wide, cock heavy and waiting. he pats his lap, grinning like a bastard, daring you to crawl up, his eyes glinting with perverse hunger.

“if you’re so strong,” he taunted, voice dripping with that sick, perverted glee, “ride me. show me that demon pride you’re so fucking proud of.”

you glared, chest heaving, the choker flickering as your blood boiled, those tears welling up hotter from the sheer audacity of him. no way you were letting this smug prick win easy—he wanted you to climb up and take him? fine. you’d ram it down his throat, make him choke on his own game.

with a snarl, you crawled onto the bed, the silk soft under your knees, and straddled him, your tail flicking behind you like a whip, smacking the mattress in a bratty little tantrum. he grinned, leaning back, one hand stroking his cock slow and deliberate—thick, massive, glistening with your slick from before—the other beckoning you closer like you were some pet he owned.

“go on, princess,” he said, eyes glinting with dark delight, drinking in your glare, the way your lashes fluttered with unshed tears. “prove you’re not just a trophy wife. show me what that half-demon filth can do.”

“watch me, you sanctimonious fuck,” you snapped, bratty as hell, planting your hands on his chest. your claws dug in, scratching red lines across his skin, and he hissed—pure pleasure, not pain, the sadistic freak.

you braced yourself, lining up over him, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance, and fuck, he was huge—bigger than you’d clocked up close, a monster that made your thighs tremble just looking at it. you started to lower, slow, cautious, feeling the stretch burn right away, and your breath hitched, a whimper slipping out before you could bite it back.

how did it even fit inside you earlier?

it was too much—way too fucking much. you got an inch down, maybe two, and the tears welled thicker, stinging your eyes as you glared at him, refusing to let them fall. the choker flared, bright and humiliating, glowing with every twitch of your hips. you forced yourself further, another inch, gasping as the stretch split you open, your claws raking his chest harder, leaving bloody streaks he didn’t even flinch at.

“pathetic, huh?” he muttered, voice low and crude, his eyes a sea of crazed blue, pupils blown wide, locked on your face—on the way your brows knit, your lips parted, the tears trembling as you struggled.

“shut up,” you hissed, panting, shifting your hips to try again. you sank lower, slow and stubborn, determined to take him, and a choked moan tore from your throat as he stretched you wider, deeper, the burn mixing with a heat you hated. your tail lashed wildly, smacking his thigh, and he grabbed it fast, yanking it just enough to make you jolt, the choker glowing brighter, your slick coating him as you squirmed.

you pushed down harder, forcing yourself, and then—fuck—he hit your cervix, the blunt pressure making you cry out, raw and sharp, your whole body shuddering as you finally bottomed out.

the tears spilled then, hot and unwilling, streaking down your cheeks as you glared at him, chest heaving, thighs shaking from the effort. you’d done it—three shaky, agonizing thrusts, riding him slow and deliberate, your claws digging into his chest for balance.

but it wasn’t enough for the impatient bastard beneath you—too slow, too fucking tentative—and he groaned, low and frustrated, his hands slamming onto your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“fuck this,” he growled, crude and impatient, his holy knight patience cracking wide open. “you’re too damn slow, princess—thought you’d ride me like a queen, not whimper like a bitch.” before you could snap back, he took over—lifting you up like you weighed nothing, then slamming you back down onto his cock, full force, the head smashing your cervix again. your scream echoed, raw and desperate, tears streaming now as he filled you completely, the stretch so intense your vision blurred.

he didn’t stop—bounced you again, harder, using you like a fucking ragdoll, his grip iron-tight on your hips. up and down, fast and brutal, each drop driving him deeper, hitting your cervix every time, the wet slap of your ass against his thighs filling the room.

“that’s better,” he grunted, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every tear, every gasp, every twist of your expression like a perverted addict. “look at you—crying on my cock, princess. so fucking pretty when you break.”

“fuck—you—” you gasped, voice cracking with every thrust, your body shaking in his hands, the tears falling freely now, hot and bitter, your glare still burning through them. the choker glowed violently, a pulsing spotlight on how soaked you were, how your thighs clenched around him despite your snarls.

he laughed, dark and filthy, one hand sliding up to grab your tail again, tugging it in time with his rhythm.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he purred, bouncing you faster, his massive cock spearing you, the pressure on your cervix making your sobs louder, your tears streaming harder. “too big for that demon pride? too holy for your filthy little cunt? i’m cleansing you, slut—fucking all that evil right out of you.”

you couldn’t answer—couldn’t think—your claws scrabbling at his chest, leaving bloody trails he ignored, your sobs mixing with moans you hated yourself for. he kept going, watching you fall apart, his breaths ragged but controlled, like he was edging himself too—holding back just to savor how fucking gorgeous you looked, all teary and wrecked.

“cry harder,” he growled, crude and sadistic, his voice rough with lust. “gimme those tears—holy knights like me live for this shit, purifying dirty little demons with big, fat cocks.”

your legs started to give out, muscles trembling, and you slumped forward, chest slamming into his, face buried in his neck as he kept bouncing you, relentless, his dick grinding so deep it hurt in the best way.

“aw, poor thing,” he cooed, sarcastic as hell, one hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back to see your tear-streaked face. “can’t take it? too bad—i’m not even close to done.”

he slowed then, just a little, grinding you down onto him, letting you feel every inch of that massive length, his cock throbbing inside you as he watched you sob, tears dripping onto his chest.

“fuck, you’re too pretty like this,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice low and crude. “all teary and fucked out—makes me wanna cum, but nah, i’m a patient man. holy, right? gotta drag this out, keep cleansing you till you’re pure.”

you were shaking, sobbing, the heat coiling tight in your gut, every grind pushing you closer, your body betraying you as you rocked against him, chasing it despite the tears, the humiliation. he groaned, eyes fluttering, his own edge creeping up, but he held back, sadistic bastard that he was, loving how you looked too much to let it end.

“gonna cum, huh?” he taunted, voice a filthy whisper as he felt you tense, your sobs turning to desperate gasps. “go on—thank me and i might let you. say it, slut.”

“thank you,” you choked out, half-snarl, half-sob, tears streaming as your glare locked on his smug face, your body right there, teetering on the edge, so fucking close. but he stopped—yanked you off his cock completely, flipping you onto your back in one swift, brutal move, the silk soft against your spine as he pinned you down, his dick hovering over you, hard and dripping, his grin wide and wicked.

“not yet,” he said, voice dark and crude, his chest heaving as he edged himself too, holding back just to watch you writhe. “we’re switching it up, princess—got more filth to fuck out of you.”

he didn’t let you whine about the loss and denial—just yanked the sashes up, tying your wrists tight to the headboard, and forced your legs wide, turning the plush bed into some fucked-up altar. his bite mark throbbed on your shoulder, his cum smeared your skin, and he settled between your thighs, eyes gleaming with that perverted, possessive hunger, ready to wreck you all over again.

he knelt there, all holy knight bullshit on the surface—white hair catching the candlelight, sharp jaw set like he was about to pray—but his hands were pure filth, sliding up your thighs slow, thumbs brushing the slick mess he’d left behind, smearing it like he was marking you. your tail flicked, smacking his wrist in a bratty little rebellion, and he grabbed it fast, pinning it to the bed with a rough tsk, his fingers digging in just enough to sting.

“still got some fight, huh?” he said, voice low and mocking, spreading your legs wider until the stretch burned, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air. “let’s see how long that lasts, you filthy demon whore.”

his fingers traced your folds, slow and teasing, dipping just barely into your entrance—light, shallow, not enough to do anything but make you twitch. the choker flickered, a faint glow pulsing with your heartbeat, and you hissed, tugging at the sashes, the knots biting your wrists.

“don’t you fucking dare—” you started, ultimately annoyed at his backtracking, but he cut you off, sliding one finger in—just one, knuckle-deep, curling it slow to graze that spot inside that made your hips jerk up, chasing more despite wanting something else.

“shh,” he murmured, crude and dark, his other hand pressing your stomach flat, pinning you still as he worked that finger in and out, agonizingly slow, letting the heat coil tight in your gut. “holy things take time, princess. you’re still a dirty fucking mess—gotta clean you up proper.”

you snarled, thrashing against the sashes, but he held you down, adding a second finger, stretching you just enough to make you gasp, then stopping—completely still, letting you clench around him, your breath hitching as you glared, tears welling up hot and heavy.

“please,” you spat, venom dripping, and he smirked, pulling his fingers out slow, dragging them along your walls until they slipped free, leaving you empty. your sob echoed, raw and pissed, and the choker flared brighter, slick dripping down your thighs as you bucked your hips, desperate for anything.

“not good enough,” he said, voice a filthy lilt, chanting some mock-prayer bullshit—“purify this sinner, wash her clean”—while his fingers went to your clit, rubbing light, maddening circles that made your whole body tense, teetering right on the brink. your tears spilled then, streaking down your cheeks as you glared at him, defiant even through the haze, and he groaned low, like the sight of you crying was better than fucking you.

“look at those tears,” he muttered, crude and gleeful, leaning down to lick one off your cheek, his tongue hot and slow. “crying for my cock already? pathetic little half-breed.” he pulled back, grabbing his dick—still hard, massive, dripping—and slapped it against your clit, the wet smack loud and humiliating. your body jolted, a choked moan tearing out, and the choker glowed violent, lighting up your wrecked face in the dim room.

he didn’t stop—kept it up, relentless, playing you like a damn fiddle. he’d drag his cock along your slit, slow and teasing, nudging your clit with the head, then pull back, slapping it down again, each hit making your hips buck, your sobs louder, tears streaming as you glared through them.

“damn you,” you rasped, voice hoarse, tail lashing out to smack his arm, but he pinned it down, laughing soft and dark as he leaned in, breath hot against your cunt.

“keep crying,” he purred, crude as hell, licking one slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, stopping just shy of your clit. your whole body arched, a scream caught in your throat, and he pulled back, slapping his cock against you again—harder, the sting sharp and electric. “holy knight’s gotta taste that demon filth—wash it out with my tongue, huh?”

he dove in then, but never enough—tongue flicking your clit light and quick, then pulling away right as your thighs started to shake. he’d suck it hard, lips sealing around it, only to pop off with a wet smack, leaving you gasping, sobbing, the tears falling faster as he watched, eyes dark with sick delight.

“so fucking pretty,” he muttered, sliding two fingers back in, pumping them deep, curling them just right until your hips rocked, your breath hitching, then yanking them out, smearing your slick across your thigh.

“please—fuck—please,” you choked out, half-snarl, half-sob, the tears burning your eyes as you glared, your pride shredded, your body screaming for release. he grinned, grabbing his cock again, slapping it against your clit in a quick, brutal rhythm—smack, smack, smack—each hit making you flinch, your sobs turning to desperate gasps, the choker glowing so bright it hurt to look at.

“begging now, huh?” he said, voice rough with lust, leaning over you, his cock brushing your oversensitive folds, teasing, not pushing in. “thought you’d kill me—where’s that fire, princess? all i see is a teary little slut, dripping for me.”

he slapped his cock down again, harder, the wet sound obscene, and your tail lashed out, smacking his chest, weak but furious. he grabbed it, yanking it hard, making you yelp, tears streaming as he pinned it to the bed.

“gonna break you slow,” he growled, sliding his fingers back in—three this time, stretching you wide, pumping them fast and deep, curling them just right until your whole body tensed, your sobs loud and broken. he’d pull them out right as you started to shake, leaving you clenching around nothing, then slap his cock against your clit again, over and over, the sting mixing with the heat until your mind was a haze of need and rage.

he kept it going—hours, minutes, who fucking knew—switching it up just when you thought you’d snap. he’d lick you slow, tongue dragging along your folds, then stop to suck your clit hard, pulling off with a grin as you screamed. he’d fuck you shallow with his fingers, then deep, then pull out, slapping your cunt with his hand, then his cock, each hit making your tears fall faster, your glare burning through the haze.

“holy work’s never quick,” he’d murmur, crude and dark, licking your tears again, groaning against your skin. “gotta purify you, my filthy bride—cry all you want, it’s just making me harder.”

your body was a wreck—shaking, sobbing, slick pooling beneath you, the choker glowing blindingly bright as he played you, every nerve on fire. he’d tease his cock against your entrance, pushing in just the tip, letting you feel the stretch, then pull out, slapping it against your clit again, laughing as you bucked, your sobs turning to desperate, broken pleas.

“i’ll kill you,” you rasped, voice raw, tears streaming as he hovered over you, his dick brushing your folds, his eyes locked on your teary glare.

“cute,” satoru only purred, slapping his cock down one last time, hard and wet, making you flinch, your whole body trembling, right on the edge, so fucking close you could taste it.

but he didn’t let you—pulled back completely, leaving you panting, sobbing, a wrecked mess tied to the bed, as he loomed over you, his massive dick hard and dripping, his eyes dark with that perverted hunger, chest heaving from his own restraint. he untied the sashes, letting your arms flop uselessly, then grabbed your hips, flipping you onto your back with a cocky smirk.

he didn’t waste a second—hands clamped on your hips, yanking you down the bed until your ass hit his thighs, your legs splayed wide over his. the silk bunched under your back, damp and warm, sticking to your skin as he knelt between your legs, his cock hovering over your cunt, thick and heavy, the head glistening with pre-cum and your slick.

your chest heaved, tears still streaming, your glare burning through the haze as you rasped, “you’re a fucking monster,” voice raw and broken from sobbing.

“and you’re my filthy little demon,” he shot back, crude and dark, grabbing his dick and slapping it against your clit one last time—smack—the wet sound loud and obscene, making you flinch, a sob tearing out as the choker flared. “gonna breed that evil right out of you, princess—fill you up till you’re clean.”

he lined up, the head nudging your entrance, and thrust in—hard, deep, no mercy, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal snap of his hips. your scream was instant, guttural, your body arching off the bed as he stretched you wide, his cock slamming past your limits, hitting your cervix with a dull, aching thud.

thee tears fell faster, your glare dissolving into a desperate, teary mess as the heat exploded, the orgasm crashing through you immediately—weeks, hours, who fucking knew—of pent-up need unraveling in a single thrust. your cunt clenched around him, tight and pulsing, slick gushing out, soaking his thighs as your legs shook, toes curling, a raw, “fuck—fuck—” spilling from your lips.

“there it is,” he groaned, voice rough and filthy, his hands digging into your hips, holding you still as you spasmed around him, your first release ripping through you like a storm. “cumming already, huh? such a needy little slut—couldn’t even wait for me to move.”

he didn’t stop—didn’t even pause—just started fucking you through it, slow at first, dragging his cock out inch by inch, letting you feel the stretch, the way your walls fluttered, then slamming back in, hard and deep, hitting that aching spot again.

the sensation was overwhelming—his cock filled you completely, thick and unyielding, the head grinding against your cervix with every thrust, a dull, bruising ache mixing with the sharp, electric pleasure still buzzing from your orgasm.

your thighs trembled, spread wide over his, the muscles twitching as he kept your legs pinned, knees bent slightly, feet dangling uselessly in the air. the silk rubbed your back raw, your spine arching every time he drove in, your breasts bouncing with the force, nipples hard and sensitive against the cool air.

“look at you,” he growled, crude and sadistic, one hand sliding up to grab your tail, yanking it hard enough to make you yelp, tears streaming as he twisted it in his fist. “crying like a bitch while i fuck you clean—holy knight’s dick too much for your demon filth, huh?” he thrust harder, faster, the wet slap of his hips against your ass loud and relentless, your slick dripping down onto the silk, pooling beneath you.

your second orgasm hit fast, spurred by his tail yank and the brutal pace—your cunt spasmed again, tighter this time, a hot rush of slick coating him as you screamed, voice breaking, “fuck you—fuck—” the tears wouldn’t stop, your glare flickering, softening into something dazed as your body shook, the pleasure too much, too soon. your clit throbbed, oversensitive from his slaps, and every thrust sent a jolt through it, sharp and searing, making your toes curl harder, your breath hitching in short, desperate gasps.

“that’s two,” he purred, voice dark and gleeful, leaning down to lick a tear off your cheek, his tongue hot and slow, groaning against your skin. “sobbing so pretty—keep it up, princess, i’m gonna flood that filthy womb.” he shifted, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting them slightly, bending your knees more, tilting your hips up so he could hit deeper—straighter—his cock grinding into your cervix with every thrust, the pressure building, aching, making you sob louder.

the position burned—your thighs stretched wide, muscles straining, your hips tilted at an angle that left you completely open, vulnerable, his weight pressing down as he fucked you into the bed. the silk caught every drop of slick, every tear that fell, your arms limp at your sides, claws digging into the bedding as he pounded you, the sensation splitting you apart—sharp pleasure, dull pain, all of it blending into a haze. your third orgasm crept up slow, coiling tight as he kept that brutal rhythm, his cock dragging along your walls, the head smashing your cervix, your clit rubbing against his pelvis with every thrust.

“holy fuck,” he grunted, crude and breathless, his own restraint fraying as he watched you unravel, your tears glistening in the candlelight, your face flushed and wrecked. “look at that—crying and cumming, such a perfect breeding bitch.”

he yanked your tail again, harder, and you screamed, the sound raw and broken as your third hit, your cunt pulsing around him, slick flooding out, soaking his cock, his thighs, the bed—a wet, messy gush that made him groan louder, his thrusts faltering for a second before he picked up again, relentless.

your body shook, legs trembling, the sensation electric—your clit throbbed against him, your walls clenched tight, the pressure on your cervix a deep, aching pulse that made your sobs turn to whimpers, your glare fading into a glassy, teary stare.

“can’t—fuck—can’t take it,” you gasped, voice slurring, your hands clawing at the silk, tail twitching in his grip as he kept fucking you through it, drawing it out, the wet squelch of your cunt loud and obscene.

“you’ll take it,” he growled, crude and dark, shifting again—hands sliding under your ass, lifting you higher, your hips off the bed now, your lower back arching as he folded you more, knees pushed toward your chest. “gonna fuck you till you’re pure—till you’re dripping with me, slut.” the new angle was brutal—his cock hit even deeper, straighter, every thrust slamming your cervix, the pressure sharp and relentless, your clit grinding harder against him, sending jolts through your whole body.

your fourth orgasm crashed in fast, spurred by the angle, the tail yank, the crude filth spilling from his mouth—your cunt spasmed hard, a hot, wet rush soaking him again, your scream turning to a high, broken whine as your eyes fluttered, tears streaming, your face going slack—mouth open, tongue lolling slightly, eyes half-lidded and dazed, a wrecked, mindless mess. your body shook uncontrollably, legs kicking weakly, the sensation overwhelming—his cock filling you, stretching you, the ache in your cervix blending with the sharp, pulsing pleasure in your clit, your whole core a throbbing, soaking wreck.

“fuck, yes,” he groaned, voice rough and filthy, leaning down to lick more tears off your face, his thrusts slowing but still deep, grinding into you as you trembled. “look at you—crying and squirting, such a dirty little demon. holy knight’s breaking you good, huh?”

he didn’t stop—kept fucking you slow now, letting you feel every inch, every pulse, drawing out the aftershocks as your body twitched, your sobs turning to soft, teary whimpers, your glare completely gone, replaced by that glassy, fucked-out stare.

he shifted again, hands sliding up to grip your thighs, pushing them back further, folding you in half—knees nearly at your shoulders, ass lifted high, cunt angled straight up for him. the position was obscene—your legs spread wide, pinned, your slick dripping down your ass, pooling on the silk, his cock poised above you, massive and dripping, ready to plunge back in.

your breath hitched, a weak, “no, please—fuck—no more,” slipping out, but he just grinned, crude and sadistic, slapping his cock against your clit again—smack, smack—making you flinch, a sob tearing out as your oversensitive body jolted.

“oh, we’re not done,” he purred, voice dark and filthy, lining up again, the head nudging your entrance. “gonna breed you till you’re leaking, princess—till that demon filth’s gone and you’re mine.” he thrust in slow this time, dragging it out, letting you feel the stretch, the way your walls fluttered, still pulsing from the last orgasm, and your fifth hit almost instantly—a sharp, searing wave, your cunt clenching hard, another gush of slick soaking him as you screamed, voice breaking into a wrecked, teary mess.

your body felt like a live wire—every thrust sent jolts through you, your clit rubbing against him, your cervix aching, the sensation splitting you apart—sharp and hot, wet and messy, your tears falling faster, your face slack and wild, mouth open, eyes rolling back slightly as you shook, completely lost.

satoru kept going, relentless, fucking you through it, his groans mixing with your sobs, the wet slap of his hips against your ass a constant, filthy rhythm, your slick flooding out, soaking everything.

his hands tightened their grip on your thighs, holding you folded—knees near your shoulders, ass lifted high, cunt angled up like an offering. your voice was gone, a hoarse, “no more,” barely audible, but he just grinned, crude and dark, pulling out and slapping his dick against your clit one last time, making you flinch, a teary whimper slipping out as he lined up again, ready to finish what he started.

“gonna fill you up now,” he growled, voice rough and filthy, his hands tightening on your thighs, keeping you bent in half—your knees pressed close to your shoulders, your ass hanging off the edge of the bed, hips tilted so high your lower back arched sharp, the silk bunching beneath you.

your legs dangled, feet brushing the air, useless and trembling, your cunt spread wide, slick and pulsing from the last round, every nerve raw and screaming. he thrust in slow, dragging it out, letting you feel the stretch—his cock thick and unyielding, sliding past your walls, the head nudging your cervix with a dull, aching thud that made you sob, tears falling faster as your glare flickered, fading into a glassy, teary haze.

“fuck—yes,” he groaned, crude and dark, his hips snapping forward, burying himself deep, the pressure sharp and relentless, your cunt clenching around him instantly.

your sixth orgasm hit hard—immediate, a hot, pulsing wave, your walls fluttering tight, slick coating him as you screamed, voice breaking into a wrecked, “fuck—fuck—” your body shook, thighs trembling against his grip, the sensation splitting you apart—his cock grinding your cervix, your clit rubbing against his pelvis, a searing jolt that made your toes curl, your breath hitching in short, desperate gasps.

“that’s it,” he purred, sadistic glee dripping from every word, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, lifting you higher, keeping you folded tight as he fucked you through it, slow and brutal, letting the aftershocks ripple. “cumming again, huh? you really are such a filthy slut for a princess—can’t stop, can you?”

he didn’t let up—kept thrusting, deep and steady, the wet slap of his hips against your ass loud and obscene, your slick dripping down, soaking the silk beneath you. the position burned—your thighs pressed tight to your chest, your knees bent sharp, pinning your lungs, making every breath shallow and ragged, your spine curved so hard it ached, your ass lifted off the bed, held up by his hands like a prize.

his cock filled you completely, stretching you past your limits, the head smashing your cervix with every thrust, a deep, bruising ache that mixed with the sharp, pulsing pleasure still buzzing from your clit. your tears wouldn’t stop, streaming down your face, pooling in the hollow of your neck as you sobbed, your glare gone, replaced by a dazed, teary stare.

“look at you,” satoru grunted, crude and breathless, one hand sliding up to grab your tail, yanking it hard enough to make you whimper, tears spilling as he twisted it in his fist. “crying like a fucked-out whore—holy knight’s cleansing you good, huh? fucking that demon filth right out.”

he thrust harder, faster, the rhythm brutal, your cunt clenching again, your seventh orgasm building fast, spurred by the tail yank and the relentless pressure.

it hit like a punch—your walls spasmed tight, a hot rush of slick coating him, a messy flood that soaked his thighs, your scream turning to a high, broken whine as your eyes fluttered, tears streaming, your face going slack—mouth open, tongue lolling slightly, eyes half-lidded and wild, a wrecked, mindless mess. your body shook uncontrollably, legs kicking weakly against his grip, the sensation overwhelming—his cock spearing you, the ache in your cervix blending with the sharp, electric heat in your clit, your whole core a throbbing, dripping wreck.

“seven,” he growled, voice dark and filthy, leaning down to lick a tear off your cheek, his tongue slow and hot, groaning against your skin as he kept fucking you, drawing it out. “sobbing so pretty—gonna breed you till you realize that you’re mine, princess.”

he shifted, hands sliding under your thighs, pushing them back further, your knees brushing your ears now, your ass lifted higher, your hips tilted so steep your cunt was practically vertical, his cock plunging straight down, hitting deeper, harder, the pressure on your cervix a constant, aching pulse.

the new angle was brutal—your legs folded tight, thighs pressed to your chest, your feet dangling near your head, toes brushing your own hair, your spine curved so sharp it hurt, your ass hanging in his grip, completely exposed. every thrust drove him straight into your core, his cock grinding your cervix with a force that made your sobs louder, your tears falling in a steady stream, your breath shallow and ragged, lungs burning from the squeeze. your clit rubbed hard against him, every snap of his hips sending a jolt through it, sharp and searing, making your whole body twitch.

“holy fuck,” he groaned, crude and sadistic, his thrusts slowing but hitting harder, grinding deep as your eighth orgasm crept up, coiling tight in your gut. “look at that—crying and cumming, such a perfect little cocksleeve. gonna fill that filthy womb—make it pure.”

he yanked your tail again, sharp and punishing, and you screamed, the sound raw and broken as your eighth hit, your cunt pulsing around him, a hot, wet rush soaking him, your body shaking, your face slack and wild—mouth gaping, eyes rolling back slightly, tongue slipping out, a teary, fucked-out wreck.

he didn’t stop—shifted again, hands sliding to your hips, flipping you onto your stomach in one rough move, the silk soft under your chest as he yanked your ass up, knees sinking into the bed, your thighs spread wide, your face pressed into the damp bedding.

your arms stayed limp, too weak to move, claws digging into the silk as he thrust back in, deep and brutal, his cock slamming your cervix from behind, the angle sharper, straighter, the pressure a constant, aching thud. your ninth orgasm hit fast, spurred by the shift—your walls clenched tight, slick dripping out, not a squirt but a steady leak that soaked the bed, your scream muffled into the silk, tears pooling beneath your face as you shook, completely lost.

“nine,” he purred, voice rough and filthy, one hand gripping your hip, the other yanking your tail up, using it like a leash to pull you back onto him with every thrust. “crying into the bed—you’re so pretty and pathetic, taking my holy cock like this.”

he fucked you harder, the wet squelch of your cunt loud and obscene, your clit rubbing against the silk with every slam, sending jolts through you, sharp and hot, your tenth building fast, your mind fraying at the edges.

he shifted again, climbing over you, his chest pressing your back into the bed, his knees bracketing your thighs, pinning you flat, your ass tilted up just enough for him to keep thrusting—deep, slow, grinding now, his cock buried so far it felt like it was in your stomach, the head smashing your cervix with every roll of his hips.

your legs were trapped under him, bent slightly at the knees, feet brushing his calves, your arms pinned by your sides, claws scraping the silk as he fucked you down into the mattress, his weight heavy and unyielding, your breath shallow and desperate.

“fuck—yes,” he groaned, crude and dark, his breath hot against your neck as he licked another tear off your skin, his thrusts slowing but hitting harder, grinding deep. your tenth orgasm crashed through—a sharp, searing wave, your cunt pulsing tight, slick flooding out, soaking his cock, your scream a broken, teary whimper as your face went slack—mouth wide, tongue lolling, eyes rolling back, a wild, wrecked mess.

your body shook, pinned under him, the sensation overwhelming—his cock filling you, the ache in your cervix a constant pulse, your clit grinding into the silk, your whole core a throbbing, dripping ruin.

“ten,” he grunted, voice filthy and triumphant, his hands sliding under you, cupping your stomach as he thrust deeper, grinding into you. “gonna cum now—fill you up, princess. breed that demon filth out of you.” he didn’t rush—kept it slow, deliberate, letting you feel every pulse, every twitch, his cock throbbing inside you as he groaned, low and filthy, his breath ragged against your neck. then he came—hot, thick, spilling into you in heavy pulses, flooding your cunt, the sensation sharp and hot, your walls clenching around him as he ground it in, creaming you deep, the excess dripping out, pooling on the silk.

“fuck—take it,” he growled, crude and sadistic, shifting again—hands grabbing your thighs, flipping you back onto your back, lifting your legs high, pressing your knees to your chest, your ass off the bed, your hips tilted up in his grip, his cock still buried deep, cum leaking out around him as he thrust back in, slow and brutal, pushing his seed deeper.

your eleventh orgasm hit instantly—a hot, pulsing wave, your cunt spasming, a sharp squirt soaking his stomach, your scream a wrecked, teary mess as your face stayed slack, eyes wild and unfocused, tongue lolling, a mindless, fucked-out shell.

“good girl,” he purred, voice dark and filthy, fucking you through it, his cock grinding his cum into your womb, the position tight and brutal—your thighs pressed to your chest, knees bent sharp, feet dangling near your shoulders, your spine curved, your ass lifted, his weight pinning you as he bred you, relentless, your tears falling, your sobs soft and broken, your mind gone, shattered under the onslaught.

he stayed buried inside you, cock softening but still thick, plugging his cum deep as he caught his breath, chest heaving against yours. your thighs trembled in his grip, muscles twitching, your knees still shoved up near your ears, feet dangling uselessly, toes brushing your own hair from how tight he’d folded you.

the silk were a soaked mess beneath you—slick, cum, tears, all mixing into a damp, sticky ruin that clung to your back, your ass, your thighs, the sensation warm and gross, a constant reminder of how he’d wrecked you. your arms lay limp at your sides, claws flexing weakly, scraping the bedding, your breath shallow and ragged, lungs burning from the squeeze of his last position.

“fuck,” he muttered, crude and low, his voice rough with exertion as he pulled back slightly, his cock slipping out slow, a thick, wet squelch echoing as more cum leaked from you, dripping down your ass, pooling on the silk.

he groaned at the sight, one hand sliding under your stomach, pressing down to feel the bulge where he’d filled you, his thumb rubbing slow, possessive circles over your womb. “look at that—stuffed you good, huh? cleansed that demon filth with my holy seed.”

your eyes fluttered, tears still streaming, hot and bitter, pooling in the hollow of your neck as you lay there, wrecked and shaking, your face a slack, wild mess—mouth open, tongue lolling slightly, eyes half-lidded and dazed, unfocused, staring at the ceiling. the choker pulsed faint, a dull glow that matched your slowing heartbeat, your cunt throbbing, oversensitive, every nerve fried from the marathon.

your tail twitched, brushing his knee, a weak, involuntary flick, and he grabbed it fast, yanking it just enough to make you whimper, a soft, teary sound that made him grin, crude and dark.

“so pretty like this,” he purred, sadistic glee dripping from every word, leaning down to lick a tear off your cheek, his tongue hot and slow, tracing the salty streak up to your eye. “all fucked out, crying, full of me—lovely wife, huh?”

his hand slid up, cupping your face, thumb brushing your trembling lips, smearing spit and tears as he tilted your head, forcing you to meet his gaze. those blue eyes gleamed, perverse and triumphant, drinking in your wreckage like it was a fucking masterpiece.

you couldn’t speak—voice gone, throat raw from screaming, sobbing, begging through the hours he’d ruined you. your chest heaved, breaths short and shaky, your body too heavy to move, every muscle spent, your cunt aching, stuffed full of his cum, a dull, pulsing heat that made you twitch.

“mine,” he murmured, crude and low, licking another tear off your skin, his breath hot against your neck as he nipped the bruise he’d left earlier, making you flinch, a soft, broken whimper slipping out. “mine. mine.” his fingers dug into your hips, possessive, his cock brushing your thigh, half-hard again, smearing cum and slick as he pressed it against you, teasing, not thrusting in yet, just letting you feel it. “gonna keep you like this—bred, broken, all mine.”

he leaned back, kneeling there, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his scarred skin, his white hair damp and messy, sticking to his forehead as he watched you—watched the cum leak from your cunt, watched your tears glisten in the candlelight, watched your body tremble under his hands.

“holy fuck,” he muttered, crude and reverent, his voice rough with lust and exhaustion. “look at you—wrecked, dripping, crying like a little bitch. my pretty filthy bride, huh?”

he shifted, sliding down beside you, one arm draping over your stomach, pulling you against his chest, his cock pressing against your ass, still half-hard, smearing more mess as he settled in. your legs stayed splayed, thighs quaking, your breath hitching as he nuzzled your neck, licking the sweat and tears off your skin, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple, making you twitch, a soft, teary sob slipping out.

“so good,” he murmured, voice softening but still crude, his breath hot against your ear. “took it all—every drop, every thrust, every fucking tear. you’ll love me. they all do. eventually,”

his hand stroked your stomach, pressing down where he’d filled you, like he was claiming it all over again. your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion pulling you under, your body too wrecked to move, too broken to fight, the tears slowing, your breath evening out as you drifted, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

but then—fuck—it sparked. not life. not hope. just pride. that brittle, burning ember he hadn’t managed to fuck out of you. not yet. not ever.

your eyes cracked open, glassy and bruised, but gleaming with that same imperious spite, the same loathing that had never once faltered—not through the screams, the begging, the breaking. your voice was a rasp, torn from somewhere buried deep, meant not to fight him off but to wound him where it mattered.

“as if i’d ever love a holy mutt who only fucks like he’s trying to prove something.” your lip curled, defiant even as your voice trembled. “must be hard, knowing the only crown you’ll ever have is between my legs.”

the words clawed out, weak but venomous, your tail twitching against his grip, smacking his thigh with what little strength you had left, a final, defiant snap.

he froze—breath catching, his hand stalling on your stomach, his cock twitching hard against your thigh—and for a heartbeat, the room went dead, the candles flickering low, wax dripping silent onto the stone. then his face split into a grin—wide, cruel, unhinged, his eyes flashing with sadistic, perverted delight, his love twisting into something vicious as he moved—fast, brutal, flipping you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up so hard your knees sank deep into the silk, your ass lifted high, your face shoved into the soaked bedding, his seed and slick smearing your cheek, the scent choking you.

“oh, my filthy bride,” he snarled, voice sharp and scolding, dripping with cruel glee as he fisted your hair, pulling until your scalp burned, his other hand grabbing your tail, twisting it so viciously you screamed, tears spilling fresh, your body jerking under his grip.

“thought you’d learned your place, huh? mouthing off like a brainless brat—guess my cock didn’t fuck enough sense into you.” he scolded you like a child caught stealing, his cock—hard again, massive—slapping against your cunt, smack, smack, smack, each hit wet and stinging, making you flinch, your oversensitive clit throbbing, your sobs raw and loud.

“you don’t get it, do you?” he growled, leaning over you, his chest pinning your back, his breath hot and heavy against your ear as he scolded, voice cruel and cutting. “you’re mine. my wife, my trophy, my fucking prize. you insult me? you spit that venom? i’ll carve it out of you, brat—fuck you till you’re choking on your own screams, till you’re begging me to keep you.”

he yanked your tail harder, twisting it like a rope, his hand cracking down on your ass—slap, slap, slap—each hit sharp and brutal, leaving welts, your body jolting, your tears soaking the silk, your glare flickering back, weak but defiant, burning through the haze.

“pathetic,” he sneered, crude and sadistic, his cock nudging your entrance, teasing, the head slipping in just enough to stretch you, then pulling out, leaving you empty, shaking, sobbing. “look at you—crying, leaking, talking big like you’re not supposed to be my breeding bitch. you think you’re tough, huh? i’ll fuck that attitude till you’re nothing but a whimpering mess, till you’re crawling for my mercy.”

he slapped his cock against your clit again—smack, smack—harder, the wet sound obscene, your body bucking, your screams muffled, your tears endless, the choker flaring bright as he leaned in, licking your cheek, groaning at the taste.

“i hate you,” you rasped again, weaker but sharper, venom dripping, your tail snapping against his grip, a frail but furious smack to his wrist, your claws tearing deeper into the silk, shredding the silk, defiance blazing through the tears, the pain, the wreckage. his laugh was cold, cruel, slicing the air as he shoved your face harder into the bedding, muffling your sobs, his hand cracking down on your ass again—slap, slap—welts blooming, your body trembling, his cock poised to ruin you again.

“go on, keep cursing me like that,” he growled, voice dark and filthy, scolding you like a king to a rebel, his sadistic glee a living thing as he lined up, the head nudging your cunt, teasing, promising pain. “i’ll make you pray to me by the time i’m done.”

495 notes · View notes

satorena · 26 days ago

Text

HOTLINE BL☆NG!

summ. wine nights and free will? a recipe for disaster— such as matching your ex on a corny dating app and having him in your bed within that same hour. . .

cw. eventual smut. 18+. fem!reader. alcohol/substance consumption. ex boyfriend!gojo. mild toxicity. breakup & makeup. girlhood ft jjk girlies. unreliable narrator sorta. sukuna slander. mild impact play. mild asphyxiation. oral (f). fíngering. backshōts. reader is a little questionable. self sabotaging my beloved. lowkey angsty. @/3aem on tumblr for art creds. most of these stories are real shit i’ve heard/experienced LOL. can you tell i’ve never used tinder a day in my life? 16.4k words. . oops.

rena’s note. @yung-notorious and her filthy mind. . .

“you like it when i fuck you like this? yeah you do.”

god, you do.

you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that had you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

friday nights were meant to decompose after a long week. a cute tradition you followed— sipping on moscato wine and munching on takeout with your homegirls while the lamest horror movie played as background noise. the skincare bit happened every third friday of the month, which fell on this particular night, thin layers of korean products lathering at your skins while fluffy headbands sat atop your hairlines, keeping stray hairs away.

it was an easy way of recapping all of your week’s worth of bullshit and listing each girl’s new lineup of men of the season.

girlhood.

“i’m cool off men for a whileee,” you sigh, placing your third wine glass on the coffee table. you tuck your legs back onto the couch, propping your head into your palm. you watch as shoko, who’s seated on the floor, grabs your glass and fills it with another unsolicited round. you narrow your eyes at her, “after the shit kuna pulled— girl, slow down!”

“don’t watch me,” shoko chews at her unlit blunt tucked in her teeth, lifting an arm above her head to pass you your refill. despite the slight spin of the room, you accept the cup against better judgment, “keep talking. what the fuck did he do now?”

“you mean what didn’t he do,” seated in the pink bean bag rested on the floor, utahime quips. in between her teeth sits a wooden stick, drizzled in the honey-like wax residue she smeared over her shin. “i woulda left his ass the second i found out he— FUCK— lived with his mama at his big age.”

as utahime soothes her smoothened skin, yuki leans over the coffee table to grab at the blunt passed over to her. “y/n baby, you know i love you,” she starts off, taking a deep inhale before ghosting the smoke. you can tell she’s about the cook the shit out of you, “but come on— he lives in his parents’ basement. was that not a red flag in itself? is that seriously the kind of man you see yourself marrying.”

“nevermind the fact he’s pushing thirty and still unemployed,” shoko throws in her two cents, takeout back in her lap as she breaks open a new set of chopsticks, “he’s one more ‘tap in’ away from getting caught by the feds.”

“how much y’all wanna bet he’s at the club right now as we speak?” it’s a rhetorical question, but utahime pauses her waxing to check. with sticky fingers, she taps away at her phone, and with a knowing smile she yelps, tilting her screen towards you three, “aha!— and there goes the infamous money spread.”

“cornballllll.” shoko cringes.

you’re filled with dread and shame at the sight presented. god— every single chance you gave this man, he spun around and somehow does worse. it’s not like the two of you were together— never officially, but the sole fact that you’ve let this man treat you as if you were his girl haunts you. you’ve let countless of bullshit slide all because his stroke game came second within all the men you’ve dealt with.

the only thing you’ll give him besides a being a good lay is that you’ve never had issues concerning other women. he’s a very transparent guy— you’ve yet to receive a “hey girlie. . .” text from anybody. though, it isn’t like either of you have ever dropped any hard launches. it was mostly content that only close friends could catch onto— the interior design of his car, your latest set of nails, subtle shots of his tattoos, your purses and jewelry. nothing evident but pretty obvious to those who know.

if sukuna was still cool with him, however. . . yeah, he’d definitely know, considering the fact he purchased most of the purses you own. that’s excluding the fact your favorite necklace, the one with your name engraved, the one you always wear, was also bought by him.

“move,” you push utahime’s hand away from your peripheral, slumping further into the couch. embarrassment floods you yet again, and you drown it away with more wine. much to your chagrin, they spare no mercy as they giggle at your pout, “not too much on me— shoko, you’re literally the one who put me on!”

“don’t do that,” she rolls her eyes, picking at the orange chicken on her platter. you have half a mind at chucking your drink at her. “all i told you was to fuck him. nobody said anything about keeping him around.”

“instructions: unclear,” utahime giggles, smearing another coat of wax mixture onto her calves. “she’s now a year deep into a situationship with a man who files for disability checks to blow on parlays.”

you spring up in your seat, your wine nearly spilling on shoko in your excitement, “shit, i never told you guys!”

“told us what?” yuki kills the blunt in the ash tray, and stretches an arm to grab at her food. she knocks over a few emptied bottles as they roll on the carpet, and winces when one of them knock at shoko’s knee, “my fault girl.”

shoko clicks her tongue, but you loop your arms around her neck as you proceed, “before you bitches attacked me for literally just being a girl,” you decide ignore the way they all groan, “i was trying to tell you all why i finally ended shit with him.”

“well don’t hold back now!” utahime eggs on.

“guess what i found out,” you set the empty wine glass back onto the table. you’re most likely gonna need your hands in this specific conversation, “he bet thirty thousand dollars on the super bowl game— and lost.”

the room falls quiet. utahime pauses in her ripping, yuki drops her noodles from her chopsticks and shoko nearly chokes on her wine. amidst it all, three pairs of eyes slowly crawl to meet your gaze, in complete disbelief at what you’d told them.

“are you deadass?” shoko speaks first, her facial expression almost incredulous. her eyes are teary from her food slipping through the wrong tube. “you’re playing, right? right?”

“she has to be. . . this is a new level of low even for him.” yuki shakes her head, most likely in attempts to give him the benefit of the doubt. you don’t blame her— no sane person would drop thirty grand on a fucking betting app of all things— and on top of that, lose.

“i wish i was?!” you groan, still upset, “the worst part is that he told me that money was supposed to be deposit money for a condo he’d been,” you raise your fingers in air quotes, “looking into.”

“you know what though? this doesn’t actually surprise me,” utahime laughs, as if she hadn’t been in a daze for a solid minute. she rips at the strip, and winces, “didn’t i just say he was getting checks to place on parlays? frank gallagher looking ass.”

“but thirty thousand?” yuki emphasizes, blinking rapidly in her disbelief, “what the fuck would possess somebody to bet thirty grand on anything?”

“grown ass man, by the way.” shoko mumbles mindlessly, before chowing down some more food. you can’t find it in yourself to disagree.

utahime nods, blowing a puff of air, “on god, bro. don’t he got mortgages to pay off or some shit?”

yuki shoots her a deadpanned look, “girl, with what house.”

and that had been your final straw with him. not the fact he lived in his mother’s basement despite clearly having money to rent out a place, or the fact he was still flexing bands he allegedly has on the gram— but blowing all your money on a fucking football game. and losing. you do respect yourself, as much as these girls believe you don’t. a man with no ambitions and no money? you need to run and far.

“i’ll miss his dick though.” you pout, the alcohol already coursing through your body. being wine drunk always made you horny, that was a known fact, and letting go of one of your greatest eaters was not on your bingo card. naturally, the girls roll their eyes at your antics, “boo me all you want— he horsed me the fuck around in bed.”

“you used to say the same shit about gojo,” utahime points out, rising to her feet as she grabs the used strips in her hold, before circling around the couch, “and look how that ended up.”

technically. . . she wasn’t exactly wrong but that still stung a bit. “hime, seriously?” shoko rolls her eyes, and you feel her hand rubbing at your foot soothingly. her motions are a little stiff but you appreciate the sentiment, “we get you don’t fuck with him but he was still her man. and basically my friend, kinda.”

you hear her wince in the kitchen, followed by footsteps, “right. . . sorry girlie.” she runs back to you after throwing the waste away, and kisses at your temple. she doesn’t comment on the pout on your lips. “i didn’t mean it. . . okay maybe i did, but i’m still sorry!”

your history with gojo was complicated. you’d met him through shoko in your third year of college, at a kickback party hosted by his people. it’d been an invite only thing, but shoko had brought you along as a plus one, and you both instantly connected. as far as you were concerned, it was technically supposed to be a sneaky link vibe, but you soon learned gojo was anything but sneaky. in fact, he was so vocal in him wanting you, that he actually did end up getting you a couple months later.

he’s a year older than you, therefore he’d graduated a year ahead. the separation in itself was something you hadn’t looked forward to at all, but he had found himself a condo downtown, not too far from your residency, therefore seeing each other hadn’t been an issue. he always made it clear he wanted to see you— even after gruelling nine to five shifts in the office. his words matched his actions, driving you up to his place since yours had a stupid curfew policy for visitors.

(you’ve kept him in your dorm numerous times.) (your closet has suffered enough with his lanky ass.)

the first year worked out for the better. he was still welcomed to the parties you invited him to, he made time in his schedule help you with your studies, planned consist dates and even took you out on trips. he was physically, mentally and emotionally present— and you genuinely believed he would be your forever man when you’d introduced him to your parents at your graduation ceremony and he seemed thrilled. they adored him— and that says a lot considering they hated all your other exes. with good reason, but still.

it’d been the honeymoon phase until it wasn’t.

you expected arguments. those are inevitable in relationships, but with every argument he grew distant. you were now both graduated students juggling between jobs, rent and a relationship. it was a lot— your schedules never seemed to align which jumbled into multiple failed dates, which further escalated into more arguments. it hadn’t always been him, you could agree you were at fault too. that post graduation depression spiralled worst than you’d anticipated— the fear of falling behind when your boyfriend had already been successful so early into his career entirely consuming.

he reassured you plenty, but you could see it in his face as he spoke to you— he was exhausted. of work. of life. of you. he had bigger fish to fry than dealing with a workaholic girlfriend with low self esteem. the bigger the promotion, the less your value. you’d seen this play out before— it was less i love you’s and more hours in the office. less dinner dates and more project plannings.

the more time you spent by yourself, the more your mind began overthinking. you had no place in his life anymore. you didn’t resent him for it— you wish nothing but the best for him. he deserves to be successful in life, and he’s already so close to it. your slacking behind is nothing more than dead weight in his rise to the top.

the breakup had been anticipated. you’d broken up with him first. he never asked you to explain why. he nodded, never uttering a word. it’d been the first time you’d seen him in weeks. you kept it simple, “we should break up.” and he kept it even simpler, a curt bounce of the head in agreement. as quick as he’d entered your apartment, he left.

and that’d honestly been it. you’d been together for four years, and broken up for a year and a half. after all this time, you still don’t resent him for it. he made the rational choice in prioritizing himself and his future, and you simply didn’t fit in it. it took you quite some time to work on yourself as well, and you’re honestly satisfied with where you are in life. the breakup clearly worked in favour for you both.

it sucks that he was genuinely the only man you ever cared about. the only man you can confidently say you loved.

“look— now you got her thinking about him!” shoko complains, chucking the nearest thing— a throw pillow, at utahime. it hits her square in the face, to which she lets out a muffled oof! “way to fucking go.”

you blink out of your thoughts. well that’s embarrassing, you got caught up in the past again. you lift yourself from the slumping position you’d unintentionally fallen into the midst of daydreaming, “shit, my bad. got flashbacks to that time he ate me off the bone after his first promotion.”

“yo, what?!” yuki hollers, falling into a fit of laughter. shoko rolls her eyes so much you’re thinking it’ll get stuck at the back of her skull and utahime physically cringed from head to toe. “so fucking unserious— here we are, worried about your ass and here you go, upset you lost your best eater.”

not exactly, though there was some truth to her words. gojo was your best eater, and nobody’s topped him since. he really did tongue fuck you that night like you were the boss who raised his pay. but it wasn’t just the sex you missed— you wholeheartedly missed him. the closest thing to a soul bond you’ve experienced, now gone.

they don’t need to know all that though.

“oh come on,” utahime groans, picking at her nails. trust her to find any reason to slander your ex. for what reason? she’s never told you other than him annoying the fuck out of her, “he could not have been that great. it can’t be anything you can’t find elsewhere— plenty of men eat pussy.”

“okay but do they enjoy eating it or is it more of a duty thing?” yuki points out, rolling her thumb on her lighter mindlessly. she watches the flame arise, casting a soft glow on the sheet stuck to her face, “because you can definitely tell the difference. one eats for foreplay, the other eats for his own pleasure.”

shoko hums in agreement, still poking at her plate, “a man versus a munch,” and with a beat of silence, she takes a deep sigh, throwing her head back, “i should call him.”

“no! no you should not,” utahime laughs, before shooting you a glance. your smile quickly falters and is switched with a look of confusion as she points a nail filer in your direction, “and you,” you cock a brow, “stop thinking about him. we’re supposed to be independent women, y’all need to stand the fuck up.”

“hime, please, you were literally just complaining to your close friends about your latest dry spell.”

“irrelevant!” she dismisses yuki, waving a hand absentmindedly. you don’t see how it’s irrelevant exactly, but you let her proceed. “we are sexy, successful and strong women. stop relying on the past and focus on the future. there are bitches that fought for their lives for the freedom we have! you could literally get dick anywhere— they actually have apps for it, if you didn’t know—”

“so tell us, o’mighty one,” shoko cuts her off, “are you suggesting we download tinder to relieve our stress?”

she remains quiet, and you can see the gears churning in her head. you’re about ninety nine percent positive shoko was fucking around, but the scrunch in your friend’s eyebrows tells you she’s seriously contemplating the idea, “. . yes actually.” she finally decides.

“hime. . .” shoko groans, but is effectively cut off when she springs up to her knees to grab at her phone.

“no, seriously, think about it!” she scrolls through her phone like a maniac, searching through the app store and typing the name in. you all watch her incredulously, her enthusiasm in the matter as if she hadn’t been preaching about feminism half a minute ago, “i’ve met some of my best lays in college through tinder. i haven’t been on this app in years though.”

you don’t see why not. you were pretty tipsy and would never have agreed to this under typical conditions, however it could be regarded as a bonding activity. you also haven’t been on tinder since before your last relationship, and the shit sukuna put you through this past year was enough to make you want to deal with literally anything else.

“i’m down.” you pull out your phone, and shoko may have gotten whiplash with how quick she snaps her head back to eye you. you shrug your shoulders, “we don’t have to take this shit seriously— god knows i’m not entertaining anybody on this app for real.”

“exactly!” utahime nods, walking up to scoot herself beside you. she nudges at shoko with her foot, who flicks at her toes to keep her away, “it’s just for shits and giggles.”

“i’m definitely not doing this shit,” yuki crawls to sit at the couch’s feet, right at shoko’s side, and grabs at the remote sitting uselessly on the table, “but i will be watching you both embarrass yourselves.”

“the only other bitch with common sense here.” shoko sprawls her legs onto yuki’s lap. she receives a slap at the back of her head by utahime, and naturally she slaps the hand right back. “can’t stand that little fucker sometimes.”

“aweee, love you too!” she blows a kiss at her to which she receives a middle finger. you snort, eyes glued on your screen as you redownload that forsaken app back into your phone.

you’d probably regret it in the morning, but that was something saturday you would have to deal with. as of right now, with white wine in your system, logic was not an option. you were learning to live more in the moment, and apparently that starts with the corniest dating app in the world.

it’s not like you’d magically stumble upon your ex on the platform. now wouldn’t that be something? ha!

there’s no fucking way.

this had to be one big, fat cosmic joke. a cruel prank, even. and if it was, then the universe had a twisted sense of humour. you still don’t believe it— were the girls in on this? this kind of shit didn’t just happen to anybody.

it took about a total of twenty minutes between logging back into your old account, updating your password and bio, and swiping left on passing profiles until you landed on it. on. . . him.

you blink slowly. your phone is shaky beneath your unstable hands, and you’re pretty sure you’ve been holding your breath in far longer than recommended for the average human. it’s quiet as fuck in the room— despite the three girls huddled over your shoulders, sticking their noses in all directions to get a clearer view of your illuminating screen— almost as if to confirm if what they were seeing was truly was they were seeing, as if this was all too fucking ironic to be true.

there’s a knot of anxiousness that simmers in the pits of your stomach. you’re pretentiously aware that even the slightest movement— one wrong click or swipe, would ultimately change everything. there was too much at risk here. “oh there’s no fucking way. . .” shoko speaks up first.

utahime leans in impossibly closer, a few centimetres away from fully emerging with your iphone as her nose scrunches, “way too sexy? fuck around and find out? god, he’s still so corny, i swear.”

your eyes trail over his biography, curiously. that “way2sexy” had been an inside joke you both shared years ago— back when drake had dropped one of gojo’s favourite albums, certified loverboy. he overplayed the shit out of that song when it came out, so much that you received multiple complaints from your RA for “public disturbance”, but he swore it worked as daily affirmations for him in the same sense crystals and tarot cards worked for spiritual girlies. you called him corny for it, but before you knew it, it’d shown up in your spotify wrapped the following year.

rapid memories of morning rays of light peeking through blinds, a groggy yet mysteriously clear “alexa, play way 2 sexy” as you fixed your sheets and lit your candles, fighting over who gets to spit toothpaste residue first, hearty laughter to fumbled lyrics, shared minty kisses paired with one “gimme one more” too many.

the ache clenching at your heart is hard to ignore.

“i would give him the benefit of the doubt in believing he hasn’t updated his account,” yuki draws out, eyes narrowing as a finger sticks out to point, “but his age matches. emoticons as a grown man. . . no shade though.”

his age did match. inside joke aside, none of it was adding up. if he already had his account set up years ago, had he willingly changed his bio to one of your most infamous gags after the breakup? if you were to swipe right right now, would it instantly match? you don’t think you want to figure it out— both possible outcomes scaring you shitless.

“should i swipe left?” you speak uncharacteristically softly, torn between the idea of tucking your tail inwards and running away from the opportunity or your typical it is what it is mentality.

“yes! obviously— mmmph?!”

“do you want to?” shoko, with a pillow stuffing an agitated utahime in the face, counters. between all the girls, she seemed to understand you the most, granted her own relationship with the man. you’re sure he had given her his own version of their breakup, how you’d opened the doors to endless opportunities for him, had given him the easy way out. you never bothered asking her, afraid of the illusion you’d created to shield yourself shattering, “only you have the answer to that.”

“i honestly don’t know,” you sigh, joints in your thumb aching from hovering over your screen for too long. swiping left meant completely abandoning any the possibility of the two of you as one. you don’t want that responsibility weighted on your shoulders again, “what if he’s moved on? the shit that’ll do to my ego if i swipe right and he passes on me?”

shoko finally grants her friend the permission of speech, freeing her off the couch decoration, though the look she gives her serves as a warning to tread lightly. with a heavy breath, utahime releases a puff, “i’d crashout, just sayin’.”

“but what if he hasn’t moved on?” yuki poses, and apparently that was all the confirmation you needed to swipe. fuck pride— pride wasn’t going to get your back blown out. pride wasn’t going to help you get the love of your life back. pride can go fuck itself.

“wait—”

utahime is cut off again, however, not by shoko but tinder itself. the notification pings loudly, resonating in depths of your ear cavity and shoots straight to your chest. you can feel your heart pounding wildly against your rib cage. it’s so silent you can hear a pin drop, and the way your gut churns gives away the end result to your spontaneity.

it’s a match.

“well. . . shit.” shoko slumps back into the couch nonchalantly, and you don’t need to see her to know she’s sporting a smirk. you do feel her knee knock into yours. fake ass idgafer.

you’re no better, biting down your bottom in order to suppress the smile itching to spread. a year later and the sole idea that he’d already came across the same mindset as you, willing to give whatever it was that needed a second shot, had you beyond delusional. god, you need help.

“look at youuu, cheesin’ and shit!” yuki pokes at your cheek and you swat her hand away, ultimately caving into the smile. fuck yeah you were geeked— it’s hard carrying a nonchalant attitude when you were an honest to god, soft hearted lovergirl. if you played your cards right, with a few lash bats and glossy lips, you’d be getting dicked down in no time.

“i’m gonna be sick.” utahime deadpans.

“and i’m getting dickkk,” you sing, jumping to your feet as you stood on the couch. you turn around, hands clutching onto the headrest, giving your ass a cute shake as it rotates in circular motions. you feel shoko’s hand tapping it encouragingly, her phone illuminating as it records while she rests her head on your moving thighs. you hear yuki cackle, pulling out her phone to film as well. you giggle, “rip that pussy!”

“ayeeee!” they complete the lyrics, and the vibes are restored yet again, girly giggles filling the room. when your legs begin to feel wobbly, you stop your twerking to plop yourself right back down, leaning your head onto shoko’s shoulder.

you hear her click her tongue as the recording of your ass graces her screen, and she groans, “gojo is one lucky bastard— he can’t handle all that.”

he most definitely can, and has. you’ll opt with shrugging in the meantime.

“with that being said,” utahime jumps in, crossing her legs, “what’s the next move here? you reaching out first?”

your lips straighten as your mind reflects. if you still know him as well as you think you do, he’s definitely going to text you first as soon as he sees the green light. sure, you were anxious for a reply, desperate to check what his temperature was— but you’d already sacrificed a grand amount of dignity just swiping right. he could do take on the role of texting first.

“nah, i’m almost a hundred percent sure he’ll—”

ping!

you all whip your heads to the source of the sound. your phone. the screen shines as it undergoes facial recognition, and exposes the messenger. from tinder. gojo. sending you a message. just as you’d expected.

you can’t help the cocky smile, eyes trailing at their perplexed faces, “—text me first.”

naturally, the girls are impressed. even you are— that timing? would it be insane to genuinely be considering gojo might honest to god be your soulmate? yuki blows a puff of air, followed by a laugh, “your pussy has to be magical cause what the fuck?”

“ladies and gentlemen,” utahime stands to her feet, fisting her hand into an imaginary microphone, and addresses her fake crowd. in the hostiest voice she can muster, she curtsies as she continues in comedic fashion, “miss pussy fairy in thee flesh.”

“put a stamp on it.” shoko shakes her head in acknowledgment, laying her own phone in her lap as she claps. yuki places two fingers in her mouth and whistles at you, to which you rise to your own feet and dramatically place a hand over your chest in faux humility.

“oh please!” you flatter yourself, tucking your hair behind your ear. you smile behind your palm, your improv classes in high school coming in clutch, “this is too much— thank you! thank you deeply.”

“girl, byeee,” utahime breaks character first, giggling as she sits back onto the abandoned bean bag. you mimic her motions, as she pops open a stray water bottle and swallows a big gulp, “open his text! i wanna see what he said!”

you’re in the same boat, thumbing at your phone to unlock it and open the app. naturally the girls hover over you yet again, just as eager to see how he finally broke the no contact phase. it took him less than three minutes to slide in your messages, as the option had finally been granted.

right as your thumb hovers the message, a hum draws out your throat, “how much y’all wanna bet it’s something corny?” you tease, something close to a hunch giving it away. seeing as your assumptions were deemed accurate just a few minutes ago, the only way he’d think of clearing the ice would be with something plausibly lame.

“open itttt!” utahime ushers you, hands clamping at your shoulders. you roll your eyes, letting her dramatics sway your body back and forth before she lets up. you let out a sigh, and open the unanswered message.

and just as you’d predicted. . .

@gsatoru: they say shooters shoot 👀

“oh brotherrrr,” the girls groan in sync, and even you can’t stop the cringe that stiffens your face. if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s the fact he still doesn’t act his age. he needs to let those college days go.

“now, what’d i tell y’all.” you tut, leaving out the part of nostalgia simmering deep and warmly in your bones at his predictability. ever the goofy he was, gojo satoru. jeez.

“i was really found myself rooting for him too,” shoko sighs, rising to her feet. she dusts at her lap then stretches her limbs lazily, “i’m gonna go pee— hime, i swear to god, don’t take my seat.” she doesn’t look back to flip her off when she hears utahime blow raspberries her way. to which, against shoko’s wishes, leaps over to snatch her seat.

both you and yuki give her a deadpanned look, but yuki voices out your thoughts, “she’s gonna get on your ass and i’m not helping you out.”

“girl, boo.” utahime rolls her eyes, “more importantly, what the fuck do you answer to that?” her nail taps at your phone screen, peering at you expectantly through lashes.

you consider your options. do you reciprocate the same energy or do you call him out on his corniness? matching his vibe would be like starting off a blank slate— a new start, new conversations, something almost superficial. like a fling you meet at the bars for one night of fuckery that you regret the next morning. but calling him out would induce in falling into familiar patterns— calling him a cornball while he attempts to sweet talk you, old conversations brought up, risking broken boundaries for the sake of reminiscing.

decisions, decisions, decisions.

“i’m thinking taking the easy way out.” you nod your head, readying your fingers as you type your response out.

you miss the exchanged glances between utahime and yuki, too busy trying to format how to come off playful but not forgetful. flirty but not desperate. come pull up on me but demurely. well you’ll be damned— in what world had you ever expected second guessing yourself for gojo?

“what’s the easy way out?” yuki asks, and you hit send. where this confidence comes from is beyond you, but any error you make you can blame on the wine (you’re hardly fazed but it’s nice to have something to pin the blame on instead of yourself) (old habits die hard).

you tilt your phone, holding it out as you watch the girls’ brows furrow, eyes scanning over the screen. when their faces contort into a look of amusement mixed with horror, a girly giggle escapes your throat.

@yourstrulyname: sukuna ryomen wsp with you?? 🙈

“you didn’t!” utahime hollers, her laughter so intense she doubled over to clutch at her stomach. yuki sways her body back and forth as she finds herself in a hysterical fit as well. “goddd, i would kill to see the look on his face right now.”

“yooo, that’s evil.” the blonde swipes at a tear. “woulda had me deactivating the whole account.”

“who’s deactivating?” shoko pops back in, not without slapping utahime upside the head. she ignores the way utahime complains in favour to swipe a nearly emptied bottle to pour.

“it’s not even that bad,” you defend yourself, flashing her your screen as she installs herself in the bean bag utahime once occupied. her eyes squint as she reads the conversation, nearly bulging out their sockets when she catches your message, “nahhh, don’t give me that!”

“if he gives you the time of day after that,” shoko swirls the wine in her glass, snorting, “he must really still be in love with you.”

“he should know i’m playing. . .” you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince the girls, him or yourself. you really were just joking around— albeit a terrible joke, but one regardless! sukuna was officially removed from the roster, a financially irresponsible man never standing a chance against you, “right?”

“don’t ask us?” utahime chimes in, uselessly, to which you roll your eyes. well shit, maybe you should double text? let him know you were just fooling around, trying to check temperatures and establish the mood. your phone pings again, and all unnecessary thoughts are thrown out the window.

@gsatoru: oh so you got jokes now?

as you’re about to let him know you’ve been had jokes, but never the goofy type, you see the bubbles pop up, a telltale that he’s got more to tell you. you let him have it, already having possibly fumbled the mission before even starting. it feels like an eternity and a half waiting on his text, the girls having huddled over you yet again, just as curious to see what he had to counter with.

@gsatoru: can’t be a joke if the guy had you outside on valentine’s day tho. stk steakhouse? really girl?

your jaw falls slack. you watch with burning eyes at your screen as your built up suspicions were ultimately confirmed. okay, so those two were still somehow connected. you didn’t like to question male friendships, the lack of loyalty not one you’d ever understand. god forbid you ever started fucking with utahime’s ex of many years.

“wait. .” said girl speaks up, drawing the word out as she processes his answer. her tongue rolls around in her mouth, face cringing as the next words follow, “i can’t lie, he kinda ate you up.”

“just sassy as fuck,” shoko laughs, and it’s one of those giggles reserved to shit she honestly finds hilarious, “really girl is crazy. all comfortably like he’s one of your homegirls.”

“now what’s wrong with stk’s?” yuki grumbles, picking at her nails with a childish pout on her lips, “everybody isn’t born with a silver spoon plugged up our asses. god, i can’t stand rich people.”

you don’t bother answering the girls, already aware he chewed with his response, that he’s as sassy as he was years ago and that he had found that particular steakhouse shabby despite it being a fucking steakhouse. these were things you already knew. your thumbs proceed before your mind can register,

@yourstrulyname: been keeping tabs on me?

“you don’t look too happy,” shoko pokes at your cheek. there’s an ache creasing in your forehead, and you relax the furrow of your brows. you’re not exactly upset, just a bit on edge with his approach— you can’t tell whether he’s on tens or not. whether he’s genuinely joking around or not.

“i’m fine.” you poke back, and she nods. she ushers the other girls to pick a new movie to play, and you clock this is her way of allowing you some privacy between exes. you shoot her a grateful look, and she offers a sly wink. you’ll make sure to update her on whatever happens as soon as it’s over.

you switch your ringer off, and open his new message.

@gsatoru: hard not to when he posts you like he has smth to prove

@yourstrulyname: who said it was me?

you knew it was you. you knew he knew it was you. but still, you wanted to hear it from him yourself, wanted to know if he really was keeping tabs on you ever since the breakup. it’d help ease your mind with unanswered questions.

@gsatoru: you mean besides the bags and jewelry i got you?

@gsatoru: your build was a dead giveaway. could recognize you blindfolded in a room full of women

you bit your lip. you could work with this text, play around with it and see if shit flips. would he fall for the bait? you’ll start off slow, create an opening and see if he decides to indulge.

@yourstrulyname: like what you saw?

he answers instantly and your heart sinks a bit.

@gsatoru: of course

@gsatoru: you’re as a beautiful as the day you left me

is that how he saw it? you assume you did leave him in a practical sense, but there was no way he hadn’t seen it coming miles away. you had both been caught up in your lives, the additional stress of romance an unwanted factor in the rise of your careers. so yeah, you’d given him the opportunity to leave. it’s not as if he fought it anyway, so did you really leave him if he’d closed the door on his merry way out?

this was starting to get personal. toeing between the line of uncharted territory and familiarity. everything you didn’t want— debriefing the logic behind the underwhelming breakup on tinder of all places was out of the fucking question.

@yourstrulyname: you still cool with sukuna?

@gsatoru: something like that

@gsatoru: he’s slimey as fuck for sliding on you tho

you figured as much. you couldn’t imagine a world where gojo wouldn’t feel some type of way at his friend going after his ex girlfriend a couple months fresh off a breakup. he probably felt the same way towards you, the difference being one owes him more loyalty than the other.

@yourstrulyname: and what does that make me?

@gsatoru: did he mean something to you?

he didn’t. you think of the importance of somebody meaning something to you— the fear of losing that person larger than life itself. the joy of waking up in that person’s arms on a rainy morning. the vulnerability in bonding souls with that person. the relief your body undergoes as it melts in that person’s embrace.

he didn’t mean shit to you.

@yourstrulyname: no

@gsatoru: then that makes you someone who made a choice

neutral and impassive. you wondered if he truly meant that. in a sense, you assume he really did mature.

@yourstrulyname: so he’s in the wrong but i’m not?

@gsatoru: who am i to assign right from wrong? you’re both adults at the end of the day

you don’t know what to answer to that. there was a lot of truth to his words— you were both consenting adults with choices made. jeez, just what had gojo gone through all these months that made him none the wiser? you’re considering leaving him on opened for a while, at least until you come up with an answer to that philosophical ass message, when he double texts you.

@gsatoru: this is so backwards lmaoo. what’s good with you? how’ve you been?

so he realized it too. thank fuck— skipping small talk and diving into the nitty gritty this late at night was not how you expected your night to go. the girls had completely forgotten your predicament, invested in the latest reality tv show flashing on your flat screen.

@yourstrulyname: been good. you?

@gsatoru: wow you’re as dry as ever

@gsatoru: life’s been blessed, could be better tho. too much to explain over text

oh? was this what you were thinking it was?

@yourstrulyname: what are you getting at, gojo?

@gsatoru: gojo? so it’s fuck me then

@gsatoru: not getting at anything. ball’s in your court, yn

so it was. you contemplate it for a second— should you invite him over tonight? the girls won’t be upset about kicking them out, and if anything they’d encourage you to call them as soon as it’s over. you suppose your doubts lie within the idea of having your ex boyfriend back into your territory. in the comfort of your home, a home he’d once already graced.

as scary as it sounded, you also desperately craved seeing him. it’d been a solid eighteen months since you’ve broken up, and thirteen since you’ve last seen him entirely. ironically, around the time you started getting involved with sukuna. you weren’t sure if it was your heart or pussy talking, but laying up in bed with this man was not something you were against.

fuck it.

@yourstrulyname: you know where i stay at

and his response comes instantly.

@gsatoru: be there in half an hour.

oh fuck.

“yo. . .” you speak up, for the first time in a few minutes. the girls turn their heads, acknowledging you, as you shut your phone close and chuck it across the sofa. “i love y’all but y’all gotta go, like now.”

shoko shakes her head, but there’s a smirk on her lips. utahime, as lost as ever, gives you a frown. yuki has most likely caught on, rising to her feet, dusting her lap, “say no more.”

the girls do you an immense favour as they excuse themselves. they pick at empty bottles and containers, throw dirty dishes in the dishwasher, rearrange the throw pillows and even light up your candles. you feel bad for kicking them out so late, so you pitch in some money for gas as well as the inconvenience.

as they cleaned out your living room and kitchen, you’d rushed to your shower for a mini cleanse. pulling out your bests, you wash over intimate parts thoroughly, lathering your limbs in scented soap, before rinsing, brushing your teeth and stepping out. you stare at your reflection through the haze of steam, the foggy mirror reminding you of the missing messages he used to leave on mornings you had to get to work.

no point in dwelling on the past when he was on his way over this moment. you swap your silk robe for the skimpiest loungewear you own— matching camisole and shorts, and let your hair cascade back down. you’re about your fifth spritz of body spray when the doorbell rings, and your stomach flutters.

you halt in your step when you notice how fast you’re going. yikes! the last thing he needs is his ego inflating, knowing you were rushing to get him inside, nevermind the fact you washed, pulled out your sexiest pyjamas and even wore a brand new pair of panties. you know. . . just for preparations. better safe than sorry.

after the third mindless lap around your kitchen, you make your way towards the door. you inhale sharply, clenching at your shaky fingers, easing your nerves. you quickly snap out of your daze, pulling the door open.

his eyes, momentarily distracted by the number engraved in the wall next to your door, glaze over your figure curiously. his hands are tucked in the pocket of his sweatpants. he lets out a breath, a sound borderlining a chuckle as it shoots straight to both heartbeats, shoulders drop from its hunch,

“hey.”

he’s thick.

no perverted shit. you’ve noticed he’s put on weight in the right places— not to say he’d been anything less than nicely built in the past, but his biceps are significantly fuller and the material of his compression tee stretched over bulging muscles in a telltale pattern.

somebody’s been at the gym one too many.

“you good with this?” he mumbles, hand running across the smooth skin of your calf. with every stroke of his palm are fleeting memories of the past, burning deep into your limb. you hate the way your stomach sinks st the thought, “me being here and shit.”

“wouldn’t have let you in if i wasn’t.” you answer honestly, back pressed into the arm of the couch. you don’t understand how fast he’d gotten comfortable with being in your personal space just like that— you don’t understand how you’d allowed him in your personal space just like that.

he nods, and the air is eerily quiet. you watch with furrowed brows as he traces shapes into your skin with his fingertip, a frenzy of emotions resembling those of turbulence all in cerulean eyes. he’s torn— you can see it in the way his nose scrunches, as if he’s debating on whether he should voice out his thoughts or not. whether it’s worth debriefing— if this is his last shot or not.

with all this time passed, he’s still so easy to read.

“what is it?” you sigh, albeit irritated. the last thing you’d planned when you got rid of your friends in favour of having your ex over was this weird ass tension roaming. crazy sentence to speak— you know, but you were really hoping it’d be less talking involved and more sexing. it wasn’t that you were against conversing with him, but the way he was choosing to go about it was just so. . . awkward .

he senses the irritation laced in your question and immediately chuckles. his laugh sounds breathless, almost dry, but he shakes his head. his free hand swipes at his nose, a tic of his you noticed years ago whenever he’s feeling bashful or caught, and clears his throat.

“how’d you and sukuna happen?” he rips off the bandaid, and asks you the last question you wanted to hear. the tracing on your leg slows down, and your arms tighten a bit around your torso.

you let out a puff of air. if gojo notices your discomfort, he doesn’t mention it. in fact, he doesn’t pull the question back at all— he stares at you intensely, as if baring into your soul, as if the answer to his question will determine whether the boulder weighted on his shoulders will free him of restraint or not.

as if he still stood a chance or not.

“not much to say,” you shrug, as dismissive as possible. he doesn’t budge, the same intensity in his gaze and you roll your eyes, “honest to god. we broke up, he was there at the right time and shit happened.”

the words simmer into the stillness of the night, and he swipes his tongue over his lips pensively, “were y’all ever official?” he pushes, and you click your tongue against your teeth, offering him a deadpanned look. seriously, as if he didn’t know his own friend— in what world was sukuna anything worthy of official?

“god, no.” you shudder, and he nods again. “you know your friend.”

“i don’t,” gojo counters, momentarily wrapping his hand around your ankle. it fits as perfectly as it did all those years ago, where thumbs at your anklet— another prized possession he’d gotten you. your face heats in embarrassment, and he flicks his eyes to glance at you, a fleeting smirk on his lips, before staring back at the jewelry, “going after my ex girlfriend is not something i expected. i don’t know him at all.”

fair enough, you think to yourself. there has to be some lingering resentment towards you for the same reason. had the tables been turned and he’d gone after one of your closest friends, you would’ve cut him off from your life completely. you were being truthful— it wasn’t anything remotely serious with sukuna, not even close to how it’d been with gojo, but you could see it as a matter of principle. you’d already taken the initiative to break up with him first, and going after his homeboy?

god, you had questionable morals.

“it’s different with you,” he feeds in, as if he could read your thoughts. it was probably written all over your face, the scrunch in your brows never letting up. his index finger slides beneath the band of your anklet, the contrast of the silver shade lining perfectly against his complexion, “‘s hard to explain, but you broke up with me so you technically owe me no loyalty— besides, i get why you ended things. never blamed you.”

now that peaks your interest. he gets why you ended things with him? he never blamed you? you clear your throat, forcing the question out, “you do?”

“of course,” he shrugs naturally, as if it hadn’t taken you eons to conclude. as if it hadn’t broke you apart when you’d realized how unneeded you were, “i honestly expected it. you deserved better than what i was giving. you must’ve been lonely— work had always taken a big part of my time, and that left you behind in the dust.”

you’re waiting for the punchline. he continues, “i can’t lie to you— i was wishing you’d resort to cheating over breaking up. that way you’d still be mine, even if it was temporarily,” he chuckles, a soft shade of pink dusting over his cheekbones, as he sniffs, “corny, i know. but you didn’t deserve putting up with my bullshit, so you left. time is of the essence, and that was the one thing i never seemed to give you. you fell out of it— out of love, so. . . i’m sorry.”

words cannot seem to leave you. you’re left utterly speechless— that had been so far from the reason, the realization sitting bitterly at the pit of your stomach. anything, literally anything, would’ve been better than hearing him lie to you again.

“that. . .” you inhale a sharp breath, steadying yourself, “is nowhere near the reason why we broke up.”

he stops in his caress. you think he got whiplash from how fast his neck snaps, eyeing you incredulously. he genuinely seems so confused, and you hate it. to think he’d show up with some lame ass excuse, so far stretched from the truth of the matter, and expected you to believe that. to believe him.

he blinks slowly, “i don’t understand.”

you try to pull your leg away from his lap, feeling like he was stripping you bare of the last bit of dignity you had left, wanting to rip you open. he presses the weight of his hand lightly, urging you to stay near while simultaneously giving you the option to pull away. the ball was in your court yet again.

“wait— help me understand,” the pad of his thumb rolls over your ankle bone gently— far too intimately. your feet curl away, protectively, and his fingers stroke at the ball of your heel, “please. what drove you away? what was it i did?”

there’s a pang in your chest. does he really plan on keeping this up? right in your face? it was one thing wishing him well despite the obvious, but dragging it out even a year later was a bit much. inviting him over was starting to seem like a terrible idea.

“i fell out of love?” you parrot, unbelieving. “gojo— i’m not the one who fell out of anything. i gave you a way out, and you happily took it,” his face contorts into a deeper state of confusion. you huff, “i’m not blaming you for it or anything, but shit, don’t get up in here with lies to cover your ass.”

“lies?” he whispers, to himself, running his free fingers through tousled white locks. he stares at your anklet hardly, like the gift has all the answers he’s looking for. you don’t think he’s avoiding eye contact, but he seems so distraught, so out of the loop, that broadway ought to sign him to a new movie deal. what an actor.

“time is of the essence and you failed to give it?” you continue regardless, throat restricting as it burns in an emotion you’re far too familiar with. suddenly, you feel like you’re twenty five again, left to your own devices and thoughts in the emptiness of his apartment, dressed in your prettiest outfit and another failed date night. “i never gave a shit about that, i knew how much of a hardworking man you were. i took it to the chest— anything to keep you from leaving. you stopped loving me, gojo.”

his jaw falls slack, mouth gaping and you blink your lashes furiously to prevent tears from appearing. god, this was so humiliating, bearing your heart raw in front of your ex boyfriend, “y/n, i never—”

“spare me,” you scoff, mortified by the rush of emotions coursing through you. you take a deep breath in, calming yourself to avoid further explosive feelings, “this isn’t me saying i was the perfect girlfriend. i know i wasn’t— you know i wasn’t, and piling a spiralling partner on top of all the shit you were dealing with wasn’t an option. that’s fine,” it was fine. it didn’t matter, “doesn’t matter anymore. i broke up with you, you didn’t fight to stay, and we both moved on. shit happens.”

it hurt a lot. the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the crack splitting in your chest. the run towards your bathroom, emptying your contents from both your stomach and heart. you were undeniably a mess, that period of time it took for you to recover. you would never voice it out loud, but you’d been praying he’d tell you just how wrong you were. how he needed you in his life. how you weren’t a burden to him. how he loved you enough to fight through it all.

he hadn’t.

there’s a soft hum in the silence. the sound of your clock ticking near the entrance door. the pounding of your heart against your rib cage. seconds turn into minutes of quietness, and it does no good to your mind. you’re focusing your gaze on the inanimate objects in your apartment, anything to dismiss the reality of the situation. your leg feels cold as his hand pulls away suddenly.

he rolls his tongue against his cheek. another tic of his— he’s formulating his word choice, carefully. you’d seen a ton of this before, though it usually followed a deep sigh and a you’re good baby, trust me. the more you’d see it, the more anxious you became. and christ, if that anxiety wasn’t forming right back.

it takes a while for him to speak, and every passing breath had your chest tightening. he runs his hand across his face, tiredly. when he pulls it away, there’s a melancholic smile on his face, “i think there’s a lot that needs to be addressed. jesus, i always knew you sucked at communicating but this is something else.”

you glare at him. he doesn’t mind it, continuing, “no, you weren’t the perfect girlfriend. but you were my girlfriend, and that’s all that mattered to me. you wanna talk about spiralling? nothing i’m not familiar with— you’re the only reason i didn’t let myself fall into that rabbit hole. you kept me going after graduation. i worked as hard as i did to make sure you wouldn’t have to lift a finger around me. that was the end goal— you were end goal.”

gagged is what you felt. nothing else pure shock. he doesn’t stop there. he isn’t merciful anymore.

“i know i didn’t go about it the right way,” a regretful puff of air is released, “i canceled on you often. our phone calls were shorter, our texts were vaguer and at some point i’d forgotten what you tasted like. but i never loved you any less. not once, even after we argued. not to say i’ve converted into those spiritual people, but you’re the closest thing to a soulmate i’ve experienced.”

shit, you weren’t tripping. he felt it too. fuck. the weight of his words made it impossible to steer him away. you want to intercept, to call him a liar and turn a blind ear at his confession, to shield yourself but how could you when every word he spoke broke the bricks you’d built down?

“i’m not an asshole— i could feel you slipping away. i did try my damned hardest to reel you back in, as you’d done with me. clearly that hadn’t worked how i was hoping it would,” a bitter laugh, or maybe a resentful one. towards you or himself? you wouldn’t know, “it’s because i loved you so much, i let you go. i knew i was losing you, and when you finally came to me, the right thing to do was agree. why keep you from reaching your fullest potential? you weren’t happy with me, trying to fight the inevitable was cruel.”

the inevitable. letting you go was the right choice to make because fighting the inevitable was cruel. he loved you so much he had to let you go because you deserved more than what he had to offer. you call bullshit— in what right did he have to make that choice for you? what right did you have to make that choice for him?

it’s too much at once. your eyes burn with a remorseful feeling, your heart aches in agony and your mind is clouded with thoughts. there your ex boyfriend sat, wide eyes still as blue as when he’d once been yours, presenting you his heart raw in cupped hands— and you still couldn’t find it in you to believe him fully. everything yet nothing made sense. vulnerability was a scary thing, and you weren’t ready to face it.

so, you kiss him.

his breath is taken out of his chest as you lean forward, sealing his mouth shut. you can’t take any more of his merciless words, and the only way to get your mind off it is by getting on it. he feels stiff against you, pupils dilating as you mould lips with his own. your hand travels to the back of his neck, sitting on your knees as you hold him still.

and with a faint lip smack, he pulls away ever so slightly, hands hovering awkwardly over your waist, his breath warm and fanning your cupid’s bow, “wait—”

“don’t wanna talk,” you interrupt, placing another chaste kiss on his lips. he tastes as good as the day you left him. and with another soft smack, your voice lowers, reduced to a whisper, “you gonna fuck me or not?”

he blinks and you stare back at him, full of conviction. a simple yes or no question— and he could gladly see himself out if his answer didn’t satisfy you. his hands finally rest on your waist, and you take it as an invitation to straddle over his hips. he eases your movements by aiding, lifting you just barely to sit on him. his hands fit just as they did all those times ago. a sour, bittersweet feeling— fingertips caressing the nakedness of your torso beneath your camisole.

your back arches as he finds your sensitive spots with quickness. he’d always been great at that, leaving trails of goosebumps past his teasing touches.

“you’re doing it again,” he mumbles against your lips, ever the hypocrite, fingers gripping at your waist like a vice. he rolls your hips over his own, reeling in the softness of your palms cupping at his face. you ignore him when he continues, still nibbling on his bottom lip the way he loves, “you can’t— mmh, avoid this forever.”

maybe not, but you sure as hell could right now. the tip of your noses bump into one another as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss. you want to rid your mind of these plaguing thoughts, ones that made you doubt everything you thought you knew. losing control was out of the question, so naturally you needed it back into your grasp.

sex was an easy way to do that.

“yes or no, gojo.” you give him one last chance, grinding your hips down on his awakening dick. you feel his bulge through his pair of sweats, the print so evident you wondered why he was trying to fight it. the sight alone had your panties dampening in your arousal, uncomfortably sticky against your loungewear.

he hums in between kisses, a false pretend of debating his options. his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and past your panties, fondling at the flesh that sat beneath. he could fake it all he wants, but fuck chivalry— he was turning to mush the more you sucked at his tongue, licking at the crevice of the roof of his mouth.

it’s when you sink your teeth into the flesh of pink lips, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to draw a moan from him, he comes to a conclusion. he nods his head, snaking his arms to wrap at your waist tighter as finally kisses you back.

“it’s always a yes.” for you. he doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to, but you hear it and dismiss it. no more lovey doveyness and time to get to the nitty gritty of shit— getting your back blown out. the very thought alone is enough to put a smile on your lips.

bingo.

your bedroom door hardly shuts before he pins you against it. he’s annoyingly big— tall in height and wide in weight. he towers over you comically, hands roaming at every inch of your body as he drinks you up. his lips seek yours desperately, sliding over your glossy ones with practice that suggests hints of comfort.

your arms loop at his neck, and his at your waist. his mouth hardly lets up of yours, mumbling a little jump, as you comply with ease. thighs trapping him in your hold, you then find yourself face to face with him as he lifts you, large palms cupping at your ass. you fit just as perfectly in his hands as you did years ago, flesh so fat he gropes it tenderly.

the walk from the door to your bed passes in the blink of an eye, a timeframe you find pointless to recall as you indulge in the taste of him through his tongue. his presence is so overwhelmingly powerful— every touch and caress at your body reducing your limbs to mush. you cling to him, either out of safety reasons or desire, tilting your head from side to side to deepen the lip-to-lip action.

when he gets to the edge of your bed, he lowers you until your toes reach the floor. due to the difference in height, your lips part, a thin string of saliva connecting from both your mouths as proof of your unison. the blue shade of his orbs darken with desire, eyelids lowering as he drinks up the sight of you— lips plump and swollen, slick in saliva, chest heaving from lack of oxygen.

he raises a hand from your waist to cup at your face, and you detest the way your lean into his touch. your cheek fits in his large palm, and he swipes a thumb at your bottom lip, collecting your shared spit onto the pad of his digit. as he smears the fluid further across your mouth, he prods his thumb a little further— testing out the waters, wanting to see if you’d cave into old habits.

naturally, you allow it, his thumb swallowed by your puckered lips. you roll your tongue over his finger and your eyes never leave his— hoping to convey the rush of emotions you feel through your sultry gaze. your core throbs in want, your stomach erupting in butterflies and your heart pounding unnecessarily. unspoken words you’re positive he understood, if the way he groans when your teeth sink lightly into his digit said anything.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, popping his finger back out. it’s coated in saliva, and like the freak he is, pops it into his own mouth. once he’s had his fill, he removes his hand from his mouth, and lowers it to your fleshy waist, slipping past the waistband of your panties, “take these off— ‘m hungry, need a taste of that pussy.”

your cheeks nearly split from your excitement, and you comply to his order, gripping at the hem of your shorts to pull them down to your ankle. he assists you despite the previous demand, his own hands atop of yours, a warmth and sense of security so familiar. when your shorts reach past your mid thigh, you allow him to meet you halfway.

he pulls your shorts down to your ankles, lowering himself to a knee. his movements are agonizingly slow, basking in the sight of your thighs in contrast of the shade of your loungewear. he steadies a hand onto your calf, patting it lightly, and you lift your leg just barely, permitting him to slide the shorts off your ankle and tossing it aside.

when the item is discarded, he redirects his focus back to you. he pampers your skin in kisses— delicate but hungry, trails of moisture crawling back up at your inner thighs and shooting right to your core. he looked unexplainably sexy on his knees, littering your body in hushed praises, the tip of his nose nudging at your soft skin. you bit your lip in attempts to cease it from wobbling at the intimacy he was providing.

“god, you smell so good,” he speaks into you, hands snaking to the back of your thighs, pressing you forward into him. your panty covered cunt presents itself right before him, and he plants his nose right into your intimates, your body shuddering as his nose bumps into your clit deliciously. a shaky breath escapes you, and his hands travel upwards to play with your ass. “turn around, wanna eat it from the back.”

the words are taken from you when his hand slaps your ass encouragingly, releasing a mini squeal, “you’re still too freaked out.”

“mhm, something like that,” you don’t see it, as you’re occupied on spinning on your feet to plant your hands on your matters for stability, but you’re positive he’s smirking. your arch your back for him, wanting to properly present the meal he plans on devouring. your cunt oozes slick against your thong just thinking about how he’s going to do you in, “there’s that arch,” a hand slides in the curve of your lower back, before snapping the band of your thong. it recoils against your cheek and you jerk forward at the sting.

“oh? did that hurt?” he taunts, and as you’re about to protest, he does it yet again. the snap is intense but never painful, but the nerve he had to play around like your pussy wasn’t a few centimetres away from his face. you don’t acknowledge how your panties cling even tighter to your folds.

“fuck off,” you curse through gritted teeth, but your hips wiggle backwards in attempt to get him to hurry it up. as if now was any time to tease— you couldn’t stand it when he did it all those years ago, and your feelings haven’t changed since, “get on with it. . . the fuck?”

you hear him sigh, almost disappointedly, and it only aggravates you further. your brows furrow in annoyance and you think you feel a vein tick at your temple.

“still so disrespectful,” gojo tuts, rubbing at your booty tenderly. so he wasn’t exactly wrong, but how was he expecting you to react when he’d just said he was going to eat you out, and proceeds to do anything but that? of course there’s going to be a little pout on your lips, “we gotta work on that attitude of yours.”

your face twists into a look of further aggravation, and you tilt your head back, readying whatever other bratty objections you had— though you’re ultimately interrupted by a sharp sting that spreads across your ass.

the strike of his palm against your cheek sprawls into an intense heat, the pain oddly pleasurable, and the moan that rips out of your chest is impossible to suppress. your eyes nearly jump out of their sockets at the audacity, and right as you’re about to complain, he does it again. and again.

“o-okay, shit!” you attempt to voice out, but he’s relentless, delivering blow after blow onto the same ground. there’s a curve in his palm, and it amplified the sound across the room. despite your protests, you can’t deny every jolt of pain rushes to your clit. you’re positive he knows you’re enjoying this, “gojo— fuck, okayyy!”

to your pleasure, he eases the slaps, opting to smoothen his hand flat across the reddened flesh. he hums pensively, the heat of your skin radiating against his palm in a way that forces a smile on his lips, “ ‘okay?’ what do you mean by that, baby?”

you clench your teeth at his faux ignorance. you know exactly what he wants from you, and you’re not sure if you’re able to give it to him as you are. an apology— he wants you to apologize, that bastard. your left cheek stings like a bitch, even with his now gentle touches, and your core is begging you to cooperate with him, in order for that attention it was neglected of. he is such a dickhead— putting you in a predicament like this one.

you swallow the last bit of dignity you hold, a constant reminder in the back of your mind that this was for the greater good— for the sake of your pussy. with a pained sigh, you tilt your head backwards to meet his playful gaze that stares back at you, right below the plump of your ass, and you muster the cutest look you can give.

doe eyes paired with a little pout, “‘m sorry. . . for the attitude,” you’re not sorry at all, but you desperately want your cunt in his mouth, so you do what you have to do, “can you eat it now? please?”

he flashes you a million dollar smile, all thirty twos on full display, and it takes every ounce of willpower in you not to roll your eyes right then and there. he was so full of shit, his eyes might as well brown. but still, you knew he got off on this kind of thing, and when he presses a quick kiss at the print of your lips, he replies, “of course, sweet girl— only because you asked so nicely.”

there’s no further need to speak, as you feel your thong being pushed to the side, followed by a cold breeze hitting your bare cunt, meshed with warm breathe as he feasts .

gojo eats you out like he has something to prove, and you know what— maybe he does. to prevent you from straying from him, he grounds you with two firm hands gripping at your ass. he spreads the flesh apart, his tongue lapping at your slick greedily. you can’t tell who’s moans are louder— yours or his, the man so engaged in sucking at your clit, nibbling on the bundle of nerves with practiced ease. you hold onto the sheets on your bed with dear life, thighs trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up.

“fuck, don’t stop,” you whine, pushing your hips further back, your mind overcame with utter greediness for more of that insatiable pleasure. you might as well have swallowed him whole into you, just as he’s swallowing you whole into him, his tongue diving deep past your hole and into your folds. he flicks his tongue expertly, licking at every crevice and nook of your cave, his jaw working overtime as his bottom lip never lets up at your clit.

your entire pussy is consumed by him, no area going neglected— drool slips past his mouth and spills onto your floor. a familiar heat licks at the pit of your stomach, a telltale that your dam is bound to burst anytime soon. he remedies your ache with another painful spank at your ass, groaning into your pussy when you clamp down on his tongue.

he was so fucking nasty— fucking into you with his tongue like he needed this more than you did. he makes out with your cunt, like he was a starving man on death row. at a particular cruel angle of his tongue fucking, your body would react with an all consuming tremble, fingers clawing at your duvets, your lungs releasing pathetic mewls. and the further you pushed back into his merciless mouth, the closer his nose nudged at your puckered forbidden hole.

he pulls away with a gasp, subbing his mouth out for his fingers, the pads of three fingers rubbing messily at your sloppy lips. the sound it creates is downright filthy, so painfully loud that it damn near drowns out your own moans.

“pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he spits a wad of saliva at your already soaked cunt, further amplifying the squelching sounds. he drags his fingers down to your clit, pinching at the bud with enough pressure to have your knees buckling, before sliding back upwards to your clenching hole. he slides into your entrance, index and middle fingers twisting in with ease, “bet she missed me, hm?”

“y-yes!” you nod mindlessly, your high creeping up on you as he works himself into you. taking six inches of fingers twice was a task in itself— the average length of a man’s dick serving purpose as fingering was just downright disrespectful. his knuckles poke at your silky walls, stretching you out to the best of his abilities, “shit— oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum!”

to your statement, he latches his lips back to your neglected clit, sucking on the bud as if he were intentionally trying to milk you dry. he hums at your taste, the vibrations shooting right up your alley and into the knot tightening in your guts— and when he curls his fingers upwards, at that spot that has stars dancing beneath your eyelids, the dam breaks. that knot stood no chance.

“oh goddd,” you cry out, spraying your release all over. it dribbles out your pussy and past the lower half of his face, to which his jaw widens as his mouth gapes— greedily aiming to slurp at your juices while simultaneously flicking your bean. the stimulation has your brain going dumb, as you fall flat onto your bed, drool collecting at the corner of your mouth and staining your sheets damp.

he lets you ride out the euphoric bliss, the movements of his fingers and the lapping of his tongue slowing down the more your body reacted to the overstimulation. when he deems you well spent, he lets up, slipping his fingers out and popping them back in his mouth, swirling your taste across his pallets, “as sweet as ever,” rising back to his full height.

you haven’t came that hard in a while, limbs reduced to nothing as you merge into one with your bed. your legs are still trembling, and your chest heaves as you exhale deep breaths. letting your eyelids close shut, you take the time to regroup yourself from that mind shattering orgasm. who the fuck had he been fucking that forced him to keep this skill? granted, you had no right to complain but holy shit, he was no fucking noob.

you feel the weight of his body press on top of you, a well-built chest meeting your moist back. it doesn’t take much to realize he’s hovering over you. his lips litter kisses at the column of your neck, moving up to the shell of your ear, leaving a trail of goosebumps after each embrace, “you tappin’ out already?” gojo snickers at your shell of a body, and you kiss your teeth at his typical mockery, “what happened to my champ while i was gone?”

“fuck off,” you pout, a little embarrassed by the fact that you really were retired from the game. sure, you were getting dicked down real good by your previous partner (question mark), but it never had you as exhausted as you currently were. there was absolutely nothing gojo satoru couldn’t do, and that ticked you off to no end, “nobody said shit about tappin’ out.”

“hm. . .” he hums, nuzzling his nose into your jugular, his hips grinding into the cleft of your ass. it’s impossible to ignore the bulge poking into you, and you doubt he was trying to hide it regardless, his hips rolling against the plushness of your behind, “guess sukuna didn’t do as good of job as he should’ve.”

that has your eyelids opening right back up. talk about an awkward situation— bringing up you and your ex’s (question mark) sex life while having sex with your other ex was a double edged predicament in itself. had you agreed, which lowkey wasn’t entirely wrong, you’d be stroking the fuck out of gojo’s ego and be disrespecting sukuna. but had you disagreed, you could end up on gojo’s wrong side and fumble an entire night worth of dicking.

so, once more, you take the easy way out, at the expense of inflating the white haired man’s ego, much to your dismay, “think you can do better?”

he stays silent for a while. in what you assume is him coming up with an answer to your question, his kisses travel to the dead centre of your shoulder blades, wet and open mouthed, as they crawl lower down your spine. with every kiss, your body caves into a state of relaxation, as if he was undoing every stress clouding at your hazed mind with his mouth alone.

he lands at the middle of your back, before he pulls away abruptly. and just as soon as he started, he was finished— removing himself off your body entirely. panic settles quickly in your stomach, as you turn your head around to see what he was up to. had you unintentionally hurt his feelings? damn, and here you were enjoying the body worship.

“what are you—” your words are cut off as his hands cup at your waist. he slides you back towards the edge of the bed, your feet planted on the floor once more. you feel some residue of your previous orgasm beneath your heels, eugh. you don’t have much time to spend thinking about how gross it feels when a hand holds your shoulders, and lifts you right back up.

your brows jump to your hairline in surprise at the sudden manhandling, though you can’t deny you found just a bit sexy. with his chest pressed into your back once more, you can feel his heartbeat thudding at the blade of your left shoulder, the organ withholding a steady rhythm— the tempo of a lullaby you’d once been accustomed to. and then big arms wrap around your frame, and holds you.

you hate the way your body folds so easily to his touch. it’s been an entire year, and despite your mind shouting at you for the intimacy you’re allowing to gallop right back into your life, your heart craves it. the sense of security his embrace offers you alone makes the least of sense, but you blindly lean into him, allowing yourself to be deluded for the time being. he won’t be yours as soon as this is over, so you might as well take the most advantage of the situation.

it takes a minute for either of you to speak. here you stood— half naked and legs sore, but still happily in his arms. his cologne is still as rich and dominating as it’d been all those times ago. he breaks the silence first, his chin resting above your shoulder, as he mumbles, “you really hurt my feelings, you know.”

to some degree, you know you did. about what exactly? you weren’t sure, but still, you offer him what you believe he wants, the realization leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, “i’m sorry.”

“‘s all good,” he kisses your cheek so tenderly that your neck cranes to the side to meet his gaze. gojo had always been so readable when it came to emotions, as he always wore his heart on his sleeve, but even with all the knowledge you knew about, you weren’t prepared for the look in his eyes. raw, unfiltered emotions. you only notice the close proximity between you both when your noses bump into one another. he shoots you a warm smile, “could never be upset with you. you hold that power over me.”

it’s you who kisses him first, and he returns the favour with more intensity. it’s an awkward positioning for your neck, but you don’t let up regardless of the ache in your joints. his mouth stays on yours as if you were his lifeline, tongues sloshing one over the other, brushing your lips together so gingerly.

in the midst of his tongue down your throat, he slips a hand in between your thighs, cupping at your abandoned pussy. the casual brush of his fingers at your core sent a breathy whine from your throat right into his mouth, and it only motivated him to work harder, rubbing slow patterns into your throbbing clit. your hips chase the feeling, riding the wave of his fingers.

he pulls away from your mouth, just barely, mumbling against your kiss bitten lips, “one of these days you’re gonna let me finish speaking,” followed by a knowing smile. sure, it could be seen as a flaw, but it was the only way you could protect yourself while keeping him within arm’s reach. never ready to have him but never prepared to let him go, “we can do that later— gotta blow your back out first.”

you couldn’t agree more.

it all happens so quickly— he retrieves his hand from between your thighs, having collected your juices at his fingertips, before lubricating his dick. he pumps at the length leisurely, his bottom lip tugged by his top row of teeth, and the groans he lets out are enough to have you squeezing your thighs eagerly, your cunt aching and ready to go. in the midst of your eagerness, you slip your hand behind you and catch his twitching cock, working your wrist right above his own, jerking him off.

a deep groan grumbles from his chest, and he instantly stops your hand from moving any further. you frown at his ceasing, but when you tilt your head to voice out your confusion, he offers a sheepish smile, “don’t wanna cum too soon,” ever the minute man, he was.

though, you soon find yourself regretting your own thoughts the very instant you feel the tip of his dick pushing past your entrance.

there’s a blended harmony of both your moans that bounces off the walls. his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your hips, holding onto you so tightly you’re positive you’ll bruise, and you clamp down on his intruding dick so tightly you’re positive you never want to let him go. the initial stretch is a feeling you’ll never get used to, but the sensation is all but unwanted.

“fuckkk, y/n,” he moans right into your ear, his voice so full of want, you can’t help but understand exactly where he’s coming from. he pulls his hips back, almost entirely, though his tip stays inside. it takes him a second to regroup, mumbling incoherent words under his breath, before he plunges back into your cunt.

and from that point on, it’s wraps. he fucks into you like a madman— as if he’d been punishing you for your crimes. punishing you for sleeping with another man. punishing you for leaving him a year and a half ago. punishing you for punishing him. his pace is ruthless— hips meeting your ass as fast as he’d pull out, pounding into your little hole to mould it into the shape of him.

he’s thick, this time on perverted shit.

you’re so painfully full of him, and despite your arms stretched outwards to grip at the sheets that had suffered more than enough of your abuse on them, your walls never let go of him. you don’t want him to pull out ever, utterly obsessed with the rough pace he set from the jump. it feels impossible keeping the curve of your back when the tip of his length repetitively attacks at your golden spots.

“ohmygoddd,” you words come out slurry, head lolling forward uselessly. if he kept fucking you like this, you weren’t going to let him leave again. stuck in an endless loop of bliss, with every thrust into your folds, his balls would slap at your clit and drive you insane, “y’re d-doing me s’gooddd,”

“yeah?” he eggs on, his voice as breathless as you’d been, though his pacing would never suggest so. there’s a hypnotic recoil of your ass bouncing back onto his pelvis that indulges him into disrupting it, delivering a new spank at your cheeks. you cry out at the feeling, and he strikes again, hips never letting up, “tell me more baby.”

you rise at your tip toes when you feel yourself sinking, legs giving out yet again. you hold yourself up at your elbows, a newfound confidence pushing your hips back to match his pace. when he heaves out a loud moan, you’re encouraged to keep going. the melody of your skins slapping against each other echoes into the stillness of the night, arching your back the further he plunges into your guts. you’re so turned on, the evidence creaming around the perimeter of his cock, easing the slides of his dick inside of you.

“toruuu,” you whine, too fucked out to notice your first mistake— calling him by his favorite nickname. at that given moment, you couldn’t care any less, the intense heat in your guts growing once more. the curve of his dick reaches spots you don’t think anybody could reach, almost as if he was made entirely for you, “you’re so big— can feel you, nghhh, everywhere!”

“that’s cause i am everywhere,” you think you can hear him smirking behind you. though, he has every right to feel entitled, with how much of a mess he’s reduced you to. he rolls his hips deep, a firm bulge forming into your tummy. as if he’s got a sixth sense or eye, he leans forward to rest his chest against your back— your eyes rolling back from the new angle. he slides a hand beneath your stomach and presses at the bulge hard. you can’t help the squeal you let out, “that’s me right there.”

you nod your head feverishly, the applied pressure on your stomach pushing his cock right at your cervix. oh god, he was going to kill you. what a wonderful way to go— all judgements clouded in favour of an eight inched dick penetrating your walls, “‘s all yours— mmh, always been.”

and that’d been your final mistake.

because the chuckle he lets out right into your ear is dark. the sounds shoot right up to your spine, shivers crawling up your back deliciously. he might as well be back stabbing you with how his cock plunged so sloppily out of your gaping cunt, “you always knew how to, fuck, pillowtalk,” he pants into your neck, his additional weight onto your shaking frame nothing short on welcoming. the hand pressing into your stomach lowers to your clit, and pinches meanly at the bud, “you know i’d, mmh, give you the world if you asked— my smart girl, shit.”

he’s so cruel, talking to you so lovingly despite it all. you tighten your eyes, in poor attempts to ignore the tenderness of the words fleeting his lips and focus instead on the stretch of your cunt down his dick. you feel yourself creaming on him, further proof of both your unison through his diabolical thrusts. he pinned you into place like this— unable to do anything but take what he gave you gratefully.

at a particular stroke at your abused golden spot, your body releases another tremor of shudders. it overtakes you from head to toe, a moan so ripe escaping your lips as you claw at ruined sheets. gojo works into aiming at that spot over and over again, each thrust more intense than the previous one. the change of his pace, slowing for a minute, draws you near the end of the line quicker than you’d anticipated.

“oh?” he grunts playfully, swaying his hips back and forth into your poor pussy. mercy is nowhere to be found, however, “you like it when i fuck you like this?” another agonizingly beautiful thrust at the same place, you can’t help but reward him with a cry. he’s fucking you into the damn mattress, and he has the balls to ask this question knowing the answer. still, you nod your head mutely, tears collecting at your lash line, and he nips at the skin on your jaw, “yeahhh you do.”

god, you do.

and suddenly, you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that would have you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

in the midst of your delusions, he pulls you both back up from the bed, standing once again. at this new position, he reaches impossibly further into you, the difference in your heights making up for the inches he’s dug into you. his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

or was it you were feigning you don’t? because as he works himself back into you, at a pace so tender yet cruel, the line of boundaries you’d once set has been entirely deterred. a force so overwhelming, just like his entire being, bringing you right back to him as if you’d never left— nevermind the fact your thighs could barely support themselves, quaking pathetically. it was getting too much— everything was a lot.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. you were a trooper, but there was only so much pleasurable torture you could handle. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, he coos, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

oh right. . . tinder. you had a bone to pick with the ceo of that app right after you come back to your senses.

“i— i can’t,” you fumble at your words, the lack of oxygen catching up to you. you’re bound to his mercy— hands tied, breath nearly restricted, pussy obliterated, and yet, there’s nowhere else you’d want to be. the pressure on your throat lolls your head backwards, chin facing the ceiling as your eyes fall onto snowy lashes, “gonna cum again— oh fuckfuckfuck,”

and despite his brutality, he shoots you a sweet smile, the contrast in his words versus his actions grand, “right behind you, baby.”

you cum, and hard . much harder than you had before. you gush your fluids down his piercing cock, your folds squeezing him tight as you release. you think your mind blanks for a minute, an orgasm so powerful, you fear your eyes would stay stuck at the back of your skull. you shiver in his embrace, the insatiable desire racking your body from top to bottom.

when he pulls out, you fall flat yet again onto your stomach, face first. you assume you look like a puddle of nothingness, your limbs spent from the overexhaustion. but still, you find yourself in a similar position to prior, as gojo leans over your body, a hand holding him up as the other works on his jerking him cum out. smart move, not finishing inside, though a weird feeling of disappointment sits in your stomach, swapping the fiery heat from your orgasm.

he sinks his teeth into your shoulders as you wince, emptying himself right onto your lower back. it runs hot and smooth into the dimples of your back, that you can’t help but stretch your limp arm towards the mess to collect the residue on your fingers. you pop them into your mouth, his taste still so familiar as he plops right at your side, face up.

there’s a thick silence that fills the sex scented room. you wonder what is going through his brain now that the lust demon that was half his ego had been taken care of. was he on the same page as you were? had he realized just how messy this could turn out? he’s too quiet for a man of his nature— and that terrified you shitless. no matter the outcome, you’re ready to kick him out. post nut clarity was a scary thing— it revealed the violent truth of how tempting the flesh could be, even with consequences on the line.

you want to beat him to it. the last thing you need on your consciousness is your ex boyfriend who’d you invited into your home a year after you broke up with him, leaving you. he seemed petty enough to do the eye for an eye shtick— it wasn’t too out of character for him.

with a heavy heart and sigh, you turn your head to the side where he lays comfortably. the words want to die in your throat, but your urge them out, the sooner the better, “you should—”

“no.” he interrupts, followed by a yawn.

you frown at that, brows scrunching as you insist that yet again, “you need to—”

“nah.” gojo cuts you off yet again, rolling onto his side. his dick falls limp onto your bed, and you don’t think about the mess it’s making. to be fair, you’d done far worse. and it was proven difficult to care about that mess when he brought a finger to play with your loose hairs, cerulean eyes zeroing in on them, “i’m tired. let’s get you cleaned up and go to bed.”

“you’re not listening to me.” you click your tongue, a little desperate to have him hear you. you’re scared to keep him around longer, because you know you’ll grow attached again and that already ended terribly once, and took you forever and a half to get over. he has to leave and right now, “you have to go.”

gojo hums at that. he stops the twirling of your hair, rather reluctantly, and finally meets your sharp gaze. he still looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “why?”

you narrow your eyes, “you know why,” you shouldn’t have to explain why two exes cozying up after indulging into each other was a bad idea. common sense, you figured, but was it common sense to have him over in the first place? a flurry of various emotions coursing over you laced with exhaustion had you overthinking like a motherfucker, “this was a bad idea.”

he trails his finger along the slope of your clenched jaw, and you don’t think about the fact it immediately relaxed at his touch. the longer he traced your skin, the longer he kept looking at you like that, you were wavering in your own logic. you’d both gotten what you wanted in the first place, so why was it he was still here? the rational decision would be to pretend this never happened and part ways again, but why was the thought of him locking the door behind him once again at your expense making you feel sick to your stomach?

when his finger lands at your pouty lips, he taps his index finger twice against the flesh. naturally, your pout deepens. his eyes flick from your mouth to your shying gaze, and his index swaps for his thumb. he runs the pad of his finger across the reddened surface, and his voice falls a few octaves lower, hushed for nobody else but you to hear, “you don’t want me to leave.”

you don’t.

he takes your silence as acceptance, and plants a soft kiss to your lips. it’s enough to rid your mind of its plaguing doubts in the meanwhile. and when his hand slides to cup at the back of your neck, ultimately deepening it, you can’t find it in you to care about the consequences for the time being. not when he was swallowing you whole like he was the one terrified to feel you slip from his fingers. you melt into him far too easily.

well. . . that was something you’d deal with in the morning.

tinder: 1, you: 0.

now can y’all stop calling me a deadbeat 🙎‍♂️

#rena☆star.#jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo thirst #jjk gojo #gojo satoru

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baepsays · 12 hours ago

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I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN) ‧₊˚𓇢𓆸 ⸻ clan head Gojo

CHAPTER TWO: Lady Gojo

𓍯𓂃 pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

𓍯𓂃 description⋙ navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.

𓆰𓆪 cw in this chapter⋙ canon divergence, NSFW, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, one sided conflict, one sided pining, eventually both sided pining, so much yearning, slow burn, in a sort of eccentric way ngl, suggestive stuff, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, angst, some fluff, eventually fully, Mr. wife guy (non derogatory), condescending Gojo, this is quite an angsty chapter, lots of unhealed trauma, childhood abuse, physical abuse, mention of food, throwing up, riddled with insecurity, mention of death, blood, he is an idiot.

𓍯𓂃 a/n: art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt. honestly i do not think this is as sad as i am making it to be, lol it could be worse. and maybe it will get worse idk? anyway hope you have fun reading <3

word count: 8.1k

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIOUS CHAPTER

People usually have a lot of expectations about the first day after their wedding. Things like sleeping in, making breakfast together, and having sex. Or go on a honeymoon, where you have more sex, to somewhere more scenic.

Unfortunately this was not a very usual marriage that you have stumbled upon. Being the lady of the Gojo clan was huge in and of itself, but when you are married to Gojo Satoru on top of that, the living enigma—it is hard to say if you can exist in the shadows anymore.

It was daunting, to say the least, being the center of everyone’s scrutiny and attention. Entirety of thirty six hours have gone by, with you becoming the new lady Gojo, standing beside Satoru, and trying not to get eclipsed by him. Which is a flawed expression of words when there stood the same amount of distance between you two, as the sun and the moon—you have spent some easier thirty six days in your life compared to these last thirty six hours.

Mere thirty six hours, and you have somehow driven your husband further away from you than the preexisting light years of difference between you two.

All you did was, do as you were told. And yet here you were. Somehow things just do not work out for you even when you do as instructed. Neither do they work out when you try to go against the grain.

There has always been a misfit piece of puzzle handed to you, and when you try to forcibly jam it in, everyone seems to get more mad at you. But what can you do with the hand of cards you were dealt with? You play them. But when those cards do not seem to win you anything, how late are you to back away from these games?

What are you to do when your husband calls you wrong for trying to live up to the expectations of the society, your gender, and your respective families? If only you truly knew the answers to all these questions, which are far bigger in the grand scheme of things, than your head could comprehend.

And now it is a lifetime of fumbling around, until you are yet again able to become translucent enough to be ignored for the rest of time.

You predict that your penchant for wanderlust into the pits of anxiety at this huge table, expanding along with the stretch of the entire room, would be a common occurring theme. Especially with the lack of a husband opposite you on the dining table, and an absence of appetite for the array of delicious food in front of you. Far too much for you to finish by yourself, and far too precious to disappoint the chef; who came up to you and introduced himself to you with the sweetest most welcoming smile that you have been offered by someone in a while.

“I hope you enjoy everything Gojo-san, Gojo-sama specially requested everything to be made to your liking. ” Was all he said before he disappeared back into the kitchen.

So you did your best. To finish as much as you could, at the very least, to try a bite out of everything chef Suzuki prepared, especially for you, apparently with your husband’s special request.

Even though he, himself, was not available to eat a proper meal with you under his roof. He made sure the food was catered to your preference, he most likely got the intel from your mother or someone else, because there was barely anything you could swallow down your throat without almost regurgitating it.

You have spent your life in the confines of your father’s estate trying to mold into a perfectly eligible lady for a clan head to wed off. And that required a very specific diet and taste. Which unfortunately you never really became fond of, nor did you get accustomed to. You distinctly remember how as a child when you threw a tantrum at the dining table, for not wanting to eat the same soup you were chugging down currently, you were left to starve the entire night instead.

The lashes of thin bamboo leaving red marks all over your arms, were still fresh in your memories. And when the sweet grandma who did your laundry, and her grandson, sneaked in some packaged chips for you—you remember how hard you cried for two days and fell ill, not because of the lashes you got as punishment, but because your one and only childhood friend, and his grandmother, the elderly lady who actually treated you like a child, were dismissed and driven out of your clan's estate without a single thought.

You do not want to repeat those mistakes again. One wrong move by you could have someone pay for it with their entire livelihood. Who knows if Gojo Satoru will even spare the chef his life. You have heard how much of a cruel man he is behind his suave facade, and you did not want to unmask that.

But how sure were you that the mask was not already being chipped away at? After the events of last night and this morning, you were not sure about your position in this game, what move to make next. Everything you know about the rules; the rights and wrongs, were all backfiring.

So the wisest thing to do here, is to sit pretty and do as you are told.

The first seven days after the wedding were monotonous to say the least, and somber to say the most. The tour of the estate took about almost three days, and even then you could only explore the entirety of the right wing’s ground floor and some parts in the center, leaving behind at least more than sixty percent of the property unexplored. And you were left too tired and too overwhelmed to finish the rest of it. So you simply told the ladies appointed to show you around, that,

‘I have a lifetime to familiarize myself with the entirety of it.’

Sure the nervous chuckle you gave them before turning on your feet and heading towards the opposite direction, seemed innocent and endearing enough for them to spread the word—that how happy their madame is to be here!

But the truth couldn't be further from that.

To simply put it, it was too frightening. And it felt like you were crossing some sort of imaginary boundary. In these last three days, you've been confined to the right side, and some partial space in the center of the building. And it felt like that's all you've been permitted access to, because that's how it has always been. In fact this was more than what you've been brought up with. Sure, your parental home isn't as vast and huge as your husband's, but even then it was huge in size compared to what you think most normal houses are. And you've only been able to walk through only some of the halls of the place which was meant to be your home.

For a place which you wanted to call your home, it sure never felt like it. Whenever you wandered anywhere other than the library you cherished, your own room, and the gardens, and some other sitting rooms; you were given stern punishments. Eventually the unknown nooks and crannies of your own house became not worth the stinging red lines on the palm of your hands, or the little amount of food that was served to your room.

So naturally, when Satoru carried you in through the main entrance, and walked through the halls to get to your room, you associated that selected path, and area as your newfound boundary. Even the stairs leading to the second story of the mansion was too forbidden of sorts, for you to walk up to.

So part of the reason why you are yet to tour the entire estate was this, and the other part was that you were not ready to stumble into your husband in these halls.

Even if it's your shared property, it's not your home. It's his, it's all his. And how dare you step a foot on something of his without proper permission? You should just be thankful enough to have been given so much, and it'd just be too greedy to ask for more.

So you left your husband to himself, and left him alone with some of the center, the left wing of the mansion, and the entirety of the first floor. In exchange, you gave yourself solace in the gardens surrounding the mansion, and the woods beyond it. So you couldn't dare to step over that line.

Except, maybe, the library.

Books have always been a lovely companion to you, when much of your own words didn't mean anything. So you appreciated all the books scattered across all the shelves in the rooms you did not hesitate to step into. But you wanted to allow yourself some audacity to look for the actual library. The thought of its sheer size and capacity to hold hundreds and thousands of centuries old books, made you want to step over that imaginary line you drew for yourself.

But then, you also have other things to distract you from giving into your desires.

The practice of acclimating with your duties as the now lady of the estate, was much easier than receiving the never ending messages of congratulations, or fighting the urges to cross over the unspoken boundaries that you drew out yourself. It was not as burdensome as you feared it would be, but nonetheless, the duties of the wife of the Gojo Satoru, was sure not easy.

The first few days were spent in awe of everything, even though you were not from someone’s blood lacking in any affluence; but your new residence, surname, and—the living legend of sorts—husband were scintillating to a blinding degree. And any apparent distant giggling teases of a feet sweeping honeymoon, envisioned by the ladies at your reception—was not happening, to their utter dismay.

Yet still you have come to enjoy the mundane tasks. Waking up to an empty bed for a straight week, since your first night with your husband, is compensated for by your ladies in waiting, namely, Mia and Suki . Both of their lively fuss in the morning over dressing you up feels more rejuvenating than any cup of coffee.

It makes you want to look forward to the mornings when you go to bed waiting for Satoru, only for him to slip under the sheets after he has been reassured by the maids that you are deep in slumber. So then he could walk into your room, as discreetly as possible, and get ready to slip under the same sheets as you.

To then only stare at how your eyelashes fall on your cheeks, the curve of your cupid’s bow, the bridge of your nose, and the blemishes on your skin, until he falls asleep himself—to then wake up before you, leaving his side of the bed cold and empty, and so neatly cleaned up. That it looks untouched.

Meeting Ichiji after breakfast, to go over Satoru’s schedule, before your husband’s departure to work, feels much more inviting than having breakfast at an empty table with your husband’s absence.

Discussing breakfast the previous night with chef Suzuki, lunch for yourself and the staff at the estate—as well as discussing what should be packed and sent for the lord of the estate’s lunch. Looking over the needs of each staff member, catering to their meal requirements etc. it was quite a hard job, when done genuinely, but it made you feel closer to each and every member of your new family.

Understanding the accounts of the estate expenditure, making notes of days when the staff are to be paid, fulfilling their requests, corresponding with other clan members etc. surprisingly kept you busy, as you did your best to remain accurate in your calculations. Because these were to then Bypass Satoru's finals checking.

It was a matter of concern for you before, how you will be spending your time usefully, rather than just sitting idly in a pretty attire. Before, you used to spend your days teaching destitute children, until your parents deemed your career as a good pastime that went on long enough, and eventually it was just that you were to focus on your overdue duties—marriage.

And just like that, that little freedom was also snatched away even after much groveling to your parents. So you presumed as much, it was going to be absurd to even ask your husband to continue that vocation—after all if the people of your own blood can confine you within a boundary before wedding you off on your merry way, like some livestock they raised to be butchered—then expecting anything more from a husband of a week and mere convenience, was out of the question.

The hardest possible job was calling your husband during a particular time of the day, to enquire about his preference for each day's dinner. When he would be on his break, you'd call him, but not at a time when he was actually free enough to pick up his phone immediately. But just busy enough to not be actually able to pick up the phone himself.

It took you some time to perfect the right timing. It is exactly two and a half rings, before you could hang up the phone without any guilt. It was long enough that it showed, ‘oh yes she really called.’, but not long enough for your husband to actually pick up the phone and converse with you. Of course it was silly. Why would you call him if you did not even mean to speak to him?

Because that was not the purpose of the call. It was almost another formality. And how dare you ruin all the efforts he has been putting into to ignore you, for an entire week at that? Of course it was nothing enraging enough to make you do petty things, because this was not petty! You just either really wanted to respect his wishes, or that you were too scared to start another conversation with him. And maybe the answer could be an amalgamation of all the aforementioned reasons.

It seems that you would rather go to far fetched lengths than speak to your own husband directly about what he would like for the kitchen to prepare for dinner. Instead, it was easier to call Ichiji with the excuse that Satoru did not pick up, to then have him ask and relay back what should be prepared for dinner.

It was not that it was imperative for you to ask Satoru such tedious things, you were not even sure how this whole thing started. The very first day after you two were wed, and later in the morning when he walked out on you after calling you wrong for trying to abide by your wifely duties, the kitchen asked for your opinion for dinner. And after that nauseating breakfast experience, you did not have the mind to think about food, so you skipped lunch, and so did Satoru, without you at the table he simply dismissed everyone to their own vices and returned to his hiding. You wanted to respect their wishes and give them an answer, but you also did not really have anything on your mind.

Naturally, you told them to just ask Satoru, but since apparently your husband already locked himself in his office in the very opposite end of the estate from you, and had some important people over to congratulate him, no one was brave enough to disrupt him.

But something told them it was acceptable for you to intervene.

“How- how am I supposed to ask him? I, I do not think I should.” You spoke loud enough for the staff to hear, but it was mostly for yourself to hear those words, and know your place.

“We truly think Gojo-sama would not mind if you went in, madam. Well, if you are still so hesitant, why not just call him?” Chef Suzuki suggested for the others to nod along with him. And you did not have the heart to tell them the already sour nature of your relationship with their lord. So you sat down in the nearest sitting room, if you can even call such a massive room, just that. The Gojo estate expanded through truly acres and acres of land, so there were plenty of rooms with the most comfortable couches and chairs, and plenty more telephone to communicate with people in the other areas of the estate.

One ring. Two rings. Two and a half rings. Three rings-

“Hello.”

Oh he picked up. And oh, his voice sounded different. Different from how he speaks with you. It sounded more authoritative. More rough, more distant.

And here you thought only you were subjugated to his apathy and ignorance.

“Hello?” Oh right, you answer someone when they pick up the phone, right.

“Um- hello.” All sound on his end halted. Or maybe it felt like that to him.

“I- I just, I mean- the chef wanted to ask- what would you like for dinner?” Goodness, when did you get so bad at conversing over the phone?

There was a long awkward pause after that question. You were fully expecting him to just scoff at your audacity to even think you could call him to ask such things, and hang up on you. You were expecting dinner to be cancelled altogether. And after skipping lunch, and throwing up everything you had for breakfast, you couldn't afford that.

“Please let the chef know that I'll have whatever you'd like.” His voice sounded softer than how he previously spoke, or maybe it was just that he was trying to not shout at you in front of his guests. Either way, you were grateful. That he did not prolong this call with names of illegible culinary words you could not relay back, and get deemed unsophisticated.

“Alright. Please be at the table by the time it is served.” You did not expect him to have dinner with you. But you still asked, maybe there was some pleading in your voice as well. Or maybe you just did not want to eat alone.

“Of course, sweetheart. And I'm sorry about this morning.”

Oh?

Oh!

He says sorry? The head of the Gojo clan says sorry, to his wife? In front of other people of authority? You've had some wild and confusing interactions with this man since you married him not even barely twenty four hours ago, and this was probably the wildest interaction you've had with a man in your life. A man with such power at that. And you could not, or maybe you did not know how to answer him. So you did the next worst thing to stutter an ok, you hung up on him.

Everyone around you giggled and smiled discreetly, as you scrambled away to the kitchen, offering not needed, but appreciated, help to chef Suzuki.

And when dinner time came, you started setting up that huge table by yourself, dismissing everyone to eat their own meals. Not expecting a husband to accompany you for the meal, you busied yourself with the cutlery and fine china, when a looming figure leaned on the door frame to observe you from a far.

It seems as though Gojo Satoru has developed a weird pension for staring at his wife from afar.

And he has also developed the knack for scaring her by silently coming up to her from behind without any warning. He liked that you shriek and jump when you realize you're not just by yourself anymore. He likes to think that one day you'll jump in joy rather than surprise to see him walk in without any warning.

So you both silently sat yourselves down at the very opposite ends of the dining table, both at the head of each end, and silently ate your dinner. Which was much easier to chow down than the breakfast you had earlier. Which thankfully did not upset your stomach too bad. You did not exchange words, just silently stole glances, and when your eyes would land on his eyes, which would be already trained on you more than half of the time—you’d scurry to finish your meal before him and leave him at an empty table.

Reap what you sow.

Now that is how this entire calling Satoru—or Ichiji to be more exact—thing started. Everyday since then you've never failed to call him, and hung up after that almost third ring, to not allow him the chance to respond; to then ask him through Ichiji, what he'd like for dinner. For lunch, If he was at his home office, he'd eat there. And if he was not home, his lunch would be packed and delivered.

Some sorry it was. Given as a formality, and taken not seriously.

The chef, or the staff, or the ladies appointed to you, never clarified that you did not have to do this entire thing, calling him everyday to just ask about dinner. This was not part of the duties assigned to you, and the kitchen has always cycled through a set of preparation their lord preferred, and it was already an established, much easier, routine. But no one tried to object to the new everyday routine.

Especially when Satoru himself did not mind the new routine. Sure, he'd much appreciate you asking him directly, but he'd have the short end of the bargain either way.

And everyday it was more than enough entertainment for all of them to see their madame struggle to address their master. Satoru was never truly involved in such tasks, much of the responsibilities you take care of now used to fall on poor Ichiji’s shoulders, so the change of pace was much appreciated by everyone. After all, he was too busy being the strongest weapon in jujutsu history to look after everything himself.

So somewhere everyone, including your husband, found your insistence to note down his opinions over such trivial things, too endearing to enlighten you. Though this routine of calls have become quite complicated over the past week. And so you have developed a habit of having lunch with the chef and kitchen staff.

On rare, yet day by day more frequent occasions, like today, instead of the kitchen staff, you would be sitting opposite your husband over lunch.

It was not often you sat down in a room with Satoru without any reason, in fact you can count on one hand how many times you have done that. So waiting for lunch to be served on a comically large dining table, sitting on the very opposite end from him, was new everytime. It was awkward enough to share any meal other than the scheduled dinner with him, that too he always left much earlier than you, thankfully.

Who knows what it was? Was it his engulfing cologne clogging your nose, disabling you from smelling the food served in front of you. Or simply the annoyingly perfect sight of him, so casually eating like it was the most natural thing to do—while you sat there, a nervous wreck. But regardless, you did not seem to have any appetite. Which was apparent enough for everyone, including Satoru to notice that across from the table.

“Is there anything on your plate that you don’t like? I can ask the chef to make you something else.” There was, as if, a genuine concern in his voice. For you, that was simply weird.

“Oh. No, I am fine. I just had a snack earlier.” The poorly told lie was not one to pass Gojo Satoru or his six eyes. But for you he was willing to make an excuse.

“Is that so? I think I am done as well.” It was a risky tactic he was employing, trying to bait you with guilt was low even for him.

“But you’ve barely started!?” “And you barely had any breakfast. I am more than sure if I asked anyone here what fulfilling snack you had, the answer would be underwhelming.” How would he even know what you did or not have for breakfast when he was not even there to begin with?

For a few seconds he sat there assessing if he had pissed you off again. As invigorating as it is to mildly anger you, he would not have that at the cost of your meal. To his relief without any more protest you went back to your plate to take a proper mouthful bite.

If anyone tested Satoru’s patience as you did, as well as avoided him as skillfully as you have; it would have ended up not as kindly as it has been with you. He has been trying to give you space, to let you breathe, and foster a home for yourself, in his house. Unfortunately in those attempts he has made you feel neglected and ignored instead, for someone so perceptive, he sure is clueless.

Because when he tried to give you that space, after that poorly said sorry, he thought by extension it was part of the apology. Which mistranslated to you, as some formality and ignorance. When he was merely trying to make you feel more comfortable, and holding himself back from stepping over any more land mines.

Those said land mines are simply just his unfathomably and rapidly growing feelings for you. His concerns, and worries about your wellbeing. And just thoughts of you randomly hijacking his mind. It takes Suguru one too many times a day to nudge his head, to bring him out of some sort of trance that he goes into when you come into his mind.

But after the first week, he has found himself to enjoy invading your space rather than trying to give you space. It made him ecstatic to hear your voice panic a little when from time to time he would pick up your routinely strategic calls instead of missing them. He does think, even you have to admit for yourself, that two and a half rings are far too few before hanging up on someone. Also he did not appreciate Ichiji asking him what he would like for dinner, instead of you. You made this new habit, you must be the one to ask as well.

“What would you like for the chef to prepare tonight?”

“Hmm?” he looked a little dumbfounded at your sudden question, was it not enough you were infiltrating his mind and now you are reading his thoughts as well? Upon acclimating with the situation, he sees his own and your empty plates. Guess he finished his meal while he was too busy thinking of, again, you.

“I mean, what do you want for dinner?” you ask once again, in hopes of a more clear answer. But god forbid your husband ever gave you a desirable answer to your questions.

“You.”

If someone wanted to learn how to kill someone with a single word, it should be recorded how this exchange happened. The food in your mouth choked in your throat, it had your husband sprint from his own seat to your end of the table, to pat you on the back and hand you a glass of water. After a few minutes and some water later, the food went down the pipe, but the word did not.

“Goodness, I was only joking, sweets.”

He was in fact, not joking.

“Y-you were?” He nodded a very convincing yes, trying not to scare off his already spooked wife.

“It was a very poor attempt at a joke. But I appreciate the effort.” You ended your sentence with a smile that subconsciously made its way to your lips. He does not remember when was the last time you smiled at him, or, for him.

And he chuckled at your honesty. He found it so refreshing and interesting. It is not that no one has ever told him how bad his jokes were, or worse when people laugh at his jokes merely outbid fear. He knows his humor was not to everyone's taste. But he liked that you did not just put him down, maybe out of your still very scared view of him, or maybe out of sympathy. But he appreciated the change of pace where his friends would just shit on him for such jokes, or when people would laugh too loud and too obviously out of fear.

But then again, he was just trying to mask truth with humor.

Which has been a staple for him. The truth is as plain as he said it, he wants you. He wants you carnally maybe, he wants to eat you up. He wants you to chew him up like a gum and spit him out at your convenience.

But more than that, Satoru thinks he also wants you beyond bodily, physical needs. He does not think he even thought about touching you since your first meeting, until he actually touched your skin that night. He saw you in that room, sitting behind that cedar wood table, looking smaller than everyone in that room, despite your status. And he thought—’Great. A meek little mouse instead of a bride.’

But when you actually answered his teasing, and honestly, patronizing question instead of timidly bowing your head in respect, like he expected you to—he saw a dwindling spark in your eyes in that moment, instead of fear and vast pit of emptiness, that he first saw in them when he opened those doors.

And he knew even if there was someone more capable to stand beside him, maybe he would rather stand with you.

He cannot still exactly pinpoint what it is that he craved from you, or if it's just that he simply craves you, but he wants more. He wants more of you, more from you. He wants you just simply to exist around him. Your skin sent waves of heat through his skin when he touched it, it was burning hot compared to his own cold body, you felt so warm and so alive in that moment, and he simply wants more.

He does not think he loves you. Yet. At the very least. He does not think he fell in love with you just as he laid his eyes on you that day, maybe he pities you that much. Maybe it is just like adopting a frail kitten stuck in a storm and giving her a shelter to thrive in. He has thought about that. But he came to the conclusion that he is done playing some hero.

The world has had enough of Gojo Satoru—the strongest, the saviour, and the weapon.

He simply wants to exist, as he wants to exist for someone. He does not want to sacrifice anymore. For once he wants to be selfish. He wants to selfishly live on, and live with someone. And he has chosen that someone to be you.

And if you were just some sympathy case, he doesn't think he would've felt such feelings for you. He truly needs you, more than he wants you. He needs you to want him, he needs you to look at him with the same eyes as you did when you told him off for being late, or when you looked him up through those blurry pupils while being pinned under him.

He truly, earnestly, needs to have you. Most romantically, spiritually, and disrespectfully.

He would rather have you on this table than the spread of a very well prepared meal. But those aren't thoughts that can be easily dumped on his wife, who has schemed up tactful ways to avoid even hearing his voice through the phone.

“Just ask them to prepare what you'd like.” He smiled reassuringly before picking up your plate, as well as his, so quickly, even beating the staff and you to it—and headed straight to the kitchen sink.

To maybe drown himself in the sink after putting away the dirty plates.

It is truly magnificent, how wonderful the garden looks at night.

How the koi pond dims down at night, and the stones and the sand become cold with the dropping temperature. The pine trees rustled and threw their needles all over the ground, as if to deter the sharp wind, to protect their garden from its sharp claws. And it seems like an entire play is happening right outside of your windows.

But you have been more interested in what goes on behind that battle ground. In the little grove of trees, and wild flowers, where the wind seems more forgiving, and the trees feel more comforting.

And it feels like an entirely new world beyond the bridge over the stream, that connects to the lake nestled in the trees. And you've come to find a safety net in that new world of yours.

Particularly sitting down on one of those benches under the cherry blossom trees by the said lake, the one near the bridge seems too out of your reach, so you always opt for the one across it—the only reason why is because your husband seems to like that bench for himself.

Though it takes a bit of a walk from your room on the right side, or even the left wing of the mansion, to go over the only bridge that crosses the stream, which lies as a boundary between the tidy gardens and the unbridled woods—it was easily accessible from the center.

After the first time you did dare to cross that bridge, you did not think of crossing it again. Maybe because you were too busy waiting for your husband to return to bed, or afraid of interrupting Satoru. Either way, you tried your best to not cross that bridge.

The second time you went there, was when you saw Satoru crossing that bridge around twelve AM, when you were just sprawled on the couch in that particular drawing room that looked over the bridge. Not ready to retire to that huge bed by yourself, you followed him there.

And all he did was sit on the bench under the cherry blossom tree, which stood by the lake around twenty five steps away from the bridge.

You did not dare to disturb him, he looked so calm, and at peace. For once, from what you could make out from behind the huge and unkempt hydrangea bushes, his eyes did not look pained.

It is that people often saw Gojo Satoru only with his blindfold on, but you mostly ever saw him without it. So you honestly felt like he was punishing you when he started wearing them around you more often since the first time you two had dinner together. You hadn't seen him for the entirety of that day, the entire morning you spent hunched over the toilet, and the evening you spent by replaying the conversation you had with him over the phone.

‘I’m sorry.’

Is what he said. And you thought, maybe it was just a fluke, what happened that morning. Things will get better. Then to only be greeted with a husband across that long table, with a blindfold covering half of his face. And it felt more punishing than being told that you were wrong.

But from what you made out of what you have seen of his eyes, and those half empty smiles and smirks he threw your way—he was pained. It hurt him, to simply see you, just to be around you. The only place where he roamed around so freely without those obstructions in front of his eyes, for his own good, was his home—and now you've taken that away from him as well.

So then you started to ignore him. After waiting for him in that huge bed, that huge table, those huge rooms—you gave up easily. As easily as he threw a half assed apology for you to latch onto some false hope. You avoided walking into him. You avoided trying to stay up for him, or starving yourself, you avoided his voice, and but you still tried to get a peek of his hidden eyes.

Until you couldn't help but follow him into these woods. And so you sat there looking at him, creeping in the shadows, while the lake’s water reflected beams of light on his face, and made his blue eyes shine a different shade of blue than what it usually reflects. And the scars that dug themselves on his skin, looked deeper than what they usually did. It looked like he was freshly wounded, and the most vulnerable, he could allow himself to be.

You waited there until he got up from his seat and disappeared into the thin air.

And that's how your own routine started. You waited until twelve AM to see if Satoru went into the woods, and waited for about an hour and a half more to check if the lights in your room were turned on from under the door. To then sneak into the woods. Some days he'd be gone, other days he'd still be under that cherry blossom tree.

And if he was not there, you'd make your own way to take a seat under the cherry blossom tree across the lake, other times you'd wait for him to disappear from behind those hydrangea bushes.

Today was one of those days.

You waited, and waited, until it seemed like he had teleported back to your bedroom, to make your way to the bench on the other side. And when you made it there, you found it out to be occupied by your husband himself. So you did what you could do, in a state of panic, you tried your best to silently turn around and walk away without rumbling the bushes or rustling the grass under your feet. To make your escape.

“You're leaving already?” His voice came out smooth and steady as ever. And you stopped in your tracks with your back to his back.

“Come here, sit down.” He simply said, without as much as even turning around from where he sat.

And you could not help but obey. If it was possible, you'd run, run so fast and quick that even his techniques would not be able to track you down. But that is just a delusional imagination.

“I won't repeat.” He said in a heavier tone, but it didn't sound commanding, it was playful if anything. Light and breezy, but sharp. Sharp enough that if you tried to avoid it, it'd cut right through. So despite yourself, you walked over to the bench you've come to love so dearly over the course of the last few weeks, and sat down on the very edge of it. As far away from him as you possibly could sit.

But Satoru couldn't allow that.

It took him a second to lift his left hand off his lap, to lean slightly to your side and drag you towards him by your waist. The ring you put on him the day you married you, shined in the darkness with his swift movements.

And just like that, you were sitting side by side with your husband. Your bare arm touched the soft fabric of the sleeves on his t-shirt, and the rigid muscles under them pushed into your own arm. His left arm loosened around your back, but his hand remained steady and static on your waist. And your lungs stopped working.

“Need help with breathing also?” It was only his taunting tone that gave your lungs the air needed to not pass out then and there.

You did not answer him. You did not wish to entertain him. You've entertained him enough by thinking you could get away with trying to sneak past his eyes, when he had his sight on you from the beginning, all six of them. And yet again you felt like a defeated fool against him.

“You- come here often?” The suppressed giggle in his throat almost spilled over with each word uttered.

“Don’t ask questions that you already know the answers to.” You looked away from him, to face the lake, and the ripples in the water. It's as if even the lake was coming down with a second hand embarrassment, looking at how chaotically it's water started moving.

“Alrightttt, alright. I'll stop.” With a last few giggles, he looked away from your face, and focused his covered eyes on the same cherry blossom tree you were eyeing. The one he usually sits under, looked completely different from the other side.

“I wish they'd bloom soon.” He spoke out loud, it sounded like a passing thought that spilled out unintentionally.

“Do you like cherry blossoms?” You turned your face towards him, his face however, did not turn.

“No. Not really.” “Really?”

“Why? Couldn't you tell that by just looking at me?” he smiled a big toothy grin. That stretched across his face, but even with the blindfold on, you could tell it didn't reach his eyes.

“No. I couldn't. Especially with that thing covering half of your face.” You sure were feeling brave today. Maybe it was the darkness of the night, or the secrecy in the woods, or just the embarrassment of how you ended up here. But words just seemed to flow out of your mouth instead of getting stuck in your throat.

He finally looked towards you, and cranked his neck to look down at your eyes, looking up at him. And he could tell that you knew. That you knew even with his blindfold between your eyes and his, whether he was lying or not. So why bother with it at all right?

He brought his right hand up to his face, to hook his index and middle finger under his blindfold, and dragged it down on his neck.“I don't think I enjoy how quickly they wither away. But I like how they look when they fall. Unihibited and free.”

He looked back over towards the lake. With his eyes free to shine under the moonlight. And there it was, the pain.

“Is that why you have been avoiding me?” you blurted out with furrowed eyebrows and determined eyes.

“I've been- what? Because of the cherry blossoms?” His head whipped towards you as fast as it could without snapping his neck, his left hand tightened around you, and he looked confused.

“No. Because you look like you are in pain whenever you're around me.” Your throat was starting to tighten up.

Suddenly you felt like crying. In fact, your eyes started to well up after every passing moment from when you said your thoughts out loud. This is weird. You don't cry. You never cry. It's been years since you cried. Why are you crying? Is he going to reprimand you for that?

Well, you can't wait here on this bench to find that out. So you haphazardly pulled yourself out of his arms, and made your way back to the mansion.

You couldn't even make it past the fifth step, when Satoru dragged you back towards him. He was still sitting on that bench, except now you stood there between him and the cherry blossom tree, in between his legs. Once again, stuck. His chin rested itself on your stomach, as it fluttered away, his eyes looked so soft and his face looked like it wanted to be caressed. Both of his hands ended up on either side of your hips, as if his legs weren't enough to keep you captured. Even when your protests didn't match his strength.

He patiently waited like that until you stopped protesting, and just looked down at his face, still resting on your stomach, looking up at you, and you gave in trying to shove him off of you by his shoulders. Instead you just let them rest there.

“Would you like to elaborate? Pleaseee?” If you told anyone that Gojo Satoru was whining to you right now, they'd call you insane. And maybe that's what's happening to you.

“No.” You are becoming insane.

“Please.” Other than his many ancient and sought after techniques, his most lethal weapon was his pout. So how could you resist those quivering billowy lips?

“I- You just-”, you stuttered trying to answer him, thinking whether or not you could get away with some excuse or straight up lies. But of course you cannot. He truly is too dangerous.

“You just, always- you look as if you're in so much pain when you're around me.” You sighed, finally voicing it out loud, “Isn’t that why you started wearing these around the house, around me?” You passingly pulled on the blindfold hanging on his neck, to make a point.

Yet again, he was left speechless. It's as if you deploy all his devices useless. You render him to nothing.

How was he supposed to answer you?

That yes, yes you pain him. Your presence simply has become so enthralling that it physically hurts him to hold himself back. To not cross lines he might not be able to come back from. That your claws are creeping deeper in his chest, and he is doing nothing to stop that bleeding.

He has bled to death on a battlefield twice, with no regrets on his mind. But if you were the one to sever him to death—he would gladly take it. And he'd regret that why couldn't he die at your hands an infinite amount of times more. This time around he'd be truly unhappy to leave behind the mortal realm. Because it’d mean leaving you behind with it.

He could not do that. He cannot survive, he simply cannot do anything against you.

And that pains him. Aches him really, to be this close and yet so far away from you.

He hates to make you feel avoided, and neglected, but what is he to do when he doesn't have any control over his thoughts and actions when he's around you?

When your scent simply travels with the wind when you sneak into the woods trying to not alert him, his chest starts tightening up. Your clogged up loose hair in the shower runs a shiver down his spine. When you chew the food on your plate across from him, he wants to leap over the table and pull you into a kiss.

He wants to be the one to show you around the entire estate, and pull you into random little corners and halls, to kiss you helplessly, hidden away from some passing eyes. He wants to be the one to show you the library because he heard from a helper at parent's house that is where you spent most of your days, he wants to buy you all the books you have ever wanted and will ever want.

He'd like to hold you and lull you to sleep, and dig his face in your chest, and just fall asleep listening to your heart beat—to feel your blood flow under his touch, and your skin warm up against him.

And it truly hurts him. It hurts to know you've never known a home.

So he wants to give you that. He wants to hand you all the control over him, and have you pull all the strings from here onwards. He wants you to know that everything to his name is yours, even his name is yours, his mere existence is all yours. Because he wants to give it all up to you.

So it hurts him. It hurts to know that you don't know that.

“I'll take your silence as confirmation then.” His grasp on you easily broke off, maybe he was in a trance again, or maybe it was just the power you already held over him. But to you he was simply found guilty of the accusations that you made. And with no sense of justice, you walked away from him.

And he did not protest.

Because maybe it's too fast. It's too quick. To feel what he is feeling. How was he going to ever even verbalize these things to you? And not sound crazy? Let alone give you a satisfying explanation.

It has been barely a month since he has married you, barely two months since he's known you. Wouldn't it be too sudden to go from essentially neglecting you, to professing his vow of devotion to you?

But it's just that suddenly, Gojo Satoru realized then and there, how deep he is. That there were no excuses left to make. That perhaps it was too sudden, too quick, just as quick as cherry blossoms blooming and withering away in spring—maybe he is falling for you.

No. Scratch that. It's idiotic to even question this at this point. He has uninhibitedly and freely, fallen for you.

NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from, and watashitachi wa douka shiteiru drama. art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

thank you to indie @indiewritesxoxo beloved for proof reading pre edit <3 wouldn't be out today otherwise

i do not think it was that bad, was it? also i am just calling him husband and blah blah by his titles a lot. which if you find annoying womp womp because i am using that as part of the narration, like she will slowly start to see him more than that. and again it is slow burn, so sit with it. i am making bro so emotionally constipated muahahahaha he is gonna be rambling about sighhhh she is so sighhhhh and then be like hmm not like i love her or anything yk. he is just like me frfr

tag list (1): @cheralith @slayzzz @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojoao @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @tabalugax @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thetiredcollegestudent @tokyolhtl @emochosoluvr @moncher-ire @hyunjinspdf @younjunie @em0cleo @novaisbebita @hisarmsaremycocoon @wise-fangirl @sheep-infog @arrozyfrijoles23 @ppejmurde @miizuzu @ricecake-mochi @tushkiiiiiii @ovela @69-gojos-wife-69 @lxxnour @mereniss @theorphicangel @gojosconsort @soupicidesquad +

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dalazzx · 1 month ago

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i loove ur puppy!satoru and bunny!reader ⁽⁠⁽⁠ଘ⁠(⁠ ⁠ˊ⁠ᵕ⁠ˋ⁠ ⁠)⁠ଓ⁠⁾⁠⁾ mor plz hehe

Warnings: PuppyHybrid!Satoru x fembunnyhybrid!reader, smut, dubcon, licking, mentions of Suguru (he’s a perv), jerking off, exhibtionism. I hope you like this!!! Enjoy!!

Toru absolutely has no sense of when things should be done and when they shouldn’t be done, he’s completely fine with having a full on make-out session with you right as Suguru is clicking away at the channels a few inches away from you to. you hate public displays of affection so you’re always whining and pawing to get away from him. He really won’t have any of it, he’s trying his hardest to suck on your tongue or trying to slip his hands under your shirt.

Suguru really seems to not care in the least bit, he’ll intervene to tell Satoru to calm down but apart from that he doesn’t mind the small moans that make your way up your throat.

Nor does he bat an eye when Satoru is blatantly tugging down his sweats to free his already leaky cocklet, he has no shame with the way he’s rubbing your pussy through your underwear, and when Satoru places you on his lap, quickly shutting you up with a small warning growl, he still isn’t turning his head.

Satoru slips his needy cock right into you with no problem, you were already wet enough just from the kissing. He’s filiting himself right into your gummy walls and fucking up into you. Satoru is a loud moaner, he practically howls as he milks himself with your pussy over and over. His bunny feels so damn good how could he not ruin you over and over?

You and Satoru don’t see it but Suguru is totally looking: but not making it obvious and even if he did you two still wouldn’t notice in your state right now. He’s staring at where you and Satoru connect, creating that nasty milky ring that dribbles down Satoru’s thighs. Suguru starts rubbing at his thigh, trying to zone out as to not seem like a pervert, but aren’t you two the perverts here?

Without regard for privacy anymore, Suguru rubs his cock through his pants, squeezing his tip in tune with the way Satoru makes you bounce agaisnt his dick.

And it’s not long before he just rips his dick out from its confines and jerks off, rubbing the precum from his tip all the way to his heavy balls, Satoru lifts your legs and he gets to have a better angle at your soft pillowy cunt, you’re so damn wet, glistening in the warm light and oh so beautiful!

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classyrbf · 25 days ago

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classmate!gojo part 2!

classmate!gojo who has been losing his mind trying to figure out who his mystery girl is. He’d assume it’s someone he knows, someone he hangs around, maybe one of the well known girls in his class. But looking at them, he didn’t really get that vibe. Sure they’d flirt with him, always hang around him, and that would be way too obvious. Despite being a part time investigator along with being a college student, that hasn’t stopped gojo from chatting with you. Still, everyday, you and him are sending pictures and videos back and forth and texting.

gojo: just tell me who you are, baby, promise I won’t bite ;)

you: where’s the fun in that, hm?

you laugh at knowing he’s frustrated. You see it on his face everyday when he walks into class, looking at his phone constantly and his eyes scanning the room. He does it in the cafe area as well when hanging with his friend, looking to see if any girl might fit his description of you. But of course, he never looks your way, completely disregarding your existence until late in the night when you’re both horny for each other. You can’t help but send him a video of you fucking your self with your dildo, your phone set up perfectly where you can’t see your face, but can see everything else. And you fuck yourself until you squirt all over your bedroom floor, legs shaking as you imagine it’s his cock.

poor gojo is just losing his mind behind the screen, listening to your moans and watching you squirt over and over, but all he’s thinking about is your face. Doesn’t stop him from getting off though. Of course he’s jerking his cock. Roughly. All the frustration is really getting to him. “Fuck! You’re really fucking teasing me, baby. You know that?”

the cycle continues for several days, until one day he misses class. What’s the problem in that? It’s the fact he needed the notes from that lecture and of course his friends never write them down. So, who did the professor direct him to? You. He’s walking up to you so casually, a bored look on his face as you’re sitting in your seat, palms sweating and internally freaking out. “Don’t mean to bother you, but do you have the notes from the last lecture?” He sighs in annoyance, adjusting his backpack.

“Oh, um…yeah, let me just…” You reach down into your bag and doing so, gojo noticed the color of your nails, his brows furrowing. They looked familiar.

“Nice nails,” he said. You couldn’t be his mystery girl, could you? No, no it was just a coincidence. You’re just some quiet, shy, and nerdy girl who keeps to herself. No way you fit in the description.

You pause for a moment, handing him your notes. “Thanks,” you mutter, quickly standing from your seat.

“Wait, don’t you want these back?” He asked, curious as to why you were in such a rush.

“Keep em, I have a picture of them on my phone.” You grab your bag and hurriedly walk away from him, your heart pounding against your chest. Gojo watches as you disappear from the lecture hall, immediately pulling out his phone to pull up a saved picture of his mystery girl, endlessly scrolling through pictures and videos to find one with your hands.

He stops at a video of you groping your tits, eyes widening when he notices the same color nails and design. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No fucking way.” He shoves his phone in his pocket, quickly following after you, wherever you went. But he doesn’t know that you left home for the day, completely avoiding him.

You can’t believe you got so close to him today, so close you could smell his cologne and hear his voice in person. Just thinking about it had you so horny, so wet. And when he complimented your nails? It meant he was actually checking you out! His eyes were on you! “He talked to me!” You squealed, running to your room, locking your bedroom door and slipping your panties off from under your skirt. “He talked to me…he was looking at me…” You sink your fingers into your already soaked cunt, eyes fluttering shut as you move them faster, pressing against your g-spot.

Gojo stared at his phone, debating whether to text you. He needed to really see if you were his mystery girl. He needed to investigate a little more, meaning he needed to watch your every move before confronting you. “Can’t believe you really might be her,” he sighed, biting down on his bottom lip. “Those tits, that ass, that pussy, all belonging to a sweet little thing like you? Can’t be…” Gojo couldn’t help himself, palming his semi-hard cock through his jeans. “Shit, baby,” he moaned, undoing his jeans, pulling out his cock. His eyes shut, remembering the cute look on your face when he walked up to you, and he could smell your perfume too, and that voice…yeah, he could recognize that voice anywhere. You’re definitely her. “I hope you’re thinking about me too. Fuck that. I know you’re thinking about me,” he breathily chuckles, slowly fisting his cock to your pictures.

“You were so close to me today, mmmph—fuck!” You rub your clit in circles, watching a video of him jerking off his pretty cock. “Wish you would’ve bent me over and fucked me right there—ah!” You heavily pant, hips twitching. “I need more!” You reach over into your bedside drawer, pulling out your dildo. “Want your cock inside me, Toru,” you moan. “Please say you’re thinking about me too, please!”

You know he knows. He has to. Why else would he compliment your nails? And why hasn’t he texted you yet? You’ve scared him off. Of course he doesn’t want anything to do with you. But you’ll have your fun while it lasts.

I know I left it on a cliffhanger (I’m super evil 😈 )

part 1 part 3

#—☆classyrbf #jjk #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo smut drabble #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #jjk smut drabble #jjk x reader smut #jjk gojo #gojo satoru smut drabble

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gojover · 1 day ago

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tsumiki gets the lead in her school’s winter play.

she’s glowing when she tells you, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright like she’s been holding the news in all day just to tell you first.

satoru lifts her up the second she walks through the door, spinning her in a wide circle that makes her shriek with laughter. “that’s my star!” he shouts, nearly knocking over the coat rack. “do you want a limo? should i hire a red carpet?”

tsumiki clings to his shoulders and giggles. “no! just come watch.”

and of course you do. you both promise. you mark it on the calendar taped to the fridge door in bold red marker. you talk about it at dinner almost every night. she rehearses in the living room with megumi reading out lines in monotone, and satoru insists on calling her miss celebrity for an entire week. you watch the little girl bloom like a cherry blossom in the midst of snow with pride in your chest and love in your eyes.

but the night of the performance, satoru gets called away. something urgent. something that doesn’t leave room for arguments or excuses, no matter how much you want to make one.

you’re the one who tells her.

you kneel beside her as she adjusts her costume in the mirror, her little paper crown slightly askew. she turns to you with a grin—“is it time yet?”—and you hate how it fades when she sees your face.

“he can’t come?” tsumiki asks quietly.

you shake your head. “he wanted to. really badly. but something came up.”

there’s a pause. a long one. then she nods, like she was expecting it. “it’s okay,” she says. “he’s busy.”

she tries to smile, and it’s brave. but her fingers tug at the hem of her sleeves for the rest of the evening. on the ride to school, she looks out the window the whole time, quiet in a way that makes your chest ache. you reach for her hand at a red light. she squeezes back, but doesn’t say a word.

backstage, she lets the other kids chatter around her. you help fix her hair, check her costume one last time, and whisper, “you’re going to be amazing.”

“i know,” tsumiki says, and stands in the spotlight with her chin high and her voice steady. she recites every line like she was born to do it. she draws laughs during her funny bits and beams when the audience claps.

but you see the little glances she throws to the crowd when she thinks no one’s watching. the flicker of hope she holds onto, just in case. the way her smile falters—briefly, just for a second—when she doesn’t see him there.

you take a hundred pictures. you record every single scene she’s in. your phone storage nearly fills up, but you don’t care. you want to capture it all. every little piece, so he won’t miss anything.

after, when you hand her flowers and hug her tight, she grins again, tired but happy. she doesn’t say anything about him not being there. doesn’t bring it up at all. she just brushes her teeth at home, changes into her pajamas, and climbs into bed.

later, when the house is still and the kids are asleep, the front door creaks open. you’re curled up on the couch in the dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp turned on in the corner of the room.

satoru steps inside, hair windblown, shirt untucked, eyes searching. “did i miss everything?” he asks.

you nod, your heart twisting for both of them. you pull out your phone, unlock it, and hold it out. “here,” you say. “you didn’t miss it completely.”

he takes it from your hand and sinks down onto the couch like his legs have given up on him. you sit next to him in silence while he watches the first video, his face unreadable, like he’s holding his breath.

satoru watches every single video twice. the third time, he starts crying.

⇢ a/n: i wrote this because i was bored in class and ended up daydreaming about having a family with someone. sue me. + inspired by real life events.

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screampied · 6 months ago

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#THE GRUDGE! g. satoru

☆ sum. perhaps screwing your ex-husband while the kids are out trick-or-treating wasn’t the best idea. but with him, the only treat he wants to trick is not in a basket—it’s right between your legs.. boo!

wc. 6.6k

warnings. fem! reader, ex-husband gojo, mentions of (2) kids, unprotected, pwp, mild hatefùcking, kakashi references eheh, gojo's still whipped, filthy dirty talk, prone bone, praise, implied bréeding, cunnīlingus / face sītting, bóob fondling, possessive themes, size kink, overstim, brat taming, fıngering, squırting, petnames.

➤ kinktober mlist

at the gojo’s, you mentally smack yourself as your feet step onto the scream-themed door mat that reads ‘step if you dare.’ part of you wished no one would answer the doorbell, but part of you solely wished he didn’t answer. it was about seven thirty at night, and with it being saturday, you had the kids for a few days. after that, you’d switch with satoru—your jeering hot-headed ex-husband. you decided since you got off early you’d take them trick-or-treating for a bit. but it’s to your utmost ‘surprise’ that satoru opens the door.

“oh! and who are you supposed to be pretty lady?” he’d hum, digging his hands into his pockets. satoru purposely tilts his head down, getting a good look at you while raising a brow. of course, he always went out for his costumes. this year, he’s wearing some sort of green flak jacket, a mask, and a long-sleeved shirt underneath with dark blue pants.

with a grump, you tuck your arms underneath your pits with your purse clinging onto your shoulder. “myself,” and your eyes flicker toward his messy frosted hair that’s spikier than usual. satoru’s wide headband partially droops below his left eye before you finish mumbling, “who are you even supposed to be.”

“uh, kakashi hatake. the man, the myth, the legend,” and satoru leans back against the front door, pulling out a fake kunai. a hand runs through his hair before he snickers at your unamused expression. tough crowd. “aw, you must be here for the kids, yeah? well, they’re out with nanami ‘n suguru trick-or-treatin’. just some blocks down,” and satoru stepped a few feet back once you trod your way inside, mutely cursing yourself that you’d probably have to wait until they got back. as long as they were with nanami and suguru—you didn’t have a problem. satoru shuts the timber wooden-made door behind him before speaking smugly. “oh. sure.. sure, just make yourself right at home, wifey.”

“don’t call me that.”

“just did.”

oh, brother.

the moment you stepped foot into your old spacey luxurious townhome satoru had built personally for you and your kids—the memories all came crawling back. the two of you didn’t end off on a bad note—divorces happen, and you both maintained a healthy relationship with the kids. you each agreed to co-parent, you’d get the week and he’d get the weekend - sometimes switching and vice versa.

“excuse the mess,” satoru hums, grabbing your coat. he tosses it over his shoulder before giving you another up-down glance. “if i knew you were comin’ over around this hour i’d clean a bit,” and he watches you struggle to keep eye contact. “hey. sweetheart, you’re lookin’ down again.”

with a scoff, you meet his gaze again. and fuck, does he look like he’s gotten even more handsome.

satoru gojo was always attractive—there was no doubt about it.

he was in his mid-thirties now, the two of you had settled down after college before having two kids of your own.

again, there wasn’t a reason for your divorce that was relatively a bad thing. you two just both decided to part ways - but of course, it was lots of unprovoked tension.

the costume that he wore was apparently based on some character named ‘kakashi’ whatever, and like always, he dressed the part. every year once the end of october would come around, satoru would wear an outfit just ‘cause. he stood tall, with serrated white hair that was jagged from all angles with the headband hanging off a side of his eye. in the middle part, the symbol was some kind of swirl that was never-ending.

satoru rambled to you that it was something . . something, a hidden leaf—honestly, you tuned out.

he wore the mask part too, covering up a good portion of his face from the nose down, and even had the red slanting scar that kakashi had near the left side of his eye that was probably makeup.

“i don’t wanna fight, gojo.”

“hmph. so it’s ‘gojo’ now,” he rolls his eyes, hanging your coat up near the rack. you take a quick peer around the room, seeing a plethora of toys and multicolored legos everywhere. it nearly makes you smile, remembering when satoru stepped on one of his youngest daughter’s legos. satoru leans against the glassy kitchen island, watching you take a seat near the crimson-red stool before humming. “and i don’t wanna fight either. in fact, i jus’ wanna talk.”

“so . . talk then,” you murmur, shifting your weight in your feet.

a brief smile creases against both sides of his lips before he grins. “soooo,” and it’s an awkward pause. you eye your ex-husband and he’s got somewhat of a bashful expression. rimy eyes of his dart toward your hand—your fingers specifically before he slyly coos. “i see you’re still wearin’ your wedding ring.”

shit.

he had a point.

after all this time, you still had your ring on. satoru did too—he also kept his ring on all the time, happily flashing it in front of countless numbers of women who’d try to hit on him.

you honestly don’t know why you still held on to it, let alone wear it, and to your surprise—you thought he’d stop wearing his those long seven months ago when the two of you officially split.

you bit the inside of your cheek before letting off a snarky, “shut up.”

satoru nearly snickers before he leans up close to you, only a few inches away. he’s so close that you get a loud wafting whiff of his citrusy cologne.

you remember the exact brand too, and it wasn’t exactly cheap either. he’d buy at least a dozen whenever the two of you went out shopping together - well, used to.

there’s so much tension between you both that you could cut it with a knife - the tension was thick, and the awkward dull pauses only made it even more intense.

there’s an annoying voice in your brain that’s screaming at you to just screw it - screw him, make up for lost time, and just . . . kiss him.

you did want to kiss satoru, and your eyes found themselves glancing toward his pearly pink lips that were almost always naturally glossed.

satoru’s eyes intently lock against yours for a few seconds before he casually brings a thumb up to the corner of your mouth, wiping away a bit of your lip gloss before cooing huskily. he expects you to pull away, but you don’t— in fact, you lean into his touch. once he notices, the only thing he replies with is a playful curt utter of,

“make me.”

so you do, but . . not in the way he expected.

not that satoru gojo was ever a man to complain though, especially with you.

and that’s when he found himself in quite a lewd predicament. satoru’s laid back against his cushiony padded mattress with you straddling his perfectly sculptured chin. a gloved hand of his grip near your right hip before he strums a thumb down your sopping wet entrance.

glossy - it’s prettier like he’s never seen it, and he can’t help but lick his lips like an animal preparing to feast the second you start to smear yourself against his chin.

“y’knowww baby, when you told me to shut up i didn’t think you meant sitting on my f—mmph,” and you cut him off mid-sentence by softly planting your cunt back on his mouth.

satoru grunts, bringing his free hand to wrap around the other unoccupied corner of your waist. he grunts, dipping his tongue inside before the familiar taste comes crawling back to his spiraling tastebuds. your taste, he missed your sweetness . . almost as much as he missed you.

as you sweetly moan within each dragging second, you glance down at him with hazed-blown pupils. shifting your wobbly weight and knees against his face, you start to feel his stubble rub on your skin. it almost tickles - but oh, you weren’t laughing.

his tongue had you doing quite the opposite.

“f- fuck,” you huff out, already starting to feel the plunging heaves of your stomach commence. sure, this was probably a bad idea, and sure, you and him probably needed to have an actual conversation at some point but now - you didn’t care about words.

you didn’t care about anything, and part of you kind of missed him.

perhaps his tongue was a majority reason for that part, and each time he rummages inside the deep secluded parts of your pussy, you let off cute individual mewling whimpers. satoru’s always been skilled, and he knew just how to please you.

his tongue always knew how to remind you of how much it’s missed its favorite meal.

curl after fucking curl, he’s leisurely spelling out letters and shapes and symbols with his tongue, taking every few seconds to swallow. satoru groans against your slobbering cunt, feeling you briefly thrust up against his nose and he can’t help but smell your tangy glacé coated sex.

it’s pleasantly sweet, and for a moment, scintillating blue eyes meet back up toward you. “h- heh, ‘s this why you came over? to shut me up ‘n use my fuckin’ mouth, sweetheart?”

“god, you talk t.. too much,” you moan, grabbing a fistful of his hair. in a way - that was true.

satoru was the definition of a blabbermouth.

he’d just talk and talk and talk . . yapping your ear off until you shut him right up in the best (and his personal favorite) way possible - sitting on his pretty face.

a pompous grin stretches across each corner of his lips whilst his jaw’s already dripping due to your slick that paints near the outer crevices of his thin lips. slow, it starts to slowly trickle down his chin at a snail-like pace, creating a shimmery coat of gloss that dribbles underneath his slack mandible.

satoru lays his long pointed tongue flat - savoring every single drop before he’s starting to suck against your clit.

“oh! fuck, right there ‘toru, riiiight there,” and he’s just sloppy. the mask part of his costume was pulled down to his neck as he was using his upper and bottom lip to munch against your sobbing pussy at irregularly paced intervals. your legs failed to stay still and you could already feel the carnal slope of your back starting to form an obtuse-like arch. “fuck, fuckin’ spit on it, ‘toru. pleasepleaseee.”

cute.

you’re calling him ‘toru again, and it makes him cockily grin knowing it was his tongue’s doing.

“wifey’s still as nasty as ever,” satoru whispers against your leaky folds, sliding a thin middle finger near your wet entrance. with a loud ‘psh’ you end up gushing out a bit abruptly and you whine loudly. your thighs rapidly snap together as you blink thrice, feeling his swollen lips glue against your pussy. “mmh, still a wet girl too. my wet girl.” you peek down at satoru who’s the literal epitome of the word smug.

he’s smearing his entire face against your teary slabbering cunt, spitting on it before lapping it right back up again.

you missed his nasty mouth - badly, and it makes your eyes shamelessly roll backward as you start to frailly rut your rickety hips into his mouth.

satoru brings two willowy fingers toward your slit before sliding the icy jewel rock of his wedding ring against your dribbling cunt.

wet, you were soaked and you let off shivering labored breaths once he started to toy with your saturated slick entrance.

with widened doe eyes, you meet his esurient-filled gaze and he hums at you. “listen to how damn wet she is,” he huffs, and you moan at the ridiculously drenching sounds of your pussy. he’s playing with you from between your thighs, chin still dripping with insane amounts of your syrupy juices. “mhm, i know, i know,” and you feel the feeble weight of your thighs quiver the second he’s focusing his attention primarily on your cunt now and not you.

all six eyes were fixated between your legs—

satoru strums the pad of his thumb down your drooling slit before gradually rolling his tongue from top-to-fucking-bottom.

he’s nasty, slithering the tip of his tongue everywhere until your toes curl and you’re letting off the cutest shrilling sounds. satoru even starts to spell out ‘m-a-r-r-y m-e’ and as lewd as it was, he’s proposing to your pussy. he needed you, and satoru knew the both of you divorcing was nearly inevitable, but he missed you.

he especially missed the way you tasted - so sweet, he could eat you out for hours even with his jaw sore ‘n locked. satoru’s a pussy pleaser, making you draw out sweet cries of more as he slurps you clean, his tongue occasionally sliding toward your puckering hole.

“satoru… ngh,” you whimper, the grip of your hand against his hair getting stronger. you’re fucking his face, grinding your slick against his mouth while watching his pretty frosty lashes flap. you’re squelching profusely, and each sloshing slosh of your pussy makes his dick twitch in his pants. “goddd, ‘m gonna cum. make me cum, fuck.”

“let’s see what she thinks,” he purrs, lustrous polished lips flushing into a pearly coat of clear once he licks them. satoru’s entirely pussy drunk, and you shudder once he slowly inserts a lanky middle finger. with a loud ‘pop!’ sound, it dexterously slides itself in, rummaging past the tight ring of your entrance.

fuck, he had such long fingers.

you almost forgot - satoru always joked with you how being ‘the strongest’ came with having six-inch fingers and he wasn’t fucking kidding . .

“hm, should my baby cum? does she deserve it?” and your lips curl up into a pout. he’s serious, having an entire conversation with your pussy. you moaned, maintaining a stiff grip on his hair before satoru started to smear circles against your cunt.

again, you’re just wet. your slickness amused him and satoru can’t help but playfully pat your pretty soddened pussy with the center of his palm once he doesn’t get a reply. the only reply he does get is the cute sloshing sounds that repeatedly gush between your poor quivery thighs.

you’re slowing yourself against his mouth as you straddle him, whimpering at the feeling of his thin digit piercing its way inside of you. you’re close, and you can feel yourself glitching and spasming the second the tip of his finger grazes past your g-spot.

already, he’s located it like ‘x’ marks the spot. your jaw was dropped, and you were on the verge of euphoric death.

satoru stretched your cunt out perfectly with just one finger, and sure . . you’ve had your fair share of intimacy with your ex-husband, but fuck did it always feel like the first time.

you couldn’t help but start to drool a bit, weakly rutting your hips against his face as you’re leisurely getting closer to the brink of your edge.

it’s carnal, you’re stupidly crisscrossed with your eyes flickering back and forth like turning signals before satoru starts to playfully nibble against your cunt again. this time though, he’s adding in another finger and the spongy pressure that’s being played with inside of you earns out a sweet honeyed gasp that sounds like a breathy shriek!

“toru, sato—fuck, ‘m cumming, ‘m gonna cum,” and your words repeated themselves over and over. you’re like a broken recurrent record on a looping vinyl. your cunt continues to sloppily rest against his perfect crooked lips the entire time as you’re blissfully coming undone.

satoru’s staring at you the entire time, practically undressing you with his eyes. he grunts, spotting how your perked nipples noticeably prodded through your silvery blouse. “ugh, fuuuck.” and it hits you like a crashing wave that slams its way into shore.

satoru’s still heartily pumping two slender digits in and out of your splashing cunt whilst you gush right on him, weak defeated hips losing their stability.

you were whimpering, tasting your candied orgasm on your tongue—it felt that good to where it’s like you could taste every nerve against your salivated tastebuds.

only satoru could make you cum on his tongue like this. you were speechless - frantically panting as you released your hand from his ghostly white strands. he’s still leaking your juices from the crannies of his lips before he exhales deeply.

“yeaaah, atta girl. lay it on me,” and you moan as he’s still sliding his long tongue in between the sopping folds of your sensitive cunt, gradually pulling out his lengthy digit pillars of fingers. “fuck, y’r so hot when you try ‘ta put me in my place, sweetheart.”

“stop talking,” you pant, getting off of him. satoru raises a pallid brow, and he grows amused once you suddenly push him to lie flat against his back. with a raspy ‘ugh’ he lands back against the velvet-colored pillows, a sly smirk marinating against his complacent features.

like a slut - he merrily manspreads just for you, long legs spread wide apart with a huge bulge sticking out of his pants.

he’s still got the shinobi headband on, part of it slumping down his left eye. “oh, what’s this?” he lowly gruffs, eyeing you from head to toe again.

this time though, it’s more sensual. satoru’s taking in every piece of fabric that’s protecting your skin, watching as you slowly undress yourself.

he could feel his boner excruciatingly rubbing against his pants the more he watched. he’s taking in your appetizing presented curves . . so pretty. especially after having two kids - his kids.

“gonna ride me, yeah?” he jibes, continuing once you were now left in nothing but a matching set of panties and bra.

coincidentally - the colors matched his exact eye color, and satoru always had a thing for you wearing clothes that matched his eyes. but like always, he just kept on talking. he was too cocky for his good, and maybe one more fuck was just what you needed. what you both needed.

just . . one . . more,

right?

well, that’s what you told yourself.

but all that went out the window the second you’re aligning yourself on his cock. satoru takes a sharp three-second breath, ogling at your every move. it’s like a game of chess. he’s waiting for you - for your cunt to make its move against his throbbing mushroomy tip.

two big hands of his wrap around your waist and he grunts lowly. feeling your slick cunt maneuver itself against his angry reddened tip makes his head slightly toss back in feral rapture.

his tip—it’s got a coral blush, and you let off a moan at feeling his hooked fat plump crownhead try to plummet its way in.

it’s rude, not caring to introduce itself to your cunt but slam its way in instead, asking if your insides remember him.

and it does - it definitely does.

“ohhh fuck,” you sob out a needy moan, your hips eagerly making two solid taut bucks against him.

satoru groans against your ear, swollen sack peeling back as you’re still straddling him. your body, it was in his arms again and he couldn’t help but feel you everywhere.

starting at your hips, he holds them tight, tracing the callused scarred tips of fingers all around the curvature of your body before trailing down toward the juncture of your rear. “god, don’t know how much i missed you ‘n your smart mouth,” and as you let off a surprised gasp, satoru grabs a nice chunk of your ass. “missed this ass just as much.”

“bet you did,” you puff, full lungs already on the verge of collapsing. he’s huge - and barely the tip was in and you could already feel your pussy starting to throw a fit of tantrums. satoru’s girth made him stretch more, and for a second you let off another sweet moan before meeting his gaze.

he’s got a delicious curve to him that always makes your insides twist and churn. it’s a feeling you’ll probably never get used to.

“what’s with the smirk? somethin’ funny?”

“you, baby,” satoru titters, giving you a haughty head nod. you feel your cunt throb as you’re trying to continue to lower yourself down on his cock but the stretch - fuck, pretty soon your poor cunt was about to be met with max fucking capacity.

satoru’s sparkly heavy-lidded eyes linger on you before he cups your chin, swiping a thumb across your wet quavering lips. “all that talk ‘n you still can’t take me. thought i trained my wife’s pussy good,” and with a teasing pout, he shrugs. “guessss not!”

“fuck you.” you moan, mentally groaning the second you felt yourself getting more soaked, just from his words alone.

pathetic - and yet, you wanted more.

satoru clicks his tongue, and with a blink of an eye, he now has you flipped over. you gasp, landing flat on your chest as he’s got your wrists restrained against your back.

satoru rolls his eyes, sprawling out your weak-kneed legs all the way apart to get a good glimpse of your sopping pussy from the back.

god, in his mind - it should have been a crime to be this wet. your sopping, pearly translucent molasses of your slick stream down your pulsing entrance and he grunts.

“fuck you,” he repeats, although he says it cheekily. even though you weren’t even facing him anymore you could almost visibly see the annoying shit-eating grin plastering on his face.

from ear to ear with each of his dimples piercing each wry crevice of his mouth, he's so smug--bastard.

your back arches and you moan the second he starts to smack his rotund tip against your pussy. “myyy, what a fuckin’ mess,” and you suck your teeth, feeling satoru’s loud spanks hit louder. each time his fat cockhead thumps itself against your wet outer folds, the vibrations make you shiver from the waist down.

the tingly tenderness makes your toes immediately curl up once more and your canorous-like moans start to become muffled once you dig your teeth into the edge of a nearby pillow. “still wet after alllll this time like a good messy girl,” he grits. with another smack of his tip, your leg twitches in response. “ooh, she likes that,” and satoru softly spreads your saturated cunt lips apart with two fingers just to see your pulse throb in full filthy action. “fuuck, she’s achin’ for it. look at that pretty ‘lil throb. so cute.”

“are you gonna fuck me or n—”

“listen, honey,” and you moan at the sudden husky drop of his voice. satoru softly wraps a few fingers around your throat, pressing his slim body right against your own. he drops your wrist, watching you sink into the mattress as limp-like. he’s so close that you could feel the outline of his abs prods against his shirt.

inching his lips near the shell of your earlobe, he starts to pant. heavy, sinister breath that ends up making you throb ten times harder. “i’m gonna fuck you,” he grunts, feeling your ass cutely try to jerk its way against him. the costume part of his pants was lazily pulled down, reaching the low area of his ankles. with a husky sigh, satoru brings his tip near the dripping entrance of your sloppy doused cunt. “might as well fuck that bratitude out of ya too while ‘m at it,” and you moan once he’s slowly starting to sink his way in.

satoru grabs ahold of your torso, lifting you slightly to a certain degree. your ass was raised just a few meters with your face smushed against the satiny made bedsheets.

his eyes dart down your body for another time and now, he’s just openly gawking at your exposed skin - your gorgeous physique.

satoru could stare at you all day if he could. “f- fuh—fuck,” you croak, plump lips forming into a hoop-like ‘o’ the moment he’s easing his way inside. there goes his ridiculous girth again, there goes his fat length that never fails to rearrange your clingy needy insides.

your tummy dips from each inch that’s gradually disappearing inside of you like a never-before-seen magic trick until he’s starting to gruffly groan. satoru’s already breaking a frigidly cold sweat.

it was just him feeling your covetous wet cunt voluntarily swallow him up - squeezing him tightly like a vice until you wring him dry. your pussy’s holding him hostage, and with the tight firm grasp you had against him, you never wanted to let go. “ ‘toruuu, ‘s fuckin’ big.”

“allll for you,” he drags out his words through raspy breathy sentences. chalky white brows of his compress together as he’s starting to feel the brief twinge of pleasure that courses through his beefy clenched thighs. with hooded cunt-drunk eyes, satoru already heard your gargling pussy trying to get more bratty words in. “all. for. you,”

and he punctuated his words just like he punctuated his merciless, sloppy thrusts.

the first thrust was rigid, the second thrust was sensual, and the third was damn near powerful. .

you moan loudly, feeling him caress tender circles near the exposed nape of your neck with his thumb as he tries to start up a sufficient pace. it took him a moment before he was fully in, making sure you felt and remembered every single inch.

satoru expands through your cunt like a domain.. the more carnal lewd way though.

it makes you shiver, and with his weight pressing into your ass that was your last fucking straw.

satoru’s got you in prone bone - a position like doggy but better, and he’s got his chiseled hips just barely hovering over your ass. with pounds and pounds of skin against skin—each smack against flesh had your mind going for a whirl ride.

you were already surrounded by his sweltering warmth from the inside and the feeling alone was enough to make your mouth water.

heavy airy pants drew out from your full lungs like you were some sort of animal, then again—it’s satoru gojo, and his dick was just one of a fuckin’ kind..

his cock was heavy, driving through your cunt like it’s been ages, and it kinda has.

with a hypnotic pivot of his askew hips, satoru makes you arch just a bit further. it’s a pretty arch, and he skips a few fingers down your curling spine. he watches you trying to wriggle away but with a cocky, “ah ah. where ya goin'?” he reels you right back into him. he’s so thick, and he only imagined how pretty you looked with your eyes lulling toward the back of your skull. “aw, don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart,” he purrs lowly, and you moan once he gives your ass a rude spank. “wanna hear my wife’s pretty voice. y’r sloppy pussy’s nice but i wanna—ngh, hear you.”

“ex-wife,” you correct him again, and you know he’s just addressing you as that just to tease you. you start to whimper as his rhythm starts to pick up, ploddingly dragging his keen hips further and further into you. “hnghh. stupid-,” you blurb out another weak squalling whimper, gluey lips starting to stick together.

you almost forgot how mean his dick game was, and satoru knew how to fuck.

he had the type of dick where it’d make you question your life choices—so good, each curve of his hips had you getting more and more stupid.

you’re pronounced cock drunk within milliseconds, and it doesn’t even take you long before your eyes were as wide as saucers, tongue lolled, and your back arches to its very limit.

and his stamina . . oh,

it never changed once he aged—he had the stamina of a fucking stallion, and his hips proved the horsepower to back it up.

“whaaat’s that?” satoru chirps, adding a bit more pressure around your throat. it’s safe - but you let off a tiny crooning moan once his strokes become deeper. you feel him reach at unimaginable angles, and your eyes start to roll back again.

satoru’s got you right where he wants, in his bed, the bed that used to be shared between you both.

he’s amping up his delirious pace, striking his feral hips into you quicker before groaning against your ear. in a hoarse tone, he licks a stripe down your neck. “such a brat, bet you don’t slut this pretty pussy out for anyone else, huh?”

you moan, feeling him breathe down your neck. cloudy hot puffs of air aerate against your skin before satoru starts to suck against your shoulder. “mmh. maybe i do. ‘s none of your business.”

“oh girl, please,” satoru replies, and his sass was enough to make your thighs quake.

you still couldn’t get used to his size - the fat fucking size of his cock that nearly makes both of your thighs clamp shut.

the shirt part of his costume snags against your skin as he’s still fucking you raw, buried balls fuckin’ deep before satoru starts to slow down.

with a wet ‘plop!’ he grunts, feeling his dick slip right out of you. “fuuck,” and he takes a moment to stare at the sight underneath him.

you, his pretty ex-wife all arched and hunched over.

your pussy’s pitifully drooling for more - sniveling wetly from the sheeny flaps as you clench around the air for a few seconds.

as a soft needy moan leaves you, you whine out an inaudible noise that sounds almost like you’re saying ‘what happened?’

“so . . fuckin’ hot,” satoru groans, re-aligning himself back against your slick-flooded entrance.

he heard your melodic ‘oooh’ leave from your lips as he was back inside, a content sigh departing from his chest. satoru can’t help but lean himself against you, bringing his hands toward your bouncy tits. “ah, can’t forget about my favorite girls,” and you let off a plethora of whiney whimpers, feeling him drag his thumbs over your sensitive nipples. satoru’s hips start to get sloppy and his cock’s just lazily swerving its way through every filthy orifice. “so pretty ‘n plump. . all mine.”

satoru continues to fondle your breasts as he’s ruthlessly pounding into you, swinish hands desperate to feel every part of your round soft tits. he’s moaning against your ear right with you, and satoru’s starting to feel himself steadily reach toward his vulgar demise.

his cock’s rude, repeatedly hitting itself against your precious beloved g-spot. it’s smothering it with a multitude of sloppy kisses with his tip, making sure it savors every wet smooch. “fuck, fuck me,” you moan, lying in a puddle of your drool that starts to dampen the pillow that rests underneath your chin.

“greedy ‘lil thing,” satoru huffs, and as he’s still playing with your tits, his pumps start to slow down. satoru’s massaging your walls so good that it’s like he’s putting a wicked spell on your pussy.

you could barely even sit up anymore, and he’s holding your hips firmly. “mmhhh, gettin’ me all soaked, baby. should make you lick me right up.”

“how about you stop talking-”

“how about i edge you ‘n let you finish this sloppy pussy yourself, huh?”

radio silence.

you moaned in response and satoru shook his head with another smarmy sneer squeezing across both corners of his pink lips.

“uh huh. ‘s what i thought,” and satoru groans the moment he feels himself starting to shrink up from the inside.

his testes were nothing but wrung out, plump, and swollen underneath you, pap papping against your ass - preparing to be milked full.

the lewd imagery alone makes him grunt, feeling a vein prod down his shaft. satoru’s abs flex through his shirt before he sighs, bringing a kiss near the back of your neck. “hah, tell me where sweetheart. where do you want it, tell me.”

“fuck,” you moan, losing count of each time his pointed tip thrashes itself against the gummy barrier of your cervix.

satoru lowly chortles, panting heavily before making you lie straight down against the bed. “heh, fuck? that’s not an answer, silly.”

“inside, fuckin’ finish inside, ‘toru,” you blurt out, hearing your voice start to strain.

you’ve been moaning your head off, and your chords were starting to sound like they’ve had just about enough.

“nuh uh, manners sweetheart. don’t act brand new,” he teases, tracing a palm over the curved shape of your perked ass. he was in so deep, you felt the pressure press down on your tummy and it gave birth to an entire school of butterflies. you slip out another moan once satoru’s slowing his impactful thrusts down, still filling you to the brim before bringing his hips to a sudden halt. he’s back up against your ear before he whispers hoarsely, “ ‘pretty pleaseee’, c’mon baby. talk to me nice.”

with a guttural whine desperately trying to rip out the back of your throat, you grumble out a bratty, “fuck you.”

“hah, you’re a trip, y’know that?” and you gasp, feeling satoru snake a hand in between your thighs.

as he drags it down to where it stops near your stuffed pussy, he starts to rub his open palm against you. you moan, arching ever further as your ass presses into him. “it’s ‘fuck me’ ‘n yet you’re bent over for me, wet for me, sloppy for fuckin’ me,” and you felt yourself starting to throb quicker the more he spoke.

within each filthy sentence, his words drip with more erotic bass in his voice—

it’s sexy, and satoru’s feeling you trying to weakly grind your ass back against him so he could finish. it’s cute, the way how you’re so impatient but such a brat.

the woman he always knew - his wife.

“sato—satoruuu,” you mewl out, another whimper flying past your spit-slick lips. the gradual sounds of skin slapping resound against the walls of the spacious bedroom before it echoes. you moan once his cock stills itself inside - waiting for you, and with a defeated moan, you huff, “fine, pretty please.”

“pretty please what, sweetheart?”

he’s annoying, and yet here you were shamefully pulsating for him, arched over for him, and babbling his name over and over again like it’s some repetitive sacred mantra.

with a pouty scoff, you grumble out a subtle, “pretty please . . cum inside, ‘toru. please.”

“atta girl, use those words,” he purrs, and you moan once he gently grabs both of your unsteady hips. satoru braces your body underneath him and he grunts once he focuses back on his release. “god, this tummy,” he rasps, and you whimper once you feel his bare hands creep underneath your warm flat body.

satoru’s body remains on top of you - pounding you ruthlessly, and that’s when he softly presses a hand against your stomach. right there, he feels a tiny bulge of himself and it makes him grunt.

you were squeezing around his cock tight, slathering the entirety of his fat cock with your slimy slick before he groans. “mhm, you’d look so pretty plump ‘n round again for me, baby,” and satoru’s starting to feel it. his body - it shakes, damn near erupting as his high’s approaching at a hasty speed. “prettiest fuckin’ mommy. fuck, ‘m gonna give you so much.”

white lashes of his snap shut as he whines into your shoulder, still pumping thick inches into you from behind—skin slapping meanly and resounding off the walls of the room before he groans out a growling, “fuck!” you’re moaning right with him, his heat radiating against your skin. satoru’s strokes were hypnotic, his hips jerk against your ass as you’re barely keeping up. your insides felt churned all the way out as he still had a hand lying on the center of your tummy, drooling at the thought of filling you up again.

when it arrives, it’s quick - it takes him only a few long drawn-out seconds before he finally lets go. white brows of his twist together as he’s slowly pumping you full of ribbons ‘n ribbons of cum.

pearly slimy globs shoot into you, and you moan out a content sigh of your own as the muscles in your shoulders relax. “fuuuck,” you breathe, hearing satoru’s groans overshadow your noises. he’s always been far louder than you, especially whenever he was finishing.

he sounded pretty, angelic almost. satoru’s eyes flicker down toward the mess that’s being made, hearing the sloppy sounds of your pussy gargle and all.

bubbles of ivory-colored seed coat the outer folds of your entrance and you feel his warmth.

gristly silky ropes dribble into you all at once, creating a milky white ring that starts to form around his base. he’s missed filling you up like this - so so bad.

satoru nearly slips out a whine as he’s dumping his all into you—casually filling you to the brim, and that’s when his hips start to get even sloppier.

he was a mess, and you’ve milked him dry. he watches as your pretty pussy’s all filled and glossed - oozing with such amounts of cum.

a bit of stringy strands started to stick and glue against your thighs like adhesive, and he couldn’t help but pull out. it’s a squishy lewd ‘pop’ that sounds the second he drags his weighty cock out from between your creamy flaps. “god, look at how pretty she is after a good fillin’,” he huffs, and you’re still catching your breath once satoru flips you over. you’re lying on your back, meeting his gaze.

you’ve never seen him more in love - oh, he was whipped.

he didn’t even have to tell you those known words because his eyes already spoke for him. satoru rubs his leaky white-coated tip against your cunt, smearing his cum all over your entrance before sighing. after he does that, satoru licks his lips and that’s when you watch his head starting to disappear, going lower.

“can’t . . let it go to waste,” he grumbles, and you moan the second you feel the tip of his tongue starting to create a slope up your right thigh.

slowly, he’s lapping up the remnants of his cum that’s spilling down your skin. you almost forgot just how filthy he was. satoru had no shame, and he even moaned once the taste of his mess met against his tastebuds. “mmh.”

“s- satoru,” you heave, a hand finding its way through his strands again. his lips were soft, and he then started to create sloppy kisses. you moan, writhing against the stained sheets before gingerly bringing his head back up.

with a sleazy grin, his eyebrows raised before you finish your sentence, tangled fingers still fishing through his snowy unkempt tresses. “kiss me.”

“heh, that’s my girl,” he hoarsely, gradually closing the distance between you both. he’s been longing to kiss you, to plant his lips against yours. satoru groans in your mouth, feeling your arms wrap around his slim waist.

he starts grinding his hips against yours, his angered reddened tip blushing the more cold air sets against it. you’ve never felt more hot, and you could feel a smirk carve against satoru’s lips as he’s making out with you.

it’s intense - his tongue explores throughout your mouth, demanding entry as you moan.

satoru’s sweating pinballs, and he presses his forehead against yours. “fuckin’ woman,” he whispers, his voice getting more and more raspy.

you could taste himself on his tongue and so could he.

it was lewd - and yet, he only wanted more. more of you and so much of it..

satoru leans into your touch, sucking on your tongue as pairs of teeth occasionally clash and smash together before that’s when you abruptly pull away.

“h..hey,” he huffs, and he’s entirely flustered. satoru’s got heart eyes in his pupils, and he’s very much whipped. of course, though, he tries not to show it by keeping up his smug, arrogant façade. “what’s— ah.”

like earlier, you switch positions and push him lightly to where he lands on his back. pretty soon, you were sure trick-or-treating was gonna be over soon for the kids—satoru mentioned earlier how they were staying out for about maybe two hours.

as you straddle his lap again, finally listening to that annoying voice in your head, you made up your mind.

fuck it.

fuck him - literally.

“lie back,” you murmur, and you watch as satoru grows sheepish. you’re getting under his skin, and your sudden change in demeanor makes him hard for what was probably the umpteenth time of the night.

like a dog – he’s obedient, going manspread again before a groan escapes out of him. as your drenched flooded cunt hovers over his tip again, you lean in to pepper chaste kisses near his neck.

“oh, finally gonna ride me now, yeah?” satoru raises a brow, though you could tell how his cockiness was fading. he was sensitive - very.

it was almost painful, and now you were just teasingly grinding the entrance of your cock back ‘n forth against his flaccid length that rests against his tummy. “shit,” he swallows, idly bringing a hand toward your waist. he sees the look in your eyes before dryly chuckling. “f- fine. but this means . . you’ll give me another chance?”

you deadpan, playfully flicking his chest back before humming. “we’ll see.”

“i’ll take it,” satoru pants, trying to flash a smile but he ends up moaning the second you’re starting to align himself against his throbbing tip.

he’s still leaking gleaming white droplets from the sides of his dick, his veiny shaft being decorated with globs and globs of pre. with a guttural groan, satoru’s abs flex through his costume before he grabs your ass, giving your left rear cheek its nth spank.

“do your worst fuckin’ then,” satoru stares up at you, a whine desperately trying to leave his slick-spit lips before he squeezes your ass. as you moan, watching his swollen tip gradually disappear between your sappy folds, gojo sighs.

as your unstable hips try to steady themselves against him, you feel satoru rub the front jeweled part of his wedding ring on your sopping cunt one more time right as you prepare to ride him.

“m- make your husband proud, wifey.”

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gojosoups · 9 hours ago

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Till Kingdom Come

cw: fluff, angst, royalty au, war, blood, violence, character death, grief/loss, whipped gojo, love at first sight, he fell first and harder, bros obssessed, politics blegh /j, power imbalance?, all characters are 18+, SFW

a/n: dropped a lil fic while I’m on break. also ignore any minor changes, I’m indecisive lol.. see you all soon! art credits to @/loquatini on tiktok <3

So this is what your life has come to?

Perched upon the throne, in a kingdom that had long lost hope in its monarchy, you remain as its sole heir. The royal family lineage had long been dead, with no prospect of future heirs due to your husband’s poor, sickly condition, which—bless his soul—sent him to an early grave.

You were a widowed queen, in a land that did not belong to you, but was still your home.

So, like the dutiful wife and queen you were, you took your place on the dusty throne, not once batting an eye at the objections of the King’s council nor the high court.

You became a beacon of hope to your kingdom, which, although small in size, was great in strength. You became what the kingdom needed in a time of despair and crisis, in a time of famine and fear. You carved your place into the very stone walls of the kingdom, and the nation rejoiced, welcoming your rule with open arms.

Your people loved you, and under your rule, Veralia thrived.

The nation stood strong and prosperous beneath your iron will until one day, the gates of your kingdom were breached. An emperor from beyond the oceans and seas, who dared to weasel his way into your high walls.

Emperor Gojo Satoru.

A man feared across kingdoms and lands, a man who dared to threaten your rule.

Though you had taken your place on the throne, soon you would take your place on the battlefield, charging through the hordes of horses and knights with your blade held up high, aiming straight at Gojo Satoru.

And Satoru, nonetheless, felt the true meaning of love at first sight in that very moment.

All it took was one look at you—hair disheveled, clothes bloodied and in tatters, chest rising with every breath—as you stood before him, blade pressed to his throat, eyes sharper than a knife, piercing straight into his soul.

Just one look in your eyes, and he was done for. The only thought left in his mind was, "God, I have to marry her."

Amidst the chaos of war, surrounded by clashing fleets and the sound of an ongoing battle, Gojo Satoru knelt before you, smiling like a madman with that charming, boyish grin.

Your hand trembled in his as he brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your delicate skin as he dared to speak those four forbidden words.

“Will you marry me?”

Your blade fell to the ground, a sound so loud, so final, that the battle itself seemed to halt. Soldiers from both kingdoms remained frozen, awaiting the command of their ruler as they bore witness to this spectacle.

"You want to marry me?" You scoffed, sneering at the audacity of this man, and yet, your heart couldn't help but race. Whether it was from the rush of battle or the shiver that ran down your spine from a mere kiss, you’d rather not say. “Then leave your throne.”

Your eyes blazed like a warm fire, stirring his insides with butterflies as you stared at him, unyielding and challenging.

"You must leave your throne then," you said in a tone so final, "recall your troops and betray your kingdom for me. Forsake everything you know, and live the rest of your life beside me, in my kingdom, under my rule."

And Gojo, being the lovesick idiot he was, merely grinned.

"So," he said, rising to his full height, towering over you with fingers tangled in yours, "when do I start packing?"

Then, softer, almost inaudible, he spoke. Words meant only for you, whispered amid the quietness of the battlefield.

“I'd rather kneel before your throne—to your every whim, to bow down at your very feet, and kiss the ground you walk on, Your Majesty—than sit alone on mine."

After all, Gojo Satoru was a fool in love.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄��𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

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cuntyji · 3 months ago

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you were in the park, petting some random dog.

its owner, a tall dude with white hair and sunglasses, said,

“wanna see her puppy?”

and like a fool, you said, “hell yeah, i wanna see puppy.”

you followed him.

to his car.

every true crime podcast screamed in your head,

but puppy logic overrode survival instinct.

fast forward five years.

that tall dude? gojo.

your husband.

the dog is still fat.

gojo’s still hot.

and every time he tells the story, he starts with:

“she risked it all for a puppy. now she’s stuck with me.”

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sixeyesonathiel · 2 days ago

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holy week’s about to start, but i can’t stop fantasizing about yandere!gojo with a servant!reader who’s been his shadow forever so take this filth ive written on a whim<3 (if you've seen this earlier with a different age difference, no you didn't. did my best to reword/change everything because i changed the age tho kek, also made this more filthy as promised😼)

cw: heavy dubcon, yandere themes, manipulation, gaslighting, 3 year age gap, power imbalance, explicit sexual content (fingering, pussy slapping, nipple play, edging), dacryphilia, degradation/humiliation, corruption/dumbification, forced commitment, pseudo-sibling complex (not incestuous, just deep emotional bonds from shared childhood), 18+ only, minors DNI.

you’re his servant, three years younger, bound to him since your mother’s milk fed you both—her role was his wet nurse, his caretaker, tucking you into the same nursery, her lullabies stitching you to satoru like thread. you were his shadow in the gojo estate’s cold sprawl—a scrawny kid trailing his steps, offering him sticky candies, giggling when he’d lift you to reach the high shelves. he was the six eyes heir, a lonely boy with hair like starlight, locked away from the world. you’d crawl into his bed during storms, whispering stories to chase his fears, not knowing you were his anchor. he’d pat your head, call you his lucky charm, and you’d beam, too young to see the hunger in his eyes. it was innocent then—your adoration, his protection, a bond like siblings but not, woven from shared nights and secrets.

now you’re grown, or trying to be, with dreams of kyoto—books, freedom, a life beyond bowing. you tell him you’re leaving, voice small but brave, thinking he’ll pat your head like old times. satoru’s not that boy anymore. he’s taller, sharper, a god in human skin, his blindfold hiding eyes that could burn worlds. he leans against a pillar, smirking like you’ve told a joke. he asks for three days to “give you a proper goodbye.” you think it’s sweet, a nod to your childhood. you’re so fucking naive. he’s not saying farewell—he’s raging against you daring to take what’s his. you. his everything.

the night before your train, the bathhouse is a fog of steam, your shift damp, clinging to your thighs like a second skin. you’re rinsing your hair, humming, when the air thickens—electric, heavy. satoru’s there, lounging against the cedar wall, blindfold gone, his eyes a crazed blue, pupils dilated but still searing, like twin oceans swallowing the light. his white shirt’s half-open, collarbone sharp, hair damp, sticking to his forehead like he’s been pacing, plotting. his lips curl, boyish but venomous, a predator playing soft.

“you’re really gonna ditch me?” his voice is low, almost pouty, but there’s a razor in it, slicing through the steam. he steps closer, barefoot, silent, and your heart stumbles. his scent hits—clean, like rain and sugar, dizzying.

you try to laugh, to keep it light, like when you’d steal his mochi. “satoru, it’s not like that. i just… i wanna study, see things. you get it, right?” your words falter under his stare, those eyes—blue fire, pupils twitching, crazed but not lost. they pin you, strip you, like you’re glass.

he tilts his head, a silver strand falling over one eye, and his smile tightens, lips thinning. “you don’t sound convinced, pretty thing.” his hand lifts, slow, deliberate, catching your wrist. his fingers burn, too hot, and your pulse races under his thumb, betraying you. “think you can just walk out? after all i’ve done for you?”

“done for me?” you echo, voice catching. the steam’s choking, your shift’s too thin, and he’s too close, towering, his shadow eating yours. you step back, but the wall’s there, cool and slick against your spine.

his grip slides to your elbow, firm, pulling you flush against him. his chest is hard, warm through his shirt, and his breath brushes your cheek—mint, heat, sin. “you were mine from the start,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear, sending shivers to your core. “all those nights, your stories, your sticky little hands. you think that was nothing?” his free hand slips under your shift, tracing your thigh, slow, teasing, until your breath hitches.

you should push him off. this is satoru—your satoru, who’d carry you when you fell, who’d sneak you sweets—but not like this, not with his fingers climbing, brushing the damp cotton between your legs. “satoru, stop,” you whisper, but it’s weak, trembling, and your thighs part, just a fraction, traitor to your will.

he laughs, soft, cruel, his eyes glinting as his pupils pulse, blue blazing like a storm. “stop? oh, sweetheart, look at you.” his finger presses against your core, light, testing, and you gasp, knees wobbling. “already wet through this flimsy thing. what kind of good girl dreams of leaving then soaks herself for me?”

“i’m not—” you start, but his finger slips past the fabric, grazing your slit, and your words choke into a whimper. he’s watching, always watching—jaw tight, lips parted, a flush creeping up his neck like he’s barely holding on. the boy you loved is there, but twisted, hungry, his beauty sharper, meaner.

“not what?” he taunts, sliding one finger inside you, slow, deliberate, curling just enough to make you clench. “not mine? not desperate?” he steps closer, pinning you with his hips, and his cock’s hard against your thigh, straining through his pants. “you’re a fucking mess already, and i’ve barely started.”

tears prick your eyes, hot, spilling fast, and he groans, low, animal, leaning in to lick a stripe up your cheek. “fuck, you’re gorgeous when you cry,” he breathes, voice fraying, like your tears are his drug. his finger moves, slow, deep, and you’re trembling, heat pooling where he’s stretching you. “makes me wanna break you, pretty thing. wanna see how many tears you’ve got left.”

“satoru, please,” you sob, clutching his shirt, damp cotton twisting under your nails. your body’s screaming—too much, not enough—and he’s everywhere, his breath hot, his touch burning. you’re barely even an adult, barely anything, and he’s unraveling you like it’s his right.

“please what?” his voice drops, mocking, and he pulls back, eyes blazing, pupils wide but still blue, crazed, endless. “please stop? please more?” his thumb finds your clit, circling, and your hips buck, chasing the ache despite the shame clawing your throat. “you’re humping my hand like a needy slut. think kyoto’s got this? think anyone else can make you this dumb already?”

“no,” you gasp, and it’s true, god help you—he’s carved himself into you, every soft moment now a blade. his finger curls deeper, joined by another, stretching you, and you bite your lip, tears streaming as the burn twists into need.

he coos, soft, sickening, his free hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your tears. “aw, poor thing, crying so pretty for me.” his voice is honey, but his fingers thrust harder, slick sounds loud in the steam. “you don’t need dreams, sweetheart. you need me, don’t you? always have.” his lips brush yours, a tease, then pull back, leaving you chasing air.

“i just… i wanted—” you try, chasing what’s remaining of your reason, but his thumb grinds your clit, ruthless, and your words fracture into a moan. his smile’s gone, replaced by something darker—jaw clenched, eyes wild, like you’ve hurt him.

“wanted what?” he snaps, yanking his fingers out, and you whine, empty, hips twitching. “wanted to leave? to forget me?” his hand slaps your pussy, sharp, sudden, and you cry out, the sting melting into heat that makes you clench around nothing. “look at this greedy cunt,” he sneers, slapping again, harder, watching you jolt. “making a fucking mess all over me. you disappointed me, you know that?”

“i’m sorry,” you sob, frantic, nails digging into his arms. your tears are rivers now, and he drinks them in, his tongue darting out to taste your cheek again, a low groan rumbling in his chest. his fingers plunge back in, three now, brutal, curling against that spot that makes you see stars.

“sorry’s not enough,” he growls, but his voice cracks, raw, like he’s the one breaking. “you did this to me, you know. all those years, following me, needing me—fuck, you think i wanted to crave you like this?” his thumb’s back on your clit, circling fast, and you’re trembling, so close it’s painful. “you’re mine, pretty thing. say it.”

“i’m yours,” you whimper, voice raw, and his eyes soften, just a flicker, before they harden again, pupils pulsing in that crazed blue sea. he kisses you then, hard, possessive, teeth clashing as he swallows your sobs, his tongue claiming every corner of your mouth like it’s his territory.

“good girl,” he purrs, pulling back, lips wet, swollen. “but you’re still a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” his fingers slow, teasing, keeping you dangling, and you whine, hips grinding against his hand. he slaps your pussy again, twice, three times, each one meaner, and you’re keening, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. “won’t you look at this?” he laughs, mocking, holding up his hand, glistening with you. “you’re soaking me, sweetheart. what a dirty fucking mess.”

“satoru, please,” you beg, voice breaking, and he coos again, sickeningly sweet, his free hand sliding to your chest, yanking your shift down to bare your breasts. his eyes darken, pupils twitching, and he leans in, latching onto your nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing.

“fuck, these are perfect,” he mumbles against your skin, tongue flicking, and you arch, moaning, oversensitive. he pulls back, eyes locked on yours, and his voice drops, filthy, reverent. “your mom fed me, you know—gave me her milk. and now here i am, sucking on her daughter’s tits like a starving man.” he bites down, just enough to sting, and you scream, soft and broken, as he laves over the mark. “kinda poetic, huh? full fucking circle.”

you’re babbling now, incoherent—his name, please, more—lost in the heat, the pain, the way his fingers fuck you relentless, thumb grinding your clit until you’re teetering, body taut. “satoru, i can’t—i’m gonna—”

“not yet,” he snarls, yanking his hand free, and you wail, empty, aching, hips bucking into nothing. your knees give, but he catches you, pinning you to the wall with his body, cock hard and leaking through his pants, pressing against your belly. “you don’t come ‘til i say, you hear me?” his voice is low, fraying, and his eyes—still blue, but crazed, electric—bore into you, daring you to disobey.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” you sob, frantic, hands scrabbling at his chest, his shirt wet with your tears, your slick. his skin’s fever-hot, muscles tense, and his breath’s ragged, hitching like he’s fighting himself.

he leans in, forehead to yours, damp hair sticking to your skin. “you’re not sorry yet, pretty thing.” his voice is soft, dangerous, and his hand’s back, four fingers now, stretching you wide, palm slapping your clit with every thrust. “but you will be. gonna fuck you ‘til you’re too dumb to want anything but me.”

you’re gone, body seizing, babbling nonsense—satoru, please, need you, yours—and he’s murmuring filth, fractured, unhinged. “that’s it, fuck, look at you—gushing like a whore for me. think your silly books can do this? think anyone else can wreck you like this?” his fingers twist, relentless, and your cries echo, too loud, obscene in the cedar haze.

“no one,” you choke, and he rewards you with a kiss, softer this time, but still possessive, tongue tracing your teeth like he owns them. “only you, satoru, please—”

“damn right,” he growls, and his face shifts—jaw tight, eyes blazing, a flush painting his cheeks like he’s burning from the inside. “you’re mine—every fucking breath, every drop of you.” his fingers slow, dragging out the torment, and you’re begging, hips grinding, voice shot. he slaps your pussy one last time, so hard you scream, and you clench, leaking down his arm.

“come for me,” he finally rasps, voice raw, like it’s torn from his soul. “come all over my hand, show me you’re my good fucking girl.” and you do, shattering, gushing, body convulsing as you soak him, slick dripping to the floor. you’re babbling—satoru, yours, love you—words spilling without sense, and he fucks you through it, cooing how perfect you are, how you’re his, lips brushing your tears like they’re gold.

you’re limp, panting, but he’s not done. he kneels, yanking your shift higher, and licks a slow, greedy stripe up your thigh, tasting you. “fuck, you’re sweet,” he groans, eyes meeting yours—still blue, crazed, but softer, sated. “gonna eat you proper later, sweetheart. but not yet.” he stands, his tongue flicks your nipple again, teasing, and you whimper, oversensitive.

then he’s pulling you into his arms, strong, too strong, like he’s scared you’ll vanish. “you’re not leaving,” he says, quiet, final, his breath hot against your hair. “not tomorrow, not ever.”

you don’t fight. you can’t. a week later, a ring glints on your finger, his clan’s crest cold against your skin. he calls you his fiancée, voice dripping pride, and you smile, because he’s satoru—your satoru, who gives you silk, sweets, his endless obsession. you don’t need kyoto, or dreams. he’s burned them all to ash, and you let him, because he’s all you know.

#౨ৎ — flash reports #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jjk smut #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen

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hoemainexpansion · 2 days ago

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Chapter Four - Pain: You find your husband, Satoru, in the hospital and figure out why he was galivanting around town instead of coming home to his pregnant wife. Also on AO3

The universe hates you.

The universe fucking hates you.

It has to hate you because there’s no other explanation for this ridiculous shitutation that you’ve found yourself in.

On one hand, your husband didn’t leave you to start a new life with someone else.

Well… that may be up for debate for now.

But it certainly wasn’t intentional. So while it’s not what you were thinking, it’s still pretty bad.

Dr. Yaga has been droning on about his condition and you know that what he’s saying is important, but you kind of zoned out not too long after giving his diagnosis.

Before you ask him to repeat everything, you just have one question, “how much time has he lost?” You hate to make this about you, but you’re desperate to know.

“I’m not sure, that’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself as time goes on. The more time you spend with him, the more things like that will come into focus.” That makes sense but you really wish he just said something like, "it's only the last ten years” because that would give you more of a starting point as far as helping him goes. “And what should I do to help him with everything?” You don’t even know how to phrase what you want to ask.

“There’s a few things that you can do to help. But the most important thing is to have a lot of patience and don’t take it personal if he doesn’t remember something. Second, if you had a routine before, I would suggest getting back into it now. Returning to routines has been proven to be helpful versus going completely off the books hoping for the best. Obviously, returning to work may not be the first option right now. But getting back into other patterns can help.” Okay, reasonable.

“Making little notes or reminders and keeping them around the home can also be helpful in forming new memories which may also help in unlocking older ones. At the very least, it doesn’t hurt. I’ve also been told by previous patients that memory games with photos or notes can help. Just be patient, supportive, and explain whatever is needed in an easily digestible way. But don’t overwhelm him with too much at one time,” he pauses to let you take all of that in.

“Do you know how long it’ll take for everything to come back to him?” You have a feeling that you already know how he’s going to answer that but you can’t help but ask. “There’s no way to determine exactly how long that will take.” You were right. “But we will run some tests for his migraines to see if there’s any underlying damage and that will help us figure out how severe his condition could be.” You really hope it’s not worse than it already sounds. “As his wife, we would like you to fill out some paperwork though. It seems he was recognized by some of the staff, but since he hasn’t been admitted here before, we don’t have anything on file for him, not even his name at this point. So I’ll go get that and then we’ll take it from there.” After saying that, he walks out of the room.

You just stand there, frozen, still facing the door. It’s awkward, it’s uncomfortable, and you don’t even know how to speak to your husband seeing as he doesn’t even remember that he is one. That’s especially evident based on the model who just walked out of the room.

But you don’t have to break the ice because Satoru does it for you, “so, we’re married?”

You turn to look at him and ‘yes’ is all you say.

He nods his head and says ‘nice’ with a smirk.

Yeah, that’s your husband.

“When did we get married? How’d we meet?” For some reason you thought him finding that out would cause him to shut down but you’re relieved that it hasn’t.

“Uhhh, we met in high school, through mutual friends, and we stayed friends for a couple of years before we started dating. Then we were in a relationship for two years before getting married on Halloween. Our five year anniversary just passed.” You’re trying to give him the bare bones version of the start of your relationship. The last thing you want to do is overload him or cause problems with the people he needs to be re-introduced to.

“Halloween huh?”

“You actually suggested it. I wanted to wear a black dress and make it goth, so you said we should just do it on Halloween and everyone can get dressed up however they want to.” It was actually incredible seeing everyone showing up in costume so needless to say, he had the right idea.

“You wanted a goth wedding but you’re standing there in head to toe light blue?”

“You got me this outfit.” He looks so proud after you say that.

“I have good taste,” he replies with an air of confidence.

“Well, you married me, so obviously.” Now it’s your turn to wear a smirk. You both chuckle and so far, so good.

Just when things are getting comfortable, a nurse walks in with a clipboard holding all the paperwork that you need to fill out. You take it from her and then sit down on a chair in his room to begin filling it out. You wanted to ask him if he knows the answers to anything on it but seeing as they’re having you do it, that’s probably a no. But you’re curious so you’re going to probe a little bit.

“I don’t want to pressure you, but is there anything that you can say you definitely remember?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s anything real specific. I feel like I can vaguely remember faces and maybe quick flashes of events. Some things I think I might remember if they were put in front of me.”

You give him a break before asking anything else. You don’t want to make him feel bad for something that’s not his fault.

As you start filling out the usual information on his paperwork, you get to his birthday and realize that it just passed! Maybe it’s a good idea to hold off on that information unless he asks you. Maybe you can make it up to him and have a late birthday party / welcome home party when he’s discharged. You also have to find a time to re-announce your pregnancy but you’ll probably hold off on that one as long as you can.

“Are we… happy?” He asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

Of all the questions he could have asked you, that’s not one you thought would be on the list.

“Yes. Very happy. Why?” On one hand you want to know who the hell that woman was. But on the other hand, you don’t know if you can handle the roller coaster of emotions that would come with a devastating admission.

“It’s just,” he pauses again and now you’re getting really nervous. “Why haven’t I seen you until… today?”

You didn’t want to overwhelm him with information today but there’s probably no way around it now, unless you lie. And you can’t lie to someone who already doesn’t know what the hell is going on. It could jeopardize any progress he makes.

“Well, nobody knew where you were, Satoru.”

A look that you can only classify as ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ flashes across his face before he asks, “what does that mean nobody knew where I was?”

“Uhm, you went missing a little while ago. Today is the first time anyone has been able to find you.” You really hate giving him such a basic explanation but this is probably a conversation better suited for the two of you with the detectives.

“How long?”

“Just under six weeks.”

His brows raise, his eyes widen, and his jaw drops open as you probably knew it would. But this isn’t something that you can lie about. And if you want to establish trust with him, you can’t push things off either. Instead of speaking, he lays back in bed and just looks at the ceiling.

You don’t know what to say, so you go back to finishing all this paperwork before the nurse comes in to retrieve it.

You can’t imagine what’s going on in his head. You don’t even know exactly where his memory starts or with you. And to learn that you have people in your life who missed you but you didn’t even know and probably had no way to find out, it has to be the worst thing.

After a few more minutes of silence, you decide to try speaking to him again, “Satoru? Are you okay?” Probably a stupid question, but you don’t want him to shut down completely.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” is all he says.

You’re both sitting there in that awkward and uncomfortable silence when you feel your phone vibrate. You pull it out of your coat pocket and see that it’s a text from Kento.

Kento: You’ve been gone for a while. Is everything okay?

You; There’s a lot to talk about. Did Utahime and Yu show up yet?

Kento: A few minutes ago. So, is it him?

You: Kind of.

“Hot date?”

“Huh?” You’re not sure if he really said that or if it’s just what you heard. He points at your phone and you know that he really just decided to start teasing out of nowhere. Thank god. That’s so him.

“No. Our friends came with me to see if it was really you, they just wanna know what’s going on.”

“Really?” He looks stunned. But why? What was he being told over this time period? Clearly he was with other people so what the hell is going on?

“Yeah, everyone was really excited to see if you were here. I would have brought them up with me but, you know, doctor’s rules and all.”

Just as he’s about to say something else, the door to his room opens up and a nurse walks in.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I have to steal him away to start his tests. You can wait here if you want, but it’s probably going to take a while,” she says in a pretty upbeat tone. It’s nice considering most women seeing you with Satoru start to act like it’s a competition for attention instead of going about their day.

“That’s fine, I’ll head out. I also don’t want to continue to pester him while he’s getting all of this done.” Before leaving, you walk over to Satoru to say goodbye for the day, “I’ll see you tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be? Aren’t you my wife? I’m not gonna ban you from coming to see me.” Fuck, that’s a relief.

“I just… I know you’re going through a lot and don’t want you to feel overwhelmed or pressured or anything like that.” That’s the nicest way you can say ‘I don’t want you to feel obligated to love me again.’

He seems to understand how you’re feeling though and wastes no time in dispelling those fears, “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Especially if you show up in another outfit like that.” This fucking guy.

“I’ll see what I can do,” is all you say before turning around and walking out the door.

Once outside his room, you stand outside for a minute to take a deep breath before making a quick trek to the elevator at the opposite end of the hallway.

Out of all the possibilities that were running through your head while he was missing, this was not one of them. There were two theories that kept coming and going. One, it wasn’t him on the surveillance footage and there was no chance of him coming home. And two, it was him and he didn’t care to stay hidden because he had an affair and moved to go start a new life with someone in the most cowardly way possible.

Him coming home with no memory of at least the last ten years of his life was not something that ever occurred to you.

And not only that, but there was some random woman with him. Did he fall in love with someone else over the time he was gone? What the fuck is going on?

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You’re back at your apartment after practically sprinting out of the hospital and then sitting in a very awkward silent car ride home. You didn’t want to break the news to your friends while you were still there since you knew that they wouldn’t be allowed to see him.

But now you’re sitting at your dining room table in the home that you and Satoru share trying to figure out how to break the news to them. There’s probably no easy way to do this so you may just have to rip the band-aid off as they say.

“So, what’s going on? Was it him?” Suguru asks you. Okay, so Kento didn’t relay your text message, maybe that’s a good thing. It probably would have resulted in a lot more confusion if he did.

“Yeah, it’s him. For the most part.” All eyes are on you and it’s very fucking uncomfortable. “I met his doctor and got his diagnosis and it may be difficult to deal with at first, so we have to be patient.”

Everyone is staring you down right now. You can’t really blame them seeing as they probably think you’re speaking in riddles. But if you’re being honest, you didn’t realize how much this situation affects everyone at this table. Everyone here has known Satoru for as long as you have with the exception of Suguru who’s actually known him since childhood.

And now that you’re sitting here, stalling when it comes to breaking the news to them, you realize that you’re not the only one who may feel like they’re losing something. “Difficult, in what way?”

“I met his neurologist and he diagnosed him with post-traumatic amnesia.” That’s all you say. You have a feeling nobody is going to believe you, so you want them to work that out for themselves first. After a few seconds of silence, everyone except for Kento starts laughing. You had a feeling that this was one of his theories he was keeping to himself and by the look on his face, this was confirmation. As for the rest of the group, they clearly think you’re telling a joke even though you gave no indication of such a thing.

It’s Utahime who stops laughing first when she sees the look on your face, “you’re not kidding, are you?”

“Nope.”

Everyone stops and just looks at each other as if it’s the craziest thing they’ve ever heard.

“How did this happen?”

“Well, he did suffer blunt force to his head. It’s probably from that.”

“This explains his new sense of fashion and that shitty haircut,” Suguru couldn’t wait to bust that one out. But you can’t help but giggle a little bit after he says that because Satoru’s short hair is so fucking weird to you. It looks like he just joined the military and his head looks so big.

“How much does he remember?” Kento inquires.

“We don’t know yet. He didn’t recognize me when I walked into his hospital room.” There’s an audible gasp after those words leave your lips. “I figure that when we visit him, we can just go a couple at a time to try to see who he may remember in order to estimate how much time he lost.”

Everyone seems to be in agreement with that plan. Unfortunately, there’s really no other option. You just really hope that he didn’t lose his entire life even if he doesn’t remember you.

But now, you have to break the rest of the news.

“There’s one more thing that I have to tell you guys,” you pause to take a breath before continuing. “When I got to his hospital room, there was another woman there.”

You look around and all your friends have pure rage in their faces. You honestly didn’t think that’d be the thing that pissed them off more.

“Are you sure she wasn’t a nurse?” Oh Kento, always the voice of reason.

“She looked like a model and clearly wasn’t part of the staff. She also alluded to being Satoru’s girlfriend so there’s that.”

You flinch as you hear a bang on the table next to you. You look over and see that it’s Choso, the quietest one in the group.

You explain the rest of the situation with Mei, your new adversary if you were making an educated guess. Everybody’s face shifts from anger, to being modified, to being sad, to being full of rage again.

“Is it really fair to hold it against him though? I mean, he has no idea what’s going on with himself, let alone relationships with anyone else.” You’re trying to talk down your friends because you don’t want them all showing up tomorrow spewing nothing but negativity. That won’t help the situation in any way.

“So… you’re fine with another woman coming in and stealing your husband while you’re sitting at home pregnant with his child?” Damn Utahime.

“No, of course not. But he has no idea what’s going on so I don’t want to blame him for that. It’s not like he left me for Mei, he had no idea I existed.” You knew you were going to have to do a lot of defending, but you are a little surprised at how upset everyone seems.

“Mei? Did she look like this?” Yu pulls out his phone and shows you a picture. Damn, it’s her.

“How did you instantly know who I was talking about?” Does everyone know this woman except for you? “Is she famous or something?”

“She’s a social media influencer,” he replies.

“Okay, so she’s not famous.”

“Maybe not technically, but she has a pretty decent following. She’s constantly getting dressed up, going out, taking pictures, all the things that those people do.” He seems to be pretty familiar with this woman.

Ugh, you already know that instead of sleeping, you’ll spend hours looking at this woman’s social media wondering ‘why her?’ You never thought you’d be put in this position and it fucking sucks.

Everyone else starts pulling out their phones and looking her up as well. One person is on Instagram, another is on TikTok, etc. You didn’t feel like doing the same so you just cheat by sneaking glances at the phones next to you.

“Why didn’t Satoru know that he was missing?” Kento asks the room.

“He did lose his phone, so it’s not like he was posting on his own accounts,” Suguru responds.

“I know that. But this woman makes a living off of social media, a place where a lot of awareness was raised for his case. If he was with her, how did he not find out?”

It’s a good question and it’s one you’ve been wondering yourself.

Was she a part of whatever happened to him? Or did she just find someone in a vulnerable state and decide to take advantage of them? Unfortunately, these aren’t answers you could get from Satoru and you doubt that she’d admit to being such a miserable bitch.

“When is he allowed to have more visitors?”

“I think as long as we don’t show up with too many people at a time, it might be okay to continue going tomorrow. I wanna stop by early to take him food and drop off the bag that’s still in Kento’s trunk.” Even though the situation is incredibly frustrating, you still want him to be comfortable. You’re not going to abandon your husband for something that’s not technically his fault.

“I think Suguru should go with you tomorrow.” Oh Kento, always has a plan.

“Why is that?”

“We don’t have any idea as to where his memory is at. Suguru is the only one at this table that he’s known since childhood and everybody else sitting here, he met when he met you. If you go with him tomorrow, it’ll help us find out how much he knows and how to help him. Plus, we don’t want to have too many people around all the time and completely overstimulate him.” Fair point.

“I’m gonna start working on a photo album!” Yu shouts with pure excitement in his voice.

The rest of the friend group starts brainstorming ways on how to help Satoru. Everyone wants to create their own photo album and include little descriptions with them to help him remember things. If it wasn’t so devastating, it would be super cute.

As the night goes on, your friends slowly start to leave one by one, with the exception of Choso who has practically moved in at this point.

Choso decided to take over the cleaning that he once again, will not let you help with. So, you decide to go to your room and make a phone call.

You haven’t spoken to either of the detectives on Satoru’s case in a couple of days and since they haven’t called you, you’re assuming that they don’t know that he’s been found. You know that they have to confirm that it’s him regardless, but you don’t want them to drop too many bombs on him in one day. So you’re going to call them first and give them a heads up on the situation.

You pull your phone out of your purse and start searching through your contacts for their numbers. You decide to call Usami since he’s the one who you’ve had the most contact with since all of this started.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. And you remember how bad your phone anxiety is. Lame.

By the fourth ring, you hear a man answer the phone, “Detective Usami speaking.”

“Uh, hi. This is Mrs. Gojo.” You feel so fucking awkward on the phone and you can’t understand why.

“Yes, I recognize the number. Is everything alright?”

“I just wanted to let you know that my husband has been found.”

There’s silence for a few moments and you start to wonder if you’ve been put on hold or hung up on.

But finally, he responds, “are you certain that it's him?”

“I spoke with him in the hospital this afternoon.”

“That’s interesting. We had a lead as to where he was but we didn’t want to get your hopes up before we confirmed it. I apologize.”

“Ohh it’s okay! I have a friend who works there so that’s how I found out. I know that you still have to verify his welfare in person, but I wanted to let you know a little bit about what I learned.”

You spend a few minutes on the phone explaining everything that you’ve learned today. You tell him exactly how you found him and what his condition is. He told you that they’ll still be showing up to meet him and make sure he’s okay. But that they’ll hold off on the hard hitting questioning until he heals up a little more. Since he doesn’t seem to know anything, they don’t see the point in potentially traumatizing him when they have a better chance solving the case without him at this point.

You eventually get off the phone and finish up your night time routine before climbing into bed. You try to distract yourself by putting something silly on the tv but your mind just won’t let you rest. You pull your phone back out and start browsing through Mei’s social media accounts.

She is attractive, you won’t deny that. But what else does she have going for her? Even though both you and Satoru have social media accounts, you don’t make it a point to post constantly. You like to share photos, but neither of you let it run your life. He used to laugh at people who acted like their life was over if they missed a day of posting. And now what? He’s in a relationship or a situationship with someone like her?

But you can’t stop thinking about what Kento said earlier, if he’s been with her, and she’s introducing herself as his girlfriend, where the hell is he in these posts about her life? You wouldn’t think too much of it if she didn’t post other friends up and down her accounts.

Fuck. You’re tired.

“Put your phone away before you start asking yourself ‘that’ question,” you hear behind you, not even noticing that Choso entered the room until he spoke.

“What question?”

“The ‘what does she have that I don’t’ question. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re fucking funny, and the two of you have a hell of a lot in common. I think it’s safe to say more than them. You just need to spend more time together so that he can see that.”

You put your phone away and lay back in bed because he’s right. You were starting to let yourself get to that line of questioning and it’s not healthy. You’re literally carrying this man’s baby, you can’t allow those negative feelings to take over ever, but especially not right now.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You look good. Real good.

You’re wearing a short, black, silk, mini slip dress. You paired it with a black faux fur coat and a pair of strappy heels. And of course, a pair of black thigh highs which he always loses it over.

You did your makeup with a very dramatic smokey eye that he always liked and that plumper lip gloss that he’d end up smearing not even five minutes after you put it on. You tied your hair up into an intentional messy bun and threw in a couple sparkly clips to pop amongst all the black.

Nevermind, you don’t look good. You look fucking incredible. .

You do a once over in the mirror to make sure everything is in place, and then you finally leave your bedroom to meet your friends in the kitchen.

The only person who’s coming with you today is Suguru so you don’t want to have him waiting on you too long.

But Kento still decided to come over because you live closer to the hospital and he wants to be closer in case you need a shoulder to lean on.

“Woooohhhh! Can you be classified as a MILF before you have the baby?”

“Suguru!” He would say something like that.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes sir. But we still have to stop off to pick up Satoru’s food.” You know that hospital food isn’t exactly gourmet, so you decided to order from one of his favorite places and take it with you when you go.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We’ll get his food so he can get the precious princess treatment,” Suguru says with a sigh. He knows you mean well, but he’s still upset about the Mei news on top of everything else. “Shouldn’t his ‘girlfriend’ be bringing him food?” See. There it is.

“Suguru,” Kento scolds. But honestly, he’s kinda right.

You don’t want to make it a whole big thing so you bid farewell to your friends and then you make your way out.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Alright, maybe you overdid it with the food. He likes a lot of stuff on this menu so you got a few appetizers and entrees, but then made the choice to get one of each of the sweets. Not only do you have two bags of food, but you have two boxes of cupcakes, cookies, cake pops, fruit tarts, all the stuff you expect to see in a bakery. Thank goodness for your strong friend who wants to do all the heavy lifting for you.

“Suguru, are you really going to be able to carry all the food and his bag? I can hold stuff you know. I’m pregnant. My arms didn’t fall off.”

Once again, he declines. As much as you want to help out, you’re not going to push him on it. If he wants to grab all the bags and boxes, you’ll do the rest. You get his keys and lock the car up before you two start to make your way into the hospital.

You see that it’s only Nobara sitting at the reception desk and it makes you feel so much better that she’s the one greeting you today. You get the visitor's stickers and then start making your way to Satoru’s room.

Once you enter the elevator and the doors close, Suguru asks you if you’re nervous. If you’re being completely honest with yourself, you are. But you keep trying to push those feelings down because they are going to cause more harm than good.

“Are you nervous?” You ask him.

“Ehhh, not as much as the others probably are. I am a little annoyed that he doesn’t remember making my life a living hell when he wanted to date you. But it is what it is, I guess.”

Before you know it, you’re standing outside of Satoru’s door and that’s when the nerves really kick in. You’re just really hoping that he’s the only one on the other side. You knock but this time, you don’t hear anyone answer. You slowly open the door and walk inside to see Satoru sleeping, in his bed, alone. Thank fucking goodness.

You and Suguru do your best to quietly enter his room and put his things away without disturbing him. But it’s irrelevant because when you’re helping Suguru place the food bags down, you hear Satoru call your name and it melts your heart. At least he remembers that.

“Heyyy, sorry to wake you up.” You apologize profusely because being here all the time must be exhausting and you know you hate when someone interrupts your sleep.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve been drifting in and out for the past hour because I’ve been so bored.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but we have stuff for you. Are you hungry?”

Satoru doesn’t respond at first. He just looks you up and down with his mouth agape and hunger in his eyes before finally saying, “famished.”

This dress was such a good investment.

“Uh Suguru, could you help me set up everything for him?” After saying that, you hear Satoru repeat ‘Suguru’ in a voice barely above a whisper. Did that trigger something? You hope so.

As you’re setting up the table and bringing the bags over, you’re startled when you hear your husband yell out “you!” while pointing at his best friend.

“Do you remember me?” He asks him.

“I think I remember your face, although the romance novel cover hair threw me off.” Okay, so Satoru still has jokes.

“Better than your shitty wannabe drill sergeant haircut you have right now.” These fucking guys.

“What’s wrong with my hair?!” Satoru asks with a pout.

“Dude, we don’t have all day for me to list everything that’s wrong with it.” Of all the conversations they could have had for the first time, you didn’t expect this to be it.

“Anyway,” you take the time to interrupt them before this gets out of hand. “I got a few of your favorites from the restaurant down the street from our home. I also got one of everything on the dessert menu.”

“Damn. It takes one hell of a sweet tooth to eat all that. Do I really eat that much?” That’s surprising.

“You started eating sweets like crazy saying that it helped you focus, and now you just can’t stop,” you tell him with a chuckle.

You take a seat in the chair on one side of his bed while Suguru sits in the one on the opposite side.

“So, how have you been, dumbass?” Fucking Suguru.

“I don’t remember you being such a bully,” Satoru says but you can tell he’s not taking it seriously.

“Yeah but it seems like you don’t remember everything.” Fucking hell. “What do you remember?” Okay, right into it then.

“I remember something about suits and a tree. Everything is just really fuzzy. It feels like one of those things where you don’t remember someone’s name or face too much, but if you see it or hear it, it clicks. Besides that, I just see flashes of you as a kid, I think.”

Okay, that’s good to know. That means that creating albums and telling him stories may help him out.

While you’re lost in thought, Suguru explains what Satoru was alluding to, “that sounds like the night of homecoming our freshman year. We decided to ditch early and have a few drinks of some really cheap Vodka in a treehouse. But, you can’t hold your liquor to save your life, so I had to carry you on my back down the street to get you food because you kept complaining that you were going to die even though you only had two shots.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. Two shots? That makes you think of that scene in Fun with Dick and Jane when Jim Carrey was dancing on a table and then the bartender revealed that he only had half a beer. You don’t drink either so you might have the same reaction, but damn.

“Anyway, your wife brought you stuff.”

“More stuff? You spoil me, but I’m not complaining.” Yeah, that’s still your husband.

“I’m complaining, but hey, she loves you and wants your stay to be comfortable or something,” Suguru dramatically explains.

You walk around his bed to the other side of the room to get the weekend bag with everything you packed.

“I put in a few sweaters that you always like wearing around the house,” you start pulling things out to show him as you explain everything. “I also threw in a blanket in case the ones here aren’t that comfortable. I packed you a bag of snacks and got you a new phone since yours is destroyed. I restored it using your account so that it’s exactly the same as the one you had before.” You hand that over to him immediately. Since he said he was bored, maybe this will help out.

“You didn't have to do all of this, but thank you,” he says with a bit of sauce on the side of his mouth. He’s so fucking cute that you can barely stand it.

“I took the passcode off so that you didn’t have to worry about it, but you can change that back whenever you want to.” You move back over to your seat on the other side of his bed.

He picks the phone up and starts going through it right away. You’re a little nervous yourself because you don’t know exactly what’s in there. While you two have always had each other's passcodes, you always made a point to respect your partner's privacy and you never went through his phone. You know he has a lot of albums of the two of you because you did a quick little browse to make sure stuff loaded in, but that’s about it.

“When was this?” He turns his phone over to show you the album he’s inquiring about.

“That was this past summer. We went out to the lake to feed the ducks and then we decided to just hang out and have a little impromptu picnic while we were there. There’s food trucks in the area so we picked stuff up and hung out for a bit.”

You remember that day very well. After the ducks no longer found you interesting, Satoru pulled a blanket over the two of you and decided to bury his fingers inside of you the first chance he got. Luckily, there was nobody else in your area to witness such an act. But you really hope that there’s no videos of it in there. He does like to record everything and that makes you a little nervous.

You look back up at Satoru and see him with rosy cheeks staring at his phone and you can only guess what he came across in what, a minute and a half?

“Everything okay?” You don’t want Suguru to potentially witness your porn but you wanna know what he’s staring at.

Satoru doesn’t say anything, he just turns his phone around and shows you a picture. It’s you, bent over, on your hands and knees while he lifts up your skirt and takes a picture of your panties. Honestly, it’s pretty tame compared to what else is probably in there.

“Oh, that?” You giggle and refrain from saying anything else.

That’s how the rest of your visit with Satoru goes. He goes through the various albums and asks you to tell him about the pictures he comes across. It makes you feel good to know that he’s trying without you even asking him to.

Suguru also shows him a bunch of stuff on his phone and gives him the stories of your matching tattoos. Satoru was stunned to learn that you also have the heart tattoo but you think it helped him see just how close you two are.

And he started absolutely demolishing the desserts. Since he made it sound like he hasn’t had anything, you were wondering if he no longer liked them. But that’s clearly not the case. Maybe whoever he was staying with just didn’t keep those things in their home.

You didn’t ask any questions about what happened and who he’s been with for the past few weeks. You wanted today to be a positive visit where you taught him more about his past and less about you interrogating him to get answers for yourself. You also know that the detectives should be coming by at some point and you’ll leave them to do the good cop bad cop thing seeing as they actually are the cops.

“Well, Suguru and I are going to be heading out now because he has to take me to a doctor’s appointment.”

All the color drains from Satoru’s face right after those words leave your lips. “Are you okay?”

You don’t want him to worry but it makes you feel good to know that he cares.

“I’m fine, it’s just a checkup. Nothing to worry about. Can I come see you tomorrow?”

“You can come on me anytime.” He freezes before correcting himself, “I mean, you can come see me anytime you want.”

You giggle and lean in to give him a hug and you can hear how deeply he breathes you in. Ugh, he’s so hot.

“I’m not gonna press my tits up against you so I’ll just see you later,” Suguru says before waving and walking towards the door.

You follow Suguru out the door and let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding in since you got there. All in all, today was a good day. And most importantly, no Mei today.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“How’d it go?” Kento asks after you walk in and have a seat on the couch.

“It was good. Baby’s healthy, about the size of a turnip.”

“Hmmm. And how was the visit with your husband?”

“I think it went well. He asked Suguru and I a lot of questions so I think that’s a good sign that he’s trying. But he’s a little different. He seemed shocked when he told him that he eats sweets like he’s trying to make sugar go out of business.” It seems like he just came back thinking it was opposite day and that’s bizarre. But who cares? You still have time to figure it out.

“Did you tell him about the pregnancy?”

“No. I wanted everything today to be as low stress as possible so I decided to save that for another visit depending on how things go when I return.“ A part of you wanted to do it today, but you don’t know how well that would have been received and you just didn’t feel like today was the right time.

Kento nods before getting up and walking into the kitchen to bring you back a plate of food. “I know you fed him, but I have a feeling that you didn’t take care of yourself yet.“ he pushed the plate and the utensils in front of you and motioned for you to start eating.

He’s right. Especially with the baby moving closer and closer to entering the world everyday, you need to take better care of yourself.

“When are you going back?”

“Tomorrow. I’m gonna take a photo album with me. I have one where there’s descriptions on the page opposite the picture so I think that’ll be good for him,” you say while taking a big bite of food. Kento filled this plate with steak and roasted potatoes. This man knows your weakness.

“I think I’ll go with you tomorrow, if that’s alright.”

“That’d be great, thank you.” You’re excited because you didn’t think he’d be so willing to go.

“Have the detectives spoken to him yet?”

“I think they’re supposed to go sometime today. Usami told me he’d let me know after they’d spoken to him.”

The two of you continue to sit in relative silence while you eat the rest of your lunch. If there’s one thing you can say about Kento, it’s that this man can cook his ass off.

Why is he single???

Just as you start wondering that, his phone rings.

“It’s one of the models I’m supposed to shoot this week, I have to take this.”

That’s right. Work-a-holic.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

A couple of days have passed and you’ve seen Satoru several times. The past few days have been very tiring so you don’t stay for too long when you see him. It’s usually you going as early in the day as you can and bringing him lunch, then you go back a few hours later and take him dinner about an hour before visiting hours shut down.

Being that you’re only seventeen weeks pregnant at this time, you’re not showing too much. But you still keep a coat on whenever you visit him because you’re not ready to drop that bomb on him until he comes home. You’d hate to tell him and then have to leave right after so that he’s alone with his thoughts all night.

The two of you have even been texting back and forth when he has questions about photos and videos on his phone, things you’ve done as a couple, or even questions about himself. He’s really been making an effort so you’ve been making sure that you’re always available to him.

And because of the fact that he didn’t know the volume on his phone was turned up, you know firsthand that he’s come across some of your more adult videos he filmed.

The detectives went to meet with him to confirm his welfare and ask him what he remembers, if anything. They gave him the bare minimum on what was going on with the investigation and asked him just enough to see if he remembered anything about his attack, which he didn't. They decided to give him a break until he seems comfortable back at home since they don’t get the vibe that his life is in immediate jeopardy.

Kento also started visiting him the day after your initial visit which resulted in him already being tired of seeing him. As soon as he walked in the room, Satoru apologized to him and told him that he doesn’t remember anything more than he didn’t yesterday which resulted in Kento having to explain that he’s not law enforcement on his case and he was actually his wedding photographer. For the rest of the visit, Satoru periodically made jokes about how they look like twins. Poor Kento.

You don’t ask them too many questions about their visits because you don’t want to pry. But Kento did tell you that Satoru said, “she married me?” Like he was in completely disbelief. And it resulted in Kento saying, “yes, and for the life of me, I still can’t understand why.” You wouldn’t expect any other response from him and you kind of love that even with everything going on, he still has that one-liner ready to go at a moment's notice.

Choso, Utahime, and Yu still haven’t been to the hospital though. Everyone decided that between testing and the few people already visiting him, any additional people may do more harm than good by completely confusing him.

But there is still one additional person who continues to see him, and that’s Mei.

The good thing is that you haven’t seen her as often. She’s usually coming as you’re going or going as you’re coming so there’s not really any interaction between the two of you. But it has definitely resulted in a bit of unspoken competition.

She wears perfume? You wear yours a spray stronger.

She wears heels and a dress? You wear higher heels and a tighter dress paired with the thigh highs that always has your husband losing your mind.

You haven’t seen her be too physically affectionate, in person, that is. You have seen her sitting on the side of his bed when you come into the room, but nothing more than that. But one day she did leave a lipstick mark on his cheek and you had to stop yourself from making sure that she was also admitted into said hospital.

That was a tough pill to swallow considering the fact that you’ve been trying to keep your distance and not be too physical with him because you don’t want him to feel like you’re being too pushy. You give him hugs when you arrive and before you leave, but you try not to do more than that. But it’s hard when you see another woman being completely comfortable with him to do whatever she wants while you end up on the sidelines watching your marriage basically crumble.

But throughout all of that, the biggest positive is that Satoru is coming home soon.

When you visited him earlier today, his doctor came in and informed you that he’d be discharged tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

After seven weeks of not being together, he’s gonna be able to come home. And he seemed really excited about it which made you even happier.

Because of the fact that he’ll be coming home tomorrow, you decided to skip the second visitation time today. You’re having Kento and Suguru pick up food for him which they promptly respond with, “you spoil him.”

So what? Maybe you do.

And you’re going to spoil him even more when he gets home.

You’re taking the rest of the night with Choso and Utahime to make everything comfortable for him. You’re washing all his sweaters that you’ve been sleeping in for the past seven weeks. You washed and changed the sheets on your bed but also the guest room in case he’s not ready to share a bed with a relative stranger yet. You’re fluffing all the pillows, polishing everything you can, you’re even scrubbing down all the walls.

You’re even working on a fancy two tier cake as a welcome home / belated birthday cake for the occasion. You’re not the most experienced cake decorator, but you can create that frosting drip effect. So you’re making a blue cake with white frosting dripping all around the top. You’re going to write ‘Welcome Home Satoru’ on the top and hope that it comes out looking nice.

Tomorrow morning, you’re going to set up all the party decorations. It’s not gonna be a big thing, just your closest friends. But you are going to have balloons, streamers, welcome home banners, and maybe confetti somewhere because it just makes it feel more festive.

So much to do. So little time.

“Didn’t you already dust all those photos?” You didn’t even hear Utahime enter the room but there she is.

“Probably, but I just want to make sure that everything is perfect for him.”

“Okay, but do you really think he’s going to inspect the picture frames?”

“Maybe not intentionally, but he may come over to look at the photos.” She’s right though, you are probably overdoing it.

“He’s been in the hospital for days, he’s just going to be happy that he’s coming home to a real home with a real bed,” she says while taking the feather duster from you.

“Maybe. But I don’t know how he was living with whoever before he ended up in the hospital. What if our home isn’t enough?”

“It will be. Because it’s yours.” You hope that she’s right. You’ve been in this place since he asked you to live with him so it holds a lot of memories.

Truth be told, you still don’t know too many details about where he was or who he was before he ended up in the hospital.

Suguru did ask him questions because even though you were reluctant to put him on the spot, he wasn’t. He wanted to know where he was, how he wasn’t found, and how apparently nobody else knew he was a missing person.

He didn’t press him for too many details, but he did learn a few things.

He was staying with Mei.

He did interact with other people while being there.

Mei was very forward with him about wanting a real relationship.

He wasn’t really surprised hearing those things, especially not the last one. She comes off as territorial seeing as she acts like his wife is the other woman in the relationship. But he was a bit concerned that he was apparently around someone with an active social circle but nobody knew what the hell was going on with him.

But then again, maybe they genuinely didn’t. That couple at the pharmacy didn’t know what was going on because they didn’t watch the news so maybe this isn’t some big thing, maybe it’s all just a coincidence.

You hear your cooking timer go off and rush into the kitchen to check the status of the cake. It still feels like you have so many things to do even though you’re practically done with everything except for that.

“How does it look?” Choso asks as he rummages through your refrigerator for something to drink.

“I think it needs a few more minutes. I hope it finishes soon so that I can add the frosting tonight.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll help you with the rest if you need to go to bed.” Other people complain about being babied, but not you. While you’re excited for your husband to return, you’re also going to miss someone always being there to help you with things when you need them. Now you’re going to be the one doing all the work for the home and for Satoru.

You feel bad because you don’t want to leave him with the work for your husband, but you’re fucking exhausted. You’ve been up since early this morning getting ready to see Satoru and take him things. Then you ran to multiple stores getting stuff to have for him when he gets back home, and now you’ve been cleaning for hours. You’ve been tired for awhile, but you’ve been trying to not let it show.

“Go to bed. I see you making excuses in your head. But you’re tired and being pregnant is making it worse, go to bed. I’ll finish up here.” It’s like he can read your thoughts and for that, you’re grateful.

“I think I’m gonna head home and get some rest too. I gotta get this stuff ready for tomorrow for your loud ass husband.” Thanks Utahime.

“On the bright side, he may not remember who you are so he may not tease you as much,” you tell her and she fucking smiles. “Thanks for coming by and doing so much.” You give her a hug and she heads out the door.

You’re exhausted so you go to your room, brush your teeth, and then go straight to bed. You couldn’t give less of a fuck about anything once your body feels those sheets. It feels like you haven’t rested your body in weeks even though it’s only been one long day. You try to stay awake for a little longer in case Choso needs help with anything, but after your head hits that pillow, you’re out in a matter of minutes.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

It’s the next morning and you’re up bright and early.

Too fucking early.

But there’s a lot to do which means that you can’t stay in bed and hit snooze on your alarms six times.

You slowly climb out of bed and get in the shower to start your day. You even do your lengthy hair care routine so that it’s as soft and beautiful as possible.

After getting out of the shower, you wrap a towel around yourself and have a seat at your vanity. You decide to do a halo look for your eyes today using various shades of black / grey with a pop of blue in there. You make your highlighter bright enough to blind someone and work your lip-liner magic as much as you can to make your lips look as plump as possible. You dab on some pink blush because he loves the rosy cheeks and start to work on your hair. Lucky for you, not too much goes into that. It is already a bit air dried so you use a blow dryer to do the rest of the work before putting your hair up in heated rollers and letting them sit while you work on everything else.

When you woke up, Choso was gone which means he was probably setting everything up.

All your closest friends took the day off of work so that they could be here to welcome Satoru home.

You throw on a robe and leave your bedroom and you’re absolutely blown away by everything you see. All the things that you had on the list are perfectly set up. There’s welcome home banners, some helium balloons filled with confetti and some blown up but on the floor. There’s other dangling decorations and everything just looks incredible.

You go into the kitchen to get something to drink and see Choso in the kitchen working on something.

“Good morning,” you greet before getting too close. You have a habit of accidentally scaring people.

“Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Fine, I guess. Did you do all of this?”

He nods. “I woke up some time ago so I decided to get as much done as possible. Do you wanna change anything?”

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you. I just hope it wasn't too much for you.”

“It was fine.” He still hasn’t looked up from whatever he’s doing.

“What are you up to now?”

He motions for you to come over and your jaw drops. He’s been working on the cake this whole time and it’s fucking incredible. It’s still white, but he’s taken blue and black frosting and somehow drawn little caricatures of Satoru along the sides. It pays to be best friends with an incredible artist.

“What do you think?”

“I fucking love it. I was just going to do the bare minimum, but this looks amazing. Thank you!” You throw your arms around him to hug him. It’s nice to see everyone in your life putting in so much work for him.

“I’m glad you like it.”

He finished decorating and setting the cake up to give it its two tiered drama and you return to your room to finish getting ready. You decide to go above and beyond with your outfit today. You’ve pulled out a light pink, strapless, floor length dress, with cutouts open down the sides and just some ribbons holding it together. It’s tight, it makes your tits look good, and you can’t wear panties with it. Whatever, it’s gonna be amazing.

You take your rollers out and your hair falls into the most beautiful curls. You decide to pull back some of your hair into a sparkly clip just to make sure it’s not in your face, but still frames it beautifully. After fixing your hair, you slide on your dress and you take your own breath away.

You go to check your phone and right as you pick it up, you have a message from Kento letting you know that he’s outside. He’s going to take you to pick up donuts for Satoru and then pick up Satoru and bring him home.

This is the most excited and most nervous you’ve ever been and unfortunately it’s happening at the same time.

You put on your heels and throw on your cream coloured faux fur coat before spritzing yourself with Satoru’s favorite perfume. He even got you one of those vintage perfume bottles to keep it in because he likes watching you get ready. You grab your purse and finally leave your bedroom.

“Choso! Kento and I are heading to the hospital now. Do you need anything before I go?”

“Nope, go get your man” he says while still putting all his focus into this cake.

You grab your keys and rush downstairs to go meet Kento.

When you get downstairs, he’s outside his car waiting for you and when he sees you, his brows raise and a hint of a smile appears on his face.

You pull your jacket down and do a little spin, “do you think he’ll like it?”

All he says in response is, “obviously.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Once you arrive at the hospital, Kento decides to stay behind so that he can keep the car warm. You have no problem with that because you don’t see yourself being here long. Dr. Yaga said Satoru was being discharged in the morning so that should be soon.

When you enter the hospital, you see the receptionist that you can’t stand so you immediately walk past her and into the elevator. You’d feel bad if it was Nobara, but you have no time for this woman's shenanigans today.

It feels like you blink and you’re outside Satoru’s room. You knock twice and when you open the door, you see his back is towards you and it looks like he’s packing.

“Heyyyyy,” he turns around when he hears your voice and his jaw drops. He’s completely frozen with his eyes wide and cheeks pink and now you know that it was worth it when you spent hours getting ready for this moment.

You set the box of donuts down on his bed and ‘accidentally’ allow your coat to slip off your shoulders so he can get a better look at your outfit.

As happy as you are to get this reaction out of him, you’re a little concerned that you broke him because he’s been frozen for about a minute.

“You okay, Satoru?”

He literally shakes his head from side to side like he had to work himself out of a trance. “Yeah. Just uhhhh.. You. Look. Sensational.”

Maybe today was a bad day to wear a dress that you can’t wear panties with.

He takes a break from packing, sits down, and pats the space on the bed so that you can sit next to him. Things between you two are getting more comfortable by the minute and you can’t wait to spend one on one time with him, not in a hospital.

Not too long after you arrive, Dr. Yaga walks into the room. “Good morning.” He picks up Satoru’s chart and does a once over before speaking again. “How have you been feeling?”

Satoru turns to you and says, “much better.”

“That’s good. That’s good. Well, looking over all your test results, we don’t have any answers for your migraines other than it’s probably just from the assault. Since there’s nothing else that we can do for you here, I’m gonna allow you to be discharged today. Any questions?”

“Nope. Just excited to go home.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Great. I’ll send the nurse in with your paperwork and then you can get going.”

You’re ecstatic. You can’t wait for him to get home and see how much everybody has missed him. Even Utahime even though she doesn’t want to admit it.

After a few more minutes pass, you hear a notification from a phone. You check yours that was buried in your pocket and it’s not from you so it must be him. But when you see him reach for a phone, it’s not the one that you gave him.

If that bitch gave him a phone she’s definitely getting her ass whooped.

After reading whatever the hell the message said, his smile falls and his entire personality shifts.

Fuck.

You don’t know what’s coming, but you can already sense that it’s not good.

Just as you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, the door to his room opens and the nurse comes in. You’re ecstatic but he seems even more disappointed. She drops off his paperwork, wishes him well, and then leaves.

Easy breezy. Except it seems like he’s getting more tense by the second.

“Satoru, is everything okay?”

He hesitates and you are already sure that whatever bad shit is about to happen, is going to fall down on you.

“Uhhhhhh, I don’t know how to say this.” Fuck.

“Say what?” You’re trying to not sound too disappointed but you’re probably not doing a good job at it.

“It’s about coming home.” Okay, now your stomach hurts. “I think… uhhhh… just for now…” He’s rocking back and forth and looking everywhere but at you so you have a feeling that you know where this is going.

“Satoru, relax. I’m not going to lash out or anything. Just say what’s on your mind.” That’s partially true. You won’t lash out at him, but you absolutely might slam some doors or something once you get home.

“It’s just, for now, I think I’m going to return to Mei’s instead of going home… with you,” he says with his head down.

It feels like your heart is crumbling.

“Oh… okay.”

He interrupts you before you can ramble on, “it’s not anything personal against you or anything. It’s just, while dealing with memory issues, it might be a little bit better to return to a familiar place so I don’t overwork my brain.” The doctor did say to go back to previous routines but okay. “I also don’t want to make things awkward with you with everything going on.” How sweet… except it’s fucking not.

You put on your best smile because you don’t want the last time you see him to be a yelling match. “It’s fine, I understand. I hope you do well. If you need anything, you now have a bunch of numbers to call.” You purposely didn’t say to call you because at this point, you may not answer the phone. “Anyway, I’m gonna head out.”

“Oh I wasn’t kicking you out. You can stay for a little lon–”

“It’s fine. Kento is downstairs keeping the car warm and I don’t want him to blow through all his gas doing so, so I’ll just hear from you when I hear from you.” That’s the last thing you say before turning around and bolting out the door.

#Jujutsu Kaisen #fics #fics*#jujutsukaisen*#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #suguru geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen fics #satoru gojo smut #my stuff

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dalazzx · 3 months ago

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₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Warnings. PuppyHybrid!Satoru x FemBunny Hybrid!reader, smut, dumb pup Satoru, size difference, dubcon, humping, crying, lots of cum, somnophilia ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Puppy!Satoru doesn’t get that he can’t just have you whenever he wants, it confuses him immensely when you lock yourself in Suguru’s bedroom to get away from him.

You try your hardest to avoid Satoru whenever necessary because of how eager he is, you can’t keep up with him. Relaxing means nothing to him when he constantly wants to be in your face saying and doing the most, it’s frustrating having to put up with him because Suguru thinks you’ll bond with him.

Puppy!Satoru just loves you too much, he wants you in ways that are indescribable, he loves his cute bunny so much.

The only time he can really have you pliant and not aggressive is when you’re sleep, that’s when he really takes it to another level.

Puppy Toru grinds his cock against you when you’re sleeping so peacefully, if he can’t have you while you’re awake then he’ll have you this way. He carefully wraps his arms around you and plops himself agaisnt your ass, his little cock snuggly fitting ontop of your delicious panty-clad ass, he humps you slowly, nice and sensually to build himself up a little.

When you do start stirring awake, he’ll slowly lull you back to sleep by rubbing your fluffy ears just like Suguru does. His bunny looks so cute whining but then falling back into your sleepy state.

Satoru slips your panties to the side, your dripping cunt so shiny within his blue orbs.

He pulls his cocklet out till his pants sit below his heavy strained balls, they need to be released very soon or he feels like he’ll explode where he sits. He glides against your fat pussy as slow as he can as to not wake you again, he can’t have his fun ruined so early and definitely not before he cums.

His breaths are coming out uneven and shaky, his whole body feels uneasy.

He uses two hands to spread your cunt, peering into your tiny soaked hole, ready to be used for hours on end.

It’s about a good hour in and Satoru is soaked in his own sweat, his clammy body and cum covered cock still hasn’t let up, he fucks your poor cunt like his life depends on it, it definitely feels that way. His balls, no matter how many times he cums still aren’t emptied.

A sleepy you is finally stirring awake, you feel pain for a few moments before total bliss blinds your body, Satoru tries to still for a moment to let you fall back asleep but finds his hips won’t stop meeting your ass, he can’t stop plunging himself deep inside of you, pulling out and doing it all over again.

You let Satoru fuck your little bunny-cunt so many times after you awake, you let him cum inside you; a large goopy wet mess by the end of it. Even if you are crying you can’t will yourself to tell him to stop because you feel so damn good. You’ll let him fuck an entire litter into you!

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literaila · 2 days ago

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there’s no knock on the door, but there never is. gojo just skips right in, limbs flailing.

“baby, where’d you put my mochi?” he whines, head hanging. he’s like a child—fruit punch stained around his lips.

“ouch!” you gasp, neck snapping up. “what the hell, gojo?”

satoru looks at you, pouting. he doesn’t seem to notice—or care—what you’re doing. “is it such a crime to want dessert? can a man not eat?”

“a man can knock,” you say, pressing on your leg.

“so hostile, baby. who hurt you?”

you look up at him, a harsh glare in your eyes. “i’m shaving, satoru, and i just cut myself because you never learned any human decency.”

“what?” satoru steps closer, frowning instantly. “you got cut?”

“can you leave?”

“you’re bleeding.”

you roll your eyes. “it’s fine, i’ll get a bandaid. you don’t—“

satoru kneels down by the ground, taking the razor from your hands without any warning. “you hurt yourself.”

“you hurt me!”

“i simply can’t allow this, baby,” satoru shakes his head, feigning disappointment. he holds the razor up to an eye, tutting. “and you’re using this dull thing?”

you try to kick him away, just hitting air. “that’s a normal disposable razor, gojo, not that you would—“

he throws it over his shoulder. “it’s trash.”

“satoru! i still need that—“

“let me handle this.”

satoru doesn’t allow you any time to complain because he immediately reaches into his pocket, revealing a brand new razor with a dramatic flourish and irritating smile. “ta-da!”

“what is that.”

“my razor. i keep it with me for emergencies. the handle is made out of gold.”

your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“can i help you, pookie?” satoru asks, almost pleadingly. “i’ll be gentle.”

“you’ll—“ you shake your head. “what?”

“you can’t leave the house with only one leg done. this is a job for your brilliant, handsome boyfriend.”

“i—what?”

“c’mon, you ready?”

“wait, satoru, my leg isn’t—“

gojo begins at your ankle, making one gentle stroke upwards. if someone had told you he’d be doing this an hour ago, you would’ve immediately expected razor burn. a couple more cuts, at least.

but satoru is gentle as he traces the blades up your skin. he is precise.

satoru gojo is perfect in every way. you really shouldn’t be surprised.

and you just sit there, watching this with a bewildered expression on your face, but after a minute, he stops.

you frown. “what? do you need a rinse?”

“i just…” gojo sighs, leaning back on his heels. “this razor is really special to me. it has twenty-three blades, each one perfectly shaped to the curve of my jaw.”

you blink. “excuse me?”

there is nothing but bafflement in your voice.

“it’s not really meant for legs.”

you snap your leg away, scowling. “oh, i’m sorry, gojo. i didn’t mean to ruin your perfect razor—“

“i’m the perfect one—“ gojo interrupts.

“—but you just threw my razor away and it’s still not done!”

“i’m not appreciating your tone—“

“we have to leave soon! you’re such a ridiculous, stupid, idiot—and i—“

“no, no, no,” satoru leans in, grabbing your leg again—ignoring the shaving cream that smears over his hand. “i can still help you, schnookums.”

“and how the fuck are you going to do that?”

“i’ve got—“ he purses his lips. “there’s another—it’s—hehe—you know—“ he breathes out. “i’ve—secret—i’m a secret—i’ve got a secret. there’s a—i’ve got a weapon.”

gojo might’ve had a stroke.

“you have a what?”

“well, you know how i’ve always admired suguru geto…”

“our therapist told us that you’re not supposed to talk about your affairs with me, satoru.”

“no, no—it’s just that i’ve started fighting curses with my mouth.”

“i don’t think blow jobs count as ‘fighting,’ gojo.”

“yeah it hasn’t—yeah it doesn’t work very well. no!” he stops. his face gets somber and he looks at you with soft, radioactive eyes. “i think i’ve got a different kind of razor to help.”

your eyes smooth. “what… what do you mean?” you ask him, somewhat sensually.

“let me use my teeth,” he whispers. “i’ve always wanted to pluck the hair out of you.”

…you would find out weeks later that gojo was quite good with his teeth… you’d never need to shave again.

bob helped. @cameoliob

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shokocide · 19 hours ago

Text

STUCK WITH YOU - GOJO SATORU

summary. Gojo Satoru—strongest, cockiest, and, according to him, the hottest man alive—bows to no one. Until you came along and suddenly, he’s on his knees.

word count. 10.6k (i..dont know)

content. mdni fem! reader, zombie apocalypse au, violence, blood, pet names, satoru is a certified tease, cute banter because we love that here, they're so down bad for each other, smut, oral (fem rec.), p in v, loss of virginity (reader), breeding, creampie, soft satoru <3

author's note. i miss my man

The sky had been burning when the world ended.

You were fifteen—just a kid with scraped knees and a heart too big for the horrors it was about to witness.

Sirens wailed through the streets, helicopters thundered above, and the sharp stench of smoke and decay clung to the air like death itself. One moment, your parents were urging you to run, voices trembling with fear. The next, everything shattered. A scream. Blood. The gurgled breath of something that wasn’t quite human anymore.

You had survived. Somehow. Alone.

But the cost of survival was everything.

The woods are silent, save for the crunch of your boots over frostbitten leaves. The moon hangs high above, pale and cold, casting everything in an unforgiving glow. You keep your knife gripped tight in one hand, the other cradling your growling stomach. It’s been three days since you last found anything remotely edible.

Every snap of a branch, every whisper of wind feels like a threat. Years alone have trained you to expect the worst.

Then you pause.

Smoke. Just a wisp of it in the air. You sniff again, slower this time. It's faint, but definitely there.

You move like a shadow, quiet and cautious, weaving through trees toward the scent. And then you see it:

A flickering campfire nestled in a hollow clearing, throwing gold and orange light onto the figures beside it. Two men. Asleep—at least, you hope they are. One is lying flat on the ground, the other propped against a log, limbs long and sprawled, a blindfold covering his eyes.

There’s food by the fire. Real food. Bread. Cans. Water.

You inch closer, heart hammering. It’s been years since you’ve seen other people. You don’t know if that makes this moment safer… or far more dangerous.

You creep into the circle of warmth, fingers itching toward the supplies. Just one thing. That’s all you need.

You barely breathe as you crouch beside the campfire, the heat brushing against your frozen skin like a long-forgotten comfort. Your fingers tremble as you reach for a loaf of bread—real bread—but just as your hand closes around it, your boot nudges something metallic.

CLANG.

The tin can hits the ground, and for a moment, silence swallows everything.

Then—movement.

You whip your head toward the two figures by the fire. One shoots upright in an instant, long-limbed and alarmingly fast. The other groans awake, slower, disoriented. You don’t even have time to run.

"Don't move," the taller one says—voice low, commanding. You meet his gaze and—holy hell.

Snow-white hair, cerulean eyes. He stands like someone who’s fought the world and won. His blindfold hangs around his neck, exposing everything. It's him—the one with the voice that makes your skin prickle and a face that doesn’t belong in this nightmare world.

"Well, well," he drawls, taking a step forward. "And here I thought we were the only pretty faces left."

You swallow, frozen. His companion grabs a weapon, steps forward too, more cautious.

"Who are you?" the second man demands.

The white-haired man’s eyes never leave yours. He smirks.

"She’s hungry. Look at her. Poor thing."

You clench your fists. You’ve survived too long to be pitied.

"Touch me and I swear to god—"

The man raises his hands, mockingly innocent.

"Easy, sweetheart. No one’s touching you… unless you want us to."

You scrunch up your face, disgusted and his grin widens just a little.

You lift your knife. “I don’t want trouble. I just need food.”

“I’d say knocking over our supplies in the middle of the night is kinda trouble,” the dark-haired one says. His hair is tied back, strands falling loose around his face, his grip on his weapon steady. “Who are you?”

You swallow thickly. It’s been so long since anyone’s asked you that. Your voice is hoarse. “Just someone trying to survive.”

The white-haired one takes a lazy step forward, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Chill, Suguru. She’s not here to kill us,” he says, and then turns back to you. “You got a name, mystery girl?”

You eye him warily. “…Why do you care?”

He grins. “Because mine’s Gojo Satoru. And this grumpy one is Suguru.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell her our names, dumbass.”

But Gojo—Satoru, apparently—just shrugs, looking far too amused for someone who just woke up to a stranger trying to rob him.

Your fingers tighten on your knife. But something about him… those eyes… that voice…

“You really gonna stab the guy who might be your best chance at staying alive?” he asks, cocking his head. “Come sit. Eat. Or run. Up to you.”

Your stomach growls loudly.

Satoru grins wider. “That’s what I thought.”

You slowly lower your knife, but don’t put it away—not yet. Your eyes stay locked on them as you inch closer to the fire. The warmth should be a comfort, but your muscles are still taut, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

Satoru sprawls back onto a log like he’s done this a hundred times. He’s still smiling—lazy, smug, like he’s enjoying this little show. Suguru doesn’t relax. He stays seated, but his eyes follow your every move, knife still held tight in his hand.

You kneel beside the fire, close enough to reach the food, far enough to lunge away if you need to. There’s a dented pot with some kind of stew, still warm, and a few pieces of bread wrapped in cloth.

“Help yourself,” Satoru says, waving a hand like he’s offering a royal feast. “We even warmed it up for you.”

You shoot him a glare but reach out cautiously, taking just a little. You sniff the stew first. Watch them.

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned,” Suguru says dryly.

“That’s what someone who poisoned it would say,” you mutter, tearing off a bite of bread.

Satoru snorts. “She’s got a mouth on her. I like her.”

You ignore that. Instead, you eat slowly, eyes flicking between them. They don’t move. Suguru keeps watch. Satoru lounges like this is the most interesting thing that’s happened all week.

“How long have you two been out here?” you ask finally.

“Long enough,” Suguru says, tone clipped.

"Too long," Satoru says, tossing a pebble into the fire like this is just another lazy night for him. "We move around, but we've got a base. Old prison, about twenty miles from here. You?"

You don’t answer right away.

“Alone,” you say after a beat. “I’ve been alone.”

The fire crackles between you.

Suguru’s gaze softens—just for a second. But Satoru’s smile stays.

“Well,” he says, stretching out his long legs, “you’re not alone anymore.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m not staying.”

“Didn’t say you had to.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But something tells me you might not leave either.”

He’s not threatening. He’s just… certain.

You’re crouched by the fire, still tense, still not entirely trusting, when Satoru leans back on his hands, head tilted.

“You should come with us,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You’ll be safer.”

Your eyes flick to Suguru—he doesn’t hide the way his jaw clenches.

“She could be a liability,” Suguru mutters. “You don’t know her.”

“No,” Satoru agrees, grinning at you. “But I like her.”

Suguru sighs, deep and disapproving, but you see it—that soft flicker in his eyes that means he’s already given in.

Satoru turns back to you. “We’re heading out at first light. If you’re in, pack whatever you’ve got.”

You nod, hesitant. But, maybe… maybe this is the start of something.

A gentle nudge to your shoulder. Then a voice, light and annoyingly cheerful.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. Big day today.”

You blink awake to Satoru crouching beside you, white hair a wild halo against the rising sun. He grins.

“You snore, by the way.”

“I do not.”

“You do. It was cute.”

You groan, dragging a hand over your face. “Remind me why I agreed to come with you again?”

“Because I’m charming,” he beams. “Now come on. We've got a long way to go—and Suguru’s already in a mood.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe he wouldn’t be if you stopped talking.”

“Ohhh, savage!” he clutches his chest, stumbling back like you just stabbed him. “You wound me, stranger.”

You roll your eyes and sling your bag over your shoulder. “Not a stranger anymore, remember? You practically adopted me last night.”

Satoru grins, falling into step beside you. “True. You’re my problem now.”

“Joy,” you mutter, but your lips twitch despite yourself.

Suguru’s already waiting up ahead, arms crossed, brow arched like he’s already tired of this nonsense. “You two done flirting or should I keep walking?”

You open your mouth to protest, but Satoru gets there first.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Suguru.”

“I will leave you in the woods,” Suguru replies flatly.

“You’d miss me in an hour.”

“You wish.”

You stifle a laugh and glance between the two. “Are you always like this?”

Satoru flashes you a grin. “Buckle up, sweetheart. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

The trek through the forest had been relatively quiet—birds rustled above, trees whispering overhead, and Satoru talking your ear off. But midway through the journey, something shifts.

Suguru’s head tilts first, eyes narrowing at the faint crunch in the distance. Not a squirrel. Not a rabbit.

You hear it next.

Low. Guttural.

A hiss.

Then another.

They come from the trees. Slow at first—one stumbles into view, then two, then more. Rotting limbs. Glazed-over eyes. That sickening gurgle of hunger.

“Aw, shit,” Satoru grins like it’s a party. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Suguru already has his blade drawn, calm as ever. “Don’t play around, Satoru.”

“No promises.” He rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck with a sharp tilt. “Time to impress the new girl.”

The first zombie lunges—and Satoru moves. A blur of motion, too fast to follow. The undead’s head twists unnaturally before it even hits the ground.

Suguru moves more fluidly—clean, precise slashes. No theatrics. Just deadly efficiency. His blade slices through two more, not even a drop of blood on him.

But they just keep coming.

Your heart pounds in your ears. Adrenaline surges. You’d been careful to avoid confrontation all these years, but this is different. You're not alone anymore. And you won’t be dead weight.

You draw your blade—sharpened scrap metal turned makeshift machete—and steady your breath.

One charges. You duck, spin, and drive the blade clean through its skull. Another reaches for you. You kick it back hard, burying your weapon in its chest before pulling it free with a grunt.

Satoru whistles low. “Well damn.”

“Focus,” Suguru mutters, cutting another down.

You move together now, three separate forces of destruction.

Satoru’s grinning like a madman, whirling and laughing with every kill. “You seeing this? She’s got bite!”

Suguru flicks blood off his blade. “You could take a lesson from her.”

Zombies litter the ground within minutes. The forest falls silent again—except for your panting breaths.

Satoru walks over, brushing blood off his cheek. “Well, that was fun. You good?”

You nod, chest still heaving. “Peachy.”

“Okay, badass,” he says with a grin, then nudges your shoulder playfully. “I take it back. You’re not just some lost little stray. You’ve got some claws.”

Suguru simply gives you a once-over, silent approval in his gaze.

You sheath your blade. “Told you I could handle myself.”

Satoru grins wider. “Yeah, and it was hot.”

The journey's been long, your legs aching from the endless trek, your guard never once lowered—not even with Satoru’s ridiculous jokes or Suguru’s unnervingly sharp eyes on you.

But when the trees begin to thin and the rusted silhouette of a massive abandoned prison looms ahead—walls towering, fences lined with jagged barbed wire, and lookout towers standing tall like watchful sentinels—you feel something you haven't in years:

Hope.

Gojo stretches lazily, like the walk didn’t faze him at all. "Home sweet hellhole," he grins. "Bet you weren’t expecting this kind of palace."

Suguru doesn’t say much, just gestures for you to follow. The guards on the watchtower whistle low when they see the trio approaching, and the gates creak open. Inside, the prison yard is alive—people bustling, fires burning in steel barrels, children laughing (actual children), and survivors moving with purpose.

You're stunned. You didn’t think this kind of order still existed.

A kid runs up to Gojo. “Satoru! You’re back!”

“Obviously,” he winks, tossing his jacket at the kid. “Miss me?”

You stare, wide-eyed.

“You’re like… respected here?”

“Terrifying, isn’t it?” Gojo deadpans. “Stick with me, newbie. I’ll show you the ropes. Maybe even let you survive.”

Suguru glances back, quiet for a moment. “Don’t get too comfortable. It’s safe, but it’s not paradise.”

Gojo leans closer to you as you're led through the gates.

“Don’t worry. If anything tries to eat you—aside from me—I’ll kill it.”

Your face burns and he just smirks like he’s got you all figured out.

“Aww, don’t get all shy, now. Where’d all that bite from earlier go?” he teases, voice low and entirely too smug.

You shove him with a scowl, cheeks still flaming. “Shut up, lecher.”

He stumbles back with a dramatic gasp, hand clutching his chest. “Lecher? Ouch. You wound me, sweetheart.”

Suguru sighs ahead of you. “Ignore him. He gets like this when he’s not punched often enough.”

Gojo just throws an arm around your shoulders, unbothered and still grinning. “Admit it, you missed human interaction.”

You glare up at him. “I missed silence.”

“Too bad,” he chirps, “you’re stuck with me now.”

You follow Gojo through the looming gates of the old prison turned fortress, the creak of rusted metal echoing off cold concrete walls. The place is… intimidating, but secure. High fences, makeshift watchtowers, guards with weapons patrolling like hawks. Survivors glance your way—curious, cautious—but no one approaches just yet.

“Well,” Gojo grins, throwing his arms out dramatically, “welcome to paradise, sweetheart.”

You shoot him a glare, but before you can answer, a voice calls out.

“Don’t call new recruits that, Gojo.”

A tall woman leans against the infirmary doorway, cigarette dangling between her fingers, lab coat stained with faded blood. She looks you up and down, then flicks ash to the ground with a sigh.

“Ieiri Shoko. I’m the doctor over here,” she says. “You look like hell.”

“…Thanks?”

“She means ‘you’ll fit right in,’” Gojo says brightly, nudging your shoulder. “She’s got a warm heart under all that… nicotine.”

Before you can respond, another figure approaches—sharp, calculating, blond hair swept neatly back and a stern face that reads no nonsense allowed.

“Nanami Kento,” he introduces himself. “I hope you know how to follow rules.”

You stiffen slightly. “Depends on the rules.”

Gojo chuckles. “Play nice, Nanamin. She’s new.”

“And she’ll stay alive longer if she learns structure.”

You barely have time to absorb that before someone barrels into the conversation like a human golden retriever.

“Gojo-sensei! You’re back!”

A pink-haired young man skids to a stop beside you, eyes wide with excitement. “Whoa—new person?! Hi! I’m Itadori Yuji!”

You blink, overwhelmed by the sudden burst of energy.

“Yuji,” Gojo sighs fondly. “Tone it down a little, yeah? She’s been through it.”

Yuji’s smile softens. “Right, sorry. Still—welcome. You hungry? We’ve got canned peaches! They’re not that bad if you hold your breath.”

A scoff cuts through the chaos.

“That’s how you welcome someone? ‘Peaches if you hold your breath’?”

You turn to see a girl with sharp eyes, short auburn hair, and a confident stance stroll up like she owns the place.

“Kugisaki Nobara,” she says, hand on her hip. “Don’t let the dumb smiles fool you—Yuji’s annoying, but he’s not dangerous. Usually.”

Yuji pouts. “Rude.”

And last, from the shadows near the barracks, a low voice.

“Don’t overwhelm her.”

A tall boy steps forward, dark hair, brooding expression. Cold eyes meet yours briefly before shifting away like he’s already bored of this interaction.

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

You blink. “Nice to meet you… all.”

“You’ll get used to the chaos,” Nobara says. “Eventually.”

Gojo’s grin widens, like a proud dad watching his weird little family.

“See? Told you you’d like it here.”

You’re not sure yet. But for the first time in years, you’re not alone.

The base is a repurposed prison, all concrete walls and rusted bars, but the way Gojo walks its halls, it might as well be a palace.

“Welcome to paradise,” he grins, pushing open a barred door that creaks like it’s complaining. “Don’t let the charming décor fool you. The rats love it here.”

You roll your eyes but follow him in. He gestures with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “Your very own cell—er, suite.”

The room is small, but clean. A bed shoved into one corner, a patched-up mattress, and even a chipped mirror on the wall. You nod, impressed despite yourself.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I gave you the one with a window. You can thank me later.”

You smirk and step back out into the hallway. “Trying to impress me, Gojo?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m a peacock in the apocalypse, baby.”

You laugh under your breath and follow him down a narrow hall. There’s a dip in the concrete, a crack in the floor you don’t notice until your boot catches—your heart jumps as you pitch forward, but Gojo’s arms are immediately around you.

Strong. Steady. Warm.

“Careful now,” he murmurs, voice all silk and smugness. “You fell for me already?”

You’re pressed against his chest, your breath caught in your throat, face heating up. He doesn’t move right away—his hands settle on your waist, casual and intimate in a way that makes your stomach flip.

You shove him off with a flustered glare. “Shut up, lecher.”

He grins, wide and infuriating. “That’s more like it.”

The rest of the tour is quieter. You pass rooms where others sleep, the mess hall, the infirmary where Shoko’s set up shop. You even glimpse Yuji hauling supplies with Nobara snapping at him in the distance.

But then Gojo stops in front of a heavy iron door—no windows, no markings. His face changes. The joking fades.

“Whatever you do,” he says, voice low, “don’t go into the commissary. Not alone. Not ever.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness.

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His blue eyes sharpen beneath his snowy lashes.

“Because even monsters like us keep our secrets somewhere,” he says softly. “And some doors are locked for a reason.”

You stare at him, heart knocking against your ribs.

Gojo Satoru, unshakable, untouchable… looking haunted?

Your skin prickles.

But he flashes you that lazy grin again, like nothing happened. “Now come on. You haven’t seen the courtyard. Yuji likes to wrestle people out there—it’s horrible. You’ll love it.”

And just like that, the moment passes… but the warning stays.

The rooftop’s quiet late at night.

The chaos of the base fades into a hush, just the distant hum of wind brushing over cracked cement and rusted fences. You lie back against the cool surface, arms behind your head, eyes fixed on the sky above. For once, it’s clear. A spatter of stars gleam like glass shards across a velvet sky.

You let yourself breathe.

No infected. No screaming. No fear.

Just the stars.

Footsteps approach—light, familiar, cocky.

“I knew you were a stargazer,” Gojo says, easing himself down beside you with a dramatic sigh. “You’ve got that dreamy, melancholic look. So poetic.”

You don’t look at him. “You’ve got that annoying, uninvited energy. So parasitic.”

He barks out a laugh. “Ow. You wound me, sweetheart.”

A beat passes. Then another.

You can feel him watching you, but for once, he doesn’t speak.

And somehow, that’s more unsettling.

“…You alright?” you ask, finally glancing his way.

He’s leaning back on his elbows, white hair messy from the wind, blue eyes locked on the stars—but they’re distant. Quiet. A far cry from their usual teasing glint.

“I’m heading out tomorrow,” he says casually. “Scouting mission. Few days tops.”

You blink. “Oh.”

Something flickers in your chest. It shouldn’t. Not like this.

“Oh,” you repeat, softer. “Right.”

A part of you wants to ask why he’s going. Another part wants to pretend it doesn’t matter. You settle for neither, chewing your lip, trying to ignore the weight settling in your gut.

Satoru glances at you then, his smirk lazy but his voice just a touch softer.

“Try not to miss me, yeah?”

You scoff. “I’ll throw a party the second you leave.”

“That’s what they all say,” he murmurs, leaning just a little closer. “Then they realize how boring life is without me.”

His smile is all mischief—but behind it, there’s something warmer. Something real.

And for once… you don’t fire back. You just look at him.

Maybe you’ll miss him a little. Just a little.

You don’t expect his absence to linger. But it does.

You feel it in the small silences—the way the mess hall feels quieter without his dumb jokes echoing through it, how sparring sessions feel colder without him barging in with some smug, offhanded comment about your form.

At night, you find yourself back on the rooftop. The stars are still there, but they don’t sparkle like they used to. It’s stupid, you tell yourself, because what kind of person starts depending on a man like that?

He’s loud. He’s infuriating. He teases you relentlessly.

But… he saw you. When you thought no one ever would again.

Shoko notices the way you’ve been spacing out more. She doesn’t say anything until the third night.

“You okay?”

You nod. Too quickly. “Fine.”

She squints at you. “You’re not fine. You’re moping.”

“I’m not moping.”

She clicks her tongue. “Acting like someone’s girlfriend.”

You nearly knock your cup over. “I’m not—!”

But you don’t finish that sentence. Because the words feel too close to something you’ve been avoiding.

You try to bury it—tell yourself it’s just concern. You’re just… grateful. It’s not like that. You don’t miss his stupid smirk or the way he always stands too close just to fluster you. You don’t care about how his hair always looks so damn soft, or how his voice drops a little when he’s serious with you.

You don’t.

Then the whispers start.

“No signal from the scouting team.”

“They were supposed to be back by now.”

A cold chill snakes down your spine.

You start going to the gate more. Just to check. You pretend it’s coincidence.

It’s not.

You catch yourself gripping the straps of your bag harder than usual. You’ve never hated waiting so much in your life.

Until one evening—

The gates finally creak open.

Your breath catches in your throat as the guards call out a name. Several figures walk through the archway, dust and blood clinging to their clothes.

And there he is.

White hair, blue eyes. One sleeve ripped off, a gash on his collarbone, dried blood staining his neck—but he’s alive.

“Satoru,” you whisper, already walking forward.

His eyes find yours instantly. That grin pulls at his lips like it never left.

“Aww, did you miss me?”

You don’t answer. You just hit his shoulder. “Idiot.”

But then your hands linger, and before you can stop yourself, you’re pulling him into a tight hug.

He stiffens, just for a second. Then his arms slide around you, strong and warm.

“Try not to cry too hard,” he mutters, voice light—but there’s something tight beneath it.

“I hate you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“Sure you do,” he chuckles, and when you pull back, his smile softens.

You don’t know what this feeling is. Or maybe you do. You just don’t want to name it yet.

But you know this: You’re glad he came back.

And for now, that’s enough.

You wander the halls of the prison alone, the hum of fluorescent lights above your head flickering inconsistently. Satoru had taken the kids out back for training, and with nothing to do and no one to bother you, you figured you’d finally explore the rest of the base.

The place was massive—too massive. Each cell block looked like the next, corridors looping endlessly into each other until your curiosity outweighs your sense of direction. One door, rusted and slightly ajar, catches your eye.

You should’ve turned around.

You push it open.

Inside is dark, dusty. Shelves line the walls, broken crates and old rations tossed everywhere. You wander deeper, hesitant but unaware. That is…until it hits.

The smell.

Rotting flesh, stagnant air, the thick, unmistakable stench of death.

And then—movement.

Shuffling. A low groan. Shadows twitch. A hand smacks against a shelf and knocks it over with a crash.

They're here.

Your eyes snap wide and panic sets in instantly. There are so many.

You run.

You shove a metal shelf in their path, throw an old stool, anything you can get your hands on to slow them down. Your breaths are shallow, desperate. But just as you near the exit—

Your ankle gives out.

A sick snap, searing pain, and you crash to the floor with a cry. You scramble backward, pressing yourself against the wall, using your good leg to kick anything that comes close.

This is it. This is it.

You squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding.

Gunshots.

The sound like thunder crashing right next to your ear.

You blink up, barely processing the white blur tearing through the undead like paper.

“I told you not to go in here!” he shouts, voice slicing through the chaos.

“Satoru—!”

The zombies turn just in time for Satoru to drive his fist into the nearest one’s chest, cracking bone and sending it flying back into the others like bowling pins.

“Seriously?” he growls, stepping in front of you, his broad back shielding your crumpled form. “I leave you alone for five minutes.”

One lunges from the side. Gojo ducks effortlessly, grabs it by the throat, and slams it into the ground so hard its skull splits open on impact. Another claws at his shoulder, but he just grabs its wrist, twists, and kicks out its knee in one brutal motion. It collapses, and he doesn’t even look as he drives a sharp piece of wood through its head.

And then—you're in his arms. Just like that.

Lifted effortlessly, pressed against his chest as he strides out of the hellhole.

You cling to him, trembling.

“I didn’t know it was the commissary,” you whisper between sobs. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know—I just—God, I’m so sorry, Gojo, I—”

His voice is low, firm, but gentle. “Hey. Breathe. I’ve got you.”

You look up at him, lip quivering. “I—I made you worry…”

“Yeah, you did,” he says with a wry little smirk, but his eyes are too soft, too relieved to match it. “Don’t ever do that again, got it?”

You nod.

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face. “Because if I lost you... I’d have to kill the rest of the world just for pissing me off.”

Your breath hitches.

You stare up at him, heart pounding, face flushed from more than just the sprint for your life.

“W-What kind of psycho logic is that?” you mutter, trying to deflect, your voice barely steady.

Satoru smirks down at you, still holding you effortlessly in his arms like you weigh nothing. “C’mon, don’t act so surprised. I’m dramatic, haven’t you noticed?”

“You’re insane,” you whisper, trying not to combust under his gaze.

“And you’re blushing,” he points out smugly, nose nearly brushing yours. “Kinda cute, actually.”

You twist in his hold, hiding your face against his shoulder. “Shut up,” you mumble, voice muffled.

He laughs softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Can’t. Teasing you is the only thing keeping me sane these days.”

You can feel the tension slipping away, replaced by something heavier, warmer. He lowers you gently onto a nearby bench just outside the danger zone, kneeling before you like it’s second nature, hands skimming your calves as he examines your ankle again.

When he looks up this time, his expression is different. Less playful. More raw.

“I meant it, you know,” he says quietly. “You scared the hell out of me in there.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he cuts in, hand brushing yours. “But next time, brat, wait for me. No solo adventures.”

Your lips twitch. “You’re calling me a brat now?”

“Borrowing the title. Think I earned it after saving your ass.”

You huff a laugh, cheeks still warm. “…Thanks.”

His grin softens. “Anytime.”

And just like that, you both sit there—his fingers still wrapped gently around your hand, his thumb rubbing absent circles over your knuckles—as the adrenaline fades and something else takes its place. Something quieter. Heavier. Charged.

Satoru insists on carrying you the whole way to the infirmary, ignoring your every protest.

“This is unnecessary,” you mutter, burying your face in his shoulder to avoid every curious glance.

“You twisted your ankle and almost got mauled. Humor me,” he says, smug but gentle, like the two can coexist in him with ease.

He kicks open the infirmary door with his foot.

“Delivery for one idiot who wandered into a no-go zone,” he calls out casually.

Shoko looks up from her desk, raising a brow at the sight of you both. “Well, well. If it isn’t the base’s golden boy and his damsel in distress.”

“I wasn’t distressed,” you blurt out instantly, wiggling in Gojo’s hold.

“Oh?” she hums, amused. “You sure? Because I could’ve sworn I heard ‘Gojo! Help!’ from all the way down the hall.”

You splutter. “That’s not— I mean—”

“Loudly,” she adds with a pointed smirk.

Satoru just laughs and sets you down on one of the cots, his hand lingering a little longer than necessary on your back before stepping aside.

“She’s fine. Just the ankle,” he says. “But maybe check if she sprained anything else. She fell pretty hard.”

Shoko moves closer, completely ignoring the medical part for now, because she’s too focused on watching the both of you squirm.

“Ohhh,” she teases, eyes sparkling. “Look at the two of you. Cute. Almost like a couple.”

You and Satoru freeze at the exact same time.

“Nope!”

“Not a couple!”

“Definitely not!”

You shoot each other a panicked glance and then immediately look away, flustered messes in stereo.

Shoko snorts. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You glare. “Can we just focus on my ankle now?”

“Fine, fine,” she drawls, clearly enjoying herself. “Just sayin’. Wouldn’t be the worst match. You get saved, he gets to play hero. Very fairytale.”

“I hate all of this,” you mutter under your breath, while Satoru just smiles to himself, unbothered but definitely pleased.

When Shoko starts wrapping your ankle, he leans against the wall with his arms crossed, watching.

And you swear you see it—that tiny, knowing glint in his eyes.

Like he wants her to say it again.

Because maybe, just maybe… he doesn’t mind the idea.

It’s later that night when there’s a knock at your door. You’ve barely had time to settle in, still awkwardly hobbling around on one foot with your bandaged ankle.

“Who is it?” you call.

“It’s your favorite,” comes the unmistakable voice from the other side.

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Didn’t know Nanami suddenly got chatty.”

A muffled chuckle. “Ha. Hilarious. Open up.”

You limp to the door and unlock it. Satoru is standing there, a little disheveled, hands full.

“Brought you dinner,” he says casually, holding out a tray with two mismatched bowls, steam still curling from the soup. “Figured you might be tired of Shoko’s painkillers and snark.”

You blink, caught off guard. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says dramatically, stepping in without being invited. “That’s what makes me so noble.”

You laugh despite yourself, and he grins like that was the goal all along. He sets the tray down on your little desk, then gestures toward your bed.

“Come on, sit. Can’t have you falling over again. One near-death experience per day is my limit.”

You sit, trying not to look too charmed when he settles next to you—close, but not too close—just enough for your knees to brush.

“I still feel terrible about earlier,” you say after a moment, poking at the edge of your bowl. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You didn’t worry me,” he says too quickly, too nonchalantly.

You glance up. “Liar.”

He sighs and leans back on his hands, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Fine. Maybe I panicked a little. Sue me.”

A silence lingers, not uncomfortable. Just… warm.

Then, softer: “Don’t do that again, okay?”

You look at him, really look at him—the shadows under his eyes, the slight dip in his brow, the way his voice softens when it’s just you and him.

And something in your chest stirs. Something that’s been creeping in, slow and steady, ever since he offered you food by a fire that first night.

You nod. “I won’t.”

He glances over, catches your gaze—and doesn’t look away this time.

There’s something unspoken passing between you. Familiar. Intense. Safe.

“You’re really something, y’know that?” he murmurs.

You raise a brow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

He smirks. “Depends. You gonna fall harder for me if it is?”

You flush instantly. “Satoru—”

He laughs and nudges your bowl toward you. “Eat before it gets cold, princess.”

You grumble under your breath but dig in.

And Satoru?

He watches you with that same lopsided grin, heart doing something stupid in his chest.

Because yeah—maybe you fell.

But maybe he’s been falling, too.

It’s past midnight when you stir.

The pain in your ankle has dulled to a throb, but it isn’t what wakes you. It’s… something else. A presence. Warm. Close.

You blink against the low glow of the hallway light seeping under your door, and when your eyes adjust—

You see him.

Satoru.

Slouched in the chair by your bed, long legs awkwardly folded, head tipped to the side, snowy hair falling across his face in soft, messy tufts. His mouth is slightly parted, breathing slow and even. His arms are crossed, like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep there.

Like he was just keeping watch.

Just in case.

Your heart does a little flip.

You shift quietly, trying not to make a sound. But even with all your care, the mattress creaks—barely. His eyes snap open immediately, hand twitching toward a weapon that isn’t there. Pure instinct.

Then he sees you. And relaxes.

“Oh,” he breathes, voice gravelly with sleep. “You’re awake.”

You sit up slowly. “Were you… here all night?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Not all night. Just since… y’know. Evening.”

You squint at him. “Satoru.”

He sighs. “Fine. Yeah. All night.”

You stare at him. “Why?”

He shrugs, suddenly sheepish. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t wander off again and get yourself eaten.”

You frown. “You should’ve slept in your room.”

He smirks. “What, and miss out on babysitting you?”

You chuck a pillow at him.

He catches it easily and grins. But when he sees you holding his gaze, that grin softens.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he admits, quieter now.

Something gentle settles in your chest. You pull your blanket up and scoot slightly to the side.

“…There’s space. If you’re tired.”

He blinks at you. “Are you asking me to cuddle, orrrr…”

You glare. “I’m offering you a more comfortable sleeping arrangement.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

He slides in beside you carefully, so carefully, like you’ll break if he jostles you too much. And then you feel the warmth of him next to you, his presence steady and solid and safe.

“…This okay?” he murmurs, his voice a whisper in the dark.

You nod.

And slowly, slowly, you feel his fingers brush yours under the blanket. He doesn't hold your hand—not yet. Just touches.

Testing the waters.

You don’t pull away.

And in the silence that follows, you hear his breathing even out again.

But yours?

Yours is all over the place.

Morning sunlight filters through the barred window, casting soft stripes across your face.

You're warm. So warm.

Your cheek is pressed against something solid. Something that rises and falls gently beneath you. And there’s a hand resting at the small of your back, pulling you closer, keeping you there.

Your heart skips.

Your eyes blink open—and there he is.

Gojo Satoru. Asleep. Face relaxed and serene, messy white hair haloed in gold light. His other arm is curled under your pillow, supporting your head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And you're lying on top of him.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You should move. You need to move.

But just as you're about to untangle yourself—

Click.

The door creaks open.

You freeze.

“Oh my god,” comes Shoko’s voice, casual, amused, and way too smug. “Well, well—what do we have here?”

You nearly leap out of bed, scrambling to sit up—only for your body to protest painfully, and you wince with a hiss.

Satoru wakes with a start, blinking up at Shoko in confusion before slowly realizing the position you're in.

“Oh,” he says blankly. “Morning, doc.”

You swat his shoulder. “Say something useful?!”

Shoko just leans against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning like she’s discovered the world’s juiciest secret. “No no, don’t let me interrupt. I was just checking on the patient, but clearly, she’s in very good hands.”

You’re burning. “It’s not what it looks like!”

Shoko raises a brow. “Oh, so you weren’t cuddled up like two lovebirds all night? Should I tell Nanami you’ve finally found someone willing to put up with your nonsense, Satoru?”

He stretches lazily and pulls the blanket back over himself with a smirk. “Actually, yeah. Tell him. Maybe then he’ll finally stop lecturing me about responsibility.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “I’m never going to live this down.”

Shoko chuckles, walking away. “Nope. I’m telling everyone.”

The door clicks shut behind her.

Silence.

You glare at Satoru through your fingers. “This is your fault.”

He grins. “You offered me a spot on the bed, your majesty.”

You shove a pillow at him. He catches it—again.

And then he smiles, soft and teasing, voice still a little raspy from sleep.

“...So. Want me to sleep over again tonight?”

“Get out.”

The first few days are rough.

You try to walk without limping. Try to reach for things on your own. Try not to feel like a burden.

But then there’s him.

You wake up to warm food at your bedside, Satoru leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin. “Brought you breakfast in bed, sweetheart. Don’t get used to it—I’m not always this nice.”

He very much is.

He offers his arm without asking when you need support. Doesn’t mention it when you wince or grit your teeth. Just lets you lean on him, like you’ve always belonged there.

You try to carry something heavy across the hall—he appears out of nowhere, snatching it from your hands. “Tsk. You trying to die or what?”

You try to help in the kitchen. He catches you wobbling and swoops in with a hand around your waist. “Whoa there, Bambi. What happened to ‘taking it easy’?”

You try to sneak off to explore the base again. He corners you in the hallway with a look that says absolutely not. “You’re still healing, brat. Unless you want me to carry you everywhere again?”

Cue your entire face combusting.

He’s annoying. Cocky. Ridiculously persistent.

But…

He adjusts your blanket when you’re asleep on the couch. Tucks a water bottle by your side without saying anything. Teaches you how to balance properly on one foot so your ankle can recover without straining the other.

And at night, when you think everyone’s asleep, you catch him checking on you—quietly, carefully. Making sure you’re okay.

You pretend not to notice.

But your heart notices. It notices everything.

You stand in the middle of your room, shifting your weight onto your healed ankle, then back again. No pain. No tightness. Just a deep breath and the quiet realization:

You’re better. Finally.

The door creaks open without warning—because Satoru never knocks—and in he strolls with his usual swagger and two mugs in hand. “Morning, sweetheart. Brought you—"

He stops in his tracks.

You’re standing. Not limping. Not clutching the edge of the bed for balance.

Just… standing.

He squints, slowly lowering one mug. “...Why aren’t you in bed?”

You raise a brow. “Because I’m not dying?”

“Oh no. Absolutely not.” He sets the mugs down and points a very offended finger at you. “You don’t just get to get better without warning me. I was emotionally invested in this arc.”

You laugh. “Sorry to ruin your Florence Nightingale fantasy.”

“Ruin? Excuse you, I was thriving. Who’s gonna let me spoon-feed you now?”

You roll your eyes, limping toward him just to mess with him. “I could pretend, if it makes you feel better.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He walks over before you can say anything else—his hands hover, cautious at first, then one slides to your waist. “You really okay?”

You nod. “I’m good. Really.”

Satoru lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Then he grins. “Alright. Guess that means I can stop being your personal nurse and go back to being your favorite nuisance.”

You’re smiling. He’s back to teasing. But there’s a softness in his eyes that lingers a little too long, a thumb that brushes your hip before falling away.

He missed taking care of you.

And maybe, just maybe, you kind of miss being taken care of.

You’re jogging laps around the edge of the prison yard, the early morning chill nipping at your cheeks. It’s peaceful—quiet enough that your footsteps and the rhythmic beat of your breath are the only sounds you hear.

Until a familiar voice breaks through the silence.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite brat, back in action.”

You slow down, a smirk tugging at your lips as you turn toward the voice—and promptly choke on air.

Satoru.

Stretching.

Shirtless.

His snowy hair tousled from whatever ungodly workout he’s been doing, sweat gleaming on the hard lines of his chest and abs like the universe conspired to craft a Renaissance painting just to spite you. His sweats hang low on his hips, revealing that infuriating V-line that should not be legal in a post-apocalyptic society.

You blink. Once. Twice.

He grins, catching the way your eyes are very not subtly stuck on him.

“Like what you see?”

You scowl, instantly turning your gaze to a very fascinating patch of dirt on the ground. “Please. I’ve seen better.”

“Mmhm.” He takes a deliberate step forward, arms crossing over his annoyingly perfect chest. “Name one.”

“...”

“That’s what I thought.”

You huff and start jogging again, forcing your eyes to stay forward. But then he jogs up beside you—shirtless and smug, of course—and easily matches your pace.

“You sure you’re fully healed? What if you, I dunno… trip and fall again?” he says, tone mockingly sweet. “Need me to catch you, princess?”

“I’d rather faceplant into a zombie.”

He laughs, low and lazy. “I dunno, that sounds painful. Better to land on something soft. Like me.”

You glare at him, cheeks burning. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he nudges you playfully with his elbow, “you’re still jogging next to me. Who’s really winning here?”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth crawling up your neck. But deep down, you know.

He’s definitely winning.

After the jog, Satoru insists you “cool down” with some light sparring. You roll your eyes, but follow him to the training mats anyway. He’s already bouncing on his heels when you step in front of him, still shirtless, still smug.

“You sure you’re up for this?” he teases. “Wouldn’t want to break you again.”

“I’m more worried about bruising your ego,” you shoot back, taking your stance.

He whistles low. “Feisty. I like it.”

The sparring begins—light jabs, easy dodges. You’re nimble, focused, but he is... effortless. Every time you swipe at him, he ducks with a grin. When you go in for a kick, he sidesteps and lets out an exaggerated yawn.

“You done yet, sweetheart?” he asks, still dancing around you. “At this rate, I could do this blindfolded.”

“Shut up and hold still!” you lunge at him again—this time faster, bolder—but he grabs your wrist mid-swing and spins you around so fast the world tilts. Before you know it—

You’re pinned.

Back hits the wall. His hand holds your wrists above your head, other arm braced beside you. His body is dangerously close, breath fanning your cheek. His tone shifts, deeper. Rougher.

“You keep mouthing off like that,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming, “I might start thinking you want me to put you in your place.”

Your breath catches. “I—”

“Hmm?” he leans in, lips ghosting your jaw. “No witty comeback now?”

You try to move, but his grip tightens just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that this isn’t a game anymore.

“I could kiss you right now,” he whispers, “and there’s nothing you could do about it.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. “You wouldn’t.”

He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.

“Wanna bet?”

Your breathing is shallow, heat rising to your cheeks. You’re acutely aware of how close he is, the way his chest brushes against yours with every breath, the sharp glint in his eye, the smirk that’s far too smug for your sanity.

And then—

His lips graze your neck. Barely there. A soft brush of heat against your skin. You flinch—not out of fear, but from the jolt that shoots down your spine. Goosebumps bloom instantly. His breath tickles your skin.

“Sensitive,” he hums, lips ghosting up toward your jaw, “...cute.”

“Satoru—” you whisper, voice barely audible.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His gaze drops to your lips, heavy and unblinking. And he leans in, slower this time, like he wants you to feel the anticipation. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat—

And then—

“AM I INTERRUPTING SOMETHING?”

You both jolt like you’ve been electrocuted.

Satoru spins around with a groan, still caging you against the wall. “Shoko. Seriously?”

She stands a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow cocked and a wicked smirk playing at her lips. “Wow. Could cut the tension with a scalpel. Should I come back later or just pass you a condom now?”

“Shoko,” you squeak, face on fire, squirming to escape Gojo’s hold.

He lets you go reluctantly, chuckling under his breath. “You wish you caught the good part.”

“I did catch the part where your face was buried in her neck like a starving vampire,” Shoko deadpans.

You bury your face in your hands.

Satoru just laughs. “You jealous?”

“Please. I'd rather not watch my coworkers dry hump in public,” she says, already turning on her heel. “Anyway. You two lovebirds done? I need one of you to help with supplies.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo waves her off. Then he glances back at you, still all flushed and flustered, and leans down one last time to whisper in your ear:

“To be continued, princess.”

And just like that, he strolls off like nothing happened.

You're left against the wall, heart pounding, neck tingling, completely and utterly undone.

It’s quiet for once.

Most of the clan is out on a supply run or patrolling the perimeter. You’d offered to stay behind, helping Shoko reorganize her medical supplies before wandering off with a basket of laundry—warm clothes folded under your arm as you pace the empty corridors of the prison, barefoot, relaxed.

You finally set the basket down in the communal quarters, humming under your breath while sorting through what belongs to who. It’s… peaceful. The late afternoon sun slants in through the high windows, bathing everything in warm light.

Until—

“Picking up where we left off?”

You jolt, nearly dropping the shirt in your hands.

Gojo.

Leaning against the doorframe, casual as ever, sleeves pushed up, hair a bit messy like he just woke from a nap. His eyes are glinting beneath the lazy droop of his lashes, and that smirk—that godforsaken smirk—is unmistakable.

He saunters in before you can get a word in.

“Geez, you sneak up on people like a damn ghost,” you mumble, cheeks already burning as you turn back to the laundry.

“Aw, don’t be shy now,” he teases, coming closer. “You weren’t so shy when I had you pinned against the wall.”

You stiffen. “You got interrupted. Big difference.”

“Oh? So you wanted me to kiss you?”

You glare at him over your shoulder, but he’s already behind you, arms slipping around your waist—loosely at first, giving you a chance to push him away.

You don’t.

“I was thinking about you,” he murmurs against your ear. “All damn day. Thought I’d come see how you were holding up without me.”

“I was fine,” you huff, but it’s so breathless it betrays you instantly.

He chuckles. “That right?”

His hands glide up your sides, slow and sure, fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Just admit it—you missed me.”

You turn in his arms, glaring—but it’s weak at best. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” he leans in, forehead brushing yours, voice dropping, “but I still remember how fast your heart was beating last time.”

You swallow.

And this time? There’s no Shoko to walk in. No patrols due back. No reason to stop.

You hesitate for a beat.

And then you pull him in by the collar.

The kiss is feral. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. Weeks—months—of tension snapping all at once. His hands find your waist, gripping tight as he hoists you up like you weigh nothing.

“Fuck—” he groans against your lips. “You’ve been killing me, y’know that?”

You wrap your legs around his waist and tug him closer. “Good.”

He pulls back, grinning. “Oh, you wanna play it like that?”

You don’t get a chance to answer before he’s kissing down your jaw, your neck, dragging that maddening tongue of his down your collarbone. His hands are everywhere—palming your hips, your thighs, sliding under your shirt like he owns you.

Which, at this point, maybe he does.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants, hovering over your lips again. “Tell me now, and I will.”

You look him dead in the eyes, tug his shirt over his head, and whisper:

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Your back hits the nearest wall with a muffled gasp, Satoru’s mouth already on yours, hungry and hot. His hands roam your body like he’s memorizing it with touch alone, fingers tugging at fabric with a frustrated groan.

“Off,” he growls into the kiss, already pulling your shirt over your head like it's offended him. He sets you down to pull your pants down along with your panties. And the moment you’re bare before him, he stands back, breath catching in his throat. His eyes—icy blue and blown wide with lust—roam your figure, landing on your chest like he’s just been given the meaning of life.

“…Can I motorboat your tits?”

You blink.

You laugh, startled and breathless. “Are you—are you serious right now?”

His lips curve into a wolfish grin, and he’s already surging forward to kiss you again. “Maybe next time,” he mumbles between kisses. “I don’t think I can wait to taste you now.”

You arch a brow, teasing, breath catching when he trails his mouth down your jaw. “Next time?”

He chuckles, low and dark. “You think I’m letting you off the hook after this?” His hands slide down your waist, thumbs stroking your hips. “Nah, sweetheart. I’m gonna ruin you.”

Then he sinks to his knees.

The grin fades into something hungrier, more reverent as he kisses the inside of your thigh, dragging his teeth gently across soft skin. “Spread ‘em for me,” he says, voice a whisper but firm. And when you do, he groans like he’s just tasted something forbidden.

You cry out the second his tongue touches you, hands flying to grip his hair. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t want to. It’s slow, torturous—his pace deliberate as he works you open, devouring like a man starved. His moans vibrate against your skin, and when your legs tremble, he just pins them open wider, groaning, “That’s it… let me hear you, baby.”

Your back arches as Satoru licks another slow, devastating stripe up your core, tongue curling at your entrance before he moves to suck gently on your clit. Your fingers tighten in his hair, thighs instinctively trying to close around his head—but his arms loop under your knees, spreading you wider, holding you open like he owns you.

“You're not going anywhere,” he mutters, eyes flicking up, glazed over with lust and something dangerous. “Told you. I’m gonna ruin you.”

Then he’s back at it—slower this time, tongue flattening against you, then circling, dragging soft groans out of you as the tension coils tight in your belly. He eats you out like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you, savoring every movement, every moan he draws. He alternates between deep, dragging strokes and sharp, teasing flicks, lips closing around your clit to suck just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

You cry out, hips bucking up into his mouth, and he growls—low and throaty—as if turned on by how wrecked you already are.

"Fuck—so sweet," he groans, voice muffled against you. “Could stay down here all night.”

And he means it. He shifts slightly, tongue plunging into you now, slow and shallow, nose nudging your clit as he drinks in every sound you make like it fuels him. Every little tremble, every whimper—he devours it.

He doesn’t stop. Not when you start trembling, not when you whine his name in warning. He keeps going, lips slick and relentless, until—

Your vision whites out. Your body tightens, back bowing, mouth falling open on a silent scream as you fall over the edge, pleasure shattering through you like a storm.

Only then does he pull back, lips and chin glistening. He breathes hard, eyes dark and blown, grinning like he just won a war.

“That’s the sound I wanted to hear.”

He stands up again to pick you up, carrying you to the nearby table, settling you on it, completely bare under the low light, legs parted slightly, chest heaving. You’re flushed, trembling—not from fear, but anticipation. Nerves. Heat. It’s all crashing together in your head, and he sees it.

His hands move to his waistband, fingers curling beneath the fabric of his pants. He tugs them down with practiced ease, freeing himself—and your breath catches.

Your eyes drift down instinctively, and your stomach tightens at the sight of him. He’s big. Thick, flushed, already hard and aching.

Your pulse stutters, nerves flickering to the surface. “Oh…”

“Hey,” he says gently, fingers brushing your cheek. “You okay?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. “It’s just… I’ve never done this before.”

Satoru freezes for a moment. His expression doesn’t shift much—but his eyes, bright and blue, soften in an instant.

“…You haven’t?” he asks quietly, tone a stark contrast to the sinful smirk he wore earlier. You shake your head.

He exhales slowly, like he’s grounding himself. Then he leans in and kisses you—slow, patient, loving.

“Well, fuck,” he murmurs against your lips. “Now I really have to behave.”

You blink up at him. “You? Behave?”

He chuckles, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. “Okay, maybe not completely. But I’ll go slow. Make it good for you. You trust me, right?”

You nod.

“Good.” His voice drops a little. “Then let me take care of you, yeah?”

He’s gentle—so gentle it almost breaks you. His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, to your chest. He pauses there, kissing over your breasts, fingers caressing your sides as though you might disappear if he’s not careful.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes. “Gonna remember this forever.”

When he finally lines himself up, he doesn’t rush. He keeps kissing you, whispering into your skin.

“Breathe with me,” he says. “Nice and easy, baby. Just relax.”

The stretch burns, but his voice never leaves you. His hands never stop moving—stroking your sides, brushing your hair from your face, thumbing away the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs. “So tight, fuck—squeezing me like you were made for me.”

Your breath catches, eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me,” he says softly, “I wanna see your face.”

You meet his eyes—blown wide with emotion, affection, reverence. And that’s when he starts to move. Slowly, so slowly you can feel everything. Every drag, every pull.

“Feels good?” he asks, and when you nod, he smiles like you’ve just handed him the universe.

“You’re perfect,” he groans, picking up pace just a little. “Takin’ me so well, sweetheart. My pretty girl, lettin’ me be her first.”

You moan—part embarrassment, part bliss—and he kisses the sound from your mouth.

“Can’t believe no one’s touched you like this before,” he mutters against your skin. “But I’m glad. Glad it’s me. Glad I get to show you.”

He starts rolling his hips deeper, each thrust slow and purposeful, coaxing pleasure out of you bit by bit.

“Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

You’re already gasping—your body burning, overstimulated from the build-up and the way he moves inside you. Every drag of him is a stretch, a delicious ache, and you’re trying so hard to keep up, to breathe, to hold yourself together—but it’s too much.

And then it hits.

Your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave—louder, sharper, more intense than the last—and your body tightens instinctively, your walls fluttering around him like they don’t want to let him go.

“Fuck—” Satoru’s voice breaks, a guttural groan tumbling from his throat as he stills, trembling above you. “You’re gonna ruin me, baby…”

His grip tightens on your waist, jaw clenched as he tries to hold back—but you’re squeezing him so tight, so perfect, and his restraint shatters.

“You’re killin’ me,” he grits out, starting to move again—deeper, slower, more intentional—but there’s an edge of desperation now. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “Feels so good—fuck, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You shake your head, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t stop,” you whimper, barely able to form the words. “Please…”

He kisses you hard—like he can’t help himself, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “You’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart. So, so good…”

“‘Toru-” you whimper.

That breaks him.

He groans, slamming into you harder, mouth finding your neck as he nips and kisses down to your collarbone. “Fuck. Say it again.”

You whimper again, brain hazy. “‘Toru…”

He kisses you slow then, deeper. Rough pace never faltering, but his hands gentler now—one wrapping around your waist, the other brushing the hair from your face.

“Mine,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re mine now, yeah?”

You nod desperately, legs locking around his hips. “Yours.”

“Damn right,” he grits, driving into you harder, chasing both your highs with everything he has.

The overstimulation has tears stinging your eyes, your legs trembling, voice catching on every moan. And when that next orgasm builds too fast, too hard—it snaps through you like a live wire. Your body arches off the table, clamping down around him again—

—and Satoru snaps.

“Shit—take it, baby. Let me fill you up, yeah? Gonna make you mine, fuck, you already are—look at you...” he chokes out, thrusting deep one last time before he comes, spilling into you with a long, breathless groan. His arms wrap around you as if to anchor himself, holding you so close, like he needs to feel every inch of you, inside and out.

“Look at you,” he murmurs between pants, pressing kisses across your face. “Takin’ me so well… You’re mine now, yeah? All mine.”

You nod, dazed and boneless, wrapped in his warmth.

And he stays like that, inside you, forehead resting against yours as he murmurs soft, reverent praises—like this wasn’t just your first time.

Like it was everything.

Your body’s still trembling—nerves fried, skin flushed, heart thudding against your chest as if it’s trying to burst free. You’re barely aware of anything except the warm, strong arms pulling you into a careful embrace, the kiss he presses to your temple like it’s the most sacred thing he could ever do.

“Hey…” Satoru murmurs, voice all honey and rasp, rough around the edges but impossibly gentle. “You okay?”

You nod, chest rising and falling against his, cheeks still hot, but there’s a smile on your lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Just… wow.”

He laughs softly, the sound low and breathy as his fingers brush along your spine in lazy, soothing strokes. “You were incredible,” he says, and he means it. Every word. “So good for me. So perfect.”

Your face scrunches with a flustered noise, burying it into his shoulder. “Stop…”

“Never,” he grins, nosing into your hair. “You don’t get to be all pretty and sweet and make those sounds and expect me to stay quiet about it.”

You groan. “Satoru—”

“Shhh.”

His palm rests on your back as he holds you close, thumb drawing lazy circles. You can still feel the dull, pleasant ache of him inside you, the heat he left behind. His breath is warm against your cheek. Safe. Comforting.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmurs again, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw. “First time and you still managed to rock my fucking world.”

Your heart stutters. “Wasn’t just the sex,” you say quietly.

He stills for half a second—and then he smiles, soft and genuine.

“I know,” he whispers.

You’re still breathless, body flushed and boneless in his arms when Satoru gathers you close, lips pressed gently to your temple. The air between you is warm, quiet save for the distant hum of life around the base. He shifts a little, glancing down at the table beneath you both, and you catch that flicker in his eyes—guilt, soft and creeping.

“I should’ve…” he starts, voice low, almost sheepish. “Shit, I should’ve taken you somewhere better. A bed, a blanket, something that wasn’t a hardass table. It was your first time and I just—” He pauses, brows pinching like the regret’s eating at him now. “I got selfish.”

You lift your hand to his cheek, thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. “Hey,” you whisper, leaning in until your lips ghost over his, shutting him up with a kiss so soft, so full of emotion it makes his heart stutter.

When you pull back, your smile is small but sure. “It was more than okay. Because it was with you.”

Satoru blinks, breath caught in his throat. And for once, the man with a mouth like a wildfire doesn’t have anything to say.

Until he pulls you tighter into his chest and mutters, “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You just grin into his skin. “Guess we’ll go down together then.”

Then silence. Not awkward, not tense—just full of warmth. Full of everything. His arms around you. Your fingers laced with his.

You don’t say it. Not yet. But maybe one day soon.

For now, the way he holds you like you’re something to be cherished?

It’s more than enough.

author's note. finally have time to post consistently! last month or two were BUSY so couldn't do much </3 i'm proud of how this one turned out ^^ also, shoko is such a baddie i love her

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