#Threesomes my beloved <333 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satorhime · 3 years ago

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off the table ˚₊· gojo satoru + nanami kento. ── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content : f!reader, explicit smut, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex (gojo fingers you in a restaurant), slight!humiliation, fingering (f!receiving), spit kink, pet names, hints at a threesome, pet names, this fic is so unserious i love it ･｡･ w.c. 6.8k. ── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis : being in public, at a table full of colleagues will not stop gojo satoru from putting his hands under your dress. ໒꒰ྀི ⸝⸝⸝⸝ ꒱ྀིა ⊹ this idea was born from staring at gojo’s pretty fingers and is still one of my favorite fics that i have ever written hope u all enjoy <333

gojo satoru had deactivated his infinity.

no one else noticed, of course. they didn’t notice the subtle shift in the atmosphere. didn’t feel the tiny rift in the fabric of space being snapped back into place. or the defeated howl of an enemy of the six eyes kicking rocks because they’d missed the opportunity to clobber the insufferable idiot over the head. most would only realize it if they tried to strike him and the blow landed, or if he gave one of his enthusiastically unwanted hugs and you felt the warmth of his biceps enveloping you.

though you’d need a top university professor to understand even the basic science behind his inherited, limitless powers, you could never miss it.

you, an empath, also knew this meant trouble. gojo usually wore the technique like one would a warm fur coat during a blizzard. a second skin, if you may.

so yes, this definitely meant trouble.

but for who?

all sorcerers ( excluding beloved students ) operating from the tokyo and kyoto campuses have been summoned to a secure location for a meeting of utmost importance. the meeting of utmost importance? principle gakuganji’s birthday dinner at a michelin star, rooftop restaurant. you have to admit, the paid night off from exorcising curses is nice and the place is exquisitely beautiful. romantic, warm lighting illuminates dark oak tables and lush zen gardens. minimalistic, artful plates are served at a price that would make your credit card read the check and weep tears of debt.

the setting is pleasant and quiet with sorcerers you could almost call friends drinking responsibly and chatting comfortably. or it would’ve been quiet, if not for your boyfriend laughing himself hoarse at the thought of the higher-ups bribing sorcerers with a night off just to get someone to attend a party for the unlikable principle of the kyoto campus. he laughed himself into the other sorcerers ignoring him completely, so now his attention is completely on you.

needless to say, you’ve been feeling wary the entire time. you know that when he didn’t have something to stimulate that big brain of his— especially during events like this— he’s a complete hellion to society. and society, in this scenario, is always you.

oh, no.

it’s funny how you already know what he’s up to. it’s even funnier how, at first, he kept you at an arm’s length, in fear of you orbiting too close and seeing too much. now, you know things about him. sickeningly sweet details like his favorite dessert, his greatest fear, the brand of shampoo he uses.

and most importantly, his nastiest fucking kink.

gojo satoru’s guidebook to public sex, rule #1:

getting caught will not stop me from busting a nut.

when you are flesh and blood’s closest thing to a heavenly being, there are many things you can get away with. there are many things that apply to normal human men that do not apply to gojo satoru. like not being allowed to show his love for his lady whenever and wherever he pleases.

after all, who the fuck is going to stop him?

not you, his pretty angel.

and certainly not the higher-ups, those cowards.

there is no secret that you both lack decorum. you, by association. and gojo, by nature. two heathens so in love with fucking each other that everyone knows to give the two of you a wide berth whenever the signs are there. you’ve lost count of how many scandalized stares you’ve received when he warps into a meeting and the first thing he does is sweep you off your feet for a hungry kiss, large hands digging prints into the soft skin of your ass. you beat against him then, berating him about propriety and professionalism while gojo grins like a lovestruck idiot, tells you to scold him more because it’s so fucking hot when you’re annoyed with me.

he knows that later, you’ll be begging to be fucked into a limp back in his office. he doesn’t even flinch when yaga walks in without knocking, gojo rolling his eyes back while you scold him with i-told-you-so’s, calling him a freak; nasty and ridiculous for letting the principle see you in such a position. a kinkshame that rushes straight to his dick because he’s too far gone to care when he’s got you spread out on his desk with your jujutsu uniform bunched all the way up around your tits, cock shoved so far up your cramped little cunt that if yaga squinted, he’d be able to see the imprint in your stomach.

rule #2 is an addition to his handbook written in your feminine, flowery script yourself:

gojo satoru is not to be trusted in public.

that you, yourself, is not to be trusted either. after all, the man you’re dating is thrilling. he excites you and you’re powerless when it comes to your desire, your love for him. you try your best to be the voice of reason in the relationship, the pretty angel on his shoulder attempting to convert him to a holier path, but at the end it only takes one lazy smirk and a honeyed pet name to get you to drop your panties for him.

right now, all of the signs are there.

his knee bounces against the outer part of your thigh like an impatient, antsy child. he hasn’t made a snide comment in the last five minutes, world record. and when you glance up at him, his glossed lips are curled into one of those infamous, shit-eating smirks of his that seems permanent on his face like a terrible, womanizing affliction. it could be mistaken for classic behavior, but you know better than that.

“don’t even think about it, gojo satoru,” you hiss in warning under your breath. a vein appears at the temple of your brow as you notice an affronted expression cross his features, turning to you with his mouth drawn in a surprised oval shape.

“ehhhh, what do you mean?” gojo drawls out the question in a lilt, his tone chipper as he leans into your personal space. your traitorous heart flips at his close proximity, softening when he slings an arm around the back of your chair. relaxed and ridiculously attractive in the way he toys with the wisps of baby soft hair gathered at the nape of your neck.

“you know what i mean, you idiot-” you roll your eyes to hide the way they flutter, shivering as his fingertips graze over your skin. gojo massages gentle circles into a tension spot on your neck, his version of fattening you up for the inevitable kill of whatever he has planned. you fight the urge to whimper because jujutsu sorcerers are born tense, because spa days are rare when you’re knee deep in curse goo day in, day out.

clearing your throat before you can get carried away, you brush your hair over one shoulder and smoothly swat his hand down. “move your hand, satoru. i know what you’re up to.”

thankfully, he does.

“up to what?” his head tilts on the question, and you shoot a glare at him before turning back to the menu you’re both sharing. because what sickening, pda-heavy couple uses two menus? “these hags are boring, baby.” he blows air into his cheeks, sighing hard; baiting you like a fish. you don’t buy this innocent act one bit, though, reaching up to deflate the cute puff of his cheeks with the sharp acrylic of your finger. popping him like a big, stupid balloon.

“i know your game,” you tell him, shaking your head. the game of disarming you. the proverbial removal of the angel from his shoulder by turning all soft like strawberry kikufuku melting in the summer to get what he wants. it almost always works. that boyish charm that coaxes you into shaded car parks and empty classrooms.

“what game?” he asks, relocating. his palm slips underneath the table faster than your eyes can register, long digits splayed out on your thigh in a possessive spread. right below the hem of the tiny little number he bought for you.

“your hand, gojo,” you remind him.

“in marriage? i thought you’d never ask,” he smarts off, sarcastically heartfelt as he touches a hand to his chest before he taps your nose. it feels condescending. “it’s not uncommon, you know, so don’t be afraid. men find it attractive when their women take charge. isn’t that right, nanamin?” he slingshots the question, loud in your ear, bent forward to get a good look at the ex-salaryman seated on the other side of you dressed in an impeccably cut designer three-piece. you startle a bit since you’d forgotten he was there.

“frankly,” nanami sniffs, adjusting the knot of his tie, “i’m not listening to whatever idiotic conversation you’re having, gojo-san.” he replies bluntly, clearly listening to the idiotic conversation. you watch as the sorcerer flicks a piece of lint from his shirt but he pauses after a moment, sharp eyes cutting to your direction. he inclines his head in a brief, but polite bow. “no offense to you, miss.”

ever the gentleman. unlike someone.

“nanami-san, it’s okay-”

“blech,” gojo mimics gagging, finger stuck in his mouth and everything like a teenager being forced onto a family trip. “you’re no fun, as usual.” but nanami is back to thoroughly ignoring the two of you.

“but you’re fun, aren’t you?” he purrs, turning his sly attention back to you. the fingers that were previously drumming an idle beat squeezes the flesh of your thigh hard, hard enough that his nails dig in to cause a twinge of pain. you suck in a breath, anticipation surging through your veins as his hand shifts a little bit higher.

oh, no.

“w-what are you doing, gojo?” you hate the excited stutter of your heart.

gojo lets the question sit like a festering wound. waiting until he notices an uncomfortable, antsy shift in your anticipation for him. this is part of his game, sadistic glee will-o-the-wisping around in his chest as he drinks up your flustered expression.

“sit tight and see, sweet girl,” he promises finally, his breath hot at the shell of your ear. words honey on velvet that makes your thighs clamp together. he catches the movement and snorts, smugly. you’re at his mercy already, and he knows it. you’ll play whatever game he plugs into the console even if you’re at a table full of highly-skilled sorcerers with highly keen senses.

the angel on his shoulder that’s along for the ride to hell because you tell yourself you want to keep him out of trouble.

“but...” you whisper hurriedly, attempting to knock reason into his incredibly thick skull. “the other sorcerers-”

“what about them?” gojo asks innocently, knowing damn well he doesn’t care. then without further warning, he shoves the hem of your dress up until it bunches around your hips. “i’m glad you wore this, baby,” he breathes and you let out a pathetic squeak at the feeling of his cool fingers delving between the warmth of your legs. he brushes a hot trail down the line of your clothed folds until he presses in, a finger forcing the rough lace of your panties into your pussy with a slight burn, dampening them at the center.

the knot in his throat bobs hard as he swallows. a starved man chasing the cocky, godlike feeling that burns in his chest possessively not when he’s on top of the tokyo skytree, but when he’s down here on earth, got his girl fucking dripping by the thought alone of him playing with your pussy in the middle of a restaurant and it’s all for him. no one else can do this to you. even when you question his sanity, you want him so bad.

“alright, sugar,” he murmurs in a saccharine tone, slapping your mound quietly. then he snaps his fingers right in front of your face like he’s impatient. “you know the deal here.”

“you- you can’t be serious. gojo?” you lean forward and glance up at him in alarm. sure, you were no stranger to gojo fucking you in risky locations but this? he can’t really think he’ll get away with fucking you on his fingers under a table surrounded by other sorcerers. he lifts up one side of his sunglasses to meet you alarmed stare, a snowy brow quirking up through his fringe and you immediately know that yes, he is serious and also yes, he intends to surely fucking get away with it.

and you, his accomplice, his shitty voice of reason, you want him to be serious.

nervous energy and hot need coils in your lower belly. fists bunched atop the table as you focus too hard on glancing around the table and attempting to appear normal while the feeling of gojo’s long fingers petting your clothed pussy clouds your judgement because it feels good. thankfully, no one seems to pay much attention to you as most of the sorcerers are delighted at a night off and are already deep into their cups, unbothered by drinking in front of the bosses. across from your seat, mei-mei has ijichi pink as fresh salmon. further down, shoko is engaged in a conversation with utahime and ino, the two ladies frowning at every bad baseball joke he cracks. even nanami is monotoning a bored discussion with nitta akari. wrapped up in their own worlds of free drinks, no one remembers you or gojo exists—

until a hostess greets you both, loud and enthusiastic and ready to take your orders. “have you decided on your choice of dinner for tonight, ma’am and sir?” a professional, slightly nervous voice asks, nearly startling you out of your skin. a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

“yo! yeah, actually,” gojo greets enthusiastically with a two-fingered salute, not missing a beat. he taps his nail against the embroidered menu resting on the table, bringing the hostess’s flustered attention to him. “i know just what i want..”

“i want to sample all of your aphrodisiacs.”

three actions. three actions carried out by two completely different women: girlfriend and hostess both choke on their spit. girlfriend and hostess both blush furiously. girlfriend, though— girlfriend chokes on a helpless moan because gojo punctuates his smarmy request with a nasty pinch to your clit.

he grins, ridiculously pleased with himself after. “as for the lady’s decision...” he urges, a double-edged sword.

you know he isn’t fucking asking you about your dinner tastes.

“we’ll share, won’t we, gojo?” you mimic the cloying sweetness of his voice earlier, but behind the façade and below the table, you feel breathless as you give him your decision. before you know it, you’re inching out of your seat. just enough to hook your fingers into the band of your thongs, devastating little white things with a baby blue ribbon that matches the color of gojo’s eyes. wriggling them off your hips as discreetly as possible, down your thighs until they flutter to your ankles. your breath stutters as you bend to lift your black heel and quickly scoop the panties into your hand.

you don’t see it, of course, but gojo’s eyes darken behind the dark void of his sunglasses. “we’ll be sharing,” he concludes with a dazzling smile at the hostess.

“very good, sir. the wait will be short!”

gojo taps your inner thigh, bringing your attention back to him once the hostess departs. his hand is outstretched, palm up. waiting. rolling your eyes, you shove the lace into his hand as rudely as possible. bastard.

“that’s my girl,” he praises under the quiet lull of conversation around the table, grinning as he shifts. you imagine him storing your panties in his pocket like an inventory curse, a dirty fucking souvenir. “you know, these are a cute pair. would you mind if i wore them as a blindfold?”

“i’ll kill you one day, i really will.”

“you think you can?” he hums, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss to the shell of your ear. the low of his voice rumbles right against your sensitive skin, straight to your core. “you kill me, who’s gonna let you be a dirty little slut and fuck their fingers like i’m about to? think about it while you spread for me.”

his words have you squirming, a little embarrassed as you feel the bare lips of your cunt brush against the leather cushion of the chair with each subtle shift of your hips. you feel exposed, your skin flushed and an ache in your belly for him that burns hot and desperate. not to mention, when you squeeze your thighs together you can feel the slick sliding between your folds, all for an inconsiderate boyfriend who gets off on fucking you in public.

who takes his time touching you when he knows the two of you could be caught at any moment.

that anyone could drop an item and duck under the table, getting an eyeful of you parting your thighs for gojo fucking satoru, wanton and desperately slutty. see gojo’s long digits dip between your plush thighs, using his thumb and pointer finger to spread your folds, holding them open just to feel your cunt flutter helplessly around nothing.

“s-shut up with that talk, what if someone hears you?!”

“and? you scared?”

he is shameless, and you are not; but you both know your protests are just for show. an act you play right alongside his. that you’re a respected sorcerer who follows the rules and keeps your head obediently down. that you don’t like it when gojo treats you this way, when you love it. love it when he treats you like his own personal little whore that he can pluck and poke like a harp string in front of all of your coworkers because he’s bored at a company birthday party.

“god, you’re so fucking wet already, my baby,” he hisses under his breath, sliding a long finger between your folds to prod at your entrance with the tip. coating his fingers in your slick as he slides them all over your pussy, tongue clicking in reprimand when he accidentally draws a soft whine from the back of your throat. you begin subtle shifts of your hips that grinds your clit right against his palm, right where you need him most. gojo’s fingers may come in second to the stretch of his cock, but you would be lying if you say you don’t beg for them too.

“gojo,” mei-mei’s seductive voice beckons his attention, and you try not to look too startled again. gojo, on the other hand, is the poster model for an ad selling bottles of the art of being unbothered. he lifts a brow at her and she continues, “that special grade curse you were tracking to a condemned apartment building. what happened to it?”

“easy!” he says to mei in his normal, cheerfully annoying voice as he smiles wide, giving nothing away though you know better. he sounds winded under his levity, aroused. “i gave it to the first-years to play with tonight. keep them out of trouble for a while.”

that’s what you call “keeping the kids out of trouble”?

you would scold him if his hand wasn’t between your legs right now. he was notorious for slacking off, giving his weaker assignments to his students— or to you. you watch as mei shoots ijichi a smug look, manicured hand extending as he loses a bet to her. ijichi looks ready to cry as he takes out his wallet and slaps a handful of smooth banknotes into her hand.

“eyes only on me, sweet girl,” gojo commands you in a hushed voice, dipping his head so his sunglasses slide down the attractive slope of his nose. your gaze swivels and locks with stunning azure blue. sparkling summer ocean illuminated by the sun. color a little muted because he’s drowning in the fucking want to paint your cunt white with his cum. he looks so good. an allure in his devastatingly sexy pressed shirt that costs more than the restaurant itself, with four not three buttons propped open. gojo satoru is a man that gets girls into trouble with looks like that and right now, that girl is you.

he gleams a dirty, wolfish smile and your last defense is gone.

“m-make it quick,” you squeak out, sinking into your chair a little more, opening your legs a little more.

his grin widens, delighted. “depends on how fast you cum,” he shrugs as if this is a normal everyday conversation about pesky curses, as he drags slick through your folds to get them nice and wet. making an accidental swipe against your clit that makes you stutter out a shaky breath.

“satoru, don’t- don’t tease. you know i can’t…” you choke, a little too loud. oops.

“hm? what do you need? drink?” he asks casually, voice at its normal and steady level. enjoying the fuck out of toying with your patience, your sanity.

“what’s wrong? is she feeling sick?” the concerned voice of nitta pipes up from directly across you, concern written on her kind face. bless her heart.

“oh, i’m fin-” you bite off with a yelp because gojo chooses that exact moment to pinch your outer lip hard.

“her stomach is feeling a little upset,” he coos apologetically with a smile, rolling his eyes behind his glasses like you’re an annoying child ruining his night. “the wine at this restaurant is far too cheap for her expensive palate. isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

you nod rapidly, like a bobblehead. “lucky for you, i know a remedy,” he sighs, exasperated. reaching forward to lift a crisp glass of “where the dreams have no end” circa 1987. to his lips. sweet chardonnay. alcohol doesn’t suit gojo and for a second you think he’s simply wetting his own throat, watching in confusion as your boyfriend swishes a swig of wine from one cheek to the other, around the front of his teeth and to the back of his throat. mixing it good with the saliva in his own mouth. then he slips a finger under your chin, tilting your head up gently. leaning down to capture your lips. somewhere, you hear nitta gasp in scandal, but oh...

gojo’s kisses aren’t sweet, they’re consuming. the way he kisses is too hungry, too desperate for the public eye. burning the desire in your belly to a boiling point.

he pries your lips apart, and you want to moan against his lips as his tongue slips inside; still balancing the wine in his mouth as he devours you in the kiss. eyes wide as saucers when gojo finally spits into your mouth, a rush of warmth filling your mouth disguised as a sensual kiss. in the back of your mind, it’s disgusting, it’s embarrassing as he dribbles the warm wine onto your tongue, the burst of fruit and the distinct taste of gojo’s own flavor hitting your tastebuds, making you whimper quietly before swallowing it down, like a good girl.

when he pulls away, you have to stop yourself from chasing his kiss or smacking him or both.

“see, nitta-san? all better!” he cheers with a big smile, thumb stuck in the air as he turns a few curious heads.

“i... i’m glad you’re feeling better,” nitta chokes out, the poor manager in shock. but you don’t feel better. your cheeks are burning up. aroused so much that your thighs are clamped tight around gojo’s unmoving hand, that your nipples are peaked painfully against the satin fabric of your mini dress. you wonder if it amuses him to embarrass you. if this was his cruel plan all along— sweet talk you into letting him fuck you under the table, only to tease you until you’re on the brink of tears. to humiliate you in front of all your peers.

“shh, i got you. you’re so good for me. gonna take care of you,” he reads your body language, maybe even your mind- finally, finally taking pity on your poor dripping cunt. you want to sob in relief as his middle finger shifts through wet, rubbing soft circles against your clit, instant pleasure pooling low in your belly to swarm a warm buzz down to your thighs.

“oh...” you whisper out in bliss, using all of your willpower to remain calm. to not make any noise and keep your expression clear. to not alert anyone to the six eyed sorcerer rubbing your clit sore with the rough pad of his finger.

it’s relief and torture; those slow, tight jerks against the little nub of nerve endings has you throbbing, but you want more. for him to take you home. sit on the edge of his bed, his legs spread as he talks you out of your clothes for the night. you want his tongue, swirling against yours as his cock fucks you brutal on the expensive, cool sheets in his penthouse.

above the table, gojo’s fist is curled in a white grip to restrain himself. the sound of your little hitched breaths, of you squirming around his hand so cutely is enough to drive him insane. below, his fingers stroke down your sloppy folds before stopping at your entrance. drooling wet as you flutter around emptiness. he wastes no more time sheathing himself, fucking his fingers in slow to the third knuckle, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat at the feeling of your pussy eagerly sucking him in.

your hands scramble for the edge of your chair, gripping it until the skin pulls taut. you want to wail, breath lodged tight in your throat. teeth clenched behind your sealed lips at the slight burn of gojo suddenly stretching your opening with two thick fingers. hot pressure between your hips as you press your hips down, greedy.

“shit- you’re so fucking tight, sweet girl,” he mutters, curving his fingers along the pink of your walls on the pull out just to hear your adorable little whine, dragging out raw pleasure in a slow rhythm of fucking that no one is wiser to. his hand barely moves, his arm does not flex— he even cracks a joke or two at the expense of nanami and ijichi— but you can feel the violence behind the pounding of his fingers, compensating for the fact that he can’t fuck you proper like you deserve. settling for rough jerks of his ridiculously long digits as he pulses in and out of sensitive nerves.

your hips rut against his hand in a desperate grind, forcing your clit to be rubbed raw with the sticky heel of his palm. the feeling is driving you insane, your toes curling against your shoes as you feel a familiar tingle, knot forming much too fast in your lower belly.

gojo’s fingers hit just right and you tremble, a rough fingerfuck under the table throwing you towards an orgasm that will cleave you, the table, and his entire fucking hand into two. an end of life, death by embarrassment because your orgasms are never quiet and he’s been teasing you for too long, your body a coil ready to snap.

he eases a third finger in, pressing deep, and you choke. the stretch of his fingers rub along your puffy walls, nudging right against that gummy patch of tissue that makes your eyes watery, your hips jolting as you bite down on your tongue until you taste blood, a whimper escaping you as you rock your hips raw against the cup of his hand. hot puffs of air leave your lips as you pant quietly, your eyes lidded as they dart around the table dazedly. looking for what, you don’t know. someone that’s watching and will make you stop. someone with their phone out, capturing the memory. someone that will liberate you from the heavy push of gojo’s strong fingers fucking your walls to a throb.

unfortunately, your wish is granted. there in your peripheral, you catch a pair of green-tinted goggles fixated on the side of your head.

how did you miss that?

you turn your head and freeze as you’re met with the owner of those green goggles. your eyes blinking rapidly before digging sharp nails into gojo’s arm, horrified.

you were caught. caught, caught, caught.

there is no surprise written on nanami kento’s handsome face. there is no disgust. his expression betrays nothing, actually. but his back is ramrod straight in his chair as he stares down into your face. the lighting in the restaurant is so poor that you hold onto foolish hope like a lifeline, that nanami doesn’t know what’s going on, but then gojo curls all three fingers on the hard drag out, forcing nanami to be witness to your eyes rolling shut in pleasure. to hear the soft cry of your whine, quiet and desperate as gojo fucks between your wet thighs. your leg jerks so hard it knocks against the khaki-colored slacks of the ex-salaryman.

“g- gojo... gojo!” you whisper urgently when he doesn’t stop, your nails still digging into his arm ruthlessly. “nanami-”

“can see you,” gojo finishes your sentence, nodding gravely but otherwise: un-fucking-bothered. “what about him?”

his fingers never stop fucking the knot in your lower belly towards bursting. he presses his palm to your throbbing clit, and you moan a little too loud. it feels so fucking good you want to pass out.

“g-gojo, stop.”

“at least not be so fucking loud?” nanami hisses to you both, ears beet red and a sneer on his lips. his fingers grip a pair of chopsticks so hard the wood is splintering. “i can hear-”

“you hear her little pussy swallowing my fingers up, nanami?” gojo purrs, your thighs squeezing tight around his hand at the dirty lilt to his words, your cunt clenching around the thick stretch of his fingers until it makes you sore.

“don’t drag me into this,” nanami snarls quietly, sucking in a sharp intake of breath. in your years of being a jujutsu sorcerer and working alongside the man, you have never seen nanami kento unraveled. even in the face of the most dangerous curses, he kept his unwavering cool. but faced with the slick sound of gojo’s long digits curling in and out of your pussy, hearing the soft gasps you fight not to make right next to him as you subtly fuck yourself up and down on his fingers, nanami kento is very fucking unraveled. “you need to stop, gojo.”

“why, you gonna tell the birthday boy on us? you don’t have it in you,” gojo taunts, a nasty edge to his voice as he smirks at nanami, sky blue eyes gleaming with malice over the top of his sunglasses. he presses his hand between your folds, circling the ball of his palm hard against your sensitive clit once more.

“tell me why i shouldn’t. this is highly inappropriate. people are trying to eat, satoru-”

“because she’s close. you know, it never takes long. she’s so sensitive. i can barely get my cock in before she’s cumming around me at home,” gojo explains matter-of-factly, leaning forward to meet nanami eye-to-eye over the top of your head. you would be mortified at him revealing that information normally. using you as an object to play with, to get under nanami’s skin. but you’re desperate now, too busy chasing the tremble in your thighs and coiling in your belly to care. “bet you wish it was you. i know about your little crush.”

nanami doesn’t rise to the bait, of course, but his eyes still haven’t left your face. the restaurant opening its maw and swallowing you whole wouldn’t be too bad because this entire thing is so fucking weird and suffocatingly fucking hot this close to your inevitable orgasm.

“s-satoru, help- i’m going to-”

gojo waits until the last, earth-shattering second. edging you nastily and ruining your orgasm right in front of your fucking colleague who watches it all like his own personal collection of filthy porn. gojo’s fingers cease inside of you and you want to cry— reminding your half-fried out brain that you’ll never play one of his games again for as long as you live.

“shh, sweet girl, be patient,” gojo coos sweetly, slipping his fingers out to pet your swollen clit in a slow, teasing circle that doesn’t give you enough friction. you hate him. you hate the slick that dribbles from your cunt onto your seat cushion when he pulls out even more. “if you were quiet, nanami wouldn’t have found out.”

“it’s not my fault-”

“isn’t it?” he croons, and then he clicks his tongue. “well, na-na-min? can my girl cum? look at her.”

you hate gojo satoru. you hate gojo satoru so much that your hate manifests into love. sweat sticks the back of your dress to your body in the middle of the restaurant, at a table full of inebriated sorcerers (a small mercy), your thighs are trembling, your cunt throbbing with need for him and he’s asking another man if you can fucking cum. becoming a villain and attempting to rip his life to shreds has never been so close on your horizon as it is right now.

“you’re sick,” nanami answers, ripping his gaze away from the two fucking freaks sitting next to him. he can’t believe this shit. this is precisely why he never goes out on weekends. but he also can’t believe how worked up he is, neck blotchy— cock half-hard in a way it has no fucking right to be behind gojo satoru’s girl. the chopsticks in his hand snap into sharp splints, a symbolism of his waning sanity. he’ll have to ask for a new pair when the food is delivered. or a job transfer far, far away.

but your next sentence stops him dead, making nanami choke on his breath, hand flying to his throat to loosen his tie.

“p-puh- please, kento-san,” you whine, pleading softly, only to him. the 7:3 sorcerer whips his head around, back to the couple next to him.

gojo is smirking because he has two players now and you— god, sweet little you, caught in gojo’s dark web. eyes shiny with unshed tears and desperate to cum around your boyfriend’s impossibly long fingers. and nanami, poor nanami, holding the power to end your suffering. nanami knows if he says no, gojo is cruel enough to hold the orgasm over your head the entire night because he’s fucking sick in the head like that. one word. two or three if he chooses and he can help a damsel in distress because that’s what jujutsu sorcerers are supposed to do. then he can go back to his night and pretend none of this ever happened.

for his sanity, he wets his lips and speaks up:

“be a good girl and cum for us, now.”

well, where did that come from? his voice came out more ruined than he intended to.

neither one of you care, but especially not you. not when gojo chuckles, plunging his fingers deep without warning, three of them stuffing your cunt wide as he intends on ruining you with the violent fuck of his fingers. “come on, baby, you heard the man. cum all over my fingers. let go, let me feel it-”

it doesn’t take long. sweet and forbidden, building slow in your belly until it’s the only thing you can feel. gojo fucks that spot knuckle deep, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit just right. you sink in your chair and forget how to breathe because it’s right there. too many nerves. lusted weight of two pairs of eyes, precision locked on your body, your expressions, your cunt.

summer blue and coffee brown.

“wait, gojo- gojo, i can’t. i can’t-”

“didn’t you want to? want to show nanami how you look when you’re creamin’ all over me? come here, sweet girl. cum for me.” he whispers hotly into your ear, just loud enough for the extra witness on your left side to hear as well. for him to hear the sloppy squelching of your greedy pussy swallowing him up.

biting your lip, feeling it split beneath the gnash of your teeth. you turn your head and hide your sweaty face against gojo’s arm as both men watch, breath tight in their chests as your body winds tight and suddenly snaps. pent up and released after gojo’s relentless teasing. cumming full and raw, forced out of you so violently it hurts. gojo lets you ride it out on his fingers, cooing in your ringing ears, letting you cling to him and commenting on how fucking messy your cunt feels as it squeezes his fingers numb.

and nanami... nanami is wondering how the hell he allowed himself to become involved in this shit, but he lets you grip his thigh until he actually feels the bones shift underneath your strong ass hold, wondering how your cunt would feel squeezing around him. how you would scream for him.

when your vision clears, there is no hiding the tremors and jolts as your pussy throbs in the aftermath. your head feels dazed, causing you to barely register the flurry of your surroundings. boisterous laughter flows around your table, the sorcerers thoroughly enjoying themselves as they drunkenly sing an off-key rendition of the happy birthday song. you almost miss the hostesses decorating the entire table with colorful, artful displays of sushi and other various dishes. and of course, gojo’s ridiculously huge aphrodisiac platter, as if he needs it.

nanami pries your fingers off of his thigh, flexing his leg before he turns back to his food with his new pair of chopsticks, wondering what the fuck kind of line he just crossed.

what you don’t miss is gojo gently removing the stretch of his fingers, smearing wet on your trembling thighs, leaving you sore and empty.

“oh my god...” you whisper to yourself, dazed and confused and so satisfied.

gojo tugs the hem of your dress down, covering your thighs and the evidence of your messy orgasm. he presses his lips softly to your temple, kissing your damp forehead. “you should really keep your dress down in public, dirty girl.” chuckling, he shamelessly slips his glistening fingers into his mouth one by one. tonguing his fingers clean of your slick.

oh, god.

remembering you probably traumatized your coworker, you peek at nanami out of the corner of your eye. if you want to be able to ever face the sorcerer again during work, you’d better find a way to eke out an apology. but what could you say? sorry i made you watch me cum on my boyfriend’s fingers? don’t report me to hr? does jujutsu headquarters even have an hr department? “n-nanami-san, about-”

“don’t apologize to him with your words, sweet girl,” gojo smirks at you, all cat that got the last bit of cream in the bowl. you watch him as he suddenly pushes back in his chair, standing up and yawning as if he’s tired— a terrible act. “apologize with your pussy.”

you can’t look at nanami, you can’t wrap your head the weight of what your boyfriend is implying, but you stand up, your clit beating in a steady throb and your heart in your throat as you take gojo’s outstretched hand. “comin’, nanamin?” gojo doesn’t look back as he shoots the invitation at the younger man. then you two make your way out of the restaurant without goodbye.

back at the table, nanami isn’t at war with himself behind the proposition. in fact, he is calmer than he’s ever been in a fight. “sick fucking freaks,” he sneers to the retreating backs of you and gojo, sucking in a breath that feels like inhaling sharp needles.

and then, he takes out his wallet to throw down a generous tip for the hostess before he bids a polite bow to the table. most definitely not following you and gojo out of the restaurant.

he just really wants that fucking apology.

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