#gojo fanfic

[fushitoru]

chapter 8: the lake a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, making out, touching bare skin pre-marriage (the scandal), eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ both you and gojo discover contradictory feelings lodged deep in your heart, and a confrontation (with an unexpected ally) leads to a rather....wet conclusion. (4.6k)

a/n additional warning that this chapter is not beta read. this may seem like a short chapter but it has TEAAAA (if you didnt already guess from the summary). i pushed myself to finish this for the peeps who finished finals this week so it may be a bit messy. anywho see u down below <3

prev. the rebound | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest gentle reader,

This Author finds herself most intrigued by the unfolding events of the Inos' recent ball. It appears that Her Majesty has not yet abandoned her faith in the diamond she so carefully selected. Will her confidence prove to be misplaced? Only time shall reveal the truth. Yet one cannot deny that fortune seems to shine—dare this Author say, sparkle—upon Miss Itadori of late.

Last evening, she graced the ballroom with a strikingly altered appearance, one that left tongues wagging and gazes lingering. Most notable, however, was the company she kept. Duke Nanami himself was seen at her side, engaged in conversation that appeared both earnest and uncommonly animated. A rare sight indeed, for His Grace has shown little interest in the charms of other young ladies this season. Could this be the beginning of something extraordinary? This Author will watch closely.

And who could forget the Gojo house party, where the drama rivaled even the most lurid novels of the circulating library? Whispers abound of a certain Lord Naoya Zen’in, who, it seems, departed the event looking rather... bruised, both in pride and in visage. What transpired to cause such a spectacle? Alas, my sources have yet to provide all the particulars, but one can only assume that tempers flared—and perhaps fists followed.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Satoru wipes his knuckles on a spare handkerchief, marring it with streaks of crimson. After the blood coating his hand is cleaned off, it reveals light bruises. 

He always abhorred such physical entanglements. Let other men soil their reputations in drunken brawls or duels over imagined slights; Satoru prided himself on wit and charm, a tongue sharp enough to parry any insult.

However, for the first time, it seemed that the blasé duke-to-be Lord Satoru Gojo, ever so apathetic to others and their struggles, was not so blasé anymore. What affected him was contradictory; after all, he had made a big decision to avoid being affected by the woman herself. So why was he so…inconsistent? Perhaps it is this unpredictability, capriciousness the reason he has to distance himself from any others who may be in harm’s way—the way forged by Satoru himself. There is no space for inconstancy, irresponsibility, whimsicality, or contradiction in his life, especially not with his duties and the weight held over his shoulders. 

But he allows himself this, one last time. Your expression lingered in his mind—the way your lips parted in shock, the stiff set of your shoulders as you brushed past Naoya’s lecherous words without deigning to respond. He had seen the moment your composure faltered, a crack in the armor you wore so effortlessly. The crack only he was supposed to cause.

It was intolerable.

As soon as pale pink ribbons trail out of the room, he moves toward Naoya, completely ignoring the lady who was talking to him and her trailing protests. When he’s right in front of the other man, he gives him a curt nod. “Naoya.”

The other man’s eyes—which were before no doubt prowling on other unsuspecting ladies—flit to him in surprise. “Lord Gojo, what a pleasant surprise. I daresay—”

“Meet me in the courtyard,” Satoru interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Naoya’s brows shot up, but he recovered quickly, a sly grin curling his lips. “A private word? How intriguing. Lead the way, my lord.”

Satoru didn’t wait to see if he followed. His stride was steady, his purpose unwavering.

The cool air of the courtyard carried the faint strains of music from the ballroom, the chatter of guests dimmed by the stone walls. Satoru turned to face Naoya, his stance deceptively relaxed, one hand resting on the pommel of his cane.

“Now, my lord,” Naoya drawled, his smirk widening. “To what do I owe this rather dramatic summons?”

The reply came not in words but in the swift arc of Satoru’s fist, connecting solidly with Naoya’s jaw. The sharp crack of the blow shattered the stillness, and Naoya stumbled, clutching his face as shock registered in his eyes.

“What in blazes—”

“Hold your tongue,” Satoru bit out, seizing Naoya by the lapels of his coat and slamming him back against the cold, unyielding wall. His tone was calm, his voice low, but it carried a menace that silenced all protests. “You will not speak of her in that way again. Do you understand me?”

Naoya grimaced, his defiant eyes narrowing despite the pain. “Ah,” he sneered, a breathless rasp laced with derision, “this is about Miss Itadori, isn’t it? Playing the chivalrous hero, are we, Lord Gojo? Or is it your own wounded ego driving this display?”

The next punch silenced him mid-taunt, burying deep in his abdomen. Naoya doubled over with a strangled gasp, his knees threatening to buckle, but Satoru held him upright, his grip vice-like.

“Speak her name again,” Satoru hissed, leaning close, his voice cold enough to chill even the night air, “and I swear you’ll find yourself in far worse condition.”

The tension between them crackled like a storm. For a fleeting moment, Naoya’s lips twitched into the ghost of a sneer, but his words died unspoken, arrogance muted by the sheer force of Satoru’s fury. Satisfied, Satoru released him with a sharp shove, watching dispassionately as Naoya crumpled against the wall, gasping for breath.

“You are mad,” Naoya spat, wiping at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “You’ll ruin yourself over this.”

“Perhaps,” Satoru replied evenly, smoothing the cuffs of his sleeves as though nothing had happened. “But I’ve never much cared for your opinion, Naoya.”

He turned on his heel, his steps measured, his expression impassive.

The sting in his knuckles was a small price to pay. Unfortunately it seemed that for you, it was a price he would pay again and again.

He had told himself the decision was rational. Logical. Your match had to cease because it had begun to unravel him. You were a distraction, one he could not afford. His life was designed for control, every action measured, every move calculated. A match with you, he had realized, would be unlike any other. It would mean more. It would demand more.

And yet, how could he feel this jealousy? This fierce protectiveness? It was contradictory, maddening even. His resolve to avoid entanglements of the heart warred against the memory of your laughter echoing through his mind. It was absurd, but he could not dismiss the sharp ache in his chest whenever you looked at another man, especially one so undeserving as Naoya Zen’in.

He had known from the start that you were different. No coy smiles or simpering obedience. No easy conquest to stroke his ego. Your instant rejection of him during your first meeting had been a blow to his pride and a revelation he had been too stubborn to acknowledge then.

Satoru was not a man who chased after women. He had no need to. And yet…

But even as he walked away, Satoru couldn’t help but feel the cracks in his own carefully constructed armor widening. What, indeed, was he doing?

You startle in your sleep, sitting up abruptly on your bed in the dark.

The season has taken a turn for the good, so far. With Whistledown singing your praises and the Queen not yet deciding to behead you, you were on the path of securing great prospects, whether it be with Duke Nanami or someone else.

“But you’re missing something, aren’t you?”

The voice is a low murmur, brushing the shell of your ear like the ghost of a touch. Your heart leaps to your throat as you twist toward the sound, your eyes darting across the dimly illuminated room. The corners of the chamber remain steeped in shadow, the moonlight doing little to ease your apprehension.

“Who’s there?” you whisper, clutching the sheets tighter, your knuckles whitening around the fabric.

The silence stretches, thick and oppressive, before a figure emerges from the shadow near the mantle. He moves with a predator’s grace, his steps silent against the floorboards. Even before he fully steps into the moonlight, you know who it is.

Gojo.

“You look startled, my lady,” he says, his voice carrying an infuriatingly casual lilt, though his gaze fixes on you with unnerving precision.

“This is a dream,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your effort to remain calm. “You are not real.”

“And yet,” he replies. “here I am. Curious, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to budge. He’s closer now, standing at the foot of your bed, his pale hair catching the silvery light like a halo—an angel or a devil, you can’t decide. “What do you want, Lord Gojo?” you demand, your voice sharper than you feel.

His eyes sweep over you, lingering for a moment too long before meeting your gaze again. “To commend you, of course,” he says. “You’ve been doing well—dancing with dukes, charming the Queen. The season’s darling.”

His words cut, though you can’t say why. “Why does that matter to you?” you snap, sitting straighter, as though defiance could shield you from the heat simmering in his gaze.

“It doesn’t,” he replies smoothly, though the corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk that betrays him.

“Then why are you here?”

His answer doesn’t come in words. Instead, he steps closer, his boots brushing the edge of your rug. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out, his gloved hand catching a strand of hair that’s fallen loose. He rolls it between his fingers, as though testing its silkiness, before letting it slip away. “Because I can’t seem to stay away,” he murmurs. His voice is low, meant only for you, and it sends a shiver through your body.

You scoff, though the sound catches in your throat. “You’re insufferable.”

His chuckle is soft, a deep rumble that seems to linger in the air. “And yet, you don’t look away.”

Your fists clench around the sheets, anger flaring in your chest—anger at him, at yourself, at the fact that he’s right. Before you can stop yourself, you throw the covers aside and rise to your feet. 

He doesn’t step back. Instead, he stands still, a study in casual defiance, though his gaze flickers with something you can’t name as you move closer. His eyes lazily drag up and down your frame, which you notice is only covered in a flimsy, almost translucent nightgown.

“If this is a dream,” you say, your voice trembling with fury and something unspoken, “then it doesn’t matter what I do, does it?”

His smirk falters, replaced by a glimmer of uncertainty that only fans the reckless fire inside you. “Perhaps not,” he murmurs, though the tension in his voice betrays him.

Your hands shake as you reach out, your fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. His eyes follow the movement, then stare back at you, into your eyes. For a brief moment, his breath hitches, and his hands twitch at his sides, as though warring with the instinct to touch you. But the flicker of surprise in his eyes tells you he didn’t expect this.

With a sharp tug, you pull him closer, your lips meeting his in a collision of unspoken longing, yearning, and pining. The kiss is unsteady at first, as if both of you are testing the waters, but it quickly deepens, becoming a clash of fire and desperation. His hands find your waist, his grip firm but not demanding, as if he’s holding on to something precious.

You press closer, letting the reckless freedom the dream gave you sweep you away. His lips part against yours, and the kiss turns slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, savoring you, devouring you. But then, his hands shift, moving from your waist with a slow, tantalizing seductiveness. They skim over your hips, his touch deliberate, before trailing down to the curve of your thighs. His fingers brush over the soft fabric of your nightgown, the heat of his touch searing through the barrier like it isn’t there.

Your breath hitches as he lingers, his thumb tracing a path along the sensitive skin just above your knee. The sensation is electric, and yet it feels like forbidden ground—an intimacy you’ve never dared to imagine, even in your most audacious thoughts.

It’s then that the dream begins to unravel.

His form flickers, as though caught in the haze of a mirage, the sharp lines of his figure softening. The room darkens, the corners of your vision blurring as though the world is folding in on itself.

“No,” you whisper, the word barely audible over the sound of your own pounding heart.

He looks at you one last time, his eyes filled with an intensity that feels as real as your racing pulse. And then he’s gone, the dream dissolving into nothingness, leaving you gasping and clutching the sheets. When you wake, the echo of his touch lingers, the heat of his hands on your thighs an ache you can’t explain. You press trembling fingers to your lips, your breath catching as though the kiss was still happening.

But no matter how much you try, you can’t shake the memory of his hands, of the way he’d touched you like he belonged there. Like he had always belonged there.

You choose to blame the irregular slumber you have gotten this past fortnight as the reason why you are being so discourteous. For Duke Nanami’s words drift your mind, never truly being registered, as you both had strolled, promenading hand in hand. 

It is not merely His Grace who suffers from your inattentiveness. Any suitor who dares to approach is met with the same distracted gaze, your thoughts elsewhere. Whether it is the lingering remnants of that unbidden dream—one you’ve tried and failed to forget—or the fleeting moments where you think you spot Lord Gojo across the green only to realize it is a figment of your imagination, your mind is a battlefield.

A few awkward conversations—where you are not truly present—pass and go, until you sit by the lakeside of Surrey Park, deciding to take a break from the conversations that awaited you if you were to stroll towards your family’s pavilion.

But not now, for here, nature offers solace. The gentle ripple of water, the soft rustling of leaves, the occasional bird song—all soothe the cacophony in your head.

You settle onto a bench, your gown fanning around you, and allow yourself to breathe. But even as you close your eyes and tilt your head toward the sun, the peace does not come. Your thoughts betray you, circling back to him—his infuriating smirk, his piercing gaze, the way his voice seemed to linger in the air long after he was gone. The dream was completely unbidden, unexpected. You had only started to move on and start this season anew. It seemed as your consciousness was working against you in an effort to bring fictional desires to life. 

You knew clearly that Gojo was infuriating, and had colored your name. So why must your mind actively go against what was clearly a certitude?

Before you could ponder on your thoughts for much longer, you heard her.

“You do seem terribly at ease for someone of your…reputation.”

The voice startles you, cutting through your reverie like a blade. Your eyes snap open, and there stands Lady Mei Mei, her expression a mask of genteel venom. You sigh inwardly, and bring on your best smile, albeit artificial. “Lady Mei Mei,” you greet, striving for composure. “To what do I owe this very unexpected…interruption?”

“Interruption?” she echoes, feigning offense. “How quaint. I merely wished to congratulate you on your newfound popularity. Though, I must say, the…boldness of your wardrobe choices does make one wonder.” Her gaze drags over your form, disdain dripping from every word. “Are you seeking a husband, my dear, or something far less respectable?”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt, but you maintain your poise. “Boldness, Lady Mei Mei, is often mistaken for confidence by those unfamiliar with either.”

Her lips twitch, but the venom remains. “Confidence, or desperation? It is difficult to tell with one so eager to flaunt herself before the ton. Tell me, do you find it tiring? Whoring yourself out for attention?”

The word lands like a slap, sharp and stinging, and you feel the surge of heat rise to your cheeks. Slowly, deliberately, you rise to your feet, smoothing the folds of your gown as you stand. Your chin tilts upward, a shield of composure against the venom Mei Mei has hurled your way. You desperately fight the urge to slap her into nonsense, but there are eyes, no matter how hidden from public view you may think yourself to be.

“I find it far less tiring than wielding envy as one’s primary weapon,” you reply, your voice cool yet cutting, every syllable sharpened to a blade. “But then, I would not expect you to understand.”

Mei Mei’s lips twist into something that might have been a smile, had it not been dripping with malice. Her eyes narrow, the sunlight catching the cold glint of her stare. She shifts closer, the deliberate grace of her steps at odds with the tension crackling in the air. For a moment, you think she might lash out—a slap, a shove, something physical to match her words.

But before the storm can break, a voice, smooth and deceptively warm, cuts through the charged silence.

“Lady Mei Mei.”

Your breath hitches, and you whip your head around to see him. Lord Gojo strides toward you both, his movements as fluid and effortless as a ripple across the lake’s surface.

For a moment, your mind stutters, unable to reconcile the sight before you. He’s here. Not lingering at the edges of the crowd, not offering a polite nod of acknowledgment before disappearing into the fringes of Surrey Park. No, he’s walking toward you with purpose, the light catching in his silver hair, his focus unerringly fixed on the scene unfolding before him.

The man who had, for days, seemed to find every excuse to avoid you (and you him), whose gaze had flicked past you as though you were nothing more than a fixture of the lawn—he was now approaching with a startling intensity, his presence impossible to ignore.

His expression is inscrutable, but the faint furrow of his brow betrays something darker beneath the veneer of his charm. The tension in his jaw, the faint set of his shoulders—it all speaks of an intent that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Lord Gojo,” you whisper under your breath, your voice barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears. What is he doing here? And why, when he looks at you, does it feel as though the air has shifted?

Lady Mei Mei recovers first, her voice cutting through your disarray like a blade. “Lord Gojo,” she purrs, her saccharine tone a stark contrast to the venom she had wielded moments earlier. “What a surprise to see you here.”

But you can’t take your eyes off him. You’re too stunned, too disoriented by his sudden appearance and the sheer force of his presence. Why must he appear now? 

His gaze flicks briefly to Mei Mei, his lips curving into a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before his attention returns to you. And when it does, it’s as though the world narrows to the space between you.

“Not half as surprising as overhearing this delightful conversation,” he says, his tone light, almost lazy, but there’s an edge to it—a sharpness that wasn’t there before. His eyes meet yours again, and this time, the intensity in them is impossible to ignore. Your breath holds itself in, your confusion and shock colliding with something you can’t quite name. There’s no teasing quip, no playful smirk to soften his words. Just the weight of his gaze, pressing down on you as though he’s searching for something you don’t understand. Then, he returns it to Mei Mei. “I was unaware you had taken to dispensing moral judgments, my lady. Though I suppose one must occupy their time somehow.”

The barb lands, and Mei Mei’s smile falters. Her spine stiffens, her fingers twitching at her side, but Gojo doesn’t stop. He steps closer, his boots crunching against the gravel, and the shift in his demeanor is subtle but unmistakable.

“I would suggest, for the sake of civility,” he says, his voice softening to something far more dangerous, “that you refrain from such remarks in the future.”

The crowd, drawn by the commotion, murmurs from a distance. You feel their gazes prickle against your skin, their curiosity thickening the already-tense air. Mei Mei’s cheeks flush a pale pink, and her hands clench at her sides, the effort to maintain her composure palpable.

“You dare—” she begins, but Gojo cuts her off, his voice a degree colder now.

“I dare a great many things, my lady. Do not test the limits of my patience.”

The words hang heavy in the air, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. Mei Mei’s breath quickens, and though her lips curl into a sneer, the fire in her eyes dims. After a moment, she dips her head again, but this time it’s no longer polite. It’s forced, a concession.

“Very well, my lord,” she says, her voice tight. “I can see when my presence is no longer welcome.”

Lady Mei Mei walked past you to exit the scene, clearly disgraced after Lord Gojo had surprisingly butted in to your defense. Her turn was sharp, and her skirts flared. Then, she did something you hadn’t expected. After all, you were nonplussed from Gojo’s appearance in of itself that you did not have much awareness of your physical environment. Foremost of all, you were furious. How dare he waltz into the scene, aiming at playing hero and gentleman after all he has done to you this season? The anger consumed you, leaving you ignorant to Lady Mei Mei's schemes.

The movement came quickly—a flick of her hand, subtle yet purposeful, as though she intended to brush away an inconvenience. Only, her target was not the hem of her gown or an errant lock of hair. It was you. That is, that was the intention of the action. However, fortuitously enough for you, Lord Gojo had noticed it.

With a sharp tug, his hand closed around your wrist, pulling you aside just as Lady Mei Mei's push landed—on him.

The splash was enormous.

For a moment, the world stood still, the lake swallowing the ripples as though it too were stunned by what had just transpired. Around you, gasps echoed, punctuated by the soft clink of champagne glasses dropped in surprise. All eyes turned toward the water, toward the spot where Gojo had disappeared.

Your pulse pounded erratically, caught between the shock of it all and the mortifying realization that everyone was watching. Watching and waiting.

And then, like something out of a scandalous painting that no young lady of good breeding ought to admit having seen, Gojo emerged.

The water clung to him as though reluctant to let go, his white shirt turned sheer and pasted to his torso, revealing every lean muscle and curve beneath. Droplets trailed from the tips of his silver hair, tracing maddening paths down the sharp edges of his jaw before disappearing beneath the soaked fabric. His black necktie clung damply to his throat, accentuating the hollows there, and when his eyes met yours—gleaming with mischief and something darker—your breath hitched.

It was obscene. 

The crowd seemed to agree, though their response was far less scandalized than you might have expected. The ladies weren’t laughing; no, their gazes were riveted, their fans fluttering in a feeble attempt to hide their obvious fascination. Their admiration was palpable, their whispers laden with awe.

Flustered, you took a few steps back to give him space and to not drench yourself (a/n lmaooo you’re drenched already bestie), but you mentally noted to yourself to make his pectorals bigger in your dreams (not that you would continue to have such salacious dreams, of course. It was the mind creating desires you never had, obviously.) It was apparent that you were still very distracted, for you did not notice the two pairs of footsteps rushing towards your direction, towards Gojo.

“What happened?” Duke Nanami looked at Gojo’s very…wet state, concerned and alarmed. “What did you get yourself into this time, Satoru?”

Gojo, who was still wiping water from his hair and grinning like a fool, gave him an exaggerated look of innocence. He ran a hand through his damp, platinum hair, the gesture almost too casual for someone in his drenched state. As he did so, the hem of his shirt inched upward, revealing a tantalizing sliver of bare skin, a sliver that led downward to a trail of white hair disappearing beneath his waistband—

“Kento,” Gojo laughed heartily, as if there were nothing amiss. “You worry too much! A little water never hurt anyone.”

Lord Geto, on the other hand, had been trailing behind Nanami. At the sight of Gojo, he started laughing, snickering mischievously at the sight.  He had a knowing look on his face, as if he were fully aware of the scene he was witnessing—Gojo’s accidental plunge into the lake being just another moment of unintentional chaos.

“Oh, Satoru, you're impossible.” Geto stepped closer, shaking his head in mock disbelief, but his smile was far too amused to be truly accusatory or reproachful. "Did you get knocked into the lake by your own... charm?" His voice dripped with sarcasm as he glanced at the crowd of ladies now eyeing Gojo as though he were some mythical creature freshly emerged from the depths.

Nanami sighed, his brow furrowing as he crossed his arms in that ever-earnest manner that seemed to constantly play contrast to Gojo’s reckless energy. “This is exactly why you need a keeper at all times, Satoru.”

Gojo, still basking in the odd mix of amusement and the lingering attention of the nearby ladies, merely shrugged. “I’m fine, Kento. Just a little... refreshment is all.”

“By the looks of it,” Geto continued with a raised brow, “I’m more concerned about you than you are of yourself.” He gestured with a lazy wave, motioning toward the way the water had soaked through Gojo’s shirt, revealing a lot more than was likely intended. “And, I mean, look at that—those ladies aren’t gazing at you for your intellect.” (a/n LMAO ate him up)

Before Gojo could lob a retort, Nanami interjected with his trademark no-nonsense tone. “Enough of this,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re soaked to the bone. Let’s get you inside before you catch a chill—or create an even bigger scene.”

Gojo lingered for a moment, casting a leisurely glance around the gathering. The ladies, previously locked in their own conversations, now shamelessly ogled him, their fans fluttering uselessly against the rising heat in their cheeks. Their gazes trailed after him as he started to walk away, and you swore you caught more than one wistful sigh among the crowd.

And yet, even as he moved farther from the lake and closer to the house, his steps deliberate and unhurried, he suddenly stopped. Slowly, his head turned, and his piercing blue gaze found yours with unnerving accuracy, as if he’d felt your bewildered stare all along.

His smile appeared—lazy, confident, and maddeningly seductive. The corner of his mouth tilted up just enough to make your stomach flip, and his eyes... Oh, his eyes. They gleamed like a predator’s, sharp and teasing, and yet impossibly inviting.

The world seemed to tilt, the air around you thickening. Your chest tightened with the realization: that smile wasn’t for the crowd, nor for the fawning ladies he left in his wake.

It was for you.

Your cheeks burned, your thoughts a chaotic mess as he turned back and sauntered away, water still dripping from his hair and shirt. The ladies continued to gawk openly, but you remained rooted to the spot, your heart pounding erratically.

Oh, that bastard.

prev. the rebound | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n so....erm this was definitely a CHAPTER.....BUT AH POOKIES ITS HERE i got so excited bc i got the idea to write his lake fall so i finished this chapter. it's a bit messy, like i said, but i hope you liked it <333

I WANT TO SUCK GOJOS DICK BADLYYY i think this chapter was posted so fast after the last bc im on my period and im horny so hence the lake scene was born like i rawdogged this shit in five hours

ANYWYAS THERES PUSH AND PULL YEARNING PINING...so much contradiction hmmmmmm

miss itadori malfunctioning when gojo got out of the water (like a complete SLUT)

anyways i hope some of you WHORESS that simped for bridgerton!geto will be coming anew to simp for our main MAN. this debauchery i approve of. i fear all anons, especially zaynesbathrobe anon and anon in my walls, will be having a field day with this one

thank you for readinggg! please comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :3 (esp reblog, a lot of people have been binging bridgerton!gojo recently and spam liking. tumblr daddy might lock me up and shadowban me/mark my account, so reblogs would be appreciated <3)

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[strychnynegirl]

I've read this too many times. There's no hope for me. 🫣❤️🔥

✞ Forgive me For I have Sinned ✞

✞ Pairings: Priest Gojo x Fem Reader

✞ Word count - 5.7k

✞ Content/Warnings- You keep having dreams about Father Gojo, and he decides to try to save your slutty soul <3 NSFW, sacrilegious, confessional fucking, rosaries as bondage, lots of filling you w/love and light, oral (both receiving) fingering, explicit church sex, reader is a lil bimbo and innocent fr, Gojo has a HELL of a God complex (canon tbh) overall kinky asf

A/N- Booking the tix to hell-who's coming with!? I based off this drabble of mine: Priest! Gojo (you can read it first if you want!) Reader and Gojo are in their mid 20s. Enjoy!

It was hot outside, a scorching summer day, the type that made you want to jump in an icy cool lake naked, but in the sanctuary of this pristine church which is kept rather cool, you still have a drip of sweat beading down your collarbone. You’re wearing a pretty red summer dress, your little hat right next to you in the pew, as you watch him with avid attention.

Father Satoru Gojo.

The entire church is in love with him, enamored by him, there are admiring whispers even amongst the most vigilant catholics, the ones who would judge you for coming not in your Sunday best. They hid it well enough, acting as if they only cared so much because his sermons were so powerful, because he was so young and profound already.

But you know better, and they know better deep down, that Father Gojo was just gorgeous, a face chiseled to perfection, tall and broad shouldered, swoon worthy by all accounts. His husky voice and insane presence that shines brilliantly like a million diamonds certainly helps, but his face itself is so pretty it’s angelic.

When he looks at you with those brilliant blue eyes, swirling like a moody storm, all glittery behind those snowy white lashes? Well you feel…

You’re going to hell.

Last night you’d had this insane dream of him, where he has asked you to serve him on your knees, just as he would offer that eucharist and wine to you, but instead it’s his cum you’re swallowing. And you’re a good, God fearing girl, so, you certainly should not do or think of such things! And worst of all, with your priest, Father Gojo. He has vows too, yet you’d committed much sin already.

Just last night you’d awakened throbbing, having dreamt of pleasuring him, on your knees before him, and you’d been soaking wet and dripping down your shorts, even the sheet had a wet spot. You’d rubbed your swollen little clit in circles, gasping and arching your back, feeling fevered as you committed such sins, as picturing Father Gojo had you climaxing all over your own fingers.

You’d been so ashamed this morning! You’d splashed cold water on your face, staring at yourself in your mirror, shivering as the cool water dripped down your skin, knowing you should stay home, find some new church. You are full of impure thoughts and sin, and it’s all because of him, how could you confide in him that you feel this way, think this way?

What would he do if he knew? Cast you out or…

Stop it.

But as you’re crossing your legs, shifting your hips, you see Satoru Gojo’s full, pouty lips part, his eyes directly on you. You pause then, eyes wide, you must be imagining it, your sin surely is carrying over too far… but you test it, crossing your legs once more, and sure enough, his eyes follow your legs up, between your thighs, surely seeing your panties.

That gives you a fucking thrill you can’t describe, as does him licking his thumb, going to another page as he continues his sermon, women all over are fanning themselves, enamored by him. But perhaps none so much as you, picturing what’s under that cassock, under those white robes he wears, what that long, lithe body would feel like against yours.

You imagine your dream vividly later when he’s giving you the eucharist, placing the biscuit on your tongue as you hold your mouth open on your knees, then you see it, the hunger mirrored in his eyes. You tremble when he brushes a thumb over your lower lip, and your eyes drift to his lap, where you clearly see he’s hard. You gulp it down, looking up at him and taking the wine now.

Father Gojo looks down at you, white hair falling over a brow, finding your beautiful eyes are affecting him as much as your stance on your knees, his thumb finds your chin now, imagining shoving his cock between perfect lips. Surely, you are here to tempt him, to ruin him, you are sin itself, haunting his dreams, making him hard in the middle of church, right in his own service.

You look at it then, his cock under the cassock that’s becoming too tight, before licking your lip, eyes back up to his hungrily. You look like such a good girl, but your eyes tell another story, a story of wanting to get fucked hard, to be filled by him, wanting to have his cum all over your pretty face. He imagines that as the wine drips down your lips now.

Fuck he’s going to hell if he stays around you, surely even he has rules to uphold even if he certainly is God’s chosen. But… perhaps since he is God's chosen, it’s his duty to help a little sinful girl like you. And as you rise, holding his hand, and your breasts brush against his chest, you’re far too close, he vividly pictures yanking them out of that dress, tempting him to no end.

Of course you ask for confessional, and he’s dying at the thought of being so close to you, when all he thinks of is how good you look, how good you smell, and he is left to wonder, do you taste that good? Your pretty neck, your delicate collarbone, your pussy? Surely he should not think such things, but as he looks at you through the lattice of the confessional separating you both, he cannot stop his mind.

“Father Gojo… I fear my confession is most wicked.” Comes your breathy little voice, only serving to make Father Gojo’s thick length harden, picturing what your little moans must sound like when properly fucked.

“Go on, my pr- my child, you may tell me anything.” He says, coughing a bit, because he’d rather call you a pretty little slut, and he has no clue why the devil likes to try him so hard. It’s all your fault, truly. Pretty little thing.

“Okay… but…” You take a breath. “I have dreams of someone fucking me, someone I should not.” You say nervously, and watch him shift in his seat, you can smell his cologne so much in here, making you thirst more for him.

“It’s natural to have thoughts, my child.”

“No, Father Gojo… I’m playing with myself, thinking of him. Of… sucking him, or of him laying on top of me.” You hear Father Gojo making a choking sound, and you panic. “I’m so sorry! I…”

“Ahem, no, no… continue.” Father Gojo’s cock is straining, he can already feel precum sticking to his tip, picuring you touching your pussy, he bets it’s so pretty, bet it tastes so-

Sinful girl, aren’t you?

Surely that’s all this is, not… him wanting to sin! Father Satoru Gojo certainly is perfect, he’s God’s perfect creature, so if he wants this, it must be on you. Sin in a perfect little body with a perfect little face, and a voice that drives him to utter distraction. Surely, Father Gojo must try to save you.

“Father, I cannot stop thinking of him, he’s in all my dreams. What should my penance be, how many hail marys?”

Father Gojo has to stroke himself to adjust his huge, throbbing cock now, as he watches you through the lattice, biting your full lower lip, your head falling back, hair cascading. Hair he wants to pull as he fucks you from behind, making you arch your back to take more of his cock.

“I have to ask how you’re doing it… so that I can tell you your penance, so that I may try to save you.” He says, husky now, and you whimper softly, shifting on the bench, your pussy throbbing around nothing, picturing his cock filling you.

“How I do it, Father Gojo?”

“Yes, it’s… important to confess.”

“Well, I take my fingers, and I find my pussy with them, I roll them around my clit over and over, I get so wet that they slip- Father are you okay?” Satoru can’t stand it, he’s stroking his bare cock under his robes, resting his head against the wall, struggling not to cry out as he’s pumping.

“Ahem… indeed I am. So you finger your little pussy then?” At his words you’re a blushing mess, breaths coming more rapidly, your hands gripping the bench, dying for friction as you’re soaking your panties.

“Y-yes.”

“Do you slip your fingers in?”

“I… no! Um… no.”

“And you cum?”

“I… yes. I do cum. Imagining him.” You’re watching those robes rise and fall, then you know it, Father Gojo is stroking his cock right next to you.

“I see… I think I can help alleviate some of this, perhaps give you some guidance so that you do not afflict yourself so.” You want to touch yourself now, when you hear those breathy pants, your fingers clinging to the lattice.

“Yes, father, I need your guidance.” Cock, fingers, mouth… fuck you’re a full sinner, aren’t you!?

“Then come here, let us have our first attempt at saving you.”

Now you’re standing in front of him in the itty bitty room, face to face with Satoru Gojo, your Priest, and fuck if your nipples don’t tighten up, if your tummy isn’t clenching with desire. You’re nervously fiddling with your hands as he leans back, spreading his long legs as wide as they can in the tight quarters, his glittering blue eyes dilated as he licks his lips, making them glossy.

“You must show me how, and do not fret, sweet girl, it’s through god’s will of course, through me.” Father Gojo says, your breaths come faster as you slip up your sundress, and his eyes hungrily drink the sight of your bare thighs in. He leans forward, sliding those panties down, eyeing your glistening cunt now, his breath almost hitting it, making you jerk.

“Father… I cannot show you…”

“You can, I am here to help, have no fear.” He notices you’ve drenched your panties, a wet spot formed, sticky little strands of your arousal apparent as he pulls them down, hands touching the smooth skin of your thighs.

You put your hand on your pussy now, the other nervously holding up your dress, and you run your fingers in circles on your clit, crying out softly, as he lets out a low, guttural moan. You’re getting wetter as you play, as his large, sexy hands clench, the veins popping up out of the thin skin, and you’re trembling, imagining his long fingers working you instead.

Satoru is close to cumming as he watches your pretty face, your brows drawing together, your lips parted, eyes so dilated your pupils are taking over, just a thin ring of your iris left. Your lashes are lowered, and his hand stops yours now, as it’s playing with your soppy little cunt, you tremble before him.

“I see, I must help you, guide you. To get this… affliction taken care of. Yes?” You nod eagerly, then Father Gojo pulls you to his lap, and you’re straddling him, your hands sliding up to feel his strong shoulders under his robe, and he is touching your pussy instead, making you whimper. “Need me to save you, pretty little sinner?”

“Please save me. Please. Ah!” Satoru sinks two long fingers deep inside your eager little entrance, you gasp at it as he slips into your gummy walls, drippy and so tight. He’s paused, moaning and looking right into your eyes, you drown in his blue gaze, as your cunt drools down his hand. “Father Gojo… please…”

“Begging for it, are you? So tight, it’s so… have you had anything inside this perfect little pussy?” He huffs, feeling how you’re squeezing his fingers, then he hits some spot that makes you see stars, pumping up and down over and over. You cling to him, eyes fluttering shut. “Answer me, be a good girl for once, would you?”

Good girl for once.

There’s no hope for you.

“Nothing… no one… just you, Father Gojo. Mmm!” You’re covering your mouth as he keeps pumping, and he moans, dreaming of breaking you in all the ways he could, taking your innocence for himself. It’s surely what god is wanting, and who is he but god’s disciple himself? He thrusts those fingers knuckles deep, watching you fall apart over him.

“There, you’re loving this, fingers stretching your pussy, don’t you?” You nod weakly, gushing down his hand, you can hear the squishing wetness of your pussy as he now slides a thumb, rolling it over your clit.

“F-father Gojo!”

“Sinful girl.” He huffs, as you’ve buried your face against his neck, rocking against his hand, those long fingers fucking you so good it’s painful, moaning.

“Mmm! Father Gojo, I will… be good… for you…”

“Will you?” You nod weakly, as Satoru rolls your clit expertly, and you feel the pressure building, you’re panting, ready to combust. “I feel it, you’re so close, aren’t you?”

You’re nodding, hips grinding, now you’re soaking his robes, he’s picturing sliding his cock inside you, breaking you, until your sins are cleansed, and you’re picturing him taking you, defiling you in every way your hectic mind can picture. Both of you are about to cum, you’re not even touching Satoru though, you want to, fuck you want to.

“Close, m’close… p-please…” You’re begging for release, seeing stars as he works your now sloppy cunt.

“I've got you, you can let go, you're safe with me, let me see your sins so I can cleanse them.” He urges you on, bringing you higher and higher with those long, slick fingers.

“Father, it's... I'm gonna... mmm!” You're so close, soaking the sleeve of his robe now. And he's so ready to slide into your eager cunt, looking up at you behind snowy lashes.

“Show me how you sin, let me watch you cum, so I can... help you.” He whispers, and you fall apart then, pulsing around his fingers, and he groans as he watches you, pressing up so deep. You’re gushing so much arousal, he can smell your sweet scent, as you scream out into your little hand, shaking.

Satoru is now sliding his fingers out, you whine, wanting more, especially when he is sucking your juices off his fingers, making you gasp. His cheeks hollow, his eyes fluttering shut as he tastes you, your mouth drops open, breaths making you quicken, your heart pounding in your ears as you try to come down.

Your thighs are trembling over him, entire body lit up from cumming so hard, his snowy lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, before fluttering up, looking at you, your arousal coating his lips. “Oh my God.”

More sinning.

“You’re not being a very good girl.” He admonishes, but then his lips quirk up. “But, you taste too sweet to be bad. Or perhaps you yourself are sin.” Father Gojo whispers to you now, and you’re leaning closer, rolling your hips, making him groan, his hands gripping your little waist as your heat brushes against his cock. “Has it alleviated some of your… need, my child?”

He’s smirking at you, in a way no priest should! You sigh then, shaking your head. “No, Father, it’s only made it worse! You must help me more, I’m afraid now I’m thinking of sinning even more, and who I’ve been dreaming of.” You say then, it’s a whisper, as the room is hot from your breaths, smelling like sweet arousal.

Satoru blinks then, thin white brows going together, jaw clenching. “You’re thinking of fucking your own priest? That is a sin.”

“I know! It’s a terrible affliction. Oh Father, I’m going to hell.” You whisper, blinking back tears, still reeling from the aftershocks of cumming. Satoru arches his hips now, brushing his cock against your pussy, and you nearly scream out, head falling back, exposing your throat to him, and he pictures his hand wrapping a rosary around your neck, pulling tight.

You’ve dreamt of him too!? Surely this must be a sign.

A temptation.

But does he want to fight it? Your taste is all over his mouth now, as he feels your sexy little body against him, his hands brushing against your breasts, watching your nipples perk up. You look at him with intoxicated eyes, lips parted, your tiny hands clinging to his robes as you grind again, and he shudders at how fucking good it feels, your heat on him.

“I see… Well you must come to me tomorrow, and we will have to try harder, to save your soul.” He says huskily, you nod eagerly, as he helps you off him, his cock close to cumming, already twitching, he slides your soaked, ruined panties into his robes, you surely do not need them anymore.

“What if I have another dream father!”

“Do not touch yourself, I will help you when you come in, that’s so we can try to save you, yes?” You nod then, leaning close to his lips.

“Father, is it a sin to kiss your lips?”

“Not if you feel a calling, surely God wishes you to.” He murmurs, and you peck a sweet kiss on his lips, tasting yourself on him, before forcing yourself out of the cramped quarters, body on fire, leaving Satoru to finish stroking his cock, cumming as he shoves your panties against his face.

******

You’re dreaming of him again, of Father Gojo, this time his snowy white hair is brushing against your thighs, his tongue is lapping up all the dripping wetness, his big hands pressing into the plush of your thighs. You wake up throbbing, crying out, seeing how wet you are, as the ceiling fan whirls, failing to cool your overheated flesh. Father Gojo’s fingers made it worse, your affliction!

The next day you’re painfully turned on, pussy aching for more, you followed his instructions and did not touch yourself, instead you forced yourself to go back to sleep, now you’re in the nearly empty church, knocking at the door of Father Gojo’s office. You hear his deep voice speak.

“Come in.” You nervously walk in, you are wearing a shorter blue sundress today, and no panties. You know Father Gojo will see how sinful you are, but when you see his perfect face, and him wearing a thinner, lighter white robe, your pussy is already making your thighs sticky. “My child, lock that door, so we can have privacy… we would not want your confessions judged.”

“Yes, thank you Father.” You lock the door with a click, stepping to him, your heels clicking on the wooden floor of his room. He’s sitting in his chair, fingers steepled, studying your body carefully.

“Do you have any updates on your affliction, pretty girl?”

“Pretty girl…” You’re blushing worse now.

“I feel I must call you what the lord is telling me. Is that alright with you?” You nod nervously, standing before him, the desk separating you. “So how were your dreams last night?”

“They were of you again, Father Gojo. I’m so sorry!”

You cover your face in embarrassment, hearing the soft thumps of his shoes as he comes to you, taking you by your wrists, big hands enveloping the delicate wrists entirely. Your head tilts back to look at him, he’s so tall and big… you’re drinking in the sight of him, his black rosaries hanging across his broad chest.

“You must tell me these dreams, so I may help you. Perhaps they’re some sign that we must see.”

“You… you were licking me, between my thighs.” His nostrils flare slightly, those swirling blue eyes thirsty as he studies you, your thighs shift, his hands still tight on your wrists.

“Your slutty little pussy, I was licking it?” Your pussy is clenching, tummy coiling, at his nasty, sinful words, from such a pure man. You nod then. “I see, there’s no choice, we must see what enacting your dreams does. To try to save you.”

“Y-yes, father, I think so too.” You whisper, hands sliding up and down his chest, watching his Adam's apple bob under that white collar. “Does it ever get uncomfortable, Father Gojo?”

“At times. Take it off for me.” He turns and you undo the collar, when he turns back you see it, his strong neck, the muscles corded, you bite your lower lip, earning him pulling it from your teeth. “This dream, describe it, so I can help you.”

You’re a flustered mess, especially after his fingers yesterday, and all the dreams you’ve been having. You take several breaths now. “You were licking me.”

“More descriptive.” He murmurs now, sitting you up on his desk, shocking you, then he slides up your skirt and smirks, wicked priest that he is, blue eyes darting back up to yours. “No panties, your soul is so slutty.”

“I… well… Father Gojo!” Satoru’s rubbing your clit with his thumb, watching you writhe on his desk now, as he sits back in his black chair, scooting up, his breath right against you.

“You wanted this, to be bare in front of me, didn’t you pretty little sinner?”

“Y-yes, I told you, I’m going to hell, mmm!”

He’s kissing your thighs, your hands enwrap in his silky white hair now, his breaths higher and higher, eying your perfect, glistening pussy. He’s dying to feel you dripping down his tongue, dying to drink your sweet nectar flowing when he’s opening up the lips of your pussy, and you’re making those pretty sounds, you’re so pathetic already, he thinks.

“No, I will save you, don’t you believe in me, pretty? I alone speak for God, I’m the honored one.” His words along with his eyes, those glittery blue storms that see right through you, as if they know your every sin, wreck you now. He surely must be the honored one.

“You’ll save me, I know you will.” You whisper, caressing his cheek now, and he moans softly, just urging you on more.

“That’s a good girl. Now tell me, what did I do in this dream?”

“You licked me, here.” You touch your slit, and he slides his tongue up it now, making you gasp, his tongue is so hot and wet, you’re gushing just from that. Satoru moans, kissing right over your clit before swiping his tongue again. “Father!”

“Shh, lest they hear your sinful mouth.” He whispers, and you clench your teeth, nodding as you watch him, he is placing your feet on either arm of his chair. “And you did not play with yourself?”

“I swear I did not, Father Gojo! I listened. Please…” You arch your hips up, full pussy in his face, and Satoru begins to devour you now, spreading your lips and flicking his tongue on your little swollen clit over and over. You have to slap a hand over your mouth, his rosary is cool against your inner thigh as he works your pussy, just like your dream.

Satoru’s tongue is wicked, for such a holy man you think, and it does the most wicked things to you, no dream could prepare you, even his fingers had not. He sucks your clit into his hot open mouth, moaning as your juices coat his tongue, looking up at you as you cling to his hair with one hand, the other muffling your cry as you feel yourself begin to cum.

Soon you are cumming right on Father Gojo’s face, your thighs shaking on either side of his head, pussy pulsing around nothing, and he’s drinking you up, so lewd in the quiet church office. You’re jerking now, as he leans up, half his pretty face shining with your slick, making you flush at how much there was. Your hand eases down, now just gasping for breath as you look at him.

“And now, my child, how is this affliction?” He whispers, leaning up and laying atop you, pressing you into the wooden desk. You lean up, kissing him once more, earning his moan, tasting yourself all over him, he grabs you by the throat then, long fingers wrapping as he pulls back. “How hard do I have to work to save your slutty little soul, hmm?”

“I’m sorry, Father Gojo. It was so amazing… but I just want more, I fear I’m having more lustful thoughts of you now.” Your hand slides down now, cupping him where he’s thick and hard, and he squeezes your throat harder now, his thumb on your racing pulse.

“And what else is in that little brain of yours? What lewd fantasies of your priest, hmm?”

“Sucking your cock, that’s what.” He groans now, pulling you down and putting you to your knees. You look up eagerly, now Satoru is undressing, and you finally get glimpses of his body, of hard muscles and planes as he’s taking off his robes, now opening his pants for you, revealing a huge, thick cock. You gulp as you drink in the sight of it.

“And do you know what to do, how to serve me, my child?” He asks, you shake your head. “Yet you’ve dreamt it?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then it’s surely meant to be, hmm? First, slide down your top.” You do as he says, and he moans as he sits back in his chair, gripping your bare breasts. “My God,  you’re made to ruin me. Come here, open your mouth.”

You do as he says, and Father Gojo now guides you by your hair, hair he wraps around his fist, guiding you down on his cock. His curved pink tip is leaking white pearly substance, which you tongue out, earning his grown, his head falling back. You suck him eagerly, swirling your tongue, as his eyes watch you, lidded and dazed, tasting his saltiness and sweetness eagerly.

“You’re far too good at this, are you sure you haven’t been sucking cock, like a sinful brat?” You pull back with a pop, saliva dripping down your lips.

“No, I only want to serve you, Father.”

“Mmm, you’re so precious.” He whispers, before shoving your mouth back on him, and you’re bobbing up and down as he pulls your hair, using it to glide you up and down his length. Your eyes water, your nose starts running as his cock is choking you, your pussy throbbing even more. “Fuck…”

“Father, did you cuss?” You ask, pulling back, with a shy little grin, earning Father Gojo’s smirk.

“I’m allowed to, it’s all God’s words. Now are you finally satisfied, or do we need to go further? Do I need to break your pretty little pussy?” He murmurs, his words like a drug, running his thumb across your lower lip. You nod then, weakly, and his lips part, eyes studying you. “Then ask me, on your knees so pretty, like you’re praying.” He puts your hands in prayer position, blue eyes lighting up.

“Please, break me, Father Gojo.” He pulls you up now, kissing you deeply, tongues so unpracticed and messy, you’ve never really even kissed, but now you feel him, filling you once more with those two fingers as he bends low.

“Turn around and bend over, sweet sinner.” You turn, and now Father Gojo has slid your dress down, leaving you in just your heels, his big hands gliding down every line and curve of your bare body. “I said bend over.”

He smacks you sharply on your backside, making you gasp then whine out, as he presses your upper back between your shoulder blades, your face against his desk. He then takes your hands, putting them behind your back and wrapping them with his black beaded rosary. You whine out at the sensation, he pulls it so tightly it’s digging in, shoving the cross in your palms.

“Hold on to that cross while I fuck your innocent little pussy. Feel it against your skin as I do.” He says, whispering in your ear. You nod, feeling the sharp cool silver digging in, as the beads dig into your bound wrists. “Good girl, spread those thighs.”

You do as he says, and then his tip is in, stretching you, and you’re shivering, breaths coming faster and faster. Satoru shoves his cock inside you, tearing at your little barrier. You cry out at the pain, and he pauses for a moment, moaning, letting you adjust. “H-hurts…”

“Just a moment of pain to fill you with my light.” He murmurs, sinking deeper, and your walls are fluttering around his cock, earning his groan. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you? Did you want me to take it, your innocence?”

“I’ve w-wanted you, so long… played with… a long ah- time.” He moans now, sliding back out and in, you’re so wet and ready the pain eases quickly, as he takes you from behind now, pulling on your neck, pressing your bound hands firmer against your back, whispering in your ear.

“You sinned so long, playing with this pussy thinking of me?” You nod weakly, hiccuping on a cry as he’s pumping now, taking you over, stretching your tight cunt out so much, your skin burns, but you crave it.

You’re going to hell, surely.

But it seems worth it to be stretched by his cock so well.

“Y-yes… a long time. S-sorry Father…”

“Just Satoru when you cum all over my cock, hmm?” You nod weakly, then he fucks you harder now, thighs smacking your skin, his pelvis smacking your now sore ass cheeks, balls smacking your clit. “Ah, and you’re close already and your first time? You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Satoru!” You scream out so loud he’s palming your mouth with his huge hand, taking over your face, shoving his cock in and rolling his hips, making you climax so hard you cannot see. You weakly drool out of your lips onto his hand, as he feels your velvety walls fluttering around him.

You are made for this, for his cock, to take him. Your sweet virgin pussy is getting so filled by Father Gojo’s huge cock, but you’re already taking him so well. Father Gojo knows then that your dreams and his must be for a better purpose, to fuck you and fill you with all of his light, surely. You’re taking him more and more, cumming so hard your cunt is drooling everywhere.

He lets your face go, looking at your fucked out expression, your mouth is wide open, that drool dangling out the corner, your eyes are rolled back, lashes fluttering, your ass arching up for more. You’re such a sinful creature, but he knows your innocence was made for just him, clearly. You would not have anyone else, he would surely see to it.

It’s God's calling.

You’re pounded and stuffed by his huge cock, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, ass jiggling with the force, then Satoru pulls your chin to face him, he’s so fuzzy, you keep shutting your eyes.

“Look at me, my child, now.” He whispers, and you open your eyes, staring into his weakly as his thrusts slow.

“Y-yes, Satoru…” He moans at the use of his name from your pretty lips.

“I’m saving you, through… mmm… God’s wisdom.”

“Thank you, thank you!” You’re trembling, he’s rolling his hips and that tip is dragging on your spot, you struggle to focus on his pretty face, the sun from the blinds filtering in behind his head, and then he looks like an angel. The cross is digging in so much your hand is bleeding just a bit, but you truly couldn’t care, his cock feels too good inside you.

“Do you want me to… fill you…” He’s crying out then, grabbing you so tightly you can’t breathe. “With God’s love… and light?”

“Please, fill me Father- ah!” Satoru starts pumping faster and faster, yanking on your rosary so hard it breaks as he begins to cum, the beads flinging and clattering all over the wooden floor, the cross still digging into your broken palm.

“Going to put… so much… light in you… fill you-” He moans loudly then, and you feel hot liquid pumping inside, bringing you to cum with him, as it coats your walls, hot and sticky. “Feel it? Feel me filling you with it?”

“I do! I do… Father Gojo… feel it.” You whine out, rolling your hips to milk him for every bit of his hot white ropes.

“Oh… Mmm…” He’s pumping more cum inside you now, but you’re so wet and still convulsing, so it’s dripping down his cock with your arousal. Satoru exhales, pulling out and then wiping you up, turning you gently, gulping as he kisses you once more. “You were sent here to destroy me.”

“Father, I’m afraid… I only want to do it more.” You whisper, he groans, cupping your face, as you bring up your hand to him, where the cross has left red marks on your palm, he traces it, the perfect symbol of the cross, with little blood drops streaking. You wince in pain.

“I see, it’s a sign we must continue.�� He says, and you nod eagerly, as he holds your hand in his.

“We must, Father Gojo.”

*****

The next Sunday, you’re sitting in the very front for the sermon, watching as Father Gojo is licking a thumb and turning a page, his blue eyes darting to your thighs, today you’re wearing a pink summer dress. Father Gojo has stolen a pair of your panties, he thinks you don’t notice, but you do, so you decide not to wear any again, opening your legs for a moment.

Father Gojo gets a glimpse of your bare, glistening pussy right in that church, making his cock hard in front of a room full of hundreds of his followers. Luckily the brown stand in front of him covers up such evidence, as he looks over at your face when you cross your sexy legs, you smile up at him, blinking innocently.

But you’re not innocent, not anymore, are you? No, you’re the worst sinner he’s tried to save, and he thinks he’ll have to work harder to save you. And when you’re riding his cock in the confessional later that evening, and he’s biting on your breasts, you’re riding him so well, moans muffled in the tiny room, he’s not sure he can save you truly, you’re too full of sin.

Father Gojo enjoys your slutty soul and your soaking wet pussy on him far, far too much, especially filling you with his cum light.

Serving Father Gojo is perfectly fine, it's God's will after all 🙏 Nanami and Geto drabbles coming some time too <3 Reblog if you're a sinner <3

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Warnings: Angst Hurt/Comfort Betrayal Polyamory Gone Wrong: Toxic Relationships Emotional Abuse Pregnancy Body Horror Gaslighting Infidelity Isolation Unhealthy Relationships. Previous Chapter 1: Home Is Just a Place You Leave (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 2: Collateral Void

The night air felt cool, brushing softly against your skin as you sat at the dining table, fingers flying across the laptop keyboard. The faint glow of the screen illuminated your focused expression, but the peace was short-lived.

“Boring! Though what kind of work is it? Can I help?” Gojo drawled dramatically, suddenly appearing behind you. Before you could react, his long fingers darted over the keyboard. “What’s this? Spreadsheets? Bleh. Delete. Delete. Delete.”

“Satoru!” You shrieked, smacking his hands away as he howled with laughter, stumbling back like a kid who’d just set off fireworks in a schoolyard. “This is quarterly projections; it’s a highly important document people worked hard on!”

“Oh, come on, you’re working too hard,” he teased, leaning down with his hands on the back of your chair. “Work-life balance, baby. You need more Gojo in your life.”

“I need less Gojo in my life,” you muttered, shoving him off.

The bedroom door slammed open with enough force to rattle the walls. Nanami stormed in like a man possessed, holding up a fractured piece of pottery that looked both ancient and priceless. You recognized it immediately—the Kintsugi Haniwa, a beautifully restored clay figure you’d given him years ago, a piece Nanami revered as a testament to tradition and resilience.

“Satoru!” Nanami said through gritted teeth, his voice low and vibrating with barely restrained rage. “Care to explain why I found this”—he held the artifact higher for emphasis—“chucked under the bedside table?”

Gojo froze mid-smirk, his expression slipping for the first time. “Oh. That—that’s weird. Who would—?”

“You broke it and hid it there!” Nanami growled, keeping the artifact aside, the accusation dripping with certainty.

“Hid is such a strong word,” Gojo replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I simply relocated it.”

“To the floor?” Nanami darted towards Gojo, voice raising with each word, veins practically bulging at his temple.

Gojo sidestepped next to you, standing you up and using you as a human shield. “Look, Nanamin, accidents happen! Why don’t we focus on forgiveness instead of anger?”

The three of you were circling the dining table like children playing a game of tag—except one of those children was trying to commit murder. Gojo kept darting behind you for cover, his grin only widening as Nanami’s rage escalated.

Nanami’s glare sharpened, his voice dropping into a dangerously calm monotone. “First, it was the trimmers. Now this.”

Gojo perked up, suddenly smug. “How do you even know it was me? Maybe she used your trimmer.” He pointed a long, accusatory finger at you.

You stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. “Are you serious?!”

Nanami didn’t even glance your way; his focus stayed zeroed in on Gojo. “Because you are the only one with grandma hair.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like Nanami had physically stabbed him. “Grandma hair?!”

“It’s white, isn’t it?” Nanami said flatly, unbothered, still trying to grab him.

“Excuse you,” Gojo sputtered, sidestepping Nanami and pointing wildly at his own head. “This is platinum perfection. It’s fashion-forward. It’s—it’s a statement.”

“It’s hereditary decay,” Nanami shot back, not giving up the chase.

You snorted, unable to hold back the laughter as Gojo gaped at both of you in utter betrayal, holding you close to his chest by your waist, trying to block Nanami. “You’re both ganging up on me. This is domestic abuse!”

Nanami’s scowl deepened. “Don't change the topic, Satoru!”

Gojo shrugged innocently. “Hey, at least I cleaned it.”

Nanami’s nostrils flared. “Cleaned it?”

Gojo’s grin turned nervous as he added, “Well, you look mad, so I guess not entirely...”

Nanami lunged forward. “You left all your hair on it! What do you even use my trimmers to trim, because you sure as hell can’t grow facial hair, you manchild!”

“You know what I shave!” Gojo called back, then squealed in delight and bolted, dragging you along.

You froze mid-breath, horror washing over you as the implication hit. “Gojo, do you have a death wish?!”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his eye practically twitching with it as his seething glare intensified. “You shaved your fucking balls with my facial trimmers?!!” He spoke low, advancing like a storm cloud as Gojo circled the table, “Then had the audacity to leave it dirty with your… your gross hair for me to find! Like you are a cat offering me dead animal!?!!”

Gojo darted as Nanami chased him with murder in his eyes. The three of you continued circling the dining table in a chaotic frenzy, Gojo skidding across the floor in his socks, cackling like a lunatic.

“We have exchanged so many bodily fluids, and this is where you draw the line?” Gojo mocked, ducking under Nanami’s arm.

“Disgusting!” Nanami barked, seething as he pointed an accusing finger at Gojo. “I swear to God, Satoru, you are the bane of my existence!”

“But you love me,” Gojo teased, skidding to a stop so suddenly that you stumbled into Nanami. Nanami caught you easily, steadying you with one hand, but nearly crashed into Gojo, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Apologize!” You shouted, stepping between them before Nanami could strangle him.

Gojo huffed dramatically, tossing his head to the side like a diva. “Fine, fine. I’m sorry, Nanamin. Truce?”

Nanami grumbled under his breath, clearly unsatisfied. But before he could say anything else, Gojo grabbed his face, leaned in and kissed him square on the mouth.

Nanami’s entire body froze, his eyes going wide.

“There,” Gojo said smugly, pulling back with a grin. “Divorce dodged! Yay!”

You stared at them, caught between amusement and disbelief. It felt perfect—so perfect you almost wanted to cry. The laughter, the banter, the way they made you feel seen and cared for. You soaked in the moment, memorizing every detail—Gojo’s messy white hair, Nanami’s steadying touch, the golden light filtering through the lamps, casting everything in a soft, warm glow.

“Go ahead, ignore me,” you said jokingly, crossing your arms. “I’m clearly the third wheel here.”

Except they did.

The lights flickered.

Your smile faltered as you blinked, realizing they weren’t paying attention to you anymore. Gojo had grabbed Nanami again, pulling him closer. Their voices dropped into hushed murmurs, unintelligible and distant. You opened your mouth to say something, but they didn’t respond. They were kissing again. Fully.

And they were across the table now, far away—too far.

“Guys?” you said, laughing nervously. But the sound was thin, swallowed by the sudden heaviness in the room.

Gojo’s face blurred at the edges, his features smeared like wet paint dragged by careless fingers. Nanami’s figure was rigid, his face unreadable as shadows pooled at his feet, darker than they should have been. The air shifted—heavy, oppressive—pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake.

“Hello?” You tried again, louder this time. Your voice cracked slightly.

Nothing.

They didn’t turn toward you, didn’t even flinch. They were consumed with each other, as though you weren’t even there. The shadows stretched further now, creeping into the corners of the room like black ink spilling across the floor.

“Stop it,” you said, your tone sharper, though a pit began to form in your stomach. Their forms were blurring further, warping. The golden light dimmed, turning sickly and cold. The dining room, once warm and filled with laughter, twisted into something unfamiliar—something wrong.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from us,” Nanami said, suddenly turning to you. His voice was hollow, devoid of the calm warmth it usually carried. The words sent a chill crawling up your spine.

“What?” Your gaze darted between them, your chest tightening. “What are you talking about?”

Gojo’s head snapped toward you with unnatural speed, his blindfold gone. His six eyes glowed horribly bright, the light of them reflecting like mirrors in the dark. His smile was gone, replaced by something jagged and cruel, something inhuman.

“You didn’t think we’d find out?” he said softly. There was no teasing in his tone, no charm—just an edge of menace. “About them?”

“Them?” you echoed, the word barely escaping your lips. Nanami stepped closer now, his movements slow, deliberate. His face was shrouded in shadow, his features obscured like they were melting into the dark.

“The twins,” Gojo said, the word cutting through the room like a blade.

Your breath hitched as Nanami advanced, the shadows around him crawling along the floor, reaching for you like grasping hands.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” you whispered, instinctively wrapping your arms around your stomach. Your pulse roared in your ears as the room tilted, the walls pressing inward, suffocating you.

“We have to take them,” Nanami said, still moving towards you, his voice distorted, as though it came from deep underwater.

Gojo smiled again, moving towards you, his grin splitting unnaturally wide, the corners of his mouth stretching just a little too far. “We can’t let them live. You know that, sweetheart.”

“No! They’re mine,” you choked out, stumbling backward, your arms tightening protectively around yourself. The table between you seemed to shrink, leaving you exposed as they advanced.

“You can’t keep them from us,” they said in unison, softly, the words curling through the air like smoke.

“Stop!” you screamed, but their forms warped, dark shapes spilling into the edges of your vision. The shadows surged forward, hands reaching—

You jolted awake in the chair with a sharp gasp, your body trembling violently as you shot upright. The room was dark again, save for the faint glow of a screen. Your breathing came in ragged bursts, your pulse thundering as you clutched your stomach, feeling the reassuring movements beneath your palms.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

The laptop sat open in front of you, the spreadsheet forgotten, the cursor blinking insistently in the silence. The apartment was quiet, but the echoes of their voices lingered, a whisper in the back of your mind—a threat you couldn’t shake.

The shadows felt darker now.

“They’re mine,” you whispered shakily, curling in on yourself. “They’re mine.”

Weeks had passed.

You had buried yourself in a new country with the same job because you couldn’t abandon the business you had painstakingly built alone, with your blood, sweat, and tears. It was all you had left of yourself—the last thing tethering you to who you used to be. You ensured no one could access your personal information, locking it away like a fortress. Still, you felt like a ghost, drifting through a life where no one knew your name, where no one could see the haunting memories that followed you.

Your days were a blur of meetings, phone calls, and paperwork. You let go of every luxury, stripped yourself down to the bare essentials—as if even the smallest indulgence might give them a clue, might allow them to trace you. Not that they would. Your days were spent in a tiny apartment that didn’t even feel like a home. The walls were too close, the air too still, and the silence stretched on like a second skin. It wasn’t a home. It was a box—cold, cramped, and indifferent—where you ate alone, worked alone, and slept in fits and starts, the hours fractured by dreams you couldn’t escape.

The nights were the hardest.

Alone in a foreign city, you lay twisted with pain, your body betraying you in ways you didn’t know were possible. Your skin felt stretched too thin, muscles aching like they were being pulled apart, reshaped against your will. The babies—their babies, no! your babies—grew inside you, alien things that contorted you from the inside out. Every sharp twinge of pain felt unnatural, every shift of movement a cruel reminder of what they had left behind. You couldn’t help but wonder if your body might rip open entirely, split down the seams. The changes weren’t normal. Your bones creaked and groaned under the weight of something you couldn’t understand, your body remaking itself to accommodate children who were never supposed to be here.

You worked through it. You worked through everything. The nausea that made your hands tremble. The exhaustion that dragged your eyelids shut. The cold sweat that drenched your skin as the babies pushed against you, growing and moving with a purpose that felt wrong. It was all wrong. But still, you sat hunched over documents and contracts, your vision blurring until your eyes burned, pushing through the pain until the lines of text no longer made sense. Anything to keep the memories at bay.

But they crept in anyway.

Gojo’s laughter. That unmistakable, infectious sound that could fill a room with light. It used to be enough to pull you out of your darkest thoughts, but now it echoed like a cruel reminder of what was lost. Nanami’s quiet, steady presence haunted you too—those rare moments when his stoic mask cracked, when the tenderness beneath the weight of his quiet sorrow slipped through. The fleeting seconds when everything had felt right, when you believed you were loved, when the world seemed like it could wait just a little longer.

Those moments were gone, but they still haunted you. They slipped through the cracks when you least expected it, invading the silence, invading the cold. The life you had left behind wouldn’t let you forget.

You had traded one form of isolation for another.

But at least this one was on your terms. At least now, you were alone because you chose to be. You weren’t the woman who had thrown everything away for them, not anymore. That woman was gone.

Your old phone, now completely untraceable, stayed on out of morbid curiosity. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to see how long it would take for them to notice you were gone. If they ever would. Maybe they were happy you were out of the picture. Maybe your absence was a relief. You kept a new phone for work, clean and also untraceable, and refused to check their social media. You couldn’t bear to.

//

Back in Japan

It started with the ring.

The bedroom door slammed open just as the first pale rays of dawn broke across the sky. Gojo stumbled inside first, his uniform coat discarded in the living room next to Nanami’s coat, tie, and their shoes. His pale blue shirt completely untucked and unbuttoned, almost sliding off his shoulders, revealing his toned chest down to his navel. Nanami stumbled after him, his arm wrapped around Gojo’s waist from behind to steady him, his teeth leaving faint, red marks against the back of Gojo’s shoulder blade. Both of them swayed like ships lost at sea, unmoored and directionless. The unmistakable scent of alcohol clung to them—whiskey, gin and tequila, sharp and sour in the still air.

Gojo turned and pressed Nanami against the wall within seconds, his long fingers tangling into Nanami’s hair, lips dragging lazily along his jawline. Nanami’s face was flushed, and he was uncharacteristically pliant, unresisting. His hands drifted to Gojo’s hips, sliding lower, grounding himself through touch.

“Satoru,” Nanami muttered, his voice breathless, strained—a fleeting attempt at lucidity. “Do you know where she is?”

Gojo didn’t pause, his grin sharp against Nanami’s skin as he murmured, biting softly, “‘She’? Who’s she?”

Nanami’s hands tensed at his sides. “Our wife.” His voice broke slightly on the word. “You haven’t seen her?”

Gojo finally pulled back, crystalline eyes hazy and lidded, his blindfold dangling from Nanami’s wrist again like some forgotten relic. “Of course not. I thought you knew where she went.” His smirk faltered only slightly before he dragged and pushed Nanami backward toward the bed. “Don’t ruin the moment. She’s probably on a trip—working hard, being the boss lady we love.”

Nanami let himself fall onto the mattress with a bounce as Gojo straddled him, hands already wandering over his waist. Gojo pressed and rubbed their bulges together, punching a groan out of Nanami, who breathlessly stuttered as he tried to speak again, but Gojo kissed him roughly, stealing his words. It was messy, desperate—a distraction from something neither of them wanted to name. Still, the nagging thought clawed at Nanami’s mind, like a splinter he couldn’t ignore.

“She didn’t tell me,” he muttered, barely audible between gasps, his hands trying to still Gojo’s ass. “Where she was going.”

Gojo paused for half a second, then scoffed, rolling his hips once more as though to smother the thought. “You think she tells me everything? Haha, funny. She always tells you, though.” His words slurred slightly, dismissive.

“That’s not true.” Nanami said while the table beside them jolted as Gojo pushed Nanami further into the mattress, the sharp clink of metal against marble cutting through the room like gunshot.

Making Nanami still instantly.

“What was that?” His voice was low, tight. The haze of lust and alcohol shattered like glass.

Gojo blinked, lifting his head lazily. “Probably your sanity leaving the room,” he muttered.

Nanami ignored him, leaning to the side and shoving the bedside table back with his foot, earning a low scraping sound as it moved. Gojo groaned, trying to tug him back down as he continued assaulting Nanami’s neck and now his shoulders, which peeked through his half-unbuttoned and completely untucked shirt with bites, but Nanami’s focus was elsewhere. He leaned down further, and the room fell silent to him.

There, half-hidden in the dust and shadows, lay a small, glinting band of gold.

Nanami’s fingers shook as he picked it up. The ring cold against his skin, familiar and damning all at once. He stared at it like it might burn him.

It was her ring.

“Satoru,” Nanami said quietly, grabbing Gojo’s jaw with one hand—who had been too busy biting his shoulder to notice—and turned him to face it. His voice was fraying at the edges as he held up the ring, its gleam sharp in the weak dawn light. “What’s this doing here?”

Gojo stared at it for too long. The color drained from his face, the drunken nonchalance slipping further with every second. “She probably took it off,” he said finally, though his voice cracked. He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “You know she gets eczema sometimes… itchy hands, right?”

The words hung in the air, hollow and pitiful. Gojo didn’t believe them any more than Nanami did.

Nanami shook his head slowly, his grip on the ring tightening as his knuckles turned white. “She always wears it when she’s on work trips,” he said, his voice hoarse, brittle. “She says it keeps creeps away.”

Gojo didn’t respond. He just stared, his wide eyes fixed on the small, damning band of gold as though it held all the answers to everything. Nanami didn’t wait for him. He shoved Gojo off and bolted from the room, his bare feet thudding against the floor as he grabbed his phone from his coat in the living room.

“Nanami, wait—” Gojo stumbled after him, still dazed, but Nanami was already swiping through his phone, his thumb moving in quick, frantic motions.

His heart sank.

Her last message to him—the last sign of her—was over six weeks ago.

Six weeks.

Six weeks, and he hadn’t noticed?

Gojo could have been an idiot, but he wasn’t, or so he had always thought.

The color drained from Gojo’s face as he stared at the screen while the realization spread through Nanami’s heart like poison. Without a word, Nanami reached over, his hand dipping into Gojo’s pants' front pocket to pull out his phone. Gojo let him, watching as Nanami unlocked it and scrolled through the messages.

The screen glowed with the same message. The same day. The last day they had heard from her. The day in the drawing room she had begged them to tell her if they loved her.

A chill settled into the room, sinking deep into their bones, heavy and unshakable. Nanami’s hand dropped to his side; the ring, along with the phones, slipped from his fingers and landed with a dull thud on the floor. The silence that followed was choking. Nanami turned to Gojo, his face blank, but his eyes were wide, wild with a horror he couldn’t contain.

Gojo stood frozen, his earlier bravado gone. He looked smaller somehow, his face pale and slack as the weight of what they’d done—what they’d lost—sank in.

“She’s gone,” Nanami whispered, the words barely audible, like a confession he couldn’t bear to say any louder.

“She’s not gone!” Gojo shot back immediately. He laughed—a hollow, desperate sound—as if the act of saying it would make it true. “As I said earlier, she’s probably just... just out. On a work trip. She’ll be back. She always comes back...”

But his voice trembled at the edges, and they both knew the truth now. The ring on the floor gleamed coldly, like evidence of everything they had destroyed—everything they couldn’t take back. Like a final goodbye neither of them had ever thought of.

//

The same night, after too many sleeping pills in your new home on the other side of the world, your vision blurred and your body felt like it was splitting apart; you opened your old phone to look at old pictures. After a few hours it buzzed, and against your better judgment, you looked.

Toru (DNR): “Where are you?”

The message sat there, glaring. Your heart dropped. Another followed seconds later.

Ken (DNR): “We messed up. We apologize. Please. Just tell us you’re okay.”

You threw the phone, your vision swimming in tears, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. After more than six weeks of you leaving, more than six weeks of silence, after everything they had done, now they noticed? Now they cared?

It was too late. You had built walls around yourself now, high and impenetrable. The same walls you’d erected when you had realized, too late, that you weren’t loved—not the way you had been promised. They weren’t even the people you thought they were.

The city’s lights blinked outside your window, distant and indifferent, like the glow of a world that had moved on without you. Somewhere out there, they were searching for you, but you didn’t care anymore. You had traded the ghost of their love for the numbness of being alone in this foreign place.

//

Back in Japan

More days passed.

Their apartment remained frozen, a mausoleum of the life you had left behind. Your old laptop still sat neatly on your desk, untouched and gathering dust. The faint imprint of your body lingered on the couch cushions, as if you might walk in at any moment and collapse there, laughing about how long the work trip had been. But you never would. Not anymore.

Gojo filled the silence with noise. The television blared cartoons he wasn’t watching. Music thumped from his phone, but the songs ended too quickly, leaving the hollow quiet to seep back in like poison. He laughed too loud, talked too fast, his words tumbling out like he could outrun the ache blooming in his chest.

“She’s fine,” he’d say to no one. To Nanami. To himself. “She’s just being dramatic. She’ll come back when she’s ready, when her work is over. She always comes back...”

But at night, when Nanami wasn’t around, when the weight of it all pressed against him like an iron hand, Gojo sat in the dark, the only light spilling in through the half-open blinds. He would pull your favorite blanket off the back of the couch, holding it tightly to his chest. It used to smell like you—that soft, warm scent that made him feel like everything would be okay. It never actually did. He’d bury his face in the fabric anyway, clutching it so tightly his fingers ached, as if he could squeeze the memory of you out of it.

“Stupid blanket,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice cracking. “You were supposed to keep her here.”

The quiet answered him. It always did.

Nanami, on the other hand, threw himself into work. The apartment had become unbearable, the sight of your clothes hanging in the closet like a ghost driving him out into the cold. He buried himself in files, meetings and missions, anything to drown out the sound of your absence echoing through his skull. But no matter how hard he tried, you found him anyway.

It was in the middle of a crowded street crossing that he saw you. For a fleeting second, he froze, his breath catching painfully in his throat. A woman parked a convertible just ahead, her hair falling in the same way yours used to, her jacket a perfect match to the one you bought last winter. He pushed forward, shoving past commuters, his heart pounding like it might tear itself free from his chest.

“Honey,” he breathed when he reached her, only to stop dead when she turned. A stranger’s face stared back at him, startled and confused.

Nanami’s apology was soft, choked. He turned away quickly, gripping the strap of his grocery bag so tightly his knuckles blanched. His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall.

Later, he found himself in your office, the door locked behind him, the room suffocatingly still. The desk was untouched, a fountain pen left on your favorite notebook where you had last placed it, its tip dried out. An old grocery list lay discarded by the mechanical keyboard. Nanami picked it up carefully, his thumb tracing over your handwriting, the curve of each letter searing into his mind.

Vitamins. Sticky Notes. Under-eye serum.

The list was mundane, ordinary, but his hands trembled as he held it. He could almost hear you muttering to yourself as you wrote it, pursing your lip in concentration. His vision blurred, and he sank into your desk chair, his free hand moving to his tie, removing it, then wrapping it around his knuckles, gripping it tightly. The silk bit into his fingers as he pulled, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The silence, the unbearable ache in his ribs—he tried to choke it all down, twisting the tie as though it could hold him together.

But it couldn’t.

He’d often do this now, lock himself in your home office, gripping his tie until his knuckles turned white, as if that could choke the guilt down.

Gojo found him there hours later, the list still crumpled in his hand, his head bowed as though in prayer. Neither of them spoke. Gojo didn’t laugh this time, didn’t tease. He just stood in the doorway, silent and pale, his eyes fixed on the man who had always been stronger than this—who now looked just as broken as Gojo felt.

One night, Nanami arrived home to find Gojo sitting on the floor, facing the wall, staring blankly ahead as though he could see through it. The light from the dim lamp cast faint shadows across his face, carving hollows beneath his eyes, which looked emptier than Nanami had ever seen them.

The silence in the room wrapping itself around Nanami’s throat as he shrugged off his coat. Gojo didn’t move, didn’t even blink, his hands limp in his lap, fingers twitching faintly as though they were searching for something to hold on to. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse, hollow—a broken whisper that felt like it had been ripped from somewhere deep inside him.

“I… I shouldn’t have isolated her that day.” He didn’t look at Nanami, his gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond the wall. “When… I didn’t think about what it would do to her.”

Nanami froze mid-step, eyes sharp as they fell on Gojo. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the city outside. Nanami’s expression hardened, though his voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet, cold, cutting.

“You think I don’t know that?” His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. “I know, Gojo. I know exactly what we did to her. How we fucked up. How we forgot about her.”

The words hit Gojo, but he didn’t react. He just let them hang there, sinking into his chest like stones. His lips twitched, a ghost of a self-loathing smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Forgot about her…” he repeated softly.

Nanami didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His jaw tightened, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface, too raw to voice. He watched Gojo slump further, his knees drawing up slightly as though he were folding in on himself.

A few nights later, Gojo was sprawled on the couch with a drink in hand, the liquor doing little to numb the ache in his chest. He stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing, spiraling downward into a dark abyss.

“She’s not coming back, is she?” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips, but they landed heavily in the room, a painful truth.

Nanami didn’t answer, but the guilt in his eyes spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of their shared failure.

The memory of you haunted every inch of their apartment. Gojo saw you in the pillow he clutched to his chest at night, pretending it still carried your scent. Nanami heard you in the faint creak of the floorboards as he walked past your office, his hands brushing the edge of the desk you used to sit at. They never said your name. It hurt too much.

“We thought we were protecting her,” Nanami said, voice a quiet rasp as he stared at the empty wall Gojo had been fixated on.

Gojo’s lips twitched faintly, a bitter mockery of a smile. “We thought wrong.”

Neither of them slept at nights. Gojo lay on his side, staring at the window with red-rimmed eyes, while Nanami lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, wearing your ring on one finger—he kept rolling it with his thumb absentmindedly. The silence between them was absolute, filled with everything they had left unsaid.

It was the silence you had lived in for far too long.

They called. They texted. They waited. The apartment stayed quiet. Your things stayed untouched. And the void you left behind grew deeper with every passing day.

//

Five months into your pregnancy, you lay sprawled on the bathroom floor, your body slick with sweat, fingers clawing at the cold tiles for stability. You’d slipped and fallen, your phone nowhere in sight, the apartment eerily quiet except for the harshness of your breath.You didn’t know how long you’d been there—minutes, hours, days—time had lost all meaning. Your stomach roiled violently, muscles clenched in spasms so sharp they stole the air from your lungs. It felt as though your insides were being shredded, your bones splintering and grinding, like they were trying to rearrange themselves to accommodate the impossible.

A guttural gasp tore from your throat as another wave of pain ripped through you. You pressed a trembling palm to your abdomen, feeling the unnatural shift beneath your skin. The twins moved—twisted and writhed in a way no baby should, their forceful movements pressing outward like they were fighting to escape or fighting for space, too strong, too demanding. Your skin stretched tight, painfully taut, burning with the strain of holding them in. It felt like something alive and wrong, something too strong for your fragile human body.

The veins beneath your skin bulged out, an intricate web of blue and purple crisscrossing your stomach like angry rivers about to burst. Your abdomen swelled grotesquely, the skin shiny and thin, and for one terrifying moment, you thought it might tear open entirely. The bones in your hips creaked audibly under the weight, the sound a grotesque whisper that echoed through the silent bathroom. Your spine screamed with every slight shift, vertebrae grinding against each other as though your body was folding into itself, trying to protect you from the inevitable.

Tears slid down your cheeks, hot and bitter, though you barely registered them. It wasn’t just the pain—God, the pain—but the isolation that cut the deepest. You had never felt so utterly alone, so abandoned. Not just by the city you didn’t belong to, but by them. By the men who were supposed to love you. Who should have been here. Your breaths came in short, harsh bursts, the sound bouncing off the tiles, sharp and hollow.

“We don’t need them,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you pressed harder against your stomach, trying to soothe the frantic movements. Your words cracked, brittle and weak. “We don’t.”

But your heart betrayed you, aching in your chest like a wound torn open anew. You could still see them if you closed your eyes—Gojo’s infectious grin, his arms around you as though he could hold the whole world together. Nanami’s steady, grounding presence, his quiet strength that had once made you feel safe. Loved. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to swallow the sob clawing its way up your throat.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they weren’t here, that they had left you alone to bear this. To bear them. Yet, in the silence of that bathroom, the darkness swallowing you whole, you realized you were lying to yourself. You missed them. You missed them so much it hurt.

You blamed it on your hormones, soothing your stomach. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen in a way that could have hurt the babies. Just then, the twins moved again, a violent lurch that left you gasping, your body arching involuntarily as another jolt of pain seared through you. The sharp pressure pushed against your ribs, a sensation like tiny hands and feet pressing outward, testing the limits of your body. Your skin rippled faintly, the bulge of their movements visible beneath the surface.

You shuddered, your tears mixing with sweat as they dripped down onto the tile. What are you? You wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come. The horror of it—the body horror of carrying something so unnatural, so wrong—settled like a stone in your chest. You weren’t sure you could take it anymore.

“Mama will take care of you both,” you whispered shakily, trying to soothe yourself as much as them. Your hand rubbed slow, shaky circles over your stomach. It was the only comfort you had left—this fragile, strange connection. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

And like always, the sensation of their movements softened at the sound of your voice. The pressure beneath your skin eased slightly, the frantic shifting slowing into restless, jerking flutters. It wasn’t much, but it gave you enough space to breathe, to push down the rising panic, to push forward. Your muscles trembled as you moved, dragging yourself toward the bathtub, one hand bracing against the toilet seat for balance. Your body protested, hips throbbing, spine sparking with pain, but you kept going.

“Just a little bit more movement,” you murmured to the twins, coaxing them as though they could hear you. “And Mama will be vertical again. Then we can have some dark chocolate… you know, the one you’ve been craving? The only one both Dadas used to love. We’ll watch…”

The words cut off abruptly as your foot slipped on the damp tile. You gasped, arms flailing, but your body betrayed you. The porcelain edge slamming into your head with a horrible thud.

For a moment, everything was soundless.

A hollow ringing filled your ears, the bathroom blurring around you as your vision dimmed at the edges. The pain in your skull throbbed in time with your heartbeat, sharp and unrelenting. You pressed your palms to your forehead, curling around yourself, trying to shield the twins from the impact.

“No, no, no,” you whimpered, your voice a cracked whisper.

The darkness pulled at you, threatening to drag you under, but you fought it, laying back down to press your forehead to the cold tile. Your breathing was ragged, uneven, your pulse hammering in your ears as you held onto the only thought that mattered.

They are okay.

Your hand pressed against your belly again, searching for the faint, familiar movements beneath your skin. For a horrifying moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, you felt it—a small, restless flutter. Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot and silent, as you curled against the floor, the relief making your limbs weak.

“It’s okay,” you whispered brokenly, as much to yourself as to them. “It’s okay. Mama’s here. Mama’s okay. You will be okay.”

But even as you said it, the weight of everything—the pain, the isolation, the unnatural horror of what was happening to your body—threatened to swallow you whole.

“Hey! Are you okay?” A voice came from nowhere. Deep, rough, like it belonged to someone who had been waiting for this moment. 

You froze, immediately clutching your stomach as the babies shifted again, their movements sharp and jarring. Had they found you already? How could they have known? How could anyone have known? You looked around, panic seizing your chest. The pain from your fall still burned, but the thought of someone being so close made your stomach churn. You clutched your belly tighter, trying to protect them, protect yourself.

“Hey, I know you can hear me. Do you need me to call an ambulance?” The voice was insistent, but there was something else there, a knowing edge to it that sent a chill crawling down your spine.

You noticed that the voice was coming from the wall next to the tub.

“Who’s it?” You managed to ask, gathering what little courage you had left, trying to steady your shaking voice.

“Your neighbor,” the man’s voice said, his tone low, almost a growl. “I’ve seen you around. I think you’re pregnant, right? With twins?”

You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. How could he possibly know that? Your heart skipped a beat. How much did he know?

“How’d you know it’s twins?” you asked, your voice tight, filled with suspicion. This man seemed too aware, too knowledgeable.

“I’m a sorcerer too, like the men’s children you carry,” the man continued, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate in your bones. “Just the one who deserted the hopeless crusade. And well, my technique allows me to sense things like this, but you don’t have to worry about me. I don’t partake in that world anymore. Haven’t in a really long time.”

His words sank in slowly, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe him. His explanation was coherent, his tone calm, almost reassuring. You were too exhausted, too delirious with pain to think clearly. It made sense in your sleep-deprived and pain-addled state.

“I... I can’t go to the hospital,” you whispered, your throat raw. “Could you just help me up?”

There was a pause, a shift in the air. “I’ll help you,” the man said, his voice now excited, or maybe happy, like he was suddenly hyperactive. “But I’ll have to break the door down to get in. I’ll fix it after, with a stronger lock.”

“Sure, no issues.” Beggars couldn’t be choosers. You didn’t have the strength to protest. You were already lost in the fog of exhaustion, pain, and confusion. He was here. He would help you.

Soon the sound of splintering wood echoed through your apartment, followed by the dull thud of heavy footsteps. Each step reverberated like a low drumbeat, slow and deliberate, growing closer until they stopped just outside the bathroom door. The handle turned once, then creaked open with an eerie calm. You felt a chill run through you, something more than the cold air from the cracked window. It wasn’t just the wind that made your skin crawl. There was something wrong about this man, something dangerous. But in your haze, you couldn’t put your finger on it.

You couldn’t even see him at first—your vision swam from the pain, your body sprawled awkwardly on the cold tile floor. The sharp edge of the sink bit into your side as you tried to sit upright, your other trembling hand pressed protectively against your stomach. The air shifted, heavier somehow, like something massive had entered the room. You forced yourself to look up, squinting through the haze.

He stood in the doorway, tall enough that he seemed to block out the light spilling in from the hall. He had to duck slightly to clear the frame, stepping inside with a confidence that bordered on insolence, like he owned the place. He was broad-shouldered, his form looming and imposing, dressed in a loose hoodie that made him look even larger. His face was partially obscured by shadows, but you caught glimpses of sharp, angular features—a jawline carved from stone and eyes, predatory and unreadable.

“Hey, the fall looks nasty.” He said as he crouched slowly, knees bending with a shift of worn jeans fabric as he brought himself down to your level. The movement was unsettlingly fluid for someone so massive. Especially since he was still looming over you like a giant.

Up close, you could see him better—his face was unnervingly smooth for a man who carried himself like he’d lived through hell. His hair was short and faintly disheveled, like he hadn’t cared enough to fix it. You couldn’t tell if he was young or old.

“Your sorcerer's brats…I can feel it. They’re… restless, aren’t they?” He said matter-of-factly, his gaze drifting pointedly to your swollen abdomen.

The words sent a shiver crawling down your spine, and you became hyperaware that you were only in a flimsy nightgown as you protectively clutched your stomach. “How do you know that?” you managed to croak out, your voice trembling.

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “It’s my hobby to know these things.” His tone was mocking, almost bored, but there was an undercurrent of something darker there, something that made your chest tighten. “And you’re in pain far too often, aren’t you?”

You glared at him, eyes narrowing. “You walk around noticing pregnant women?!!”

“No, the service is exclusive to you, princess.” He said, laughing, the sound so loud it was rumbling in your bones.

You flinched as he reached for you, his hand massive, calloused, and littered with faint scars.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed instinctively, curling tighter around your stomach, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain ripping through your abdomen. You gasped sharply, vision blurring at the edges again.

The man didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch at your outburst. Instead, he studied you with a quiet, unsettling patience, as though deciding something important. Finally, he exhaled, a sound like a low growl, and said, "Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be."

Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, his arm sliding carefully beneath your knees and back like you weighed negative but also fragile. However, you stiffened, every muscle in your body tensing as he lifted you, the pressure in your abdomen worsening with the shift in gravity.

“Put me down,” you gritted out, struggling weakly against his hold, but he didn’t budge. The grip he had on you was far stronger than anything you could have fought.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered, sounding vaguely amused again. “You can fight me later. For now, shut up and let me help you.”

Your head lolled against his chest, the fight draining from you as the pain surged again. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your vision blurred further. You caught the faint scent of him—smoke, faintly metallic, and something almost feral, something wrong that made the hair on your arms stand on end. He didn’t smell like anyone you’d ever met before.

“Why are you helping me?” you murmured weakly, your voice barely above a whisper

His features softened at the question, and when he answered, his tone was quieter, but no less unsettling.

“Because someone should.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning you couldn’t unravel. You blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes, the edges of your consciousness starting to fray as exhaustion tugged at you. He didn’t look down, his gaze fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, but there was something about the way he held you—something deliberate, something protective—that made you believe him, if only for a moment.

The last thing you heard before you drifted into unconsciousness was the sound of his low, rumbling voice, almost to himself.

“You’re tougher than you look, princess.”

And then the darkness swallowed you whole as he lay you on your bed.

The next day you had woken up feeling human again, or as human as you could feel in your human vending machine state. You were cocooned in far warmer blankets that you didn’t own, surrounded by vitamins, pregnancy pain medications, and food in the fridge that you hadn’t ordered. The front door of your apartment was now reinforced, and by the kitchen counter, new keys were attached to a sticky note bearing a name. His name.

A/N: Feel like throwing your phone yet? Good. 🫠 That means I’ve done my job. Now, let’s talk about him. The towering enigma with predator energy who broke into your apartment like it’s a casual Tuesday and called you “princess.” (✿ ͡👁️ ᴗ ͡👁️) WHO IS HE?! Shadowy savior? Bored stalker? Gym bro with too much free time? Is this Toji’s long-lost cousin? Sukuna in a hoodie? Kashimo on his day off? Choso after therapy? Or someone even worse? 😱 Bonus points if you drop “Gakuganji” in the comments for chaos. (╯ ͡❛ ᴗ ͡❛)╯┻━┻ Team Nanami? Team Gojo? Team Mystery Hunk? Or Team ‘Let Reader Nap in Peace’? 🤔 Drop your loyalty, wildest theories, unhinged guesses, and thirst-fueled fan-castings below because this love story is messier than Gojo’s hair on a Monday. Next chapter: Yaga playing babysitter for two emotionally constipated men who need therapy, not bail money, and maybe why Reader deleted her socials. Until then, stop shaving your hoo-ha with someone else’s trimmers—Gojo would 100% snitch to HR. 💅 And if you’re not on the taglist yet, comment below to join the chaos. 😈

Next chapter on Friday or before if I'm feeling generous hehe.

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[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

first class liar: uncanny

ch 60

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-this kinda sucks ass now that i reread it…

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[kaisensei]

hallucinations (gojo)

you visit your best friend only because you wanted to see him. but due to a sudden change of plans, you end up on top of him; which by the way, started as a challenge to prove him that you are indeed, very much real.

satoru gojo x reader (f)

wordcount; 4k

tags; friends to lovers, smut, cigarettes, drinking, oral sex (f. recieving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), multiple orgasms, grinding, drunk af satoru!!

my first fic yayyy!! minors stay away, cuz I'll block you!!! please let me know what you think about this one :) it's kinda unedited and also like 9 pages of pure smut.

---

The lights seem hazy and you slouch back on the bed, your feet nudging Satoru's thigh as he sits at the other end of the bed.

You didn't mean to drink, your main reason to visit him being your urge to see him. You had come up with an elaborate reason about how you had to give him the parcel Megumi had asked you to transfer to him; smartly leaving out the part where you had bullied that poor guy to hand it to you and not to Satoru. He had smiled and invited you in, unknowingly seducing you with his voice which had indicated that yes, this guy is drunk.

"You know, you seem like a hallucination," he exclaims and you balk.

"Why would you say that?"

He blinks at you and then laughs, "I mean you in my bed? That must be my imagination."

That statement has your stomach dropping to your knees. Is he implying what you think he is implying? Why else would he be so affronted to you being in his bed? Unless…

"I can prove to you that I am very much real."

He laughs and leans forwards, towards you, his eyes, although drooping slightly, holding a challenge you can never turn down. You grin at him, your insides tingling with the need to get near to him.

You take a puff from the cigarette pinched between your index and middle finger, and then proceed to crawl towards him; your face now inches from his because of the way he leaned forwards too. You smile, the drinks you had a while back fuelling you, and grab his neck to pull him to your lips, your skin already on fire from the adrenaline and excitement coursing through your veins.

As soon as his lips touch yours, your chapped lips feel as if they were burned. The smoke that you immediately exhale forms a shroud around your attached mouths and you inhale a bit of it, a jolt spiking through your body and you push yourself closer to him.

At first he doesn't move. But, when your lips move on their own accord, his hand finds your cheek and he falls in rhythm with you. In tandem with you, like two swans dancing across the lake, performing an intricate ballet of their own – that's how your lips move together. As if they were meant to be, like jigsaw pieces fitting in perfectly.

You don't know how his eyes had widened like saucers when you first pulled him down by his neck. You don't know how his heart had stopped when your lips landed on his, the action making him feel jittery and burning his inside with need.

All you know is how blissed out you feel – and you are fucking loving it. You know the wine made you so bold as to kiss him, especially like this, but you are just glad you are finally kissing him. 

And he is kissing you back. With so much fervor that you feel you can dissolve in a puddle. His other hand also makes its way to your face and he holds you gently, but firmly. His tongue swipes across your lips and you shiver before breaking the kiss.

With a hair's breadth away from you, Satoru stares at you in a haze, hands still holding your face and lips red and glossy.

"Did you just kiss me?" 

"Now do I feel like a hallucination?" you quip and he shakes his head, thumb swiping at your cheek softly.

"Fuck. Do it again."

Gladly, you think and rush to stub the cigarette on the tray. In your haste, you stumble a bit and Satoru steadies you with a giggle, almost falling forward with you himself.

As soon as you put it out, you scramble in his hold and intertwine your hands behind his neck, climbing on his lap and straddling him. He grabs you by your waist, to steady you, and almost instantly you attach your lips again – this time with an eagerness that you both match.

He groans when your lips move against his, performing the same dance, but with added grace. His grip on your waist gets tighter and you open his mouth with yours, licking into his mouth and tasting faint traces of whiskey. It makes your mind go on an overdrive, and goosebumps spread through your whole body. 

Arousal pools at your center when he runs a finger up your spine, his other hand inching upwards, under the shirt you had on. He sighs into the kiss and breaks it.

"Oh my god, you are so soft." his nose touches your cheek and he slowly drags it all the way to your ear, tongue peeking out. You shudder when he licks your jaw, forming circles with his tongue under your ear, on your neck.

"Satoru." you keen and tug at his locks, pulling him closer to your skin – which is absolutely on fire. His lips meet your neck and he kisses your skin slowly, taking his time to savor your neck.

His hand on your waist works its way around it, and he grips you tighter, and before you know – you are being picked up and tossed on the bed with a soft thud.

"Ow." you groan and Satoru's eyes widen and he hovers over you, sparing no time.

"Oh my god, I am sorry. Are you okay?" his round eyes meet yours, face way too near for you to function. In his haze, he doesn't realize that even if you were hurt, your face would have been intact, and you giggle.

"Yes." you sigh out and pull him down to join your lips again. He almost crashes into you, but braces himself with his forearms. His tongue enters your mouth immediately, relishing in the flavor of bubble gum and making you moan as his tongue does wonders.

"Wait lemme-" you break the kiss and shift upwards, so you are not in the middle of the bed, dangling off the edge. That makes Satoru crawl upwards too and once you both have settled, his mouth finds your neck and your hands find his hair.

His tongue finds a spot on your neck, which gives away how fucking sensitive you are, and he groans into your skin when you whine. Your hips buck upwards and he pins you down with his, with perfect pressure that keeps you in place, but doesn't hurt you.

"Satoru, I want more." you moan his name and he ruts his hip against yours once, grinding down on you so you can feel him. His semi hard length rubs against your center, and even through the barrier, you feel overwhelmed by it.

"You want me?" he teases with his mouth at your breastbone, dragging your shirt down so he can see the top of your breasts.

"Yes."

"Say what you want, baby." 

You whimper in his hold. If he called you baby again, you might actually die.

"You, all of you."

"Fuck you're making me go crazy." 

You get hotter at this, goosebumps erupting across your whole body. As if you were any better? As if you weren't crazier?

Your back arches when his lips brush your nipples through your bra, making your pussy clench around nothing. His hand pushes your shirt upwards, rubbing patterns on your skin with the gentleness of a feather, soft but tingly. You arch a bit more, instinctively, when he tries to remove your shirt – and you let him, meeting him halfway. Your shirt goes flying somewhere in the dimly lit room, and you don't care.

Satoru has a different air around him, one that makes you succumb to him, with everything inside you. Your hips push themselves upward, for any kind of friction and he looks up at you from your chest. As soon as he does, you inhale a sharp breath and wish to die for him.

His hair frames his face beautifully,  like the prettiest ocean. His eyes are deep, and beautiful, and his eyelids droop scarily, hazily, as he watches you with a glint in his eyes. His lips are wet and bruised, and his tongue pokes his cheek, before he speaks.

"Eager, are we?" 

Oh God.

"Yes." you sigh, and you think you see him smirk, if only for a second. You are restless, you are crazy and you want everything, all at once. And he is making you run hills for it.

He kisses your stomach, and makes his way southwards. Your toes curl when his hands brush over your core and reach to unbutton your jeans.

"Can I?" he looks up at you, and even if his voice is a whisper, you hear it clearly, and you nod,

"Of course, 'toru." 

He grins at this, and undoes your button, your zipper the next. You lift up your hips to help him pull down your jeans, and in a few tugs, you are lying on his bed in only your underwear.

He looks at you with a glimmer in his eyes, filled with lust and haze. There's adoration that you make out, and you return it tenfold. The ever changing lights from his lamp frame his body, making him glow and you pant as you beckon him to you.

"You are so beautiful," his hands toy with your band and he kisses your core through the material, making you arch your back, your hands flying to grab his hair.

"Oh fuck," 

He slowly tugs your underwear lower, as if he has all the time in the world and you whine impatiently. You need something, and your cunt is restless as you try to shimmy out of the piece of clothing gracing your ass.

He grunts at the sight of your bare pussy. You arch your back, pushing your hips upwards and he bends down, eye level with your naked core, as he caresses the side of your hips.

Your mind buzzes, the fog sitting down heavily. You already aren't coherent enough, and the feeling of lust drives you to another level of high.

"Shit." you hiss quietly. It feels so good when his hand cups your pussy, making you squirm your hips and tighten your core due to the sudden action. The laugh he lets out is hoarse, deep, and the utter desire to have him drives you with ease.

Your eyelids flutter shut when he starts leaving feather light kisses on your lower stomach, dangerously near to your center. The soft action amidst the heat of the moment has you curling your toes, hands slowly reaching up to his locks.

"Satoru," you sigh and he grunts into your skin, his voice muffled by the rising of your body, with each ragged breath that you take. You are gasping for air, trying to take in his essence, his scent, all of him. It won't be wrong to say that you are so fucking pathetic, so gone, that he hasn't even technically done anything, and you are already incoherent.

"Can I taste you?" 

Your hold on his hair tightens at this, and you mindlessly nod. Of course, you would like him to taste you. Your pussy is aching with need – crying for whatever that is offered. Yes, that's how pathetic you feel.

His breath hits your quivering cunt and you shudder when he parts your folds with his fingers. They then find your clit and he rubs circles around it, making your legs shiver. You quietly whimper when he skillfully traces a line to your cunt. One of his fingers plunges in and your arousal coats his hand, merrily.

Even though you know how real this is, you still can't believe you are here with him. You close your eyes in a state of utter bliss, heightened by the faint noises he lets out right at your center.

"You are so fucking amazing," is his word before his nose touches your folds, parting them. You think he sniffs – and moans – right in front of your pussy. The sudden vibration makes you go haywire and you gasp out loud.

"Stop doing that." you warn him and he chuckles, making you run for your breath – again. You don't know how he can be the cause of your misery and pleasure, all at once.

"It's like I can live here." he says and you get a bit bolder – maybe from the high? or maybe from the frustration?

"If you're only gonna talk, then find some other place." you grumble and it's as if a switch flips inside him.

He pulls you down by the hips, burying his nose between your folds and swipes a path, almost hungrily. His hold on your hips is firm, not hurting, but also not allowing you to squirm. You faintly register his tongue peeking, but before you have the chance to react, it fully assaults your poor pussy. He licks between your folds, making your legs shudder, and moan in pleasure. His hands creep to your inner thighs and he pushes them wider, allowing himself to stay comfortably in between them.

"Mhm. So sweet, baby."

You whine at the pet name, and pull at his hair. His tongue works skillfully, and he lets out little noises of pleasure which drive you mad. His hair cascades down the side of his face, and faintly tickles your thigh, while framing his face beautifully. You can feel your high wearing off, the lust taking place instead. Your back arches when his tongue finds your clit.

"Satoru, that's.. yeah." 

His laugh is devastating, and your toe curls. You open your eyes to a sight that makes your breath hitch, and your other hand goes to the sheets, gripping them for any kind of anchor.

With his eyes closed, his jaw works heavenly. There's a slick sheen of sweat covering his forehead, and his eyebrows are drawn taut in focus. He hums and his finger rubs circles on your skin, leaving fire in their wake.

"You know," he looks up at you with a lopsided, lazy grin, and eyes drooping low. His lips are red and wet, and there's a blush spreading across his neck. His lip curls and he bites down on his lower lip to stop himself from laughing, especially after seeing you ragged and gasping for breath, looking at him with your head tilted and eyes pleading, "You sound like pure fucking sin." he completes and you thrash your leg, for him to say such a thing.

"Please, don't." you sigh and he snickers.

"Don't what? That's the truth, baby." 

You roll your eyes and it doesn't take him longer to get back to your cunt. This time as soon as his tongue flattens on your bundle of nerves, the tightness in your core starts to nudge you. His finger parts your folds and his tongue twirls in circles on your nub, making you gush like a fall.

You can feel the mess you are making, and his affirmative hum just makes you curl your fingers more.

"I'm, I'm close. Please don't stop"

He shakes his head and increases the pace of his assault, making you gasp out loud. The squelching sound of your juices has you rolling your eyes back and gulping. His tongue flicks over your already sensitive nub, and that being the last straw – you break for good.

Your orgasm washes over you in waves of haze, which has you moaning out loud for heaven's sake. The stars that Satoru's lamp forms on the ceiling seem so very much real, that it has you reeling for a second. You try to take in as much air as you can, taking in the smell of sex. As your breathing turns normal again, you register his tongue still on your cunt. He laps at your juices deliciously, and you arch your back painfully – especially because of the pain your nub feels, sensitive and gone.

"Stop no." you rasp out, and he stops immediately.

He looks up as you gasp for breath, and his face is drenched – covered by your cum. His tongue peeks out and he licks his lip, tasting your cum again and you almost shudder at the sight. His thumb presses into your skin and he leans ahead, sniffing once more.

"I love you so fucking much."

Time stops and your eyes turn into saucers, your heart flying out from your body. 

Did he just say he loves you? Is this real? Is he real? After being a moth to his flame for literal fucking years, he tells you that he has been no better. Heaven rushes to you and your eyes brighten with glee. You want to grab him by the neck and shout at him that yes, you love him too, but somehow those words die on your tongue when you look at him looking up at you with those eyes. So, you just nod; a gesture which seems to translate perfectly well to him, for he smiles wide.

His eyes, crinkling at the edges, catch sight of your hardened nipples from your bra and he fucking groans. Soon, he is hovering over you – the motion so quick that it gives you whiplash. He wedges his thigh between yours and rests his weight on his forearms, as he sets them beside your face. He is quick to attach his lips to yours, and you sigh into his mouth. The taste that sits on your tongue is yours, and even though you inwardly cringe, you find it so fucking hot. His tongue presses down on yours and you gasp when you feel his teeth on your lip, almost bruising you.

The vigor of his kiss drives you, and you moan when you feel his hard length poke your abdomen. You mindlessly shift your body and he grinds down on you, detaching his lips from yours – only to moan at your lips. His head hangs low as he works his hips a little more, and you help him with little whimpers and shifts of your own.

"Let me ride you." you sigh out and he pauses, looking up at you with a furrow in his brows.

"Are, are you sure?"

Even though you can't actually feel your legs, you know you are sure.

"I want to ride you. I need to." you assure and he groans.

"Fuck, baby."

He climbs off of you and stands beside the bed, unbuttoning his pants. His eyes glaze over your eager form on the bed and a jolt strikes through your body, pooling at your center. There’s a slick sheen of sweat on his naked chest, and you get the sudden urge to wrap your arms around his wide frame and pull him as close as possible to yourself. He rids himself of his pants and you almost moan out loud, loving the sight of his nude thighs, practically inviting you to sit on them.

Satoru nudges you and you shift, letting him settle down on the bed beside you. Immediately, your hands are on him, and you trace his form with your fingers, your lips on his jaw trying to savor each and every inch of him. He groans under your ministrations, leading you to push yourselves onto him, finally on those thighs you have always thought about.

“You are so hot,” he sighs, his hands finding solace on your waist. 

You will your hands to leave his pecs, and direct them to his cock, standing tall with need. You fist it once, the man under you keening with pleasure. You look him in the eyes, your gaze challenging him as you continue to drag your hand over his length slowly, making him bite down on his lip and tighten his hold on your waist. His touch burns you, his fingers digging into your bare skin. The pleasure and his voices drive you, and you bring your other hand to your back, successfully unbuttoning your last piece of garment. He audibly moans when he sees your boobs and your insides flare with need.

“Baby, please,” he pleads, and you understand what he asks of you. Your actions are swift as you hover above his length, directing it to your aching pussy and slowly sit down on it. You throw your head back, syncing your moans with his as your walls cover his needy cock, filling you full. You brace yourselves with your hands on his abdomen and he guides you lower on his length, your pussy tightening around him and covering him with your slick arousal.

"Ah shit," he hisses, his eyes glazing over with lust. Your ass hits his thighs, and you bite down on your lip to stop the insensitivities from spilling out of your mouth. You lean towards and start moving your hips, your fingers inching up his abs and pussy sucking him in deliciously.

The stretch of your walls hurt you, but you can't even complain because that's what you wanted. Soon, you are riding him with ease, your hips rocking as his fingers dig deeper in your skin. The pleasure is so crazy that you see spots in your vision, your body hot with need.

He whines under you and you moan his name out, increasing your pace and leaning back on your palms, as they rest on his knees. You close your eyes and he thrusts his hips upwards, meeting you halfway. Your tits bounce as you move, and the man under you groans at the sight.

"'toru, you feel so good," you whimper, and miss the way he bites down on his lip. His eyes drink your sight in, and rather than see it, you feel the heat of his gaze on you, goosebumps erupting in its wake.

Your core tightens and your pace gets sloppier, his thrusts taking you to levels never seen. His eyes screw shut and you try to train your sight on the beauty of his body, white spots filling your vision from the pleasure that courses through your body. You are terribly close, leaning towards him in need to find his lips on yours.

"Angel, I," he begins and breaks the sentence with a deep thrust upwards, "I have never felt so fucking blissed out before."

Oh god, you almost cry out at this, slipping closer to the edge. You tell him so and he nods, a grin etching on his face.

"Let's slip together," he brings his hand to yours and intertwines his fingers with yours. Butterflies rise in your stomach and your throat almost chokes up at that action, a lovely feeling encasing you.

He loves you.

And you love him.

That fact combined with the way his cock fucks into you so sweetly, you topple over the edge, your orgasm washing over you in waves of pure bliss. You see stars behind your closed lids and stop moving, not being able to feel your legs or your knees or your hands; only and only his presence.

It's a few seconds later that he spills inside you, his hold on your hand tightening and a deep groan making its way past his lips. His cock jerks inside you once, and he brings you closer to him, your name the only word on his lips like a mantra.

Your boobs press up against his chest and he gushes at the feeling, his nose nudging yours, a similar smile on both of your faces. He pulls out with a grimace and wraps his arms around your form, locking you in his embrace.

"You said you love me?" you sheepishly suggest and he lets out a full belly laugh.

"Yes, yes I do. I'm in love with you, and I can no longer deny it."

Oh, straight to your heart. You get all giddy like a teenager at his proclamation of his love for you.

"Do you…?" he trails off, a shadow of doubt passing over his face.

"Of course, I love you."

He grins, relieved by it and leaves a chaste kiss on your lips, giving you the chance to chase it if you want to. And of course you want to.

You'll always want him.

---

© kaisensei. do not repost or claim as your own.

>>> please let me know what you think of this by reblogging, leaving comments or sending asks :) I'll love it!!

[kissingmensbiceps]

Dirty Sheets ch.1 . . . Forgot your keys?

୨୧ summary: You were raised to be a good girl. With a strict lifestyle, college was a way to escape your small town and enter the real world. Sadly enough that meant bills upon bills, making it hard to fend for your own. That’s where Satoru Gojo came into your life. Your roommate, splitting the bills each month. You didn’t question what he did for work, and he didn’t question you. Sneaking around, doing such lewd things to rack up the bills, and secretly getting off on each other in the process.

୨୧ pairing: pornstar!Gojo x pornstar!reader

୨୧ wc: 1.9k (about a 8 minute read)

୨୧ warnings: 18+, fem!reader, smut, college au, f!ingering, jerking off, friends (?) to lovers, slow burn (upcoming), mentions of religion.

୨୧ a/n: Hi pretty babies this was just a little something that had been in my head for a while. I wanna turn it into a series but I’m not sure yet. Anyways happy reading :)

The door of your room was locked shut with extra care and serenity to block out any noise of the lewd, dirty acts going on behind. It was 9:00 pm, your roommate out of the house at some underground emo rock show—you didn’t really listen where Gojo said he was going, nor did you care. Instead, your mind was occupied and booked with the work you had to get done by the time he got home. Let’s just say it involved props, set up, and one hell of a pornographic moan to accomplish it.

Your laptop was propped up on your plush mattress, which was covered in fuzzy blankets—some of which Gojo had bought you last year for Christmas before things got rough between the two of you. It was sinful, to be making such content just to pay your half of the rent each month, doing it on the covers that he had bought you. No one else to see. Yet they were right under you in almost every video you made.

It was good money, though, and along side with your job as a bartender, money added up quick; pockets were heavy, your belly was full, and you had a little extra on yourself to do whatever.

And that usually consisted of going to the nearest sex shop in town and buying more things for your videos. Where you would store them? That was a problem for when you got home.

Clicking the big red “record” button on the screen, you get into position. You always got countless messages from men, mostly older, and even the occasional woman, and you who’d do whatever they asked. They sent the money and you got to work.

It was your dirty little secret, something no one knew about, something that no one would ever know about. You were a good girl. Coming from a strict Christian household, the youngest in the family, not even mentioning being the only girl in your family. Overprotective brothers and a pastor as your father. Of course no one would know, they wouldn’t suspect their sweet, innocent baby girl to do such disgusting things.

You flutter your eyes in a doe like manor into the camera, your eyes big and round as you slowly stick out your pink, wet tongue. Taking your pointer and middle finger together, pressing the pads of them softly onto the wet surface before closing your mouth around them, keeping eye contact the entire time. You swirl your hot tongue around your digits before taking them out with a pop.

Finally looking away from the camera, your eyes trail down, leading to where your clothed pussy rested gently on the bed. There was a noticeable wet spot through the lace, which you had made by playing and teasing yourself beforehand.

The warm fairy lights that strung along your room created a angel-like glow across your body, which was expected to be covered up head to toe, according to the way you were raised. It angled off your creamy, soft skin that was pleasurable to the eyes who would get their nasty and salacious hands on this film.

A cheeky small smile appears on your lips, feeling your heart speed up just slightly as you look at the camera through your thick lashes. You take your slippery, spit coated fingers and bring them down to your panties, going achingly slow for the viewer.

Finally you pull them to the side, dipping them into your soaking folds, feeling yourself up softly as you tilt your head back. Soft hums and whimpers escape your lips which were drawn back into your teeth. One finger slips into your warm cunt, curling it in just the right way. Slowly moving it in a steady speed, you add the second finger, making your jaw go slack.

You speed up your movements, making sounds that are a bit exaggerated—but they have to be right? You gently begin to ride your fingers like they were a girthy cock, who’s cock? You don’t have an answer, just an imagination and years worth of browsing through twitter and other porn websites under your belt.

It’s not long before you cum all over your fingers with a moan loud enough that Gojo could definitely hear from inside his bedroom, but he’s not here right now, is he? Panting softly, your brain registers that you’re still recording. You look back into the lens, and see yourself on the screen: flushed, disheveled, eyes half lidded to the point of dozing off, and fingers still halfway shoved in your spongy walls.

You pull them out, lick them clean like a cat licks her paws, before smiling softly once more at the camera. Saying a final message, you end the video and collapse onto your welcoming bed, cunt still sticky with your release.

You stare at the ceiling feeling a sense of guilt. Gods watching you. Is all that rang through your head, over and over like a bad headache that just wouldn’t go the fuck away. Shouldn’t swear either, sweetie, you know the rules in this house.

Your thoughts disperse from your clouded mind when your phone dings from beside you.

| | 9:24 P.M Gojo: omw home. open the door 4 me, lost my keys.

You sigh as you read his unwelcome message, this dudes always loosing his fucking keys. It was getting annoying at this point. At least you had a decent excuse to be a bit bitchy tonight.

| | 9:25 P.M You: okay.

You walk to the door with heavy footsteps, swinging it open to find a slightly tipsy Gojo with a bored expression on his dumb hot face. With a small huff you open it wider as he ducks down to walk through.

“Sure took ya long enough to answer the door.” He mutters, doesn’t bother to take his shoes off which you often pester him about, and continues his journey through the apartment.

“And maybe you shouldn’t have forgotten your keys-“

“—Lost actually.”

You glare at him which makes him crack an amused smile. “Right, my apologies for using the wrong terminology for your key predicament.”

He only smirks which makes you want to either punch it right off his gorgeous mouth or kiss it, haven’t made up your mind about that one yet. It was a daily battle between your annoyance of Satoru Gojo, or complete and utter desire.

“You’re in quite the mood this evening,” He comments as he sets down a brown paper bag on the kitchen island. “Almost makes me feel bad for ya.” He breaks open the staple sealed bag with a rip. “That was a joke by the way.”

“Haha, your like, just so funny! The funniest actually.” He rolls his eyes at your sarcastic comment which makes you smirk this time around as you sit on the other side of the island.

“Your ass must be pretty jealous of all the shit that comes out of your mouth.” He quips which makes you scoff. He pulls out the take out from the paper back and onto the counter, the smell of Chinese food making your mouth water.

“Oooh ouch that one hurt.” You respond to his joke as you secretly sniff out the food. All you wanted was a good meal after a tiring orgasam, but your stubborn attitude refuses to ask. “And for future reference, don’t make jokes involving my ass.”

“Why, ya a prude or somethin’?” Gojo turns around to grab a pair of chopsticks from a drawer.

“No. Gonna let me have a taste?” You nod your head to the box of lo mein that he had set on the counter.

He turns around. “Then why can’t I make jokes about your ass?” He stuffs the chopsticks into the box as he leans against the counter, completely ignoring your request.

“Because, Gojo, my ass is too good for you to be talked about.” You roll your eyes. “And it’s disgusting for you to even want to.”

“Your acting like a pruuude.” He says in a sing song voice, which was annoyingly good and pleasing to the ears. Gojo had a love for music, at least that’s your impression. By the multiple rock band t-shirts he owns and the underground band concerts he attends with his friends, it’s pretty easy to tell.

You only scoff and roll your eyes, something you did so often that it was a miracle that they didn’t get stuck that way. Pushing yourself off the counter you grab a bottle of water from the fridge “Goodnight, loser.”

“Night, princess.” You could hear the smug tone in his voice and mouth full of noodles, which makes you want to rip his vocal cords out but then you wouldn’t be able to hear the pretty noises he made late at night, whether that be his annoyingly good singing skills, or the ones he made while using his left hand.

“And find your fucking keys,” You call back. “Next time I ain’t letting you in.”

Gojo watched as you went to your room, fluffy pajamas pants making you look oh so soft and cuddly, making a perfect mental image to get off later. But he had business to take care of.

It’s not like he’d tell anyone (who wasn’t his closet friends because he enjoyed to brag) because then he’d get the label of “man whore”. And sadly as cool as it was in the men’s locker room to ramble on and on about the latest girl you had fucked, it wasn’t something you went and told other women.

That was one of the only things Gojo was good at besides making a girl have an actual pleasurable orgsam. It was who and when to tell. No girl willingly wants to have sex with a slut. Too many risks, physically and of course mentally. Man sluts never stay.

So instead of going out every night and finding some random hot chick to plant his seed and go along on his merry way, he decided to stay in and make content. Easy money, he just had to touch his cock (which he did multiple times anyway) make a few videos emphasizing his voice to either be more dominant or submissive and boom. Rent money is perfectly handled. Rest of the savings going to drinks at the clubs or parties he went to with Geto or Nanami when they could get him out the house.

He’d spoil himself by indulging on other people’s videos and smutty photos as well. He’d spend his sleepless nights searching the web for a new pretty baby to watch get herself off, picturing himself in bed with her, helping the poor thing out.

And of course Gojo never told you about his job. He wasn’t the fondest of you, and you weren’t the biggest fan of him either, but he didn’t want to destroy the innocence he thought you had.

But you both continued to make your content, racking up enough bills to move out of this shitty off-campus apartment but you never did. For what reason? You both liked the company. You liked the thought of sneaking around each other, secretly getting off on each other’s sacred body parts that were too private to actually explore.

You secretly got off to his desperate huffs of air and whiny breaths through the thin walls, cold fingers tracing your clit as you imagine that they were his.

Unbeknownst to you, he’d watch the faceless bodies on his own laptop, picturing your face on the heavenly body as he jerked off. Slowly moving his hand up and down his shaft, eyes shut tight as if they were glued to stay that way.His brain going into the dark depths that were only brought to the surface when he’d see you. His precious little roommate that just seemed so incredibly sweet, stepping into heaven and seeing her as God’s favorite angel.

[oceansubconscious]

Gojo's fall (a poem)

[shimisstuff]

Once again, Satoru as Ghostface 🔪

More on X ➡️✨ Spicy here!

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: your boyfriend comes to pick you after a long day at uni. sensing your jealousy about the attention he’s getting from your classmates, he makes it up to you in his own way.

tags. olderbf!gojo x female reader. fluff, tiny bit of angst, suggestive [make out sesh]. age gap — reader above 20, gojo early 30’s. jealousy. reader gets called ‘princess, baby, beautiful.’ not proof read !

satoru’s arrival, as per usual, serves as pure entertainment for many students. it’s not often that they get to see such a tall and handsome man around campus after all.

you patiently stand there, waiting for that said man to come and get you. the increase in giggles and whispers around you can only mean one thing: he’s nearby.

your boyfriend’s car comes to a stop in the distance. satoru steps out of the driver’s seat a second later, one of his hands running through his fluffy, snowy hair.

‘. . damn, he’s fucking hot,’ ‘yep. heard he’s in a relationship though. sucks,’ ‘girl— do i look like i care? need him so baaaaddd.’

it’s infuriating to hear those words while you - his girlfriend - are standing close to them. you decide not to give those girls any attention nor do you try to speak up. it’s not worth the effort.

satoru closes the car door behind him, his hands in the pockets of his slacks while he strolls up to where you’re standing. it’s as if he’s walking down a runway - graceful, confident, every step executed with perfect balance.

he can hear the murmurs from the students around, but he simply does not care. his steady gaze has been fixed on you the moment he spotted your figure from across campus.

“cute,” satoru mutters under his breath with a small smile, blue eyes taking in the sight of you standing there against a wall. the way you’re fiddling with the strap of your bag while pretending not to have noticed him is quite endearing.

you look down at the ground until a pair of black oxfords come into view, stopping right in front of yours. you slowly tilt your head back until you’re face to face with the man himself.

“hey, beautiful,” satoru greets, his voice smooth and slightly deep, a faint smirk playing on his lips. his knuckles brush against your cheek whilst he admires your every feature, acting as if he hasn’t seen you in days.

you nod in response, whispering a small ‘hi’ before your eyes dart around campus again. your bottom lip pushes forward just a tiny bit to form a small pout.

. . and there it is; satoru knows that look in your eyes like the back of his hand. he’s seen that same pout before, along with the hint of jealousy lurking behind your gaze that you try so hard to hide.

he understands why you’re feeling that way.

the other girls on campus, the way they ogle him and whisper, it would make any woman insecure. but to him, there was no need for that. satoru is yours, and he’s made that known to every single soul around you a million times before.

perhaps they need to be reminded once more.

satoru wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his touch gentle and possessive. he can see how you’re trying to act normal, though he knows you way better than that.

the pad of his thumb rubs small circles into your hip as your lover leans in and speaks in a low yet intimate voice that only you get to hear, “oh? look at you, acting all tough with your little pout.”

“tell me. what’s up, princess?” satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ticklish skin. he lowers his head to your face and plants a small kiss on your nose, gaining a mix of delighted yet irritated whispers of the people around you.

“usually you jump right into my arms after seeing me— y’know, like a lil’ bunny,” the white-haired man starts sulking as well, pressing your body flush against his. “where’s my cute ‘n clingy babyyyy?”

satoru’s over-exaggerated whine makes your nose scrunch up, though you can’t deny the truth. he knows you better than you know yourself. he can see right through your attempt to disguise your jealousy, yet you’re still too stubborn to admit anything.

“whatever. come on,” you roll your eyes before grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. you want nothing more than to escape your surroundings. you’re getting tired of the continuous and unwanted attention satoru is getting.

it’s irksome. you know satoru doesn’t give them the attention they so desire - he never will - yet you still feel this pang in your chest whenever you see those girls shamelessly ogling your boyfriend.

satoru, being naturally observant, notices your sudden eagerness to leave campus. he can tell that your jealousy is growing worse because of the other students that keep on eyeing him. while he is used to the attention, he hates seeing it affect you.

the whispers and giggles from the other women are like white noise, insignificant background fodder that barely warranted his notice. you’re all he sees and listens to— no matter what.

your presence, your voice, your body, your soul. . . you’re the only one he cares about. he just wishes you’d realise that.

satoru wordlessly allows himself to be dragged off. his gaze is fixated on the back of your head, a mixture of amusement and worry glinting in those blue eyes of his. he can’t help but feel guilty. even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.

he wants to make it up to you, somehow.

once you reach the car, satoru gently shoos your hand away from the door handle the moment he catches you try to get in yourself. he reaches around you and pulls it open with a soft ‘click’.

satoru then surprises you by kissing your forehead— his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head. his fingers bury themselves in your hair. a subtle smirk tugs at his glossy lips as he senses the envious glares from the other, irrelevant onlookers.

that’s exactly what he’s trying to accomplish. to make it known to the world that he’s your man. he’ll gladly do it over and over again, until all of them finally take the hint.

“ladies first,” satoru gestures, his voice gentle and loving. he pulls back and smiles at you with his dimples showing. you’re slightly taken aback by the smooth gesture before thanking him in a small murmur.

“thank you.”

it’s silent for a good couple seconds after satoru gets into the driver’s seat. he settles his keys into the ignition switch, though doesn’t turn them. instead, he faces you with a small sigh.

your lover already recognises what’s up. you probably won’t talk to him until the jealousy subsides. but that isn’t how he wants to fix this situation— he wants you to communicate with him.

“hey,” satoru tries to get you to look at him. your body is slightly turned away, your eyes looking out of the car window. it’s painfully obvious that you’re upset with him, even when it isn’t specifically his fault.

“don’t hide from me, c’mon,” he chuckles and tries to make you feel better by bringing your hand up to his lips. satoru leaves small kisses on your palm, eyes peering over the rims of his sunglasses to gauge your reaction.

you still don’t turn to face him. you’re too caught up in your own feelings— too stubborn to talk about the jealousy and insecurities that are bugging you. you know it’s unfair to your partner, but you currently can’t fix your own emotions.

sensing your insistent reluctance to face him, satoru places his hand gently under your chin. his fingers curl around your jaw and gently guide your gaze to meet his. the sight of your downcast expression - plagued with insecurity - tugs on his heartstrings.

“oh, my sweet little baby,” the white-haired man sighs once more.

without another word, the gap between you quickly closes as satoru leans in, his lips meeting yours in a firm but soft kiss. a soft gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of his kiss, but the tension in your shoulders slowly starts to dissappear as you melt into his embrace.

the touch of his calloused fingers on your jaw is a wordless command you cannot resist. the kiss is a silent form of reassurance, a way for him to remind you of his feelings for you.

his want and need for you.

satoru can nearly taste the jealousy etched into your initial resistance, which he seeks to silence with his touch. thus, he deepens the kiss with renewed vigor. his free hand cups the back of your head and gently tilts it upwards to gain a better angle.

“mh. sweet,” satoru’s tongue swipes over your bottom lip. he eagerly swallows the faint taste of candy that you had eaten earlier. his tongue delves into your mouth the moment your lips make way, memorising every part of it.

he doesn’t let go of you until you’re both breathless. the sorcerer pulls back, though keeps the distance between your lips at a minimum. his cheeks are painted a soft pink, eyes half lidded and lips even glossier with your saliva now coating them.

“haah— fuck,” satoru catches his breath while his free hand rubs up and down your waist. he resists the urge to pull you into his lap and ravage you right then and there. he’ll leave that for when you’re home.

his gaze is on your parted lips once more. he simply cannot hold himself back from leaning in. his body moves closer to yours, caging you in between him and the passenger seat.

“i’m all yours,” satoru murmurs against your soft lips. he cups your face as he places a quick peck on your mouth. “only yours,” another chaste kiss causes your smile to find its way back onto your face. “don’t you forget,” and a third kiss finally makes you giggle.

your lover hums in satisfaction. he nuzzles his nose against yours, grinning widely as he successfully managed to coax the jealousy away— to gain his beautiful, happy girlfriend back. “there she is,” satoru coos and squeezes your cheeks together.

you huff at the feeling of your lips forced into a deformed ‘o’ shape, yet the bright smile tugging at your lips doesn’t disappear. “sorry for acting so childish,” you apologise for your own behavior. if it wasn’t for satoru taking the initiative to make it up to you, you would have given him the silent treatment.

the white-haired man shakes his head. he ruffles your hair affectionately while his lips settle on your cheek. he tenderly nibbles on the plush flesh, “no need to apologise. ‘t was cute,” he replies in a muffled voice.

satoru pulls back and his thumb brushes over the subtle mark that his teeth left on your skin. “besides,” he pinches your cheek before cocking his head to the right. your eyes follow the direction he’s looking at— which is your car window.

“i think everyone finally realised that y’re the one ‘n only girl for me.”

your heart drops as you only then remember that satoru’s car windows aren’t tinted. that means that everyone on campus probably has seen the little make out session you had with your boyfriend just now.

your eyes quickly dart around the crowded area. the way your fellow students are glancing at you - some with envy and others with embarrassment - tells you more than enough. . .

you clear your throat and try to hide your face with the sleeves of your top. you don’t know how you’re going back to university after today without facing the humiliating consequences of your (satoru’s) actions.

your shameless boyfriend sits there and grins from ear to ear, proud of his accomplishment and oblivious to your embarrassed state until you speak up again;

“. . satoru, please drive away as fast as you can.”

[gojoshooter]

HER HO!NY HUSBAND : GOJO SATORU

tw. suggestive, gojo flashes his goodies

Husband!Gojo coming out of the shower with a wet muscular body and a piece of towel hanging along his waist—only to see his wife laying on the bed right in front of him.

Pregnant Wife!Yn who had been insecure of her growing belly and weight since a couple months due to her pregnancy, watches Gojo check her from head to toe, an unexplainable look on his handsome pale face.

Sitting upright, she fixes her loose garments. Maybe he’s finally come to the realisation of not being such a big fan of my mom body.

Husband!Gojo sensing her dejected mood, snaps out of his internal thoughts as he decides to reach out and sit next to her instead.

“Baby? Something’s bothering?” he asks softly, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear.

Pregnant Wife!Yn ever a self-conscious overthinker, mumbles while looking up at her husband, “I saw you gazing at me few a many times now...” she fixes her garment again, in embarrassment “like... weirdly. You start looking stiff all of a sudden, as if you want to confess something. About my bad shape maybe.”

At her confession, Satoru pauses, lips parted open slightly and not sure which part to explain first. He brings a wet but comforting hand on her swollen belly.

“Silly girl. Are you worrying about your plump little adorable tummy again? I told you I like it.”

Pregnant Wife!Yn frowns, not really sure of his words. “Really? Then how would you explain everytime you stopped to stare at me? Your face doesn't seem as if you love it—or even like it, Toru.”

Husband!Gojo who shakes his head, body turning more towards her distressed wife. “I don't like it? I love you and every part of you babe, you know me.”

Yn sighs softly, looking down with an upset face. “I do... but maybe i shouldn't have asked for a baby. I just... I feel like you'd have appreciated my old body more, Toru.”

Satoru snaps his head towards her, eyebrows raised in disbelief. This was his last straw. She has to know what his pregnant, innocent wife does to him.

As he stands up slowly from the edge of the bed, he makes sure she's all eyes and ears. “Oh really now. Then I must give you a real reason to never regret your baby with me...”

Undoing the towel hooked on his dripping wet waist, the white haired man reveals his lower half of the riches. As her eyes set down, there comes in view an almost fully hard wet length of Gojo Satoru.

Pregnant Wife!Yn being taken aback, is unable to react for a good few first seconds, mouth agape. Light hue of red crawls up the neck to settle on her cheeks, when her husband hums in question.

“Mm? You see this? This is what you do to me, silly girl.”

Everything seemed suddenly more reasonable—Gojo stealing those frequent long gazes, his odd body language while he checks his pregnant wife out. Gojo gets aroused.

Pregnant Wife!Yn tears her gaze away from his manhood, cold sweat making her feel more or less like her currently out of shower dripping wet husband. Oh the thoughts that might be running in his perverted brain, all the ways he could take you in and you wouldn't be moving away with all the weight you bear of his baby, but comply, and relish, and whine.

“Oh-oh...” she mumbles shyly, the revelation lessening her insecurity effectively more than all sweet words combined could have ever had.

an. husband gojo >>> also this is my 1k readers special! ty for giving my writings your time, love y'all. likes & rbs are appreciated <33

tags: @anubisisthebomb @dianagracesworld @stellagrangerreads12 @momochina-sama @xxkay15xx @ruins-posts

[fushitoru]

trouble a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bully!satoru gojo x reader

summary ⸺ an unexpected tutoring session with your bully satoru gojo leads to somewhere...unexpected

warnings ⸺ SMUT (MDNI), fluff, slight angst, college au, porn with really mid plot, bullying, humiliation, PANTY INSPECTION, p i v sex, unprotected sex, aftercare, creampie, he whimpers a lot but also degrades you a lot, gojo satoru king of dirty talk it might not make sense lolz, this is not edited in the slightest, didn't even do it a once over, implied that reader is a virgin but not really art by the goat 3-aem

a/n sorry for being so ia. will be answering asks after the ao3 author ahh events that went on this past week T-T as a result this is kind of mid, might delete later, based on this req

general masterlist

This could not be happening to you. NO, no, no. You must be dreaming, right?

Because Satoru Gojo was sitting right across from you in your math professor’s office, looking akin to a kicked puppy, ears drooping as your professor continued ranting about his late assignments, his efforts to cover his grades up, lost potential, laziness, how he should learn from you—but you were only dreading the aftermath of this conversation, when you were left alone with Gojo. 

Because he was your college bully.

It didn’t get as violent as in those Asian dramas, but you were often left humiliated from the nuisance he was. For example, take the instance when you both first met. 

Head deep in the textbooks you just bought, you were scanning the formulas in an effort to get ahead; after all, for someone like you—dependent on a scholarship to attend university—slacking off was not an option. Only for the nepo trust fund babies—which you were not. There, in the prestigious university you had fought tooth and nail to get into, you were at peace. 

But it all went out the window as someone moved to tap you on your shoulder, making you turn your head towards possibly the most handsomest boy you’ve ever seen but undeniably a spoiled kid. Because what came out of his words were definitely grounds for sexual harassment.

“Are Asian people your type? Because I’m China get in your japanties.”

If crickets could make their way into the study room you were sitting in, their chirps would be LOUD. You blinked, heat creeping up your face as he leaned closer to your face, eyes flirtingly honing in on yours and your lips. Abruptly—-flustered—you stood up, gathering your belongings and apologizing profusely. “I”m so—sorry—I don’t—-you might be talking to the wrong per—” because there was no way in hell he was addressing you. From what you could see, he looked like a rich kid, the kind with a lot of money—something that could land you in trouble. You booked it the hell out of there, ignoring the confused look on his face and missing the disappointment flicker across it as he saw your retreating figure leave his sight.

And thus, your love story with Satoru Gojo—who you soon found out was the most popular boy on campus—started. 

Small encounters with Gojo kept plaguing your first semester. They would be chance encounters, where Gojo would catch your eye in the middle of a crowd and make his way towards you, a snarky grin creeping up his face as he cornered you into a hallway with less traffic. Sometimes even in a closet.

It wouldn’t be anything grave, to say. All he would ask is how your day was, all sweet nothings and cute smiles made to woo you. And they definitely did—but you couldn’t let it show, couldn’t let him woo you.

“What’s your next class, baby?” The both of you were in a janitor’s closet, him having cornered you in the room and locked  the door. You kept biting your lip nervously, the edge of it red and swollen as you peered at him somewhat nervously.

“Uh—I don’t know,” you whispered, darting your eyes somewhere on the floor, so he wouldn’t see the avoidant look on your face.

Let’s get the record straight: you weren’t scared of Gojo. Sure, at 6’ 3’’ with piercing, glow-in-the-dark sapphire eyes, he made you nervous, but you knew you could pine for him at best. Because god knows what would happen if you ever cross him or his dozens of fan girls, some with considerably more power than you on campus. Putting a target on your back while you were trying to graduate wasn’t one of your goals, but trying to pass your math classes with honors was.

And you hated the fact Gojo could read you like a book. Because in the cramped, dark space, his eyes were almost..soft as he put his forearm across the wall on top of your head, effectively caging you in as he steps toward you. You hug your big and heavy books closer to your chest, the squish of your breasts over your top not lost to Gojo who eyes them with lidded eyes. Then, they make their way to meet yours, and it’s like he can see the pining in your eyes. The fact that he’s a carrot dangled in front of your head, something you want but if you ran, you would never have him. A perpetual race to make him yours.

He smiles, gives a soft chuckle. “You don’t know?” he teases you and your blatant lie. “C’mon, let me walk you there.”

But you blurt out an immediate “No!” and then regret it, because hurt flashes across his face. “I mean–” you falter, “please don’t. You’ll be seen publicly with me.”

A quizzical look, one that is so innocent that it makes you want to cry, because how could Gojo ever understand your problems? “What’s the problem?” And then he pouts. “You embarrassed of me?”

“No–no—” you shake your head, squirming slightly from where you were both standing. “It won’t be good for you, for me.” Then, you swallowed, waiting and screening for his reaction.

Praying to whatever gods that were listening to you that he would understand, it seemed that they were answered because an emotion you couldn’t place etched its way on his face until he nodded. A resolute one, yet something that made you a bit…uneasy was in his eyes. Because it meant nothing but trouble.

Then on went your days. Seven days, in fact, because it only took a week for you to be walking across the hallway, daydreaming about a boy without a face cuddling you in the winter, eating cookies in Christmas. You hated being single and hated the fact you were confined to your academic responsibilities; quickly, your professors caught onto your potential, assigning you to tutor your peers during recitations. You preened at the attention and validation but felt lonely because it occupied all your time to catch up on others’ expectations. In your rumination of your upcoming responsibilities, you didn’t notice the hand shoot out and firmly grab your arm until you were in a janitor’s closet. Yet again.

Shocked, you resisted the unknown person who had led you in here, instincts flaring up until said person turned on the light. 

Gojo.

“Gojo, what are you—” You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence, as Gojo had covered your mouth with his arm, one to avoid causing too much commotion before you were discovered there.

“You said no one could see us, right?” A mischievous—yet yearning—look flashed across his face and it was then you realized his play. “So this is okay?”

No, this stubborn man wasn’t going to let you go—he was going to torment you. In secret.

The only response you could conjure your brain was a whimper because a tentative hand was creeping its way up your thigh, softy caressing the insides of it. All you could feel was pleasure and how it was so right despite it being so wrong that Satoru Gojo, the campus sweetheart, had cornered you into the janitor’s closet to give you the most dizzying touches, some you couldn’t deny.

So when he moved his other hand that was at your mouth to grab at your pink skirt, he lifted the hem with both his hands and then paused. Looked at you with darkened eyes. “Let me do this.”

You could only close your eyes in your flustered state, pinching them shut as you gave him a slight nod. It only took him a millisecond to move, using both of his hands to uncover what was between your thighs, eyes focused and widening as he inspected your panties.

“Pink with hearts, huh?” You could hear the chuckle in his voice, the cockiness basically oozing out and you could only continue to heat up deeper. “I like it, baby.” Jumping as you felt his hands roam and trace the edges of your panties, he hooked his finger in the crotch, your thighs tightening slightly as his index just oh so grazed your bare folds as he pulled and pulled, until he let go of the tension and it snapped back in its place. “Look at me.”

As per his instruction, you opened your eyes, only to be taken aback by the intensity in his. Then, his lips moved. “Be my girlfriend.”

The moment broke as clarity hit you. This shouldn’t have happened. “I’m sorry, Gojo, but—”

“Don’t call me that,” he groaned, stepping back and raking an arm through his hair. “What’s even your problem? Did I do something wrong?”

Incredulous, you utter out a “Something wro—you don’t think you did something wrong?”

He looked at you for a bit, made to say something, but you cut him off. “You know what Gojo? Get this through your head. We can’t do this. I don’t know how many girls fall for this, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” With that, you made to move, but he quickly reached out, pleading for you to stay. You wrenched his hand out of your grip and said, in the most serious voice you could muster, “Don’t ever talk to me again.” And you walked out, pretending you weren’t scared of what would happen after you retaliated against the Satoru Gojo.

Surprising, all went well for the rest of the semester. You did get some whispers and stares because of the stray rumor or two passing around about you and the mysterious instances when the campus king stared at your figure for a flicker too long. But it wasn’t nothing but passing because you didn’t share any classes with Gojo, and he respected your wishes. You didn’t miss the bitterness in his stare when you passed by his friend group in the hallway, speeding up to shake off the weight of his eyes on you.

So, you were at peace. Until second semester’s Calc III.

You soon realize that with gradients and vectors comes an additional burden, one specifically sporting white hair. Because as you’re pulled into your math professor’s office and see him, you oh so desperately want to book it. 

“And this, Satoru,” your professor pauses and looks at him sternly while gesturing towards you, “is your ticket out of failing. Miss Y/N here,” he gives you a comforting smile, one that does nothing to ease the stiffness flooding your body at the thought of Gojo right next to you, “has the highest grade in the class. She’s a seasoned teaching assistant too, helping a lot of people in her classes next year.” You silently curse, your smile growing more strained as you realize Gojo’s looking at you. “I trust that you’ll be in good care.”

Once the professor finally dismissed you both, you braced yourself, shoving your notebook back into your bag with far more force than necessary. The prospect of *actually* tutoring Satoru Gojo—the one person who seemed hell-bent on making college a gauntlet for you—was absurd.

You didn't look up as you pushed past him, but Gojo kept pace, following you out of the office and down the hall with that easy, unbothered stride of his. "So," he drawled, “how's this tutoring thing going to work? Are you coming to my place, or am I coming to yours?”

You stopped, turning to face him. "My place," you said firmly. The thought of seeing him lounging in some flashy, high-end apartment was insufferable. Besides, at least in your dorm, you could set some ground rules.

He blinked, looking surprised. "Your place? Bold move, Miss Perfect," he teased, that trademark smirk flickering onto his face. “Didn’t think you’d be so eager to have me over.”

"Trust me, Gojo, I'm only doing this because I have to. And there will be rules," you said, crossing your arms. "No messing around, no games—just math."

“*Just math,*" he repeated, his tone playful as his eyes glinted with mischief. “Got it.”

You swallowed, hoping he meant it. "Fine," you said briskly. "I’ll see you tomorrow at six. Don’t be late."

“Oh, wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, and with a little salute, he strolled off, leaving you with a sense of impending doom.

The knock came precisely at six.

You opened the door, and there stood Satoru Gojo, surprisingly punctual, hands shoved into his pockets and a playful grin on his face. You gestured to the small study area you’d set up by your desk, filled with neatly organized notes and textbooks.

“Take a seat,” you said shortly. “We’ll start with the basics.”

He slid into the chair, his gaze flitting from the textbooks to you, an amused glint in his eye. “You weren’t kidding about tutoring. You’re all set up like a professional.”

You ignored the remark and opened the textbook to the chapter on derivatives. “Alright. Let’s go through this. If you understand derivatives, the rest of Calc III will start making sense.”

For a while, he seemed to actually pay attention. He followed along, asking a few questions, which you answered as patiently as possible. But as the explanations went on, his attention started to drift. After one too many halfhearted nods, you frowned, putting your pencil down.

“You’re not even trying, are you?”

He leaned back in his chair, that smirk resurfacing. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to spend time with you.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting off the blush creeping up your cheeks. “You needed my help. I didn’t force you to come here. If you don’t want to do this, then—”

He held up a hand, the teasing gone from his face. “Alright, alright. I’ll focus.” He paused, then added, “In fact, to show you I mean it, I’ll do you a favor. Whatever you want. My way of saying thanks.”

You eyed him warily. “A favor?”

“Anything,” he said, leaning in with a grin that spelled trouble. “What’ll it be? An escort to class? Carrying your books around? Name it.”

 “I’ll let you know when I think of something.” You’re dismissive, knowing he’s not that serious about this, playful about this like he is everything else. 

He chuckled, nodding. “Looking forward to it.”

And with that, he finally settled into his chair, this time with genuine focus, leaving you both in the kind of quiet that held a new, unspoken promise—a favor, an IOU hanging in the air between you.

You don’t know how you ended up under Gojo on your bed. 

Satoru sat close—closer than you’d expected. His knee brushed yours as he leaned forward to study your notes, and every few minutes, his arm would brush against your hand as he reached for the pencil you were using to write equations. Each little touch sent a jolt through you, and judging by the lingering glances he kept giving you, he didn’t mind it either.

“Okay, so the derivative here is...?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you pointed at the next problem.

Satoru leaned even closer, squinting at your notebook. “I think I get it,” he murmured, his face inches from yours, his breath warm as it brushed your cheek. But instead of looking at the math, his eyes flicked to yours, lingering just a second too long.

Your heart hammered as you forced yourself to focus. “Right. So you should get… uh… that answer,” you managed, feeling his gaze still trained on you.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, not breaking eye contact. His hand shifted on the table, the back of his fingers grazing yours.

You didn’t move. Neither did he. Your fingers stayed where they were, brushing against each other, the soft, deliberate touch making the silence between you feel louder. Finally, you broke the tension by clearing your throat, quickly pulling your hand away to grab a different textbook.

“So—um, yeah, you’re almost there,” you stammered. “But you missed a step here.” You pointed to another section, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight shake in your voice.

He noticed, of course. You could see his smirk in the corner of your eye.

“Is that all I missed?” he asked, leaning so close that his shoulder pressed against yours. His voice was lower now, more intimate.

You nodded, trying to focus on the page but finding it impossible with him so close. “Yeah. Just… that,” you said softly.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice dropping even more as he shifted his hand, his knuckles brushing against your knee now. It wasn’t intentional—at least, you thought it wasn’t—but neither of you moved. You felt frozen, caught in a quiet, charged moment, where all you could hear was your own heartbeat.

You swallowed, forcing your gaze back to the problem on the page. “Maybe, um… maybe we should take a break?” you suggested, needing a second to breathe.

He tilted his head, an amused, knowing, intense glint in his eye. “A break sounds nice.” 

Your breath caught as he looked at you like that, his hand still warm where it lingered just a little too close. And in that brief moment, you wondered just what kind of favor you’d end up asking of him—or what he might ask of you in return.

And it seemed like he knew what you were thinking. “Hey,” he said oh so breathlessly, in the way that made you want to throw yourself at him yet simultaneously bludgeon his head in, “wanna fuck?”

You reeled back, incredulous, but he quickly grabbed your head with both his hands, gently drawing you in. “What?”  

“I mean,” and he giggled, “what better use of a favor for than me to rid you of your virginity?”

You gasp, struggling in his hold to no avail. “Why would you assume I’m a virgin? I have plenty of experience, thank you very much—”

All the man does is snigger, despite your glare at him and looks at you, peering at you through his eyelashes with an oh-so-adoring smile. “It was clear how much you soaked through your panties that last time you’re a virgin, baby.” And you can’t help but whimper, reduced to a melting mess because of his sweet words. 

He laughs meanly. “If you’re not a virgin, you better not be soaked right now, baby. I’m kind of excited to see what panties you’re wearing this time” He moves his hand between your thighs, and you pliantly spread your legs for him, clenching as his hands rove over your panties in between your skirt. And he’s right, because it’s almost like you’ve wet your panties with the way your slick was flooding out of you because of your proximity with Satoru. “Look at that,” he coos and he pulls his hand away, much to your dismay, to examine his fingers. They glisten vulgarly in the fairy lights in your dorm, and Satoru turns his head to look at you. “So you gonna let me fuck you?”

And that, dear reader, is how you find yourself face down in your plushies on your dorm room bed, clutching them for dear life as Satoru spews dirty talk as if he was born doing it. “Satoru, faster!” you sob, having gone past the initial discomfort of having something in your pussy. 

“Satoru, faster,” he mocks you, grabbing your hips and drilling into your heat, groaning at how you’re just so tight. The tears flowing down your face make you even more beautiful as you succumb to your pleasure, one that no one other than Satoru has ever made you feel. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to fuck you?” You don’t answer past your moaning, and that annoys the fuck out of Gojo. He slaps your ass consecutively and can’t help but be more aroused looking at the red handprints he leaves. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you moaned, anything to stop his assault on your ass, “I wanted this is sooo bad.” At that—rather than being satiated—Satoru sped up, hitting your spot with the accuracy of a sharpshooter.

“Yea, baby?” He laughs, meanly, leaning down to grab you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. His fingers squished your cheeks, thereby pursuing your lips as he tried not to cum from the sight of your eyes rolling back with each stroke into you. From the way you were clenching and pulsing more regularly around him, he could tell you were close. “Gonna cum?”

You whined, nodding while sobbing into his hands, trying to focus on the feeling of orgasming. It was so close, you could feel it coiling in your belly—

Just for him to rip out of your cavern, leaving you in shambles due to the emptiness you were feeling. “What—”

He tutted, his hand now slowly stroking his cock while he was sitting on his knees, looking down at you. “I’m only letting you come if you agree to be my girlfriend.”

“Gojo, what—”

“It’s Satoru,” his eyes flared, looking at you with an intensity you hadn’t noticed before. “And say it. Say you’ll be mine.”

For a moment, you searched his eyes for any signs. Signs of insincerity, of humor. But all you could find was desperation and yearning. Ever since you kept having your chance encounters with Gojo, you couldn’t help but deny the fluttering in your heart; the way his eyes unconsciously looked for you, a mere stranger he had taken interest in, in every crowd made you feel seen in a world where you were otherwise invisible.

And you couldn’t help but want to continue being in that world, in his world.

“Fine,” you whispered. “I’ll be your girlfr—”

Before you could finish, he smashed his lips into yours, joining them in a messy, wet embrace. His tongue explored your mouth in a way that made you leak even more while he aggressively laid back down on the mattress, effortlessly lifting you onto his crotch and onto his dick. As he thrusted into you, desperately, he couldn’t help but continue blabbing sweet nothings.

“I’ll treat you so well—haah—take you out on dates,” he heaved, eyes watering as he thrusted slowly into you in long, deep strokes. His eyes never left you as he made love to you, his face going up to nuzzle in between your breasts, peering at you through lidded eyes lovingly. “Fuck you well every night, show you off to the world.”

You could only sob Satoru as you looked at his face through your tears, him doing all the talking for you. “Every day,” he groaned, his cock pulsing and twitching in your walls, “I’ll love you like you’re my wife and fuck you like you’re my slut. So—” and he took a sharp intake of breath, one that you could interpret as him getting close with the way his hips were continually getting more and more sloppy, “so proud of you, baby. Gonna take care of you.” Then, he meets his eyes with yours as he starts to speed up, hand moving to gently rub at your clit in circles, with such prowess that you know you’re not going to last long. “Pull you—haah—pull you aside and see what panties you wore for me that day. Coming inside—coming inside and making you walk around with my cum leakin’ out of your panties.”

And then he whimpers as he loses control. “Gonna—” he utters in between short breaths, “gonna come baby. Come with me.”

“I will, Satoru,” you whine. “Please, I wanna—I wanna kiss!” That’s when Satoru can’t hold himself back anymore, his cum shooting in ropes inside of you at the innocent gesture you wanted him to do while he was doing such filthy things to you. You come alongside with him, everything so overwhelming as you ride out your orgasm on top of him. 

As you’re both settling down from your orgasm, he pulls you off—the both of you wincing at the sudden emptiness—as he lays you down next to him. Without a word, he nuzzles in between your breasts, giving a content sigh as he literally melts like a cat, relaxed in your embrace. You can’t help but giggle at his antics, and he takes his face out of your cleavage to give you a boyish grin. “What’re you laughing at?” “Nothing,” you shake your head. “Just the fact I’m chained to you now.”

“Hey!” he pouts, moving his arms so he’s embracing you tightly, effectively trapping you in. “Say that again and I’m going to sleep on top of you and never leave.”

“Can’t believe I’m chained to y—”

Satoru plops on top of you, making a show of tickling your ribs and stomach as you gasp and laugh in surprise. “Satoru!” He doesn’t relent, until you feel a familiar liquid ooze and leak out of your pussy.

This time, your shriek of Satoru’s name doesn’t go unnoticed. At the murderous look on your face–as well as the sheer messiness in between your thighs—he gets up. Smiles sweetly. “Should just leave you like this, leaking my cum. It’s only fair for how you ignored me!”

At that, he gets a pillow to his face, reminiscent of a kicked puppy as he trudges to your bathroom to clean you up. 

general masterlist

comment and reblog your thots! <3

[unceeled]

gojo satoru has you all covered. they were not joking when they said that this man would serve and protect because not a single thing touches you, ever. and gojo satoru is proud of that, that's what he's good at: being your personal shield.

and yet, even if he were to extend his infinity to you at every hour of the day, the one thing gojo satoru could not protect you from is getting sick.

then and there, the strongest one forgets how to act. this was not something he could fight off, something he could exorcise. no. but he felt helpless watching you squirm and curl up into a ball, sneezing and coughing on your bed.

he'd do everything in his power to take care of you, of course. but it was fidgety, at best. he never got sick growing up; he wasn't aware of the procedures of this all. so... he googled.

what else was he meant to do? you refused to eat, you were coughing up something, you were shivering, your temperature extremely high, and more things he truly did not want to think that you were going through. still, it was those same things that found their way to the google search bar as gojo satoru looked desperately for anything that could make your shivering figure feel better.

comfort was the last thing he got from his trip to the internet, however. the text on his screen informed him of the demise you'd supposedly face at this rate. you were gonna get worse and he was gonna lose the light of his life... is how he understood the search result.

after spending the whole afternoon napping, you finally stir awake feeling a cool towel on your head and something dripping on your hand. you blink the sleep away for a few more moments, eyes finally focusing on the sniffling figure holding your hand.

"toru, what's going on?" you squeeze his hand back lightly. you hear an almost theatrical gasp matched with widened blue eyes and immediately become engulfed in big bulky arms.

"i thought i was gonna lose you." he sniffs, nuzzling his face in your neck. you're left puzzled but return the hug nonetheless. "what made you think that?" satoru pulls away and examines your face. "baby, it felt like you were dying on me," he exclaims, still cupping your face.

"toru, it was probably just the flu-" you are interrupted by a cough that erupts from your throat.

"see! this is what google said would happen!"

"google? satoru gojo, you consulted google? and that's why you were crying?"

"next time i'll just exorcise every germ in this world."

"if you say so, baby"

[euthymiya]

part two

Starting an internship at the company Satoru’s father owns but you don’t know who he is just yet.

He’s annoying. He always comes back from lunch late, lets his phone ring at his desk (that’s conveniently placed next to yours) past the three ring policy, writes emails with silly and immature sign-offs, cracks jokes during meetings, and somehow, despite always finishing his paperwork late, he never manages to lose his damn job.

You try to mind your own business. But you can’t help but feel him slowly grate at your nerves as he acts so unprofessional and for some weird reason, not one person seems to care.

He seems pretty intrigued with you, too, if matters couldn’t get worse.

“Hey,” he grins. You try to ignore the tilt of his lips in amusement as you just barely fight off rolling your eyes.

“Can I help you with something?” You sigh, “I’m currently in the middle of something that requires my full attention, but maybe we could—”

“You really love your office jargon,” he hums, cutting you off with a wider grin, “so dedicated.”

“Oh, my apologies,” you smile tightly. He seems to straighten a little, some sick, twisted form of excitement rushing through his system at the way he seems to get under your skin. “Allow me to use simpler language for you to understand: go away, I’m busy.”

Someone has to stand up to this prick, you think. He puts in half the effort, and somehow, you’re pretty sure your boss has a soft spot for him. You don’t understand it, and quite frankly, you’ll be damned if a lazy, lackluster man snags a promotion before your hardworking self.

“Oh wow,” he snorts, “breaking your strictly professional streak, are you? You must be really occupied. I guess I’ll borrow your stapler later.”

Gritting your teeth, you give him yet another tight lipped smile before grabbing the stapler off your desk and handing it to him. (A small part of you resists the urge to throw it square at his face. Maybe the image of him on the floor with a bloodied nose would make your day a little easier, but then you’re sure you’d be jobless).

“Here you go,” you say with as much kindness as you can muster. (It’s not a lot). “Please do bring it back when you’re done. Some of us actually complete paper work, so the stapler is a necessity.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief, “don’t worry, I won’t hold your stapler hostage for too long. I wouldn’t want to disrupt the flow of your productivity.”

You watch with wary eyes as he walks back to his desk, stapling some small, tiny note of sorts before walking right back, handing the paper and the stapler to you.

“What’s this?” You raise a brow.

“Some paper work for you to fill out,” he grins, the vagueness of his answer making a vein all but pop in your forehead.

Before you even have a chance to tell him that you most certainly will not be entertaining whatever silly prank he’s playing, he walks right off, sagging into his chair as he does an obnoxious little spin and goes back to typing at his computer. Probably yet another email with a ridiculous ending, you think to yourself.

Against your better judgement, you stare at the note, eyeing the small flap he’s stapled over an index card. You lift it up, quickly scanning over his scribbled writing.

Want to grab coffee during lunch? Check your answer:

▢ yes! ▢ absolutely! ▢ most definitely!

Your eye twitches.

Grabbing a pen, you quickly add a box underneath his (very confident) options, checking it off and writing in neat, pristine handwriting:

▣ not a chance!

You stand, walking over to his desk and ignoring his perked up, excited little smile as you drop the note back on the table and head back to your own desk. A tiny wave of satisfaction weaves through your body when you notice him read over your response and deflate, a small pout forming over his lips.

Regretfully, a small part of you can’t help but acknowledge that he’s actually…kind of cute when his lips are curled like that. But a larger part of you shakes that thought away and cringes internally. It’s a shame his personality ruins the genetic blessings he seems to have been bestowed with.

And you think that’s the end of it—but of course, with someone like Satoru in the office, there’s never the end of anything.

You watch as an email pops up on your screen, opening it only to stare blankly at his name and roll your eyes at the subject line:

────────────────────────

Follow-Up on Submitted Paperwork

Greetings office neighbor,

Thank you for submitting the paperwork. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help but notice that it does not fully align with the outlined guidelines. Could you please provide clarification or revise the submission accordingly?

Thanks a million,

Gojo Satoru :)

────────────────────────

And there he goes again with those obnoxious sign-offs, you think bitterly. Instantly, you’re clicking away at your keyboard as you type back an agitated response. Of course, you really shouldn’t entertain his ridiculous schemes, but something about him gets under your skin enough that you simply can’t help yourself.

You huff in approval at your response as you read it over before hitting send.

Instantly, as if he was waiting, you see his hand reach for his mouse and click on his screen to open your email as his eyes scan over your reply:

────────────────────────

Thank you for reaching out,

Unfortunately, I was unable to fully adhere to the outlined guidelines, as they are not viable in this situation. To address this, I adjusted the submission to align more effectively with a more practical outcome.

Hope that helps!

Your office neighbor :)

────────────────────────

Just when you think he’s given up, he rolls his chair over to your desk, causing a couple of annoyed heads to tilt up and glare at him for the noise before turning their attention back to their work. You pinch your nose as his chair rolls to a stop in front of your desk.

“Yes?” You grit through your teeth.

“Hey, office neighbor,” he hums, “just wanted to clarify your most recent email with you. I’m a bit confused.”

“Which part confused you?” You bat your lashes in faux charm, sarcastically smiling at him as he hums, grabbing a piece of candy from your little bowl of sweets at your desk and helping himself.

Your eye twitches a little at the gesture. Those are for you to enjoy throughout a miserable work day.

“Um…” he trails off as he pretends to think, “I’d say all of it.”

“I see,” you nod slowly, fighting every bone in your body not to snap at him with a colorful choice of words. “Essentially, the options in your original document did not highlight a plausible set of deliverables, so I corrected them for you with a more realistic one. Make sense?”

“Not really,” he sighs dramatically, pretending to scratch his head in confusion. You want nothing more than to grab those snowy locks and slam his face into your paper shredder. “Could you go over it one more time? I’m still lost.”

You’re just about to lose your patience with him when suddenly, the entire office seems to collectively take in a sharp breath, everyone scrambling to look as productive as possible while a tall, older looking man with suspiciously familiar white hair and blue eyes walks through the office. Something in your brain sets off alarm bells, but you can’t quite completely piece it together what it is about him seems so….recognizable.

“Who’s that?” You frown, scrunching your nose in confusion as everyone straightens up.

“That would be the final boss,” he snorts. You roll your eyes at his word choice before blinking and straightening up yourself.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, voice a panicked whisper as you ask, “you mean the owner of this company?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, raising a brow at you in amusement. “Never seen him before?”

“No,” you hiss, “I’m just the intern! Now go back to your desk before he thinks we’re goofing off, I’d like to keep my job, please.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he hums.

You send him a nasty glare, just about at your wits end as you whisper-yell, “I am going to throw my stapler right at your—”

“Satoru, I need you in my office,” comes a stern, deep voice, interrupting you as you quickly shut your mouth.

“You got it, old man,” he salutes in mock seriousness. Suddenly, your spine goes rigid and your eyes widen. The man walks off with a firm nod as Satoru stands, giving you an innocent smile.

Suddenly, it dawns on you just why he looked so strikingly familiar.

“Did you just call him old man?” You blink, mouth agape.

“Yup,” he winks, walking backwards as his eyes stay trained on you while he heads for the elevator. “I’ll put in a good word for you when he’s in a better mood at home tonight. I think we can discuss the specifics over coffee during our lunch hour, yeah?”

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

first class liar: drunk visions

ch 59

masterlist

-laugh out loud :)

-i’ve actually been having a life my bad yall it won’t happen again

LINK TO A MASTERLIST OF HELP LINKS FOR PALESTINE, CONGO, AND SUDAN

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@shokosbunny @veevei @jayathelostdragon @luvvnightingalee @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @laughingfcx @kiss-my-asscheeks @js-a-silly-little-guy @stillnotherapy @ynverse @leaderwon @meekydeeks @unfortunately-a-jjksimp @sweetlyvibe @lulumi1u @elegancefr @tobaccosunbxrst @juliiizh @satoae @prentisswig @azharyy @nanamiswifes @st4rdusttx @iluv-ace @lvrlamp @aestheticallyvini @tranzumaki @blk-barbz @vivianne666 @mixzimi @nugget-eater123-2 @jaegersity @beaniesayshi @90s-belladonna @celloccino @morgyyyyyyy @idkidk32 @aoitoge @deegausserr @mo0nforme @thisrandombitch @makeshiftproject @anobsessedwoman @shutuppeter @gigiiiiislife @sxkklyslvts @noomimi @ur-average-simp @corvid007 @chiyokoemilia @lov3vivian @goryfawn @harryzcherry @tibibibi123 @moncher-ire @nnnyxie

[yuukiiqwq]

Satoru is the type to get jealous over little things because he just wants you all to himself. Right now, he's sulking on the couch. Why, you may ask? Let's rewind a bit.

When you finally moved into Gojo's house, you got a cat. No, you didn't adopt one. It was Gojo. He came back one day with a cat.

"Toru. Why are you holding a cat?"

"Excuse you! His name is Fluffball!" He huffed. "And starting today, he's living with us!"

You blinked at him. Did he just name the cat Fluffball? What kind of name is Fluffball??

"Satoru Gojo."

He flinched at you, calling him by his full name. His brain instantly went into danger mode and activated his secret weapon.

"He'll keep you company whenever I go on missions!" He said as he gave you the puppy eyes. "And isn't he adorable?"

You bit the bottom of your lip. This was cheating. He knew that you couldn't resist. You don't mind adopting a cat... but out of nowhere? Do you trust yourself with taking care of a pet?

You sigh as you gave in. You couldn't say no. The cat was adorable after all...

"Fine. We can keep him."

His eyes instantly lighted up as he smiled down at the cat in his arms.

"You hear that Fluffball? She said yes!" He spins around with the cat, causing the cat to let out a series of meows.

You shaked your head from his antics. "Stop spinning the poor cat. And we will not be calling him Fluffball."

Thus causing Satoru to whined immediately. After all, in his opinion, Fluffball was a great name!

That was a few weeks ago. Now, back to the present. You ended up adoring the cat. Which is fine and all, but you've been paying attention to the cat more than Gojo lately. Like he's right here next to you, and instead of cuddling him, you're cuddling that cat.

And the name you came up with for the cat? Even worse. You took his nickname and gave it to the cat.

How did he find out? Well, it started with you asking for the cat to come over to you.

"Toru, come here," you called.

Satoru immediately came to your side, but you had a look of confusion, thus causing him to become puzzled himself.

"Satoru, why did you come over?

"You called for me! Obviously, I came to your side as fast as possible!"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I was not calling for you. I was calling for Toru." You motioned your hand towards the cat that came over. You immediately picked him up and covered him with kisses.

He was absolutely confused, and it wouldn't be the last.

Out of nowhere, all the nicknames you would call him would go straight towards the cat. No, he was no longer Toru. Or Babe. Or Darling. Or Baby. Or love of my life. Or beautiful dashing amazing boyfriend. He was just Satoru.

He regrets ever bringing that cat home. So what did he do? Well... he called Suguru for a favor.

The next day, when you came home calling for the cat, no noise was heard. You searched all throughout the house but didn't find the cat anywhere. Then you heard the front door unlocking and Satoru walking in with the biggest smile.

"Satoru, do you know where Toru is?"

He walked up to you and immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

"Satoru?"

"Well... I invited Suguru over while you were out, and Suguru just fell in love with the cat."

"What?"

"He wanted to bring him to his house for a few days! He said something about how he adores that little thing and wanted to spend a lot, and I mean a lot of time with him!"

You immediately knew something wasn't right. There was no way Suguru would do something like that.

You sternly repeated his name– "Satoru."

You stared him in the eyes, waiting for him to tell you the truth.

"Fineeeeee. I called Suguru for a favor," he whined as he nuzzled against your neck. "You're spending too much time with Fluffball! You're forgetting your amazing boyfriend!

"I am not forgetting you, Satoru. We literally live together. You're insufferable, and like you said, you're my boyfriend. I can't forget you that easily. And his name is not Fluffball."

"Oh, so now you remember your poor lonely boyfriend! Don't lie to me!" He huffed at you. "You're calling that cat by my nicknames! What happened to calling me Toru! Or baby! Or my beautiful dashing amazing boyfriend!"

"I have never called you by that last one in my life," you said as you rolled your eyes at him. "Are you really jealous of a cat, Satoru?"

He leaned into you, putting all his weight on you. He was basically crushing you as he continued his whining.

"So what if I'm jealous! You're not paying any attention to me! I thrive off of attention! Especially yours!"

You chuckled at his response.

"There's nothing to be jealous of Satoru. How can I make up for your horrible suffering?"

You felt the instant regret the second those words left your lips. You see the way his eyes get clouded with lust as you feel one of his hands trail up your thigh.

"Oh, you'll make it up to me, alright," he whispered in your ear. "At the end of this, the only thing you'll be able to think of is me and my cock."

He then pulled you into a hungry and greedy kiss. He kissed you like he had been deprived of you for years. And in his opinion, he has.

You only noticed you're in the bedroom once you felt the soft mattress behind you. You don't recall how he brought you into the bedroom. All you know is that you're in for a very long night because he's not letting you go anytime soon.

[chariaki]

"kiss me."

"what-"

You're head shot up, eyes now focusing on the white-haired man in front of you, mouth agape and eyes taking in his sunkissed figure.

He leaned his head closer to you, head resting on his palm, his arm on your desk, observing your reaction with a subtle smug look on face.

"what?" furrowing your brows, looking down on him with a hint of disgust.

"You're beautiful."

You scoffed.

"No need for the flattery. I'm doing this so you can shut the fuck up during class." You ignored him and returned to explaining the physics lesson he asked you to tutor him with.

You complied to this silly situation because you figured this would be a way for him to finally stop poking your side and whispering dumb questions to you during classes.

It's been an hour of explaining, and Satorou Gojo seems to have been quiet the whole time. You were happy because you assumed he was really listening and understanding the topic.

Unbeknownst to you, he, instead, was listening to your soft voice, and how you kept trying to make yourself sound strict and scary by making your voice sound deeper, how you brush your hair when you're thinking, how your fingers fidget with your ballpen when you're impatient, how your eyebrows lift up when you're anticipating his answer to a question he didn't even process.

Satrou adored you. This stupid physics tutoring was just a pathetic excuse to spend more time with you.

He reached his hand out towards you, and brushed your hair away from your face.

Pupils dialated, heartbeat quickened, eyes yearning. You watched him be like that, entertained by the sight of him.

The lovestruck man uttered.

"You wanna grab coffee?"

"No, Gojo. I wanna go home."

Swatting his hand away, and bluntly shooting down his offer, closing your books and tidying your stuff. Yet the man still persists.

"But we haven't even finished studying yet, haven't we, sweetheart?"

He holds both of your hands, and fiddles them up and down, treating you like a baby.

"You weren't even listening to me, '"sweetheart." " mocking him, trying to detangle your hands from his big, slender ones, though, failing miserably.

"I soooo listened to you! "

Tightening his grip with you intertwined fingers, and motioning them in the air.

"Yeah? What's the speed of light in a vacuum?"

"..."

"The only thing that matters is the speed of my heartbeat when I'm with you. "

He shoots you a wink.

"Wait- where'ya goin? "

"I'll walk you home!!" Quickly grabbing his backpack and chasing you down the halls.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Satorou Gojo's plan Q has failed, but, no worries, he'll figure out more ways to make you fall for him. Today, he's just happy he got to be with you for an extra hour, and be able to walk you home... after chasing you down the road, of course.