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celestie0 · 2 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer.

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was.

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal.

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far.

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.”

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft.

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji.

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin.

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more?

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story.

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was.

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad.

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it.

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.”

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them.

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood.

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly.

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you.

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up.

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them.

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena.

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast.

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up.

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them.

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet.

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off.

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight.

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue.

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath.

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm.

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet.

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you?

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it.

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty.

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to.

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue.

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you.

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.”

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough.

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad.

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you.

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable.

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest.

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him.

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking.

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

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@milkm4nz @athinasaurus @sashisuslover @welldamnsatoru @aeriiixhh

@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years ago

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#there should be a word for when youre talking around the tightness of tears #speaking against something that hurts #laughing specifically to undermine the seriousness of the statements youre voicing #the worst of both worlds. help me help me hahaha im not even joking hahaha but listen to the lies in my tone. dont focus on the words.#i want plausible deniability. but also i want u to understand my pain and give it a voice. speak it into existence because i cant say it #but if u do i might cry. that sounds hard that sounds like a lot. i kno i know. shut up. keep talking. do u think i dont feel it? i do #but if i split myself in two i can watch myself and suddenly it becomes funny. im not sure why. but i have a bad habbit of laughting at #inappropriate moments. because if its not funny then its just sad and what am i supposed to do with that?#i dunno. thats all to say my dad called bc i was looking at housing stuff and i was explaining some of the stuff im doing rn #and thats hard to talk abt without crying bc ive always been a cry bby but i didnt. and i love my parents theyre great #but they dont understand bc i havent told them all of it bc theres nothing they can do so y make them worry. and idk i also think they #think im less competent than i am. and part of that is just bc im their kid. part of that is bc there r things thst most ppl can do but i #struggle with. but its also not fun to hear: oh yeah i was surprised by how professional u sounded. or i think ur mom found u those #connections. when no. i did that. i made those things happen. i promise i can do things sometimes. but sometimes i cant. i dunno its just #it is what it is. whatever. decisions to b made. do i room with roommates for lower rent #or do i take an expensive place for a year for a single room? i dont want roommates but ill take them #i mean all the single places r like 950 at the very lowest without any utilities or anything but most r well over 1000 and like on a grad #student salary? i think not. not without losing money on net. i can deal with roommates. i have in the past. i wont b able to relax ever #but its fine. ya kno #just annoying. hah my dads sage advice was ah dont let it overwhelm u. go exercise. bc hes an endurance runner guy #and im like bro when i get home i have 1.5 hrs of daylight. but alas hes right. i do gotta run out my angers and its not enough #ugh. one more week. itll work out. and eventually ill walk into a counselors office like bro i just want u to tell me whether or not i have #0cd bc whatever the fuck it is that makes me do these things is absolutely destroying me. name the beast 0cd or 0cpd. tell me what box #i fit into. not that it matters but i feel like i cant complain until someone else rubber stamps me. actually then ill probably just obsess #abt how. actually. theyre wrong. ay fun times #i gotta shake shake shake my sillies out. and wiggle my waggles away. bc i never could let my kids songs go haha #unrelated

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strawberrymochin · 20 days ago

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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ☀︎

Rockstar!gojo x art student!femreader

synopsis- satoru gojo fell in love with you when he was 17. He tried everything to gain your attention—joining the student council, participating in every extracurriculars, performing well in academics yet nothing worked. That was until high school. In college, having been forced into a band, he needed to find a new artist for their posters which he requested shoko to take care of. What he didn't expect was shoko to bring you as a volunteer—

warnings- college!au, satoru being heads over heels for you, he’s so damn in LOVE save my boy, friends to lovers, misunderstanding, SEMI PUBLIC SMUT, fingering, oral fem receiving, PUSSY DRUNK GOJO, dirty talk, creampie, BALL OF FLUFF, ANGST, mentions of smoking and alcoholism, super cute ending

w.c- 8.2k (have faith)

a/n's note- i'd poured out my heart in this (especially the smut). i hope you all do like this. your comments and reblogs are highly appreciated as it helps motivating me for writing long ass fics. taglist is open you can ask me to join. love ya' all!!

When satoru met you for the first time, he was 11 years old.

You were the daughter of his mother’s friend whom he heard of so many times. Though the accidental reunion in the mall while grocery shopping was the first time satoru ever had the opportunity to meet you face to face.

It was a totally random encounter, coincidental even, you can say when your mother recognised satoru’s mom and both squealed like teenagers. They'd a lot to catch up with, thus having their kids entertain each other in the play section was convincing enough for them to chit chat in a cafe.

And this is how satoru ended up being stuffed, hand in hand with you, to go enjoy in the play section as his mother patted his back, asking him to be good to you.

“Don't leave her hand, okay toru?! Make sure you both stay together.” His mom said before scooting herself with your mom.

Satoru looked at you, his hand locked in yours as you made eye contact with him before shying away, looking in the other direction. He stood confused before pulling you to the gaming section, without any word.

He scanned amongst the box of video games, before pulling out one which caught his eyes with his unoccupied hand. He gave a side look to you, reluctantly asking “you want to play this?”

You gaze down at the video game he held in his hands, eyes sparkling a bit, if satoru wasn't seeing things, then raise your head to look at him again. “It has vibrant colours.”

Satoru nodded, feeling a little giddy that you liked his preference. “It's called mario kart.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widened as he revealed the name.

“Do you know how to play it?” You shake your head at his question. “Then I can teach you!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, let's go and install it on the playstation.”

By the time satoru’s mother returns with your mum, they find satoru giggling along with you, hands still locked with each other, as he points to various stacked video games.

That day slowly came to an end and satoru didn't get to see you for the next two years till your giggles became a distant echo and your face a blur.

By the time he was 14, he almost forgot you.

Until that one day when he noticed you, sitting alone with your lunch staring at the sky at the campus of his high school.

You were biting on your chopsticks with dreamy eyes as recognition drew in satoru's mind.

Y/n— he thought. His brows frowned, thoughts slowly going in a muddle. How are you here? eating lunch in his high school campus unless— you're a student over here too! Satoru felt foolish, his lips slowly curving in a smile lifting one hand, abandoning the basketball in the other to greet you.

However, before he can get his words voiced out to you, gaining your attention, a brown haired girl comes up to you dragging you along with her in a hurry.

Satoru's hand froze in mid air, awkwardly stretching it above his head before bringing it down and turning towards his friends. He sprinted back to his group resuming the game, yet his mind stayed with you and your dreamy eyes.

He wanted to say ‘hi’ and watch your eyes grow wide before nodding your head just like you did back then. He wanted to show you the basketball he was holding and maybe teach you how to play ball just like he did back then.

“Oi satoru! Why are you missing the catch?!” one of his friends shouted, breaking him free of his daze. “sorry…taking a break!” He said, excusing himself, before going and plopping himself down on a nearby bench.

He recognised the brown haired girl—Yura. She often came to him asking for little favours. Did she know you? A friend? You studied in the same school and yet he only saw you today. Where were you all this time? Satoru was the same age as you. So you were bound to be in the same class, maybe different sections but he knew students from the other sections too. How come he didn't notice you yet?

The recess was over soon and he ran back to his class. Before entering the class, he noticed you again, hurrying to the class next to him.

Class 1-2.

Satoru felt silly as he read the classroom name in his mind.

As the final semester rolled on and a new semester started, satoru found out class 1-2 changed to class 2-2 and this year he was in the same section as yours.

He was excited to finally be able to talk to you without any awkwardness. After all, you were in the same classroom now— which means you will know him when he introduces himself on the first day of class. You will see him, introducing himself aloud and clear and recognition will draw on your face as you remember him.

That's what he initially thought the night before the first class. Until satoru felt the urge to perfect his speech and kept on practicing it, holding the crumpled sheet in his clammy hands, past midnight.

As a result he woke up late and by the time he hurried himself to school, the self introduction was half-over. He mumbled his apologies to his homeroom teacher, before hastily introducing himself and going to his assigned seat.

With that his perfect speech plan of gaining your attention bombed miserably. He raised his head in the direction of your seat—first row second desk, way far than his— fourth row last desk.

That's when he decided with the determination inclining in his heart to get your attention and make you remember that it's him.

The plan was simple. He just have to wait till recess and watch his chances closely. Once you're free and alone he will go make a move saying ‘hello’! Maybe even ask for your number.

Recess hour came by and his plan chose to bite the dust with girls and boys swarming around him to get his number and be friends with him. The group kept him occupied for the entirety of the recess and by the time he was done you were no where to be found in class.

Similar things happened the next day and the next day and the next day, never ceasing to leave him alone.

Satoru eventually came up with another plan— excelling in academics. The more he's good in academics, the more are the chances for you to come up to him wanting his help to understand a problem. And the plan worked exceptionally well with girls frequenting him with a doubt in their lesson— except for you.

This time satoru came up with his active participation in extracurriculars and sports. The more he active he is the more is the chance of you joining the same activity or maybe seek his assistance for the upcoming sports day.

This plan too, was indeed prodigious and did attracted a lot of attention except yours.

His last option was of joining the student council. As the spirited member of the top student council, you might come up to him with a problem you're facing or anything you want to change.

So, without thinking much he did joined the student council, hoping to finally gain your attention. However the following week, concerns and requests for changes decreased promptly. The other council members sighed, few scrutinizing satoru. After all no one in the entire school would want their so very handsome, energetic and popular Satoru Gojo to have a heavy work load after school.

“Since we don't have any work to do now, thanks to gojo-kun, I'd gladly like you all to only maintain the regular class desk arrangement.” the student council president announced before leaving the council room.

Satoru sighed, this isn't what he thought. He just wanted your attention not the entire school’s. Everyone looked at him, when he walked, when he sat, when he ate, people always turned around to take a second look. Yet you never laid your eyes on him. Even being in the same class you never came up to him to chat.

Back slouched, with his tie undone, he slammed the door open of his classroom to pick up his bag.

You flinched.

Hand covering your mouth, a dust wiper on the other, you looked at him as he froze.

One entire year, was how satoru spent to gain your attention, to get you look at him, and when it finally happened the time seemed to halt. The sun rays pooled into the room with slow breezes messing up your bangs and satoru couldn't mutter a word but stare.

Conscious about him gaping, he tore his gaze away from you before shutting the door, this time gently.

The council president asked them to take care of class desk arrangements. However, the desks in his classroom have always been arranged, even before he joined the student council.

“you…um arrange the desks everyday?” He said fixing his tie, slowly walking up to his desk, wiped clean by you. “Yes.”

Satoru accompanies you cleaning and arranging for the rest of the time in complete silence. Soon you take your leave, and so does satoru but this was the time he was happy like really really happy.

He didn't exchange any words of recognition with you, from the day at the mall. He didn't talk. Yet he was beaming radiant, for just being with you, momentarily alone, in peace.

That day soon came to an end and another year passed by. Satoru did nothing but admire you from afar. This was the only way he felt the closest to you. He saw how you wiped and arranged the desks everyday; help people without even letting them notice; lend the only pencil you have without a word; and care for the garden whose garish flowers were disregarded by others.

The more he saw, the more he knew you. And the more he felt his heart slipping away.

You were kind, gentle and soft. You noticed people behind their masks. You regarded the smallest of the things with such care. And your delicate hands, often smeared with paint, held the responsibility of others without complaining.

He often saw yura asking favours from you, shoving her cleaning duties to you, sending you to get her lunch from the 7-eleven nearby and never once you said 'no'. You were so so precious.

He knew he’d to stop; the way you engrossed him, linger on his mind all day to the point that he was unable to think of anything but you was straight up creepy but his eyes never stopped searching for you.

Even in the midst of the crowds on a random road his eyes would unconsciously seek for you.

And by the time he was 17, satoru was hopelessly, absurdly and miserably in love with you.

Another year passed by and he could do nothing but stare. And the fact that you often looked at him too made things even worse.

He was so down bad for you that he couldn't keep on going like this anymore. He was so sure he'd confess to you on the day of graduating the high school, not caring about rejection.

Satoru stayed up an entire night, perfecting his confession. But by the time the graduation ceremony ended and he went to look out for you, you were nowhere to be found.

He asked yura about you, to which she replied that you went back home early and satoru had his heart broken at 18.

He couldn't move on easily but giving you up was the only option left. Unwillingly, satoru made his devastating decision of giving you up. He never thought he would see you again until a few years later in college, shoko brought you right in front of him.

“We need a new artist to cover up for this concert.” said geto suguru, stuffing his phone back in his pockets. “Why? What happened to ren?”

“Got himself into an accident and fractured his right arm.” Geto plops himself back down on the couch beside satoru, before pulling on the fretboard of his bass.

“Should visit him then.”

“Forget it.”

“Why?” frowned satoru, geto suguru—his best friend, the one he went to middle and high school with, was not the type to feign indifference. His behavior indeed had satoru confused.

“Nanami informed he got drunk at the last concert before getting himself into the accident. Drunk driving it is.”

“Did yaga find out about this?”

“Fortunately, he didn't. Nanami covered the case before him finding out,” geto brought his hand, swiping back his string of bangs, “if it reaches yaga, he will ban us from using the campus stadium.”

“lucky I'd say…so what now?” The next concert is in 3 days and the band poster is still incomplete.

Shortly after satoru joined his college, suguru started a band along with two other guys. The band was doing well but due to a disagreement they decided to split up. Suguru then suggested satoru join the band and the following year they gained another member named nanami kento.

They used to hold performances at random pubs but as its popularity increased, the college decided to give them the campus stadium to hold their concerts. Something they did extra was hiring an artist to do their band poster— hand-drawn. It'd become a little tradition— a lucky charm says suguru, and now that their artist had broken his hand right at the eleventh hour before the concert they will have to—

“Find a new one.”

“nana—” geto shuts him before he could finish his sentence. “Nanami is trying his best, so am I. So, you try finding one too.”

“How am I supposed to?”

“Well I'm sure if you go with a face like this to the art department, people would volunteer in a line.”

“Same goes with you, why don't you go and ask. I'm sure if you could wear your shirt a little loose you can surely get your clingy ex find a good one." Gojo says in a mocking tone, grabbing his guitar and looping it around his back before leaving the club.

He was sure annoyed, but he will have to find one, geto wasn't in a mood to joke earlier either. Rather than going by himself, he decided to ask shoko get it done for him; he was sure she'd agree for a few packs of cigarettes.

Walking on his way to the parking lot he texted shoko to meet at their regular cafe.

“Sup!”

Satoru smiled knowing shoko could never fail him, even if she didn't agree right away a little guilt trip will do.

“All good?”

“Yeah, what do you need?”

“Just a little favour.”

“And what that might be?”

“Get an appropriate artist from the art department. Ren broke his arm and suguru's so down about going himself, ya’ know about his ex,” shoko started grabbing her cup of iced coffee to retreat when gojo slammed two packets of cigarettes on the table. “I've two more packs to offer.”

Shoko returns to her seat, a big smile on her face. “Okay! Since I'm your empathetic, gracious and compassionate friend, I will try and see what I can get done.”

“Yes please…”

“I'm not doing it for cigarettes ya’ know.”

“Mhmmm” satoru nods his face dramatically.

“Get the other two packets out.”

“Sure.”

Satoru knew four packets would get the job done as he parted away from shoko, driving his way back home.

And the next day when shoko texted him that she got a volunteer and is bringing her to the club, he didn't expected it to be you.

Shoko looped a hand around your shoulders “so this is the club,” chewing a gum, “and this is satoru gojo.”

“Hi…” you said looking at him, before taking a look at those instruments laying behind.

It’s you. It's really you. He couldn't believe his eyes yet stood unblinking as if you were some mirage and will fade away once he closes his eyelids.

“Gojo?” Shoko waved a hand infront of his face and realizing he didn't respond to you, he bent his torso bowing to you.

“Woah,” shoko’s face scrunched up, cringing at his behavior, “when did you start being all formal?”

You giggled at her comment while satoru hushed her with a series of ‘shut ups’.

“I'm—”

“Y/n.” satoru whispered almost as if reminding himself the way your name sounded in his lips. “Y/n, i know.”

You chuckle at his words, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You know her?” shoko tilted her head at him, not expecting you to be acquainted with him.

“We went to the same high school.” You say when satoru does nothing but gape at you with dreamy eyes.

His heart did a whole somersault at your sentence. You remembered him; you remembered his name; you remembered he was in the same high school as you. The fact that you regarded him made him so giddy that he was practically ready to throw his hands up in the air or kiss the floor on which you walk.

“Kay’ I'll leave you guys to talk then.” She smirked before raising a cocky eyebrow at satoru, excusing herself from the club.

“So…you're the only one?”

“Huh?”

“In the band— i mean…”

“Oh no” he dragged, “there are two more members along with the back musicians…”

You humm, taking a proper look at the club.

“You like it?”

“It has vibrant colours.”

Your words echoed in his ears, the same which you said to him at the mall. Oh how bad had he wanted to hear those.

“The jazzies,” you read the name of their band aloud, “why jazzies? You only play jazz?”

“No…we play all sorts of music…it's just a name suguru chose for the band.”

“you do originals?”

“Both originals and covers. Anything suguru comes up with.”

Your mouth forms a little ‘o’ as satoru explains to you.

“geto seems to be doing all the stuff, what do you do?”

“You know him?” satoru’s brows furrowed. “Whom?” you ask.

“geto…geto suguru.”

“Ofc, he was in the same class as us.”

“Oh.”

Ofcourse. Both he and geto were in the same class as you. It was no big deal for you to remember both of them. However, accepting that he wasn't any special was bitter.

Satoru’s eyes followed your figure as you went out to reach for his guitar, mindlessly drawing your finger on its printed patterns.

“You didn't answer my question…”

“I guess I found you for our band.”

When none of you says anything, satoru breaks the ice, clearing his throat.

“You know how to play?”

“Err…no.”

“I can teach you.”

He slided his index among the few string instruments before pulling out an acoustic one, bringing it to you.

“Hold the fretboard with your left hand,” satoru pulled the strap over your shoulders, “and bring your right hand over the body, fingers near the sound hole— yep that's right,” he turned your back to him, gently holding the back of your palms.

“Now, pluck the chords for me,” his chest was against your back as he guided you through the strings.

“Like this?” you ask him.

“Yes, you're doing very well.”

The guitar in your hands, played smoothly as satoru guided you through it.

Just like when he taught you how to play mario kart.

Satoru looks down at you smiling in excitement. Oh how cute you looked like that. He could admire you twenty-four seven, never wanting to tear his gaze away, for you're that ineffably eesome in his eyes.

Time almost ceased when you looked up at him, eyes crinkling with a smile that soon died as red creeps up your cheeks.

Satoru’s face was mere inches away from you, his eyes wavering down to your lips.

“SATO—RU— oh,” geto bursted in along with nanami causing you both to flinch.

He quickly leaves your hand.

“Y/n??” Geto dragged out your name, looking at you with his eyebrows knitting and lips forming a silly smile.

“Hi,” you pull the strap over your shoulders abandoning the instrument on the nearby couch. “I'm here to volunteer.”

“You do?”

“Yeah…”

“That's great! I can't believe satoru even managed to talk—” satoru smacked him mid sentence.

Nanami, for some reason, found the ceilings very interesting today, totally ignoring his two seniors.

Geto explained to you about their little tradition of hand drawn posters and showed you the posters they used for the last concerts. You, then, asked them to send them a group picture of the three and their preferences for colours and themes.

“For that I might need your number—”

“I- i can send it to her…” Geto passed a suggestive smile at satoru, which he ignored and awkwardly forwarded his phone to you.

“Yeah that sounds fine. Here's my number, save it and text me later.”

“Kky!”

You pull the sling of your tote bag up to your arm, giving them a little nod, before turning your back to leave.

“Wait!—” satoru held your arms frantically pulling you back. He hurried to the back near the couch you plopped the guitar and shoved it to you. “T-take it.”

“Ah— no I can't do that.”

“Take it. You can learn how to play and I- I can teach you.” he tried not to stutter yet failed miserably.

“No i rea—”

“consider it as a gift— from me.”

You frowned a bit but agreed anyway.

“That's really sweet of you satoru! I will wait for your text! Bye!!”

He waved back to you.

“What was that?” Geto implies in the direction of the exit door through which you just left.

“nothing.”

Later, You sent the photo of the finished banner to satoru. It took you 42 hours to finish it.

Satoru on the other hand was practicing really hard, totally different from his half hearted performances from the previous ones which wasn't unnoticed by the other members.

He has to be the best. After all, this concert will be different from the previous ones. This time you will be there to see him, cheer for him, and notice him.

You soon bring the banner rolled up to the club. “Woah! You really did a great job.”

“This is much better than ren’s.” says nanami before going back to his drum set, giving you a thumbs up.

“Satoru?”

“Y-yes.”

“You liked it?”

“I loved it. It has vibrant colours.” You giggled at his answer, shifting your direction to his gaze. His fingers seemed to flake off any dust on the surface of your work, handling it so gently.

It wasn't his fault he felt so overwhelmed. All these years he'd yearned for one kind word from your lips yet he was left starving.

And now you'd drawn him with such precision, that it was as if you were accustomed to drawing him for the hundredth time.

His heart fluttered at the thought.

“I will be there at your concert,” you say, turning your back to him. “All the best!”

The campus stadium was full with a bunch of students and hippies, it was really hard for satoru to try locating you amongst the sea of crowds.

The music rang loud, brisking fiery cheers from the crowd, full of vim and vigor. The spotlight shone on the three— geto with his vocals and string of bass; satoru with his acoustic guitar; and nanami with his drum set.

The crowd roared in excitement as music coursed through their veins.

Will you be cheering too?

Satoru raised his head from the guitar, plucking chords effortlessly, to his audience.

And as if it was fate that drew both of you together, his eyes found yours. You were there in the vip section, along with shoko and another girl. You were moving with beats, swaying your arms in rhythm to their music.

His eyes locked in yours as you waved a hand at him. Oh how, how pretty you looked. Everything except you was a blur to him.

The crowd goes even more wild, seeing satoru blush, not sensing it was you who caused it.

The concert continued till past midnight as the vibrations thrumming around the air slowed and wrapped up with their ending song: “Where Our Blue Is.”

As the applause slowly start to dissipate, satoru pulled off his instrument, running to the edge of the stage, and hopped down the raised platform.

The college girls shrieked baffled, some even reached out, grabbing on his wrists and clothes. He politely got out of their grip making his way to the vip section, geto and nanami following him.

The still air felt electric as he approached you.

“you liked the show?”

“Ofc it was amazing!!” The girl beside you answers in your stead, whom he now recognised as yura.

“It was really good.” you say swallowing a laugh bubbling up your throat at his huffed out appearance.

“Thanks to your banner, it even attracted more audience.” geto remarked, placing his arm around satoru’s shoulders.

“Thank you.”

“You should thank me for bringing her in.” Shoko reclaims, looping her hand around your arm, “let's go steal some shots.”

“Oh no i can't— i don't drink. And I need to hurry back home it's late.”

“Kyaahh— you've let me down y/nniee. Only two packets of cigarettes can get my mood uplifte—”

“I will bring it tomorrow.” You say shutting up her whines.

“kk bye and text me when you get home the rest are joining me right ?”

“Count me out. I'll be driving her home tonight.” Satoru says sheepishly, ignoring the smirks and exchanged looks of his bandmates, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

“No but I was about to go home with her —” yura interrupts.

“Satoru’s fine. You're coming with us.” Shoko dragged her along with geto and nanami, which satoru was glad of.

Finally he'd be alone with you.

He guided you to the parking lot from the back of the stage, before getting his car keys out.

It's metallic jingle echoing softly as he presses the button on his key fob. The car responds with a soft beep unlocking as satoru opens the passenger door, holding it open for you.

“Here,” he gestures with his other hand, “get in.”

“Sure.” You say gulping thickly.

The thick smell of your cologne mingling with the leather scent of the car.

He closes the door before sprinting to the other side, getting himself in. “Don't— ” he stops you when you reach out for your seat belt. “Allow me the honor” his finger brushes against your skin as he reaches out for the seat belt.

Your heart practically jolts at his action.

The click of the seat belt buckle echoes softly in the quiet car, as he straightens back to his former position.

“Where do you live?” He clears his throat, starting the car engine and flicking on the headlights before pulling out the car into the driveway.

“In the downtown.”

“That's quite far from the campus, how bout I drive you everyday back home?” His eyes suggestive, making you chuckle.

“I can't let you do that.”

“Why?”

“Since it's far from the campus and you won't be visiting often.”

“Who knows, I might be visiting your place often.”

You turn your face from the window to look at him.

“What?”

“I will have to— to teach you guitar.”

You crack up at his silliness, finding yourself melting again.

“Okay fine. But that still doesn't counts.”

“Why not!”

Since that day, satoru did visited you often, sometimes barging in with shoko and sometimes alone teaching you how to play guitar, plucking on chords and notes.

And you attended all of his concerts. Their previous artist has recovered now and has resumed his work, so you no longer work with them. However they insist you tag along each time and it's not like you complain.

You liked satoru’s company. He was handsome, charismatic and popular. You'd watched him your entire high school. He was the one of most popular students, good in a millions of things, starting from academics to being athletic. He'd win every sports competition and even participate in all the extracurriculars. You'd admired him for he could do the things which you didn't had the courage for.

You liked how he didn't judge people, helped them in their need, and even took care of those garish flowers nobody seemed to double take.

You'd previously met him before high school, though he never brought that up. You wondered if he even remembers the day at the mall. You wanted to ask him so bad, however—

Your world was only limited to papers and paints.

So you painted.

You painted him so many times that you'd have more than five sketchbooks with paintings full of him.

You wanted to be friends, maybe even more than friends.

But that didn't matter now. He was near you and you would do anything to keep your thumping heart in control and not have satoru cut you out of his life.

But how can you?

How can you control it when satoru so gently, so lovingly, takes your hand in his. When he smiles so sweetly at you. When he teaches you how to pull chords and other instruments. When he drops you home from college almost everyday. When he hugs you and tells you to take care.

How are you supposed to be just friends when he's so overly affectionate to you?

Or maybe it's just your overthinking.

Satoru was always polite and sweet, he'd always been sweet to others and you were no special.

“What are you thinking baby?”

You come out of your daze, rolling your eyes at the nickname.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that…”

“Not my fault you aren't paying attention to me…” he pulls you closer to him, resting his face on your shoulder.

“Have you always been this hungry for attention?” you ask, getting yourself comfortable abandoning the guitar beside you on the couch— of the club.

“I've been starving.”

You cringe at his words. Satoru has another concert today and they just finished practicing an hour ago and now they are taking a break.

Geto and nanami and other back artists wanted to get some fresh air so they left you and satoru alone to entertain each other.

“Are you really skipping on me?” He looked at you with puppy eyes.

“I've a gallery exhibition tomorrow.” You need to scoot back home to get ready for it. It's a big event for you to showcase your arts.

Satoru hummed, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck, “I'll be there. You're going to do great.”

An uncertain lump forms in your throat, hard to swallow, you say nothing. Your heart was in a conflict again, no matter what you can absolutely not—

“I will be going then. All the best for your concert.”

You push satoru away, reaching for your tote bag from the side of a random arm chair. “Wait I will drop—”

“Who's leaving?” shoko barges in with yura and others.

Satoru points at you.

“I just got here. You can't leave already.”

“Yup! Yup! Please stay a little longer, baby. I'll drop you back home, no worries.”

Shoko exchanges suggestive glances with geto and they somehow persuade you to stay a little longer.

They start practicing for another round when shoko pulls your head closer, “what do you think about gojo?”

“Huh?!” You shout over the music, unable to hear her.

She grabbed your hand and pulled you outside, with Yura following closely behind you both.

“What— “

“What do you think of gojo?”

A burning sensation hits you slowly as shoko’s question registers in your mind.

You ears turn red.

“Eh…um h-he’s a nice guy. A nice musician…and—”

“And?” Shoko wiggled her brows at you, a sly smile on her face.

“A-a nice friend.”

“Just a friend?” You nod at her, seemingly more embarrassed at her implications.

Shoko's face literally radiated disappointment. It was as if someone told her that cigarettes are now banned in the country. “I think he's interested in you,” you choked on air at her remark. “No?”

Yura shrugged.

The music slowed down and then paused, bringing your conversation to a momentary halt.

Satoru rushed outside, complaining about why you left in the middle of his practice.

“Bruh, chill, I'm not trying to steal her away from you. We're just talking!” Shoko jokes as you laugh all flustered.

Just when you were about to leave one of his fangirls suddenly appeared from nowhere and threw herself into his arms, wrapping hers tightly around his neck. He stumbled back a step, surprised, before regaining his balance but he didn't put her down rather he spinned her around before setting her back down, with a polite smile on his face.

The other members just saw the scene unfold with amusement. Nanami was surprised at the fan’s boldness and geto simply observed the scene as shoko rolled her eyes, finding it hysterical.

“What do you think of shoko’s remark?” said yura, looping her hand around your arm.

“What?” You say suppressing the slow tinge of jealousy.

“About gojo being interested in you…”

“I-i don't think so.”

You try to laugh it off.

“Yeah, he's just polite. To pretty much everyone.”

Her words felt like a splinter to your heart. You shouldn't feel like this. It'd happened before— not now again.

Yura’s right, satoru is just polite and will do the same for everyone what he does for you— because he's kind. And you're no special.

The entire ride was silent. Satoru kept asking you if anything was wrong but you just guised a smile at him, insisting it was nothing.

The next day at the gallery event, you behaved oddly. You smiled at him but didn't reach your eyes, your answers to his question were of one word, even avoiding his touch.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked warily.

“No.”

Days passed by and you distanced yourself more from him.

Satoru, on the other hand, was almost losing his mind. His world turned upside down. You stopped coming to his concerts, ignored his texts and even refused to let him drop you back home.

It was yesterday you’d allowed him to teach you the guitar yet today you behaved as if you'd long forgotten him. You were cold and distant, leaving him puzzled by his own thoughts upon your sudden change in demeanor.

He couldn't help but wonder whether he'd done something that made you this upset?

You'd said it was nothing.

Then why?

What the fuck did he messed up?

Satoru missed you terribly and violently.

He eyed you from the inside of his car parked a bit far from your department. Today was another day you refused his offer to drive you to class. ‘I'm kinda sick so I won't be going.’ This was what you'd texted him the morning and yet there you were getting off your uber.

You lied to him.

“Come with me to their concert today.” Shoko urged you, her lips pursed in a thin line.

“I'm sorry—”

“No you're not so sorry. Tomorrow’s Saturday, come with me, gojo’s getting mad without you.”

You suck in a breath at the mention of his name.

“What's wrong?” shoko says sipping the last of her drink before plopping it on your tea table.

“Nothing.”

“Then come.”

You agreed eventually. Attending the concert won't be a big deal.

And it wasn't, except for satoru’s piercing gaze burning holes in your back. You accompanied Shoko backstage and casually greeted everyone— including him.

“God, haven't seen you in so long.” geto side hugged you as nanami gave you a nod of acknowledgement before running off to the stage for some last minute preparations. “Satoru missed you like crazy.”

You attempt a weak smile in satoru's direction, darting a hesitant glance his way. His gaze was fixed on you, but his expression was unreadable, almost giving shivers down your spine.

One of the other members suddenly hurried over to Geto, urgently speaking about some issue, he politely excused himself and exited the room, closely followed by Shoko. Now, you were left alone with Satoru, the only two remaining in the room.

“I should go and check what's the proble—” you try sprinting your way out the door, “wait—” when satoru stops you.

His hand on your arm, preventing you to go any further and when you struggle to get out of his grip, he tightens his grip even more slamming you to the wall, pinning you caging your body.

“What's wrong with you?”

“Gojo you're hurting m—”

“Gojo?” His voice cracked, grip losing before letting your arms go, “why? Why must you do this to me?”

“Do what?” You drift your gaze away unable to look at satoru, who's this close tearing up.

“This— why must you do this? Why must you ignore me? Why must you be distant from me? Why must you lie to me so that I won't bother picking you up or dropping you home? Why must you reject my affection?” He sucks in a breath “You know I can't live like that—”

“why?”

“Don't pretend like you don't know…”

“no no don't say it,” you throw your hands up in the air frantically, “don't— I can’t fall again…no— I know you're just being polite and you will do this for anyone, but I can’t help it if I don't—”

“I love you—” he whispers, bringing your hand up, placing the palm flat to his chest.

“No you don't.”

“Yes I do— what do you mean you can't fall again,” he suppresses your struggles of wrenching free your hand from his grip. “You have no idea how crazy I'm for you. I love you and I've loved you since I was 17. I was about to confess to you on our graduation day but you just disappeared leaving me alone. And now that I have you I'm not letting you go— make no mistake baby, if there's anyone I’d ever kneel for— it'd be you.”

Thick silence covered the entire room, except your heavy exhales. Satoru gojo was inches close to you, your hand still laid flat against his heaving chest.

“B-but I wrote you a note confes—”

“What note? I never….” confusion twisted on his face bitterly.

“You threw it in the dustbin— the one I wrote to you the day before graduation.”

His face told the truth, as he shook his head denying it. He never received any note from you— nevertheless having the audacity to throw it in the trash when he'd been hopelessly in love with you all these years.

“Yura told me—” you shut your mouth as the realization hits you. The person whom you considered as a friend backstabbed you long ago.

She lied about him discarding it while it was actually her who had stolen it off his desk before satoru even noticed.

Your head raised in embarrassment, ready to apologize for the misunderstanding when suddenly, Satoru's lips met yours in a tender kiss. The kiss was filled with such affection and tenderness that you felt as if you might melt in his embrace. His arms held you close, firmly yet gently, as he deepened the kiss. Your heart pounded in your chest as you responded to his kiss. All thoughts of the misunderstanding were forgotten in that moment of pure intimacy before satoru pulled away with frowned brows and a dazed smile.

“Tell me, would I kiss anyone the same way I kiss you?” he pulled you again, smacking his lips on yours as he snaked a hand around your waist, the other, still firm, holding your palm.

You could feel his heartbeat going rapid the more he deepens the kiss, sucking on your upper lip.

He pulls away again.

“Tell me, would my heart beat the same way as it beats around yours?” He smacks his lips again, this time pinching your waist making you gasp as he slips his tongue in.

His hand fumbles with the hem of your dress, pulling away again, a string of drool connecting both of your lips. “Would I be breathless the same way as I'm now?”

His hand travels up your inner thigh, till it reaches the wet blotch of drenched silk. You grasp his shoulders, when he starts drawing circles over the fabric, smirking before nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck.

“Satoru, what if someone walks in—” your body jolts, nails digging into his back as he pulls the fabric to the side, plunging a digit in without any warning. “Let them…” he goes back to sucking your skin while rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit.

Your teeth sank on your bottom lips, his finger slowly plunging in and out of you. “Nngh ‘toru, you’re—” small trembles quivered through your body as he plunged with a faster rhythm.

“Shh baby! Let me take you” he inserts another digit as your teeth dug even deeper into your lip, stretching you and filling you so well.

He was stroking you, curling his fingers inside until hitting your most sensitive spot. Sweat beaded your forehead as your trembles gave way to full body shudders, shutting your mouth with your hand not wanting to be loud.

Satoru drew himself back from your neck, satisfied marking and suckling, withdrawing his digits, slick from you as you wince at the loss of his fullness.

He brings them up and sucks your essence off his fingers with a pop. “I want to eat you out.”

Before even you can make out his words he kneels down bunching up the fabric to your hips pulling your panty down properly and latching onto your swollen clit.

“Fuck ‘toru.” he lapped his tongue on your clit, drawing circles, tasting your sweet before drawing himself back, “I am fucking you baby.” He says, licking a fat stripe on your vulva, his rigid tongue swiping back and forth over your clit sending sensations that make your body jolt. “Here and raw” he hummed against your pussy, his breath warm and hot sending vibrations to your core, before vacuuming on your clit.

Your hand grasping his hair, as he worked on your orgasm.

He plunged his digits again, rhythmatic with the little pants escaping your mouth, along with the slick sounds of your hips buckling down his fingers.

He smirked internally at your enthusiasm.

“So fucking nasty for me huh?” He said against your pussy, licking and sucking till you were nothing but withering in mindless pleasure. You were taking it well, suppressing your moans into breathless pants until he sucked, fingers pressing the most sensitive spot inside you.

A shriek fell past your lips, knees buckling, followed by a string of moans and whimpers. “Oh— fuck..” you try closing your thighs which he prevents with his iron grip of one hand, forcing it open till he has better access. “Don't even dare closing on me…”

The wet sounds of his fingers, plunging in and out of your gummy walls, echoed throughout the empty room.

Something coiled hot and fuzzy in the lower pit of your stomach. You clenched hard around his finger, when the bass-heavy beats of the band's concert began, causing you to involuntarily shove satoru’s face deeper into your cunt as you heard voices from the stage outside.

Geto's unmistakable voice rang out, accompanied by the heavy drumming of nanami. They had started performing without satoru.

“Nn’toru they start—” your voice died down into a breathless gasp as you felt your pelvic muscles clench, tension looping around your entire body as fiery sensations erupted. You arch your back against the wall, unable to stop your toes curling at the intensity of his tongue lapping, finger fuckin' you, as your vision gets blurry.

“Yeah…cum for me baby” his velvety murmurs were all it took for you to turn into a mess of sensations, your body erupting as your high came down bursting, dripping and spilling down your thighs, his chin and his neck.

Satoru lapped up the drops carelessly strewn about your skin, his tongue tracing a path along the droplets splattered on your inner thighs as he savored everything with anticipation.

“Tell me, would I kneel infront of anyone and let them cum this hard on my fingers?” He straightened himself up, “and then drink it up like a pussy drunk male whore?” his gaze never left yours, wiping the leftover slick from his chin with the back of his hand before licking it clean.

The music from outside has now gained its intensity, thrumming even louder.

No— you mouthed.

Satoru’s gaze was still fixed at you, when he unzipped his pants, his aching cock sprang out red, already leaking precum.

You gape at his girth.

It was big.

And fucking thick.

Leaning in, Satoru brings his lips close to your ear, his voice clear over the blaring music from outside, “Like what you see—”

You didn't get to answer him before he slammed right in.

A cry of pleasure tore from your throat, as you loop your hands around his neck, nails digging on his back.

He hissed out a breath, restraining himself from moving till you adjusted to his size.

Only then did he slowly pull it out leaving only the tip inside. You grimace at the loss of fullness until he slams back in causing you to clench around him.

He let out a low guttural moan which was almost inaudible to you over the roar of music if you weren't so close to each other, feeling the raw desire of his voice vibrating on your skin.

“Tell me— hahh- would I let anyone clench this hard on me if this weren't you?”

You were at a loss for words.

The kind, polite, sweet satoru you knew was gone. In his place was someone who fucked hard.

When you don't answer he pulls out and slams right back in harsh, eyes gleaming with wicked intent.

Satisfied, satoru guides his one hand to tapping on your thigh suggesting you wrap your legs up around him.

He repositions his dick on your entrance, before supporting your weight with one hand, pinning your body completely to the wall, while the other hand grabs your neck, choking you before giving you a sloppy breathless kiss.

“You like it don't ya’ hmm fuck— so tight—”

Your cries came out choked as he pounded into you, in an insane manner, desperate and primal.

“Tell me—”

Thrust

“do you—”

Thrust

“still think I'm just being polite?”

Thrust.

The roar of geto's voice singing out aloud different notes masked out the filth of your moans.

The sensation was in again, hot and uproar, coiling beneath the core of your consciousness. Satoru sensed you being close to your climax, continued to plow into your pussy, now supporting your weight with both hands against the wall.

Your toes curled again, nails digging down his back almost scratching the fabric, “yes that's it love,” your eyes rolled back as you arch your neck unable to handle the pleasure, “cum for me…”

Your mouth forming a little ‘o’, mind blank as your eyes saw stars. The only consciousness left in your body directed you to the burning of your heat, till it came crashing down.

You came hard letting your head fall on his shoulders too spent for anything.

Satoru too chased his high, thrusting into your swollen pussy, his cock twitching inside you, till you felt him getting sloppy and tense before cumming into you.

The music was still very loud, beats thrumming your flushed veins.

None of you said anything, remaining in the same position. Satoru pulled himself out, his cum dripping out your vagina, before walking over and placing you on a nearby chair.

He cleaned you up gently tugging your clothes back and fixes himself before cleaning the mess near the wall.

“They— they started performing without you…” you huff out, drained still in the very euphoria of your pleasure satoru showed you.

“I told them to do so…” he shouted over the noise.

You remain stunned for a while, letting out a breath. “I'm sorry…I avoided you.”

“Here I thought you were giving me a thousand kisses as an apology.”

You chuckle at him, back to his normal self— your sweet, kind and maybe not so polite satoru…

He came over to you, lifting you effortlessly before plopping himself down on the chair with you on his lap.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“No but I missed you like crazy…” he pouted. “y/n be my girlfriend…please.”

Tears start forming in your eyes, overwhelmed, you never thought the satoru gojo you met at the mall, the satoru gojo you loved your entire high school would someday ask you to be his girlfriend.

To paint his heart with your love.

“I will.”

“no wait— marry me instead!”

You dug your face deeper into his chest, laughing at his playfulness. And satoru just smiled.

Finally he would be yours.

you and Satoru started dating since then and things couldn't have been any better for him. He practically announced to the world that you were his girlfriend, always picking you up and dropping you off from campus, and claiming a kiss as his reward. You’d also cut Yura off, not wanting any more negativity in your life. Satoru was yours, and you were his. And He couldn't be any happier.

Tags: @cccandynecklaces @secretfankoala

5K notes · View notes

gojonanami · 25 days ago

Text

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO IS THE HONORED ONE - AND HE'S MORE THAN HONORED TO BREED YOU ! ❞

✧ pairing: gojo satoru x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: it's your duty as the wife of the clan head to help your husband get dressed -- even for battle. but that didn't mean he couldn't spend some time undressing you. aka fucking gojo in his shinjuku showdown outfit

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, canon compliant, feral gojo, Ijichi featured, dom!gojo, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral (f), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), mirror sex, clothed sex, creampie, implied multiple rounds, multiple positions, swearing,

✧ w/c: 7,946

✧ now playing: feature one of sab's kinktober

“Perfect,”

The word slips from your lips without a second thought as you slip the haori over his shoulders, snow locks against the coal colored silk, slick as steel and light as a feather, yet carrying the heft of expense.

Just as your husband did.

Little words could describe Satoru Gojo — the most common being the strongest — unmatched strength that matched his flawless appearance and even more unsullied skill set. Curses would sooner exorcise themselves rather than face him, and those who didn’t, well, they did not have long to linger on their mistake.

But you didn’t think of him as the strongest. No, your husband was so much more than that. A teacher. A mentor. A friend. An idiot (but he would insist that he was your idiot, and he very much was). And he was perfect.

A remark you knew many would balk at, and even now — as you dressed your husband, at his insistence, fingers helping him pull the fabric over his body, before smoothing it over his muscle and the word fell from you without a second thought — you caught glimpse of a grimace on Ijichi’s face in the mirror.

“Ijichi, you should go before I slap the shit out of you for your expression,” Ijichi squeaks in horror before slipping from the room, quiet click of the door welcoming silence, only for a moment, “what was that again, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, “should I really indulge you in making your ego any bigger? You may defeat Sukuna with just the sheer size and weight of it,” you tease, fingers smoothing and adjusting his haori.

“Think that would be a victory either way, sweetheart,” his fingers find yours, weaving with your own — miraculously soft even with bearing the weight of the world in his hands alone, “but I don’t want to win in such a boring way, especially to Sukuna,”

“And why’s that?” His lips curl.

“Because I have to look cool in front of my precious students, don’t I?” you see a hint of sadness linger in his gaze — and you hear the unspoken words, especially Megumi, but the smile slides back on as usual, “I can’t have myself embarrassing myself can I? You’d never let me live it down,”

“Oh, no I wouldn’t,” your fingers slide up to cup his cheek, “but you’d expect nothing less from your wife, now would you?”

And he grins, just as he did the day he had proposed to you, at the classroom at Jujutsu Tech where you first met, deep reds and oranges flooding the wood paneled room, painting it as it only could in the evenings, but even the sun paled in comparison to Satoru on his knee, lips curled in your favorite smile — the very one he gave you every day.

“My wife,” he hums, and you have to stop yourself from biting your lip and tense your muscles so you didn’t jump him then and there.

“What about it?” he runs the back of his fingers over your cheek.

“Just glad I convinced you to let us get married early,” not that it took much convincing at all — only a single look after he was unsealed and several minutes of making out later, and he had gotten Ijichi to get the registration and paperwork for him — the very papers Satoru had prepared before Shibuya, “because now you’re stuck with me, wifey,”

You chuckle, your fingers finding his as they brushed your cheek, turning your head to kiss his fingers, “I’ve been stuck with you from the moment we met,”

And you had been — you hadn’t known peace since he had thrown that Jujutsu Tech classroom door open all those years ago, with a welcome party prepared for you and the other first years, microphone in hand as he introduced each of you. And it wasn’t his strength or his skill or even his stupidity that charmed you — but the goddamn smile on his lips.

Funny, how everyone was so preoccupied with his eyes, when every inch of his was just as captivating—

“Think you’re going to lose me now, Toru?” You rub your thumb across the length of his cheek, “don’t know if I could ever live without you,”

“Oh yeah?” he wraps his arms around your waist, his warm form enveloping you, “no regrets?”

“Only one,” and he tilts his head, blues gleaming with the low light of the room, catching like sunlight against waves, as your fingers traced down to the smooth silk of his clothes, “that we never got married in a formal ceremony,”

“If I recall, you were in just as much of a rush as me,” his lips graze your jaw, threads of heat slipping up and down every inch of your body, a kiss pressed to the soft skin behind your ear, “you barely wanted to even have the small ceremony we did,”

“That’s because someone kept touching me while I got ready,” and he did, as you changed into a dress you selected for the small ceremony — or rather you tried, as his warm palms slid up your body, his mouth covering your soft gasps and protests, “or do you forget that you nearly fucked me against the wall right outside the room we were going to marry?”

“It’s not my fault my wife is so tempting, they say my technique is deadly, but you yourself are far more dangerous,” he hummed, another kiss against your cheek, as his thumb and forefinger cups your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror, “why the want a formal ceremony anyway? If I remember, you said formal ceremonies were only for the attendees rather than the couple,”

“Well, maybe I saw something that changed my mind,” or someone in something—

“Oh? And what could change my incredibly stubborn wife’s mind?”

You hate him — hate the teasing glint in his gaze because he knows exactly why, as he noses the hollow of your neck, lips grazing your flushed skin, “You know why,” and he does, he sees it in the way your gaze lingers across his body, the way you shiver when his palm slips down your hip only to squeeze, and in the soft sound that leaves your lips when his fingers trace down your chin to the valley of your chest.

“I’d like to hear you say it, sweetheart,” he presses himself flush to your back, heat seeping through the fabric, just as his breath warmed your skin, “don’t tell me you forgot how to use your words,”

“You’re the worst,” and his chuckle reverberates against you, sending a shiver up your body, his hands sliding down the front of your shirt until he reaches the hem, fingers toying with the fabric.

“And what does that make you since you married me?”

“A fool,” your lips curl, his eyes meeting yours, “but a very smart one,” and he clicks his tongue.

“So smart and yet she can’t answer a simple question,” you sigh, and his fingers, finally, slide underneath against your bare stomach.

“You just want me to stroke your ego,” and he grins at you in the mirror, robes nearly engulfing your form now.

“Oh, that’s not all I want you to stroke,” your snort is cut off by a gasp as his palms slide under your bra, “I’ll just keep teasing you until you break,” and his fingers tease your pert nipples, a wave of heat headed straight for your cunt, “and y’know I can, wifey.”

~~~

“Hngh, Toru, please—”

Satoru doesn’t know what he loves more — the sound of his name on your lips, desperation on your tongue, the same tongue that he had tasted again and again or the sight of you below him, spread out on his desk, papers and books long crumpled and pushed onto the floor — but he doesn’t need to choose a favorite thing when it comes to you.

Because every single thing is his favorite.

“If you want me to stop, you can try, sweetheart,” he presses a kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing the soft flesh, another mark blooming among the rest, a field of reds and purples he could spend hours exploring, “don’t know how far you’d get,”

His fingers press your thighs further apart, with the barest hint of strength, and you’re still utterly restrained under his touch — a lovely butterfly pinned for his viewing — and what a view it was.

“Fucker,” you pout at him half-heartedly, your kiss ruined lips and fucked out gaze doing nothing to help your case, “we were supposed to be getting you dressed for—“

“Then there’s no problem,” his fingers tug your blouse over your head, your bra askew from his eager fingers, and his hand reaches around to undo the clasp. But he doesn’t pull it away with his fingers, but instead bends down to away the intruding garment, “because you’re the only one getting undressed, sweets,”

There was something about the thought — and the sight — of you completely bare for him, at his mercy naked and vulnerable, while he stood clad in the clothes meant for battle. His cock twitched, he supposed this was a battle of kind — as he pushed his sleeves up — a battle of how many times he could cum inside you.

“Satoru—“ you squeal as he nearly rips away your panties, leaving you bare for him, your thighs closing on reflex, only for him to press them back apart, “fuck—“

“That’s what I’m trying to do, sweetheart,” he clicks his tongue, bringing your soaked panties to his nose to smell, before pocketing them, a grin on his lips, “a good luck charm,”

You gape at him, half horrified and half amused at the thought of the Gojo elders somehow finding out that the Gojo clan head’s clothes had been defiled by your underwear — though you were sure they expected nothing less from Satoru Gojo.

But even so, you can’t bring yourself to complain, “You don’t need luck to win,” and he scoffs lightly, his warm palm sliding up your thigh, lips pressing hot kisses up your shin, right to your knee, “you just need to know I’ll kick your ass if you don’t make it back in one piece to me,” your fingers run through his soft locks, before tracing over his cheek.

“I know, and the thought of you waiting for me is all I need,” he turns to your hand, lips pressing a kiss against the cool metal of your wedding ring, “and it wasn’t for that,” and he’s shifting, settling fully between your thighs, lips inches from your sopping pussy, “it’s for making sure I can breed you right,”

His fingers brush against your fluttering walls, index finger tracing the outer walls with the very tip, pulling and tugging until you were spread out completely, messy pussy on display just for him. You couldn’t squirm under his the wet squelch making your cheeks burn, “S-stop teasing, just—“

You moan as he sinks a thick finger into you, knuckle deep and fast, “So needy for someone who was whining a second ago about stopping,” it doesn’t take long for a second finger to join, stretching out your perfect pussy, warm walls pulling him deeper each time he pulled out, his wrist and palm drenched in your juices, “but y’know I can’t stop, wifey, it’s our duty, right? Duty to produce an heir, but more importantly,” And a third finger sinks inside, as he peers up at you, lips parted in a sweet moan that makes his cock throb, ready to bust without a single touch, because he doesn’t need touch — not when it’s you under him, “my duty to fuck and yours to be fucked,”

And your cunt squeezes his fingers at his vulgar words, a coil growing tighter in the pit of your stomach, heat building, as you can’t help moan his name, “and how will we fulfill our duty if I don’t prepare you, huh? Gotta make sure you’re ready, hm?”

His thumb rubs over your aching clit, the lewd noises of your slick nearly white noise to your ears as pleasure builds, every muscle taut underneath his touch. He’s pumping faster and harder, nails dragging over your walls, until his fingers find that spot you love — the one he knows how to hit again and again, and he does.

Your head lolls back against the desk, pleasure ripping up your spine, “I’m—“

And that’s the only warning you give before you cum, name on your lips as your back arches, as he fingerfucks you through your orgasm, working you down from your high. You're panting, chest heaving as he slowly eases his fingers from you, the emptiness making you whine.

Your eyes flutter open to the sight of him licking his fingers clean of your cum, tongue darting across his lips, a glint in his eyes.

“You’re so sweet I can never get enough of you,” and he lifts a finger to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his digit, obediently closing your mouth around it, until he’s dragging it out, pulling at your bottom lip, “you’re dripping from both lips aren’t you?”

“That’s your fault,” god, you’re too fucking cute, thighs twitching as he leaned down to your soaked cunt, a pretty flushed pink, “you made a mess,” and his tongue licks a stripe up your leaking walls, sparks blooming from the hot muscle flicking against your hard clit.

“Then I guess it’s my responsibility to clean you up,”

Satoru Gojo is always too much — it’s too much the way his tongue drags over the seam of your cunt, it’s too much when his nose bumps against your clit when he buries his face in your pussy, your fingers curling in his white locks, and it’s too much when you feel his grunts and moans resonate against your drenched folds.

It was too much.

“How are you so soft?” He mumbles, words whispered against your puffy clit before he kisses it, “you say I don’t play fair but you were unfair from the moment I met you,” he reaches down, palming at his erection, “and I knew you’d be mine,” Your eyes find his lips less than an inch from your pussy, chin and lips shiny with your cum and his spit, “you and this sweet pussy,”

And he’s slurping every ounce of your essence you give him, greedily lapping at you as if he’d rather drown in your juices than breath real air, “fuck, Toru, slow down—“ toes curling as you

He clicks his tongue, your head rolling back as your nails dig into his scalp, “You shouldn’t lie, sweets, not when this pretty girl is so honest,” the only sound being the wet squelch of your

“Satoru Gojo!” A familiar voice rings out followed by several knocks, “how long do you expect to keep us waiting?”

Fuck. And there was the reason you two were getting sresssd to begin with — a showing before Gakuganji and the Gojo clan before the battle with Sukuna. A showing Satoru agreed to undoubtedly to fuck with them — and you, now, for that matter, as he sucks at your clit again, your hand flying to cover your mouth.

“Didn’t know you were waiting. Thought keeping you waiting would have sent you the right message,” Satoru replies, words said nearly against your wet cunt, breath warming your folds, a shiver working it’s way up your spine, “do you all need to see me in my clothes for battle that badly? I’ll have to start to suspect other motives — and while I’m flattered, with how flattered I can be from a bunch old geezers, I am a married man—“

“You insolent brat—“ his tirade falls on deaf ears as you try to urge Satoru off, but he doesn’t, only pinning your hips in place, hands locked under your knee, as he tugs you closer.

And he only grins, “Don’t tell me you’ll let this old coot distract us, sweetheart? Gonna make me insecure, does my wife not like this as much as her pussy does?” He groans his fingers, spreading your walls apart, parting them to see your cum and pre leak, only for him to lap it up, “because you’ve gotten wetter, haven’t you?”

“T-Toru, I swear to god, I’ll—“ you half whisper, half hiss, and he sinks two fingers inside your needy walls, his tongue and fingers doing nothing to keep quiet as the squelch of your folds only grows louder as he drags his fingers inside every inch of you, while his tongue busies itself with your clit.

“You’ll what, wifey?” he hums, making you whimper, “leave? You know you don’t want that. We could make a show of it, should I open these doors and let everyone see how needy you are for me,” and you can’t help the gasp that parts your lips, walls clenching around his fingers, “maybe then those geezers will see why I chose you,”

“Satoru! Are you even listening?”

“You can say whatever you want to me here,” Satoru sinks a third finger inside, teasing your clit with chaste kisses, “I’m not leaving this room for the rest of the night,”

Gakuganji pounds at the door, but you barely hear it, heart pounding in your ears, as you barely muffle your moans behind your clenched fist, “Disgraceful, do you think this is anyway to behave—“ you’re so close, too close, ready to cum as he pumps his fingers once, twice, three times — hitting your sweet spot again and again—you feel yourself reach that peak—

Only for him to stop. The whine that leaves your lips is a little too loud, just as his smirk is a little too wide.

Fucking asshole.

Satoru chuckles, teasing you open with his fingertips, just carding your folds barely open at all, pulling small gasps and moans muffled against clenched fingers, “Aw, c’mon, you don’t think being sealed up in that box taught me anything? You should know it only made me take what I want,” Satoru pulls his fingers from inside you, licking up the side of his digits, “and what I want is right here,” he leans back down, “so tell me and leave,”

“Even so, I need to speak to you alone,”

“It’s only me and my wife. You can tell her anything you tell me, she’s the more responsible one after all,” he punctuates it by his teeth grazing your clit, making your hips jerk underneath him, his hand covering your mouth, your fingers curling over his. He grins down at you as he kisses your thigh, “My wife is indisposed at the moment,”

You don’t hear what Gakuganji says as his fingers sink back inside all at once, fingers rough as they fucked you open in earnest, but you hear Satoru scoff nonetheless.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, you old geezer — she’s just lying down,” and he adds with a whisper, curling his fingers just right, “and getting her brains fingerfucked out,” and your pretty eyes are full of tears, cries muffled against his fingers, spit soaked, as he feels your walls clamp around his fingers, “what do you think? Should I let him in, sweetheart? Let him see how you well you get fucked by me, hear you scream my name when you cum for me?”

Nerves on fire from his touch, he’s just adding fuel to the fire, and you’re bucking into his fingers, wanting his fingers deeper even a little—

“No, I don’t think so,” his lips curl as he leans down, cerulean glinting in the low light, as your walls give that tell tale flutter, “because this pretty cunt is just for me,” and he sucks hard at your clit, just as he pulls his hand away, “cum.”

And you do, pleasure ripping through every inch of you as your back arches upwards into his touch, as he holds you against his face, cumming against his fingers and lips.

It’s heaven, buried in your sweet cunt as you cum, hot release against his tongue that he laps up greedily, the wet squelch of your pussy along with your lips crying out his name again and again. doing nothing to ease the throbbing between his thighs.

And when he finally does pull away, licking his lips and chin clean of your release, he watches you coming down from your high — eyes fluttering open slowly as your chest heaves, pussy split open just for him, your cum staining parts of his pants shirt and haori.

Fuck, he’ll have to see everyone off like this — your cum on his clothes — and his dick twitches, as he leans down to press kisses along your body, with you shivering as he does. And he wants nothing more than this moment to last, with you beneath him, the taste of you on his lips, and the sounds of your soft pants filling his ears.

That is until, you flipped him, back hitting the plush of the mattress, “sweets—“

“Did you forget? It’s a wife’s duty to serve her husband,” and your fingers are as deft as they are possessed — grazing over the bulge in his pants, a hiss before pulling the drawstrings apart, “isn’t that right, husband?”

Fuck, he bites his lip as he watches you tug his trousers down, his erection slaps his stomach, hard and leaking through the fabric of his boxers, a large dark stain of precum from his weeping tip.

Fuck, your cunt ached at the sight of him — no matter how many times you saw his cock, you couldn’t get over just how long he was — it was a miracle you were able to take him without breaking your cunt, though he’d gotten far too close.

“And I thought you said we couldn’t undress me,” his cock twitches as your fingers trace over the dripping slit through the drenched material.

Your eyes don’t meet his, still fixed on his hard on, “if the clothes are on you, does it even count as undressing?”

And your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers before snapping it against his skin, making him jolt, “should I stop then, oh honored one?” You rub your thumb over his slit harshly, a gasp falling from his lips as his head lolls back, “maybe I should go get Gakuganji, let you have your meeting,”

“Playing dirty doesn’t suit you, sweetheart—“ and you pull his boxers down, pooling around his knees just as his pants did, cold air hitting his cock making him hiss.

“Like I said,” your palms slide up his body, from his waist, and under his shirt, to his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs, “should I stop?”

He looks up at you, lungs filled with heat instead of air, lips hovering an inch from his leaking erection.

“Fuck no.”

~~~

You’d be the death of him.

There was no mistake about it.

Satoru Gojo only had one weakness—and you were sitting on top of him. Your hair disheveled with your fingers running through them, lips kiss bitten and ruined even as your teeth grazed your bottom lip, and your gaze molten and only for him — just for him.

And you called him perfect.

A groan leaves his chest as your tongue flicks against his slit, salty precum swallowed by eager lips. He’s hypnotized by you, fingers reaching for you, as his thumb drags down your puffy bottom lip, parting your mouth for him, tongue darting out to lick the pad of his finger. Fuck, your mouth is so sweet, but how is it so wicked all the same?

“Fuck, sweets, how do you look so good on your knees f’me? S’not fair,” and your forefinger traces his pretty veins from base to tip, running over every curve and inch that would be buried in your tight cunt soon enough, his hips jumping against your touch, “g’nna make me cum before you even touch me,”

“If you’re gonna cum anywhere, it better be on me,” your lips curl at the shiver that runs down his body, your fingers sliding up his thigh as your fingers slide the pre down his length, fingers slowly pumping him.

“Fuuuuck, just like that, can’t wait to bury myself in your sweet pussy, wifey—“ your lips kiss his slit, sucking as your fingers toyed with his balls, feeling far too tight from your touch, a moan cutting off his words.

“G’tta find a way to shut you up somehow, Toru,” you spit on his cock, pressing teasing kisses up and down his begging length, “or maybe we can find a gag,”

You’ll kill him before he even gets a chance to fight Sukuna, and he’d die a happy man.

His precum drips down your chin, painting your lips, tongue darting out to lick it off your skin, “s’fucking good for me,” the praise sending a wave of heat right to your cunt, hot cum slipping down your thighs — and you finally let his cock slip past your lips.

A whine leaves his throat, his head lolls back, your pretty mouth wrapped around his dick, soaking his length, hips jerking against your mouth. Half muttered apologies, he couldn’t look away from the sight of you on your knees for him — mouth stuffed full of his cock with glassy eyes from the soreness of your jaw as you bobbed your head up and down his length. Just watching his dick go and in out of your pretty fucking lips, drenched in your spit and his pre, was enough to make him want to cum then and there.

But he wasn’t the only one.

Small whimpers and moans reverberate against his cock, tongue flicking against his veins, when his eyes flicker down, nails nearly digging into your scalp as he sees you two fingers deep in your cunt, the wet sounds of your pussy mixing with the squelches of his cock in your mouth.

“Fuck, such a nasty girl I married, huh?” He runs his fingers through his hair, entranced by the sight of you fucking yourself open with your fingers, your mouth growing sloppily as you do, “does fucking my dick turn you on this much? You’ve soaked the sheets,” he chides, wide smirk undercutting any iota of scolding, while you meet his gaze with a glare, “Aw, what? Can’t take it—“

His words are cut off as you take him deep, too bumping against your throat, and his fingers curl in his locks.

“Shit—“ Your fingers graze his balls again before squeezing, hard, he nearly busts them and there, but he can’t, not yet — his fingers weave into your locks to slowly pull you off, strings of spit and pre connecting your — not when he hasn’t fucked your pretty cunt yet.

Your eyes are dilated, dark with pleasure as his gaze meets your own, a mix of his pre and your spit slipping from the corner of your mouth, “You haven't cum yet—“ and his fingers wrap around your wrist and pull your fingers from inside yourself.

You yelp as he flips you over in an instant, hitting the mattress with a bounce, large palms sliding up your thighs, as he presses your knees to your chest.

“The only place I’m cumming, sweetheart,” as he drags the swollen head of his cock against your needy folds, watching his precum smear against your twitching folds, before lifting your soaked fingers to his lips, “is inside your sweet cunt.”

“Toru—please—“ and you’re so needy, just for him, your fingers finding the front of his scarf before tugging him close, a gasp chased away by a grin as he sees the pure desperation in your eyes, “I need you,”

“I’m right here, sweets,” and he’s leaning down to dot sweet kisses down your body — against your neck, the bridge of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. “You’re going to have to be more specific,”

“Fucker,” he laughs.

“Now you’re getting closer,” and he does too, bumping the head of his weeping erection against your puffy clit, as your folds feel as if they’ll part for him in an instant, “this pretty girl is more honest than you are,” he’s parting your folds with his tip only to pull out.

A whine turns to a scowl, as you tug him even closer by his scarf, “I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me, I’ll strangle you with this—“ and he sinks into you.

Fuck, you swear you feel every goddamn inch, vein, and curve as he works himself into your tight cunt, walls fluttering as if beckoning him deeper—and he was only too happy to oblige.

“Toru, s’too big,” your whining only makes his cock throb inside you as he bottoms out inside, “s’too much,”

“Too much? No, sweets, this dick was made to fuck you,” he grunts, taking every iota of his self control not to thrust into you and bury his cum deep in your womb — no, he wanted this to last, “and this pussy was made for my cum,” he rolls his hips against you swallowly, his tip brushing against your cervix, as both of your heads roll back.

“How are you so tight? Pleasure rips up your spine as he begins a steady pace of fucking you, sounds of skin smacking together ringing in your ears, “you’re fucking wet and yet you have me in a vice grip,” his clothes rub against you, your slick soaking through the fabric, “should I go meet with the elders like this? Let them see the Gojo clan’s haori soaked by your juices,” fingers pressing your legs apart wider and higher, divots in your flesh from his touch.

Your walls squeeze at his words, mouth falling open wordlessly as he grunts, “F-fuck,” you can only manage to say, chest heaving as you grasp at the front of his haori, pulling him needlessly closer, “f-faster—“ and he grins.

He was more than happy to oblige.

He rails into you at a pace impossible for anyone but Satoru Gojo. And your gasp fades into a drawn out moan that makes him only want to fuck you harder and faster — he needed to bury himself in your cunt until all you remembered was how to moan his name.

“You take me so well, so deep,” his hand laces with yours and guides it to the bulge in your stomach, “see how deep you take me? Good girl,” the praise makes you keen, sending another wave of pre to soak his dick, and he chuckles, “gonna fit my baby so well too,”

Your mouth falls open as his dick ruts against you, bullying your pussy open, “W-what?”

“Y’think we’re gonna leave this bed before I’ve filled you up?” And he punctuates his words with each roll of his hip, “nah, this cunt is all mine tonight,” his thumb drags down your lips, pressing against your tongue, spit leaking out as you groaned, “and so are you,”

And you’re sucking at his thumb, teeth grazing it before brushing it away to lean up to meet his lips in a bruising, messy kiss — all spit and teeth and tongue, as your hips meet his thrusts, tip finally finding that sweet spot that has your back arching and your eyes rolling back.

“Toru, fuck, I’m g’nna—“ and you’re cumming, hard, orgasm hitting every inch of your body at once, nerve endings shot with pleasure as he fucks you through it — fucking relentless (or should you say limitless?). Satoru grunts as your walls clamp down on him, the wet squelch of your pussy only growing louder among your pants and moans. He watches the white ring of cum wrap around the base of his cock as it split you open, and all he wanted to do was cum inside you.

He needed to.

But he’s pulling out suddenly, a gasp ripped from your lips at the emptiness, before he’s pulling you into his lap, your back pressed to his chest, an arm around you to keep you from squirming.

“What are you—“ your sentence cuts off as he teases your far too sensitive entrance with the head of his cock, “T-toru,”

And his other hand snakes around to cup your chin, forcing you to meet your own gaze in the mirror.

You’re a mess — sweat slicked and naked, your skin littered with blooming red marks dotting up and down your body, your nipples pebbled and hard under his touch, and your cunt on full display, his fingers slipping down to spread them, as if to show you where he just was.

And he was — hulking behind you, his whole form enveloping you as his cock pushed against your needy entrance. His haori disheveled and his hair askew from your fingers running through it, skin shiny with sweat, skin beautifully flushed, and his eyes filled with lust and his smile far too pleased with himself as he watched you squirm.

Your eyes squeeze shut, “Don’t wanna be the only one to watch me cum inside you, you should enjoy the view too,” he’s finally sinking to you again, body falling back against him as he sheathed himself in you fully again, “look at how well you take me,”

And his fingers are cupping your chin, spit slipping from your mouth, as he forced you to look again, see the bulge in your stomach as he slowly began to fuck you, his grunts and moans hot against your ear, “y’know, I’m beginning to really believe you were made for me, sweets, the only one for me,” and he’s emphasizing it with a thrust, “you’re the only one I can even imagine wanting, even just thinking of you is enough for me,” his words do nothing but make you grow tighter as he fucks upwards into you, as he spots your eyes shut again, “c’mon baby, watch me fuck you,”

So you do, watch as his cock slides in and out of your cunt, the wet noises and squelch almost too much for you to bear, the all too familiar knot in your stomach growing ready to snap. His fingers slide up your body to pinch and tease your sensitive nipples, already flushed from his attention. He’s murmuring sweet words, but you don’t hear any of them — you’re gone, lost in the pleasure, in the sweet stretch of your pussy around his cock, unable to look away as he fucks into you.

“S’good for me, sweets, I’m close,” and he’s pulling you down flush against him, cock buried to the base as his tip brushes against your g-spot with every thrust, his lips pressing needy kisses to the side of your neck, “fuck, g’nna cum—”

“Cum inside me, fill me up, Toru,” and he groans your name, turning your head to find your lips in a sloppy kiss, tongue wrapped around yours just as his cock hits the deepest part of your tight cunt and his fingers rub against your clit.

And you’re squirting, gushing over his lap and cock, pulling your lips from him as you moan his name, as he rails into you through your orgasm, until he notches himself as deep as he can before he’s cumming too, hot release painting your walls as he fills you up. He’s fucking his cum into you.

You both grow slack as he slows his movements, relaxing against his body, murmuring soft praises as he slowly pulls himself from inside, clicking his tongue, as he watches his cum slip out of you.

“Sweetheart, how will you fulfill your duty if you let my cum slip out like that?” he kisses your cheek, before he’s gathering the cum on his fingers to stuff it back inside, drawing a gasp from your lips, “maybe I’ll just fill you up again, hm?”

His softening cock twitches at the thought, as you lean into him, shifting as you feel just how wet you’ve gotten him…and his clothes.

Fuck.

“Toru, how are you going to fight in these clothes tomorrow?” you cover your burning cheeks, “it’s drenched,”

“It’ll dry,” you snap your head to him to glare at him, and he pouts, “what? It’ll be like you’re fighting with me—”

“I swear if I have to live with the knowledge you fought the king of curses with my cum all over you, I’ll kill you—”

“And if I’m not alive—”

“I will bring you back to life, just to kill you,” and your palm slides against the slant of his cheek, “and you’re not going to die, I forbid it,”

He chuckles, his lips leaning down to meet yours in a sweet kiss, “Then I better not now, huh?”

~~~

“You’ll come home to me, won’t you?”

It hadn’t been a question, not until now, now when you’re faced with the reality of the day pressed against you as day breaks over December 24th. Daylight seeped into the bedroom, his thumb tracing a lazy circle against the divot of your hip, a soft smile on his lips, with his arms wrapped around you.

Atlas long having shifted the sky to your husband’s shoulders, from the second he existed in his world — but for a moment, you feel it too. Not like him — never like him, even when you tried to bear it with him. But you never could understand, no matter how you tried to.

But you tried — his fingers lacing with yours, engulfing yours with his warmth, as he lifted your intertwined fingers to his lips.

“Where else would I go, sweets?” And you didn’t want to think of the other possibilities, to say the words out loud and manifest them as some cruel jujutsu god’s intention. Because when were these gods ever kind? “I only belong in one place — two if you count the mochi place in Sendai,”

But he doesn’t earn a smile out of you, frown still firmly fixed to your lips, “ouch, not even a pity half smile?” he tilts his head, “sweetheart—“

“You said it yourself that the ten shadows is the ultimate counter to infinity,” you hate the words that leave your lips, filling in your mouth like bile, unable to do anything but spit them out like acid, “that and Sukuna’s technique, I’m worried—“

“Worrying won’t change the outcome, baby, and I’m not planning on losing,”

“If you aren’t, then why did you agree to give Yuta your body?” your words were quiet, his movements still, muscles tense as if he had already given up his autonomy to another, “and you didn’t tell me,”

He’s careful with his words, tiptoeing between buried mines— “I didn’t want you to worry about something that wouldn’t happen—“ but still managing to step on one all the same.

“Bullshit. You thought it would be better for me to find out if push comes to shove?” you laugh, a bitter noise, but all the anger leaves your body, and only fear is left, “I can’t lose you, Toru,”

“Baby—“

“I can’t. I won’t,” you’re being petulant, you know are, but he’s the one person you’re allowed to be childish about, just as he is with you.

“You won’t, huh?” He wasn’t used to be treated like this — as fragile, as something that’s fleeting, that could slip from fingers as easily as everyone else did. Even as you touched his, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw with the most delicate of touches, as if he’d shatter under your touch, “I don’t think we get a say in that, sweets, unless you had secret meetings with a god I don’t know about,”

“Satoru—“

“Don’t worry I won’t get too jealous—“ and you cover his mouth, yanking him close by his scarf, your forehead pressed to his shoulder.

“I love you, you absolute idiot, you know that right?” And you feel his lips curl ever so slightly against your fingers, before he presses a soft kiss to your palm, easing it from his mouth, “I love you, I love you so much,”

“I love you too,” he presses his forehead to yours, “I’ll come back to you, but even if I don’t…I’ll always be with you, you can’t get rid of me, even in death,”

“Promise?” And he kisses you, soft and languid, thumb rubbing back and forth against your speak.

“Promise.”

And Satoru Gojo was never one to break his promises.

~~~~

Except now.

The slice cut through the silence of the battlefield with the wet squelch of flesh and blood, followed by two thumps, one soon after the other.

No, no. This wasn’t true. It wasn’t. It wasn’t.

It couldn’t be.

He promised he would come back. He promised he’d live. He promised.

He can’t leave like this. No, he can heal himself, he can save himself, couldn’t he? RCT like he did before with Toji. And for your eyes flickered around the room, no one could meet your gaze, none except Shoko, who saw the question in your eyes and only frowned before shaking her head, lit cigarette snapping in half as he held it too tight.

“No, no—“ you didn’t even realize you said the words out loud before you felt everyone’s eyes on you suddenly, before you felt something, a flicker of his cursed energy and you snapped.

“Ui ui, take me with you,” Kashimo was already on his way to the battlefield, a lightning flash to death’s door, with no fear.

Yuta says your name softly, “I don’t know if that’s a good—“ your eyes snap to his hard.

“You have your plans, Yuta, and I have my own, this isn’t a matter of discussion,” you step over to Ui Ui, seeing Yuta’s hands curl into fists, vision averted, “I’m not ready to give up on him,”

And in a second, you’re in the middle of the battlefield, dust clearing as the distant noises of fighting rings in your ears, but you barely register it, no, not when wind rolls and you see him.

“Satoru,”

You’re at his side in an instant, your fingers running over his cheek, the heat leaving his body, cold creeping in, but as your fingers graze his, a quiet murmur of his name, and you see his eyes flutter.

And it’s immediate. You look to Ui Ui, as your hands are placed on either side of his split body, palms spread against his body, “Take us to Shoko, he’s alive.”

~~~~

Satoru Gojo was never one to lose.

But he supposed if he had to lose to anyone, it might as well be the king of curses. But he knows he didn’t really loose, as he watches the snow fall above him, wondering if the cold against his skin was the snow or if it was something else entirely.

Was this what it was like for Suguru? Is this what he saw? The winter sky, or was it him knelt beside him as his life left his body.

Maybe he’ll ask him when he goes back, when he sees everyone again.

And then he hears it — your voice, the quiet murmur of his name, and the brush of your hand against his.

No, no, he can’t leave. Not if he can help it. Not when you’re here.

He feels your cursed energy flood his body, the flow of cursed energy through every inch of him, as it keeps his heart beating and his brain alive — a gasp caught in his throat.

If you want to start anew, head north. If you want to return to your old self, head south.

There’s only one option.

He had to head north — even if it meant — he closed his eyes — losing everything, but himself.

But he’d have you — and that would be more than enough.

~~~

“Are you enjoying the view?”

Your lips curl as you stand in the doorway of your bedroom, leaning back against the doorframe, watching your husband dress himself.

“Always do,” the floorboards creak lowly as you cross the bedroom to your husband’s side, “why do you think I married you?”

He chuckles, “and here I thought it was because of my incredible personality,” and you snort, as your arms wrap around his middle, your fingers adjusting the obi belt around his waist, “feels like you laughed at that a little too hard, sweetheart,”

“I just imagined how your students would react at that,” you laugh softly, as you finish adjusting his belt, only to grab his haori, a deep sky blue, as pretty as he is, “pretty sure they’d disagree, especially after the stunt you pulled—“

And of course, the stunt you were referring to was him coercing you push a box out to his students, only for him to pop out.

“How many chances would I have to do that? Plus, it was hilarious — did you see their faces?” And you scoff, shaking your head, “Plus, I figured it would be less shocking this way. Surprising them this way changes the focus from what happened to right now,”

You helped him pull the haori on, guiding his arms in one sleeve and then another, “I think you just being alive was enough of a shock,” you kiss his palm, pressing it against your face.

And his lips curl, “Well I made a promise didn’t I?” His other hand reaches for you, finding your waist and tugging you close, “and I never break a promise, especially when it comes to my beautiful wife,”

“Can you call me that yet? We still haven’t had the ceremony yet,” he shakes his head.

“This is only a formality, something to appease the elders and keep the idea of a clan war at bay,” he scoffs, shaking his head, before shrugging, “but it isn’t so bad,”

“Why’s that?” And he smiles.

“Because now we can have no regrets,” and your fingers trace upwards over his face, the scars from his battle bumpy as your fingers run over his soft skin, fingers reaching the blindfold over his left eye, before pushing it up — his cerulean blue eye now a milky white, “except maybe being able to marry you with both eyes,”

“Like you said, we were already married,” your thumb runs over his shut eye gently, “this is just a formality,”

He leans into your touch, nuzzling your hand, before his arms pull you flush against him, “Then can we be late?” And his lips lean down to press a heated kiss to your neck, voice reverberating against your skin, “because I’d like to enjoy my wife before I have to share her with everyone else,”

“Toru—“ a soft gasp cuts you off, as his hands slide down your sides to cup your ass, fingers squeezing, “we can’t—“

“Oh what will they do? Start without us?” And your resistance is waning as his lips start trailing kisses down your neck, tugging at your kimono if only to pull the fabric down your shoulders, “I promise I’ll be fast,”

“Last time you promised that, we didn’t even make it out the door—“ and his fingers are already undoing your obi, before sliding up and underneath the silk material, thighs parting under his touch, “god—“

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ sweetheart,” and his fingers toy with your panties, “look at my wife,” and he’s tilting your gaze to make you look at yourself in the mirror again, “perfect,”

“Just like my husband,” and his lips curl.

“Even now?” And your fingers cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze — no longer the look of the strongest or the gaze of the six eyes — just the eyes of your husband, Satoru Gojo. The very gaze he’ll use to look to the future.

“Especially now.”

✧ a/n: welcome to the first kinktober fic!! sorry it took a bit T_T. i've been super busy with work and i keep getting sick in weird ways. last week i got hives and this week, my stomach is being a jerk. but i hope you guys enjoyed :) i think the next fic may be 'a cult classic' or 'scream (only for me)' so look forward to that!! thank you to @coffee-and-geto and @gaylatteart for betaing!

✧ taglist: @risuola , @riamallow , @montilyetron , @saccharinesatoru , @notgoodforlife , @aerithsthingss , @satorusmochis , @silvarys , @oracle014 , @jimabenamara , @seijakuu00 , @erwinawesomeness , @staryukis , @idiotgojo , @torubug , @theshylittleelfgirl , @mitsuristoleme , @forest-hashira , @aishies-stuff , @midnaamethyste , @fiannee , @paperstarsthings , @satosuguwifee , @kachntos @meow-satoru , @rowaelinsdaughter , @emonaculate , @hojoslutoru , @strawberry1042 , @fairiesthrum , @shoyosdoll , @gladiatorgladiator , @tojis-ball-sack , @astraecea-silversin , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @wakashudou , @cstandsforchaos , @yuminako , @zetianzz , @dazailover1900 , @sunamatic , @euphorism , @satowooo , @hawkwithsocks

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