#satoru gojo smut

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ satoru's a goddamn psycho. and, okay, you knew it was a bad idea. but, hey, april fool's, right? a flimsy excuse, at best. you'd thought that would make it better, but you've never been more wrong.

yeah, you knew faking a hushed call, stringing him along with that cheating bullshit, was playing with fire. but, how the were you supposed to know he'd snap like this? he's the king of pranks. that hypocrite.

"s'different," he growls, his hand a fucking vice around your throat. a choked sob escapes, your back arching, every nerve fried. it's some ungodly hour, two or three am, maybe. "some lines — fuck —shouldn't be crossed, you get that?"

he rams into you, deep, every thrust hitting (bruising) your cervix. his other hand digs into your waist, a painful grip. "too much," you whimper, too fucked-out to even twitch. you just pray he'll stop his relentless assault.

"whose pussy is this?" he demands, his voice a low, filthy tone. you can't even form words, just a broken moan. "look at you," he grunts, his hips rutting against yours. "can't even talk right. bet no one else could get you this fucking wrecked, huh?"

satoru's hand slides down, pinching your nipple hard. you whine, whether from pain or pleasure — you couldn't tell. "i asked you something, bitch," he hisses, and, as if he'd punishing you, he pulls almost all the way out, relieving you (if only for a second), before slamming his thick length back into you.

"y— yours!" you scream, the heat coiling in your gut, a familiar, desperate burn. you're just a toy now, his to use, and you know he wouldn't have it any other way.

satoru groans, his words slurring, a sure sign he's close. "ngh, don't fuckin' forget it."

your boyfriend didn't, in fact, let you forget it — spilling inside you, hot and thick, your body convulsing around him as you came again, another wave of raw, mind-numbing pleasure. all for another round.

you're officially retiring from april fool's.

[madamechrissy]

Escort! Satoru- part four

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- this is a LONG part like really long aha- mutual pining like a mf, obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, oral (f receiving) lots of tension, explicit sex, aftercare, honestly this got angsty asf, Satoru is bad at feelings. But dw the end will be happy, reader is HELLA rich and Satoru is almost a sugar baby- pretty woman vibes 🤭

<<<Part Three

Escort! Satoru dies when he sees you that night, he'd cum so many times to you it was ridiculous, why he was turning down your offers to make him cum he still can't figure out, why he's turning every offer is batshit insane. But all he can manage is to get women off and picture you with every single one of them, still trying to grin and go on dates, laugh and act like he enjoys any of it, when he can't get his mind of your lips half the time.

Escort! Satoru still has a five star rating, still makes money, he may get carpal tunnel from all the work his fingers put in though, since he can't manage to get hard around anyone anymore. He's shaking them even now as he struggles to form a word, as the woman richer than him is standing there in the night, prettier than any star in the sky- and since when was he so poetic, hmm? You're in a gown he can't describe, it fits your body so fucking perfect, your hair up in elegant curls, chandelier earrings dangling, enticing him with your bare neck and shoulders. He is dying to know what all of you looks like, not just parts of you, surely all of you is beautiful, so beautiful it makes a man like him stutter.

Escort! Satoru throws on a casual smile as you slip in the car with him now, giving him a hug and a kiss on his cheek, grinning so pretty at him. 'Is it weird to say I missed you?' your vulnerable question leaves him floored. 'Ignore that, I'm sorry... I bet a lot of girls get like confused...' he curses softly then, tilting your chin up when you look down. 'You're beautiful tonight' is his quiet, husky answer, and he can feel the heat of your cheeks when his thumb brushes one, and your breaths come quicker. 'Thank you, Satoru, you look handsome' you run a hand over his black dress shirt, slowly, as he sighs, pulling you against him then, lips an inch away. 'I was excited to see you-' 'shh' he puts a finger to your lips then, shaking his head. 'So am I'

Escort! Satoru has a hand slipping up your thigh, thumbing the garters there and sighing, looking down at where your thigh hits over your black stockings. 'God, look at you' his words fall out, and your breath quickens. 'How am I gonna make it through an auction when I wanna bury my cock in you?' your lips open and close, shifting your thighs now, as the desire floods through your body, your pulse quickening in the close proximity while you all let the driver lead you to this auction, when all you'd rather do is kiss him. You respect that he doesn't, you know you're delusional, but fuck if you're not falling into the fantasy that is Satoru- top escort there was. 'You want that?' your faint whisper makes him laugh without humor, it doesn't quite meet his eyes.

Escort! Satoru presses you down on his lap, hands on your hips, and you feel him then, cunt pulsing with need, exhaling as you're so close to lips that tempt you endlessly. 'What do you think, sweetheart?' His hoarse voice barely concealing the stark desire, your heat presses against his hard cock under his slacks, making your manicured nails press into his shoulders over the expensive tuxedo jacket, against his skin over the barrier. Satoru's blue eyes look up under snowy lashes, thinking just how beautiful you are, how much you make him ache for you. He cups your face, hand brushing along the delicate line of your jaw, as he sighs, drinking you in, the confines of the back of the car, that drives steadily underneath you.

Escort! Satoru makes you cry out when he grinds you on his cock, your throaty moan nearly ending him, he has such trouble holding back then, having thought of you every fucking day this week, stroking it so much it was damn near rubbed raw. Your earrings glitter in reflective prisms as Satoru kisses up your neck, as your head tilts to the side, allowing him further access. 'Satoru... mmm, please...' he's yanking your dress up over your hips, kissing lower over a breast, raising up and down as you pant, grinding on him. 'Please what, pretty girl?' His teeth nip your collar bone as the car stops, you both curse just a bit, you try to compose yourself, failing miserably, blowing a strand of hair off your face as you ease off his lap.

Escort! Satoru takes you inside the auction then. Arm and arm, the two of you walk past, people murmur about just how good you look, your business partners are glad to greet him, and Satoru seems to know more about you than you've even shared with him. Holding a glass of champagne, his hand on the small of your back, he grins easily at them, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin. 'She's still just obsessed with sushi, you know she has been to five different places this month?' the men laugh now - 'she eats it all the time at work too' and you giggle a bit, admitting 'I do enjoy it, yes' but when they leave you look up at him curiously. 'What, did some research- you keep snapping pics on your IG' you giggle then. 'stalker much? maybe you did steal them?' Satoru smirks down at you, sipping his champagne now. 'No way, just thorough so I get another good tip you know' you pause now, sighing, and Satoru notices your mood shift.

Escort! Satoru wants to tell you the truth, that he was scrolling through your IG because he's dying to see more, know more about you, but he tries to hold it in, what would you see in him? Surely you desire him, he can feel it in your heat, see it in how you move, but he knows he's wanted for that. The two of you fall into a quiet, mingling still, when a tall man with shocking pink hair grins at you, he's another business partner apparently, grabbing you to him. When Satoru watches you dance with - Sukuna is the name- something makes him insane then, he does not like you giggling in a man's arms, even as your eyes keep catching his across the room, he hates his hands on you, big and tattooed, taking over your much smaller frame, daringly low on curve of your spine.

Escort! Satoru leans along the wall, peering at his phone now, trying to act unbothered, clients fell for him all the time, but not once has he confused himself. He accepts the next jobs tomorrow, trying to remember what he's here for, getting angrier the longer you dance, which feels like an eternity. When you finally get back, you're smiling up at him, but pause, seeing his full lips are in a frown. 'It's boring, isn't it? Pretentious' you try to tease, but he just can't answer you, even as you're sitting next to him now, and the items are going on display, he's stiff and tense. You wonder if he had better things to do, better jobs to take- perhaps it's just too boring? You lean close, a hand on his shoulder, holding the little auction tag in your other hand, and his blue eyes are cold. 'Satoru I'm sorry it's so boring, is there anything you'd like? You'll still get paid, of course...' he sighs now, shaking his head, you have no clue what's running through his mind.

Escort! Satoru wonders how you are single, when so many men flirt with you, are you oblivious to just how gorgeous you are? To how perfect you are to not just him, but seemingly everyone? 'It's fine, sweets, I've been to worse events' you miss the fun, sweet man you've grown to enjoy in just a few visits. He's shifted from the car- was that because it was physical? Surely that's what an escort like Satoru excels at. You try to remember you're just a client, not more. As there is a beautiful painting from your favorite artist, you end up bidding on it, and Satoru watches you light up when you win, so pretty with your eyes sparkling, smile breaking him down, to where he can hardly stand to look at you. He knows then, he can't keep taking your jobs- he can't perform with anyone now, and he's falling for someone who probably wouldn't consider him in her life.

Escort! Satoru doesn't pick anything out, so you immediately pay him on his app as you two wait for the car, the night breeze blowing, and you give your exorbitant tip that has him suddenly furious, gripping you by your waist suddenly, making you gasp. 'What is wrong with you tonight?' you whisper, blinking back tears suddenly, and he shakes his head at you. 'Why are you giving me so much, I was a shitty date, altogether awful, and you still overpay' you swallow nervously now, looking down at the dress flowing from the wind at your ankles. 'Because I enjoy having you around too much' he pauses at your admission, when the car finally pulls up, and you hug yourself tightly. 'I'm sure you have many clients to see, I won't keep you, go ahead and take this one home, I'll wait.'

Escort! Satoru feels it, you're upset and you have it so, so wrong, god all he can think of is you. Your lip trembles with emotions as you bite it, and the driver waits for the two of you. 'You paid for an entire night, you know' his whisper drives you insane, your eyes lock then, lips so close you wish you could know how they feel. 'We don't have to spend the whole night, don't worry' he sees it then, the Sukuna man stepping out, eyeing you from the back, and Satoru scowls right at him. 'You're riding in the car' you go to protest when Satoru yanks you in the back seat, and you shove at him, turning and crossing your arms as the door shuts. 'You're gonna be rude all night then suddenly want me in the car?' He pauses now, cupping your face, breath dancing on your skin in a cruel tease. 'Let me make it up to you'

Escort! Satoru is soon in your penthouse, it's quiet and tense even then, so much unspoken between you, but Satoru knows one way to explain himself - and that's pleasuring you. He has you turned, ass pressed against him as soon as you look your door, unzipping your dress inch by inch. You barely breathe at the sensation, his fingers dancing down your spine, filling you with so much longing, as it pools at your ankles. He exhales when he sees you naked fully, turning you slowly, cock throbbing when he realizes just how beautiful you are. 'Fucking look at you' his words end you, as does when he's on his knees, worshipping you with ardent kisses up your inner thighs, until he's burying his face against your eager cunt once more. 'More, Satoru, please... more...' you're begging so quickly, as you're grinding on his pretty face, and he's drinking you up, looking at you with those blue eyes.

Escort! Satoru stands and finally you see his thick, long pretty cock spring out, you reach out and stroke it, watching his lashes flutter shut, hear his little whimper, before he's gripped your wrist, pulling out a condom from his pocket, handing it to you now. You rip it open and slip it on nervously, trembling before he is picking you up, cock pressing at your entrance, stretching you and burning with just his pink tip under the latex. 'Ah!' you're already crying out, but when Satoru sinks inside your heat, your slick cunt feeling so goddamn good he can only imagine what it's like raw. He knows then, he's so fucked for anyone, as he kisses down your neck, shoving his cock in so deep, slamming your back against your door as your nails grip him over the jacket he still wears. You're struggling to take him, so full, he's slamming into your cervix, gripping you so bruising - fuck you hope he leaves bruises, unable to get enough of him, as he looks at you now, jerking his hips and watching you shatter.

Escort! Satoru has you delirious, screaming against the door as he continues to fuck into your perfect cunt, you're so wet it's loud, dripping down his cock and drooling onto your tile floor. He's barely even noticed your home, so entranced with your warmth. 'Feel her, she wants to cum, doesn't she?' you just nod weakly, and Satoru presses in fully, as tears fall from your eyes, his eyes so dilated they're black. 'Cum then, pretty, lemme feel you milk him' he presses so deep you feel he's splitting you apart, so thick and huge as he's pulsing inside you, and your vision goes dark, all while he watches, cumming all around his length, and he can barely stand how good it feels, how beautiful you are for him, wishing it was him, and only him.

Escort! Satoru knows every spot on your body, lifting you up high and starting to pound his cock inside you like you're weightless, sweat breaks on your brow which he swipes away, drool falls down your chin and your cunt as he slams deep and rolls his hips again. 'That's it, c'mon sweets, again, you can do it' his encouraging ends you all over again, orgasm washing over you in waves, so many now you've lost count. 'C-cum for me Satoru' you whisper, and he gasps, before shutting his eyes with a moan, burying his head again, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he cums so hard, so much, wishing he had no barrier, wanting to fill you full of him. He struggles to catch his breath, leaning you on that wall then, as you bury your own face, pressing the cutest kiss on his neck, right above his collar.

Escort! Satoru helps you clean up, careful as he brushes your hair and eyes you in the mirror, wiping you gently between the thighs, you're so weak you can barely move after cumming so much, he's helping you get dressed, fuck he gets you water and takes you to bed even. You're sitting against him as he strokes your hair, and you swallow down the sadness of him leaving after that, clinging your arms around his narrow waist, cheek against his heartbeat. 'Satoru how much for... holding me tonight?' your ask destroys him then, almost to tears at your vulnerability, as you make him question everything in his life. He shakes his head then, and you pause. 'One of your rules?' he nods quietly, unable to speak as your lashes lower, and you whisper an 'oh' before pulling back, leaving his arms empty. 'I'm so embarrassed at myself... please just forget this... I'll get you a ride home, okay?'

Escort! Satoru hates himself when he watches tears threaten to spill in your eyes, as you quickly get his ride ready. 'Don't be embarrassed sweetheart, please...' you pull away when he tries to touch your cheek, so many feelings you feel dizzy now. 'I can't just have sex, I thought I could but... it meant too much. I can't... see you again, I'm sorry.' Your words crush him now, when you're standing at your door, unable to look up at him, and his lips open and close, then open again, his own tears threatening. 'What do you mean-' you cut him off, leaning up and kissing right by the corner of his mouth, he grabs you tightly now, never wanting to let go. 'You were amazing to me, thank you for tonight, I... hope you get everything in the world you want, Satoru' you turn and shut the door, leaning against it and sobbing hoarsely, because you know it then- you're in love with him - with a man that sees you as a job. Hopeless, for the first time in your life feeling that way, it seems cruel.

Escort! Satoru gets another ridiculous amount of money with your tag as an 'apology' and scowls when he gets home, throwing his phone across the room, stumbling to his bathroom as he yanks off his tie. He sees your lipstick imprinted on his collar in his reflection, before yanking the dress shirt off, struggling to forget you somehow. But you're in his mind, in his heart, in his fucking dreams that night- why couldn't he have held you? Why couldn't he have kissed you, told you how he felt? He calls you several times, but you don't answer a single one, driving him to the point of insanity, but you're too scared, you've already fallen so far, and you're not sure if you can ever stand to see him again and have any hope of moving on.

Escort! Satoru tries to live his life again, and you try to live yours, but it's just... different now. His endless clients and your loneliness, constantly aching to reach out, but now you know better, you know you fell in love when you were never supposed to. Three months later he sees you for the first time, you're in line at the coffee shop by his place, and his breath catches when he sees the sunlight hit your face, you falter as you see him, giving him a small smile before turning away and walking out. A sad smile that makes him run out after you, shouting your name out on the sidewalk, you pause and turn, he's getting closer, too close, it's too much. 'Yes, Satoru?' your voice is quiet, hollow, the yearning in him makes him want to pick you up right then and there. 'Can I ask you on a... date?' you gasp in shock now, blinking rapidly. 'What?' he sighs, stepping even closer, like magnets pulling him in, he inhales a sweet scent he never thought he would again, murmuring - 'a date, with me, please' eyeing lips he can't wait to brush on his own, waiting for your answer.

I knowww this got angsty OMG - not me tearing up writing this while I'm still super sick UGH lol- dw next/last part will be much cuter lol <3

taglist 1- @shydroid3000 @aducksmokingquack @miya4life @ravenbc @yenayaps @nezukuwu @etsuniiru @ieathairs @kenqki @princess-bblgm @belovedxiao @ninikrumbs @ieathairs @myahfig4 @theelegantpotato @vvaoo @aldebrana @celestep004 @whoisteona @ladyneisa @lililovely78 @gamerhere @wstaley2 @allthesqueaks @slut4donghyuck @maisiefrancesca @yittten @femaholicc @jjknanamin @that-b-word-lol @devastyle @mat-mat-mat @jkslaugh97 @ovela @mxgnolia @rikiswifeyyy @kaayyhunnyy @gojos1wife1 @arabellasolstice @01ve3rz @jud3thedude @firemoonlightfly @vyluvs @artist1936 @kyelikesanime @alygator77 @seternic @qlucoise @mysticranger575 @undermegumisbed

[ridingthatd]

gojo satoru is a bad friend.

he's a bad friend because he has had a crush on you ever since you joined jujutsu high, even when you start dating his bestfriend, geto, his need for you never disappeared it only got nastier.

his body sliding down the thin wall between your room and his as he violently pump his pink cock to the sound of geto fucking your wet cunt. he was holding his shirt up by his teeth not caring about the warm drool that was spilling from his mouth and coating his shirt with spit, huffing like a dog in heat as he struggles to breath.

"ahhhh-! nghhh!". his eyes roll back at the sound of your moans, how nasty he is stroking his fat cock to the sound of you getting fucked next room. his whole body was flushed, his tip was red, so swollen as precum leaking out of his clit.

he can hear how sticky and slimey your filthy pussy was, how hard it was gripping on his friends dick. he can hear the sloppy sound of the wet kisses, imagining the way you are sucking on his friends tongue like a needy slut. he whines, his hips shuddering at the nasty sounds that were feeling his ears.

oh he would do you so good, he would fuck you better, ripping your pussy apart with his fat cock. turning your pussy into a swollen mess, swollen with his hot cum.

"cum you fucking slut". geto groans thrusting his hips one more time. before gojo hears a spurt of wet stream, he whimpers, you were squirting- and that throws him at edge as he arch his back before robs of hot fluid shoot out of his sensitive cock.

gojo gaze hazily at the mess he made, he smirks, he's going to have you one way or another. after all he's the strongest.

[alygator77]

motherhood and matrimony

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, smut, masturbation, enemies (annoyances) to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, marriage of convenience, slow burn, fluff, little angst, mentions of death (satoru's father).

a/n. tysm for another follower milestone! as a thank you, here are some ceo! satoru headcanons for my ongoing fic motherhood and matrimony. this can kinda be considered as a teaser for those that haven't read the series. for those that have read the fic, this fleshes out the circumstances between satoru and reader a bit more, giving us a bit of insight from satoru's POV (and showing how down bad he is, hehe.)

ceo! satoru, who walks into meetings ten minutes late, just to prove he can. he never rushes—the clock bends for him, so does the room. postures straighten, laptops shift, conversations hush—eyes flicking away like they weren’t just whispering about the latest tabloid headline with his name in bold.

he doesn’t give them the satisfaction of reacting—never does. because he’s used to the attention. the scrutiny. the weight of being watched.

whatever… he never asked for this. he’s the heir of gojo corp, he just has to exist… right?

ceo! satoru, who doesn't read half the reports placed in front of him—rolling his eyes during company briefings, doodling dicks into the margins of billion-yen contracts. he slouches in a chair that cost more than most people’s rent—twirling a pen, daring someone to scold him. it’s always his father. it’s only ever his father.

“take this seriously satoru. you need to grow up. have you found a wife yet?”

the pressure of his legacy comes dressed in politeness, in tightly-wound ties and family dinners that feel more like interviews. it’s never ‘what do you want?’ only ‘what will you become?’

people think he’s lazy. arrogant. detached. 

eh… maybe they aren’t wrong? 

and yet, for all his mockery, he still shows up. still puts on the suit. still plays the part with a half-smile and his middle finger tucked just behind his back. because maybe, if he doesn’t take it seriously, it can’t hurt him the way it was always meant to.

ceo! satoru, who keeps people at arm's length, especially women. they whisper his name like a prize—because everyone wants something from him: money, attention, his title, a seat at the table. so? he gives them nothing—flirting without intent, touching without feeling, fucking without consequence. 

love is a transaction. intimacy? a liability. and gojo satoru? he’s tired of being collateral.

so, he stays perfect on paper—sharp in the spotlight, hollow behind closed doors. if he gives them nothing, then there’s nothing to take. 

untouchable, unbothered, and lonelier than he’ll ever admit.

ceo! satoru, who notices you the moment you don’t notice him. you’re new—his father’s latest hire. just another name slipped into a calendar invite he didn’t read, another title he forgot before the ink dried. nothing remarkable. not at first glance. you keep to yourself, all neutral tones and clean lines. head down, posture straight, buried in your work like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. 

boring, uptight. 

that’s his original impression of you. 

until he makes some offhand comment in a meeting—low, careless, designed to make the room laugh. but this time, you glance up, meeting his eyes with a scowl.

“...are you finished?” you mumble. cold. quiet. unamused.

the fuck? 

it’s always his father. it’s only ever his father. and yet here you are—desk-bound and barely blinking—making him feel like he’s overstayed his welcome—in his own kingdom, mind you.

oh. he’s gonna give you hell.

ceo! satoru, who makes it his personal mission to get under your skin. so, he starts dropping by your office more often. for no real reason—papers he could’ve emailed, questions he already knows the answers to. 

“hey miss secretary,” he drawls, dragging the words like velvet across glass. “miss me?”

he pushes. you push back. he reroutes your calendar and you reroute his meetings. he leaves three unsigned forms on your desk just to watch you chase him down the hallway with your heels clicking like gunfire.

“try doing your job sometime,” you hiss. 

satoru lives for the moments you slip. he’s used to women shrinking beneath his name. you don’t shrink—you scowl. and it’s addicting. because all that politeness you wear in front of his father is paper-thin around him, and your patience is stretched tight over something sharper. 

ceo! satoru, who notices you’ve been late three times this week. not by much—seven minutes, ten at most. but still, late. unusual for someone like you.

you—who normally arrives fifteen minutes early. you—who color-codes schedules and double-checks logistics like it’s second nature. you—who never lets a single thread unravel.

“this company runs on discipline, not excuses,” his father lectures you. “apologies sir… my babysitter has a habit of running late.”

and just like that, the room changes. 

ceo! satoru, who said nothing at the time—just watched. you’re a single mom? he’s thinking about the way you never mentioned a child. the way you never once asked for accommodations. the way you kept your head down and your performance sharp, even when your personal life clearly wasn’t giving you much room to breathe. and for the first time, he wonders if he’s been looking at you all wrong.

because it’s easy to call someone uptight until you realize they’re holding the world together with both hands and no help.

you square your shoulders, taking his father’s lecture like you were used to it. why did it seem like you had practice with swallowing apologies you didn’t owe? that doesn’t sit well with him…

ceo! satoru, who didn’t see it coming. not really. one moment his father is mid-sentence, gesturing over untouched steak and quarterly projections. the next, there’s a tremor in his voice—a hand that doesn’t settle, a breath that doesn’t finish. silver clattering to the floor. staff rushing in. panic rising in the air like heat.

he doesn’t remember the walk to the ambulance, only the stillness of his own father’s body.

ceo! satoru, who knows the answer before the doctor speaks. it’s in the look. the way the nurse steps back. the way no one can meet his gaze.

“it was a heart attack… i’m sorry. he didn’t make it.”

he nods. once. what is he supposed to do—to feel? he doesn’t know what to mourn. the father he feared? the man he resented? the stranger who lived down the hall of his own childhood? the man who spent his entire life, trying to mold him—now undone by something even he couldn’t control. 

there was no grand ending. no dramatic farewell. just silence. 

and satoru—left with all the noise that came after.

ceo! satoru, who stares down at the stipulation in his father’s will like it’s a ghost. and honestly? maybe it is. maybe this is how his father haunts him—not with memories, but with demands.

to inherit full control of gojo corp and the family estate, satoru must be married. with a child. within one year.

he blinks once, then laughs—quiet, disbelieving. of course. of course the man who never trusted him in life wouldn’t trust him in death. control, even from the grave—his father’s final move, final manipulation.

ceo! satoru, who isn’t prepared when it’s you who offers a solution. no dramatics, no buildup—just a simple, “let’s get married.” it takes him a full breath to process it. a fake marriage. a clean deal. a contract that helps you both. 

you—already a mother, already the picture-perfect illusion his father wanted him to build. you—who has everything the will demands, and nothing he’s ever had to pretend to want. for a moment, he’s stunned into silence. because you’re not offering him love, you’re offering him freedom.

ceo! satoru, who doesn’t trust easily, but maybe he trusts you? because you’ve never wanted anything from him, never asked for his attention. you’re practical. smart. tired in the same way he is (he’s just better at hiding it).

and sure, maybe what you’re offering isn’t customary. no emotional attachments, no strings. just terms, signatures and survival. it’s not what his father would have wanted. but fuck it, that’s the point.

ceo! satoru, who is not prepared for the way you kiss him at a public event. he tells himself it was just the heat of the moment, knowing you only kissed him to play your role. he tries to conveniently ignore the way your lips part first, slipping your tongue in, sighing against his mouth, leaning into him like you’re his—like he fucking owns you.

but… this is just a charade, marriage of convenience—nothing more. shit. then why the fuck is he rock hard remembering the taste of you?

ceo! satoru, who only meant to jerk off to you once—just to get it out of his system, okay?! clearly that’s all he needs right? he lasts maybe five minutes before he’s groaning your name, hips lifting as he’s spilling cum all over his abs, shuddering as he fucks his own fist thinking about you. 

there. that’s it. out of his system—no more, right? (wrong)

ceo! satoru, who doesn’t know what’s worse—the fact that it happens again, or that it happens easier. it doesn’t take much now—just the sight of you leaning over the dining table in a robe, a bare leg bent, hair tangled from sleep. the curve of your neck when you tilt your head. the flash of skin when you reach for something too high.

what the fuck is wrong with him?!

you’re not even doing anything. not really. you’re just there—folded into his space like you belong there. moving barefoot through his estate in oversized sweaters and quiet hums, curling up on the couch without a clue what you’re doing to him.

ceo! satoru, who’s never felt this out of control. not in boardrooms. not in interviews. not even in the middle of his father’s most ruthless lectures. but with you? with you, it’s all unraveling—you’re like gravity.

and now it’s routine—fucking his hand to the thought of you, slipping into his bedroom, pants pushed down, fist tight around his twitching cock, muttering curses into his palm to keep from moaning too loud, because you’re always asleep in the room next door.

it’s just stress relief, he tells himself. a coping mechanism. a release.

taking care of a kid is harder than he expected. the pressure’s always building as ceo of gojo corp. and you—you’re always close. always soft. always there.

ceo! satoru, who imagines you on your knees, in his office, tucked under his desk like a dirty secret. he’s slapping his dick gently against your cheek, rubbing his precum all over your pretty little mouth, encouraging you to part your lips before feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

schlick. schlick. schlick.

his filthy faps echo off the bedroom walls—sprawled out on expensive sheets, cock flushed and leaking down his knuckles as his wrist works faster, panting, groaning, lost in the addicting image of you.

“s-shit—fuck—” he breathes, head tilting back, hips rocking forward. “j-just like that… so good f’me, baby… so fuckin’ good—”

your muffled moans would sound so cute, gagging around his cock, drool dripping down your chin as you blink up at him, teary and beautiful. he’d stroke your hair back, whispering praise, thrusting lazily down your throat.

“fuuuck—look at you, so pretty—s-shit…” he’s fraying at the edges, nearly breaking as his strokes grow faster, messier. “p-please—fuck, need it—need your mouth, please… just wanna—nngh…”

ceo! satoru, who fantasizes about cuming across your tongue—your eyes fluttering closed as he tells you to swallow. and you’d swallow it all, wouldn’t you? looking up at him with ruined lips, cum streaking your chin, smiling all coy with those pouty lips he dreams about every night.

“fuckfuckfuck—” his voice cracks, stomach tensing, cock jerking in his hand. “‘m gonna cum— ‘m gonna—fuck—" he gasps, hips lifting off the edge of the bed as his orgasm crashes through him like a tidal wave.

and it wrecks him.

cum spills over his fist in hot, desperate spurts, leaking between his fingers, dripping down his wrist, painting his abs, his shirt, his thighs in thick creamy streaks.

“g-god… yes… f-fuck, baby… f’you, all f’you…” he whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as your name slips from his lips, over and over again like a prayer.

ceo! satoru, who lies there afterward, sweating and spent, staring at the ceiling like it might tell him what the fuck he’s doing. you’re not actually his—you were never meant to be.  sure, you’re his wife, but only on paper, nothing more. so… why do the lines keep blurring? thinning. you’re already under his skin. already in his sheets. in his head. on your fucking knees every time he closes his eyes.

and it’s not just lust anymore.

it’s the sound of your voice when you’re half-asleep. the way you talk to your daughter in that soft, maternal tone, tugging at something deep in his chest. the gojo estate used to feel like a museum. all cold marble and high ceilings, every corner echoing with the absence of something warm. he never realized how empty it felt until you started filling it. slowly. quietly. without trying.

now there’s a pink toothbrush beside his in the bathroom. a collection of tiny socks and hair ties on the entryway table. a soft giggle in the morning light and the scent of syrup in the kitchen air.

your daughter’s toys spill out across the living room rug. your coat hangs next to his in the foyer. your voice carries down the hall like it belongs here.

he wants you like a home he never thought he deserved.

and... that’s the most terrifying part of all.

love is a transaction. intimacy? a liability. if he gives you everything—his time, his trust, the bruised, aching thing in his chest he swore no one could touch—what would you do? would you break him?

a/n. awww... for those that have read the fic it was fun to go back to the start of this story to see how far this pair has come 🥹 i figured ceo deserved his own headcanon, i love my pookie. chapter 10 is in the works. if you enjoyed this teaser consider checking out this fics full masterlist here! i will also be reopening this taglist.

taglist:

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

[sugucide]

one thing about satoru gojo is that he's a freak.

he'll try anything once, and then three more times for good measure. anything! as long as it ends with him emptying his balls, prefer on or inside of you, he's a very happy man to entertain your weird requests.

this, though, is too weird!

"you want to have vanilla sex?" he gawks at you.

you're laying back on his bed, bare and smiling up at him as he climbs over you. he's hard, sure, but he's not flooded with the excitement of your usual ideas.

"why don't i put the collar back on?" he suggests tapping the tip of your nose. "oh! or we could play with those candles again... or you could make me squirt... no? roleplay? anal? some music, at least?"

you shake your head, and if you weren't so damn cute satoru might be more upset than he is. "you know," you start, "plenty of couples have plain sex regularly. i just want to feel you."

"we aren't like most couples," he grimaces. "im the strongest. and you're the sexiest. i don't think she's physically capable of having boring sex with you, baby."

"stop calling your dick a she," you stare up at him. "please? you said you'd try anything."

satoru kisses your lips gently, as boringly as he can do without getting too worked up. you are naked underneath him, after all. "i said that hoping you'd propose pegging me. or letting me put that dildo of yours down your throat while i—"

"just fuck me," you whisper.

and because satoru is secret a lover before he is a freak, he complies. with a gentle nod and a few seconds to line himself up with you, he pushes inside and lets you lock your legs around his waist before he starts a gentle pace with you.

it feels good, of course, it's you. but there's something sweet to the way he fucks you— no, makes love to you, that isn't there when gags and blindfolds and candle wax are in the way. it's just you and him, eyes locked as he becomes whole with you in the most intimate way possible.

he realises, when your eyes flutter shut and you pull him impossibly closer to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, that he might just like boring sex.

"i love you so much," he coos. "like having you like this. just us. god i love you, baby. i think i needed this."

the two of you cum in sync with eachother. you shake and tighten around his cock and he spills into you with sweet moans that sound a little more raw and vulnerable than they usually do. he kisses you silly, peppers his lips all over your face until you're laughing underneath him.

and he pulls back to look at your face, and nods to himself. you smile, and push his white hair out of his face with a gentle tilt of your head.

"what's that look for?" you ask.

and that's when you notice the tears welling in his eyes. the tremble of his lip as he recognises a million different feelings at once. and with a sniffle, and a shaky breath, he grins.

"let's get married."

[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ VACATION WITH YOUR SUGAR DADDY

featuring. barbie!reader & sugardaddy!gojo | smut mdni

sugardaddy!gojo who after a couple of months, decides to do something special for you - take you on vacation to one of your dream vacation spots in the caribbean.

sugardaddy!gojo who takes you out to dinner before showing you the two first class plane tickets, smiling when he hears your squeals of excitement and you grateful thank you’s.

sugardaddy!gojo who makes sure you have a whole new closet of clothes before your trip, buying you pretty bikinis he can ogle at on the beach.

sugardaddy!gojo who rents out a beautiful villa just for the two of you, surrounded by a beautiful white beach with pretty palm trees and a gorgeous view of the sunset.

sugardaddy!gojo who uses this time to finally relax from his highly demanding job as a ceo, getting to spend time with his favourite girl gorgeous sugar baby as he sips on fruity alcoholic beverages with you by his side on the beach.

sugardaddy!gojo who takes you to beautiful restaurants where you both try out new foods you haven’t before, coaxing you into swimming with sharks despite your whiny complaints.

sugardaddy!gojo who is surprisingly tame on the trip, his usual playful and funny personality replaced with a more relaxed and calm one.

sugardaddy!gojo who sometimes just admires you as he watches you from the beach, your smile bright as you play around with the salty water of the sea.

sugardaddy!gojo who absolutely adores sex with you in your shared room, the beautiful view shining through the large window next to the bed as you straddle gojo’s lap with his cock buried deep inside you.

sugardaddy!gojo who has his hand resting on the back of your neck as he attaches his lips against yours, slowly thrusting up, his tip occasionally kissing your cervix.

sugardaddy!gojo who’s way more gentle than usual, his words sweet like sugar as he praises you for taking him so well, how beautiful you look like this, like you always do.

sugardaddy!gojo who has you feeling different. you feel… more appreciated, more loved and cared for. and not in the typical gojo way where it’s financial but in an emotional way.

sugardaddy!gojo who as usual, gives you an explosive, intense orgasm - and you swear you heard a mumble of a ‘love you’ leave his lips… maybe you were just imagining it.

sugardaddy!gojo who cleans you up afterwards, giving you tender and gentle aftercare.

sugardaddy!gojo who doesn’t really understand why he’s doing this, why he’s being so affection. he knows he shouldn’t. he said it himself, no strings attached. but, he can’t help but feel so much adoration for you after spending these past months with you.

sugardaddy!gojo who by the end of the trip, you definitely feel something else for. you’re yet to fully acknowledge it, deciding to ignore the growing feeling in your heart for your own sanity. but, you can’t deny the smile that paints on your face when you look next to you at gojo sleeping figure on the plane, his face unusually peaceful.

sugardaddy!gojo who you start to realise you might have growing feelings for - feelings you definitely shouldn’t be having for your sugar daddy who specifically told you, no strings attached.

➝ previous | ➝ part four | ➝ series masterlist

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[gojosconsort]

sex addict gojo whose obsessed with reader trying to have quickies whenever he's on break ?:3

SEX-ADDICT!SATORU is a menace, a six-foot-three sex addict with zero chill, and you’re his favorite fix. he’s got fifteen minutes before his next mission briefing, and he’s already cornering you in the staff room, blue eyes wild like he’s about to combust. “babe—c’mon, quickie, now,” he whines, hands pawing at your hips, tugging your shirt up like a kid unwrapping candy. his white hair’s a mess from earlier sparring, sticking to his sweaty forehead, and he’s panting—panting—like he ran a marathon just to get to you.

“satoru, we’re at work,” you hiss, swatting his hands, but he’s relentless, dropping to his knees, kissing your stomach like it’s a goddamn shrine. “five minutes—fuck, three, i’ll make it work,” he begs, voice muffled as he nuzzles your waistband, fingers fumbling with your zipper, “you don’t get it, i’m dying out there without you.” you snort, because he’s dramatic as hell—but it’s true—satoru can’t go an hour without trying to rail you or he’ll die, that he’s sure of.

he’s on break from exorcising curses, and instead of eating or, like, napping, he’s here, humping your leg like a horny puppy. “last time was ten minutes ago,” you deadpan, and he groans, loud and pathetic, “that was forever—my dick’s got abandonment issues now!” he’s yanking his blindfold off, tossing it away and those freakish eyes lock on you, pleading. “quickies are my love language, babe, don’t blue-ball me.”

you roll your eyes, but he’s already shoving his pants down, cock springing free—hard, leaking, and way too eager. “satoru, the door—”

“locked it with infinity, i’m a genius,” he cuts in, grinning like he’s cracked the code to life. he spins you, bending you over the table, hiking your skirt up with shaky hands. “fuck, you’re hot—gonna be so fast, promise,” he mutters, sliding into you with a choked moan, already thrusting like he’s racing the clock.

“two minutes left,” you tease, and he whimpers, “shit—don’t say that, i’ll cum too soon!” he’s slamming into you, desk creaking, papers flying, a desperate, hilarious mess. break’s over in a flash, and he’s still zipping up, whining, “next break—round two?” you laugh, but the desperate look in his eyes says he’d genuinely waste away without your pussy on speed dial.

[gojoscinnamonroll]

dating nerdy bf! gojo— everyone thinks your sweet little dork of a boyfriend is innocent, but little do they know how much of a horny freak he is, especially when you’re sitting on his lap in the library studying; his weakness.

you were too concentrated on jotting notes down to realize his hard length was poking you from underneath your skirt nor hear his breathing starting to become heavy until he moves your hair to the side and rasps in your ear, “baby…you look so beautiful when you’re focused.”

confused, you flip your head around to see your pathetic boyfriend in a complete haze– flushed cheeks, eyes full of hunger, lips glossy and red. “satoru, are you okay? need some water? a snack? we can take a bre–“ he cuts you off.

“no.” he breathed out, “what i need…” starting to grind up against your heat, “is to feel you around my cock.” groaning against your neck as his veiny hand snakes around the other side.

you can’t help but feel the slight warmth starting to take over your face once he begins grinding his aching dick back and forth against your throbbing cunt, the stimulation nearly bringing you over the edge until you realize the two of you were still in the library, bringing your shaky hand over your mouth to muffle your slight whimpers.

“toru, we can get introuble if someone catches us right now.” you quietly whine, “can we finish this first then we can go…” almost slipping out a moan when he bucks his hips into you even faster.

“no, can’t mmh wait, need you now.” he mewled out (almost) out loud, that you had to turn around to shush him with your hand and caught a glimpse of his fogged up, tilted eyeglasses almost falling off his face and his mouth dangling open.

the roll of his hips against you came to a halt as his body began to squirm underneath yours, his eyes rolling back and sweat starting to drip down the sides of his face as he pants again your hand, the tent in his pants now becoming a stained wet spot. “so sorry sweets i-“ profusely apologizing. you sigh and get up from his lap.

“yeah yeah, c’mon lets go before someone notices you stained your pants you nerd.”

-

tags: @beanietopia @cuntphoric @alifromanotherworld @takumasimp @webism @yemmuisworld @xixflower

[writtenapoiogy]

sudden desire | chapter one >>> next chapter

satoru gojo x f!reader (18+) SMUT, angst, & fluff

art by linobii_

chap wc; 4.2k

chap warnings; nsfw, 18+, smut, MINORS DNI, making out, implied sex, dry humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, protected sex, praise kink, some degradation in there too..., miscommunication, talk about feelings, angst, some yelling, some stuff i probably forgot!

a/n; hiiii so i had some time off work and was just able to write and im so glad i was able to get this out! i always get shy about my writing right when i post it so please comment and leave some love if you enjoy it!! thank you!<333

You were laid out on your couch in nothing but an old t-shirt and your underwear. Phone in one hand and wine glass in the other. You scrolled through the bridal party group chat as you sipped on your favorite wine. Your best friend and soon to be sister in law, Mira, had just sent the link for your bridesmaid dresses. And yes you heard that right, your best friend was getting married to your brother.

You were extremely excited for them and expected this when they told you that they were seeing each other two years ago. Your brother, Suguru, thought you’d be furious with him but you were extremely happy for the both of them. You’d seen them both go through terrible relationships and this was like a breath of fresh air.

You also couldn��t be mad when you were actively sleeping with your brothers best friend, Satoru, for the past few months now could you?

You don’t even know how it happened really. You were out drinking with them and then Satoru had offered to take you home since you were a little tipsy. Then you were in his car on your way home and you were stealing what you thought were just mere glances but you were actually staring at him with nothing but lust behind your eyes.

And Satoru believed himself to be strong but right in that moment, when his eyes met yours, you rendered him weak. A sudden desire shivered through his entire being.

Satoru turned the car off and pulled the key out of the ignition. “Don’t look at me like that..”

You felt emboldened by the alcohol floating through your system so you moved closer to him—your face mere inches away from his. “Why not? Hmm?” You ran your thumb underneath the sleeve of his shirt, so that you were caressing his skin.

He tempted himself and looked down at you, his piercing blue eyes met you lust laden one’s. Your puffy lips begged to be kissed. Your flushed face. Pleading eyes. ‘Because of Suguru.’ He wanted to say but to hell with him when you were looking at him this desperately.

“And don’t say because of Suguru… Cause he isn’t here.” You brought your hand up to the back of his head and ran your fingers down his undercut. “Oh, c’mon, ‘Toru.”

He surged forward and pressed his lips against yours, placing his hands alongside your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered shut and you brought your hands over his. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped from your lips at his spontaneity.

Satoru immediately pulled away from you and placed his hand to his mouth. “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t cross that line.

You frowned. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because you’re drunk and-,” You shut him up by placing your lips against his again. Your hands sat on his face this time. He faltered before placing his hands on your hips and griping the fabric of your skirt as the kiss deepened. This is something Satoru has thought about countless times since you went to college and broke out of your shell.

“I’m not drunk. I’m not sober, but I’m not drunk.” You giggled against his lips and he felt his heart stutter. “You wanna walk me in?”

“Of course.” He stumbled out of the car. As you waited for him to open the door for you, you took a deep breath. Did that really just happen?

Satoru opened the passenger door and held his hand out to you like the gentleman he is. An electrifying shock ran through the both of you when you placed your hand in his.

You walked up to your apartment door with the tall man trailing closely behind you. The closer you got to the door the more nervous you got. You didn’t know where this was going but you liked the way it started.

You slowly unlocked your door and cracked it just slightly before turning around to face your brothers best friend. “Would you like to to come in?”

The last time he was in your apartment was four months ago when you had moved in and even then he wasn’t there with you alone, Suguru was there too—he was always there. “Do you want me to come in?” He brought his hand to the back of his head, playing with his hair nervously. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to do something you didn’t want to.

Your eyes moved from his striking blues down to his plush pink lips. “Yeah.” You smirked and gripped the front of his shirt, dragging him into your apartment.

Satoru did tell Suguru he would get you home safe and well you are home and safe. He pushed you against the door by your shoulders than his hands caged you between him and the door. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” You’d been fantasizing about this man since you were sixteen years old. Of course your answer was yes.

“Are you sure?” He said in a hushed tone, moving your hair behind your shoulder. “Cause once I get my hands on you I won’t be able to stop myself.”

His words went straight down to your core. “Yeah…” You placed your hands on his chest. “I’m sure.”

Satoru placed one hand on your lower back and the other on the back of your head and brought you completely up against him. His mouth immediately found your lips in a slow searing kiss. Hs tongue slipped in and graced yours.

You moaned as you became pliant in his hands. You opened your lips letting his tongue delve deeper into your warm mouth.

The night faded into sexual sounds and sensual touches as he brought you to the finish line more than three times. Once you were both spent and wrapped in your sweaty sheets the realization settled in.

What just happened?

What this would mean for you. For the both of you.

You both laid there in silence. The only sound coming from your fan in the corner of the room.

“Suguru can’t find out.” Satoru spoke into the silence.

“I know.” You considered something else. “What does this mean for….me and you.” You felt shy all of the sudden like this man didn’t just have you in the most intimate way.

“I don’t think I can go back to being just casual with you.” And he truly couldn’t, not after having your taste on his tongue. He considered himself ruined.

“I don’t think I can either.. I don’t want to.”

At that he finally turned and looked at you. Admiring your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “Well, um, we don’t have to?”

You turned your head to meet his gaze, “What do you mean?”

The white haired man placed his hand on your cheek and dragged his thumb down across your bottom lip. “How would you feel about a friends with benefits situation?"

This wasn’t something you ever thought about. But much wouldn’t change, right? “If only you’re exclusively sleeping with me, Satoru. And always use protection. I also don’t want to deal with a pregnancy right now. I’m on birth control but I just graduated and I have so much of my life ahead of me. And I’m rambling.. I just want to be safe.”

Satoru smiled and placed a kiss to your forehead before following with a salute to you. “Scouts honor!”

You giggled at his silly behavior then your features softened to a more serious look. “I’ve never done something like this before.”

“Me neither, but, hey whats the worst that can happen?”

You could fall deeply in love with Satoru Gojo. That, that is one thing that could happen.

The key turning in your lock brought you back from your reminiscence.

“Oh. Boo,” Satoru frowned, “you started without me.” He said as he looked at the open wine bottle and your nearly empty glass.

“This is me giving you a head start ‘Toru. Half a glass for me is like two full ones for you.” You spoke nonchalantly. A few things on your mind. Your future. Your love life and the fact that its borderline nonexistent. Could you even consider what you and Satoru had apart of your love life?

He kicked his shoes off at the door and took his jacket off, “I am not that much of a light weight.”

He walked over to you and took in the expression on your face. He placed his hand delicately on your chin and tilted your head up. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Stuff..” You should really tell him whats bothering you but you couldn’t find the words. Not when he’s standing in front of you. Looking at you in that way. Oh so caring. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted. But you don’t know how to get out of this routine you’d built together.

The casualness of it all. He practically lived with you but you’re just friends right? Friends who fuck when the need arises. He’s your brothers best friend for gods sake. And then again your best friend is marrying your brother. You couldn’t help but let that give you a glimmer of hope.

“Well let me help take your mind off stuff, yeah?” He leaned down and placed a kiss on your soft lips.

You nodded and Satoru plopped down on the couch right beside you. He grabbed your arm and tugged. “C’mere”

You gladly crawled into his lap and ran your nails up his undercut. Receiving a soft hum from him. His hands met your hips and he slowly started to grind your hips against his, making your barely covered crotch rub roughly on his clothed half-hard cock.

You bit down on your lip desperately trying to conceal your moans. You were moaning like this over some dry humping how pathetic. You brought your head down to his shoulder and mewled as you joined him by grinding down harder on his length.

Satoru let out a deep chuckle. “So what had you in deep thought, baby?” Baby, that damn pet name. He went from calling you kid every time he saw you to whispering that in your ear during times he shouldn’t. Times when the two of you were right next to your brother. Even times when you weren’t fucking which just made the pet name that more intimate.

And each time he said it made your underwear dampen and your heart flutter all at once.

“M-my future,” you sputtered out in between little whimpers you let out every time his cock nudged your touch starved clit.

“What you got to worry about? Hmm?” He said breathlessly.

“I’m-mmm,” you had begun but you cut yourself off when a moan threatened to leave you agape mouth. “Mm runnin’ out of time.”

“Time for what my smart girl?” Your walls clamped down on absolutely nothing when the endearing term left his lips. “You have an amazing job. A stunning apartment. You got me. Seems like you got everything you need, baby.” He thrusted his hips up roughly towards the end of his statement.

How could you possibly not take his words as absolute? When this felt so right. His words numbing your brain and his cock sending shivers up your spine. “N-need. Mmmm. Need you i-in me, ‘Toru.”

“That right?” He rasped against your ear. “C’mon needy, lay your head back on the arm rest for me.” And you listened as he guided you out of his lap and onto the couch.

Satoru was quick to place himself in between your legs. He sat on his knees in front of you. He lifted one of your legs and kissed the crevice underneath your knee all the way down to your clothed core. You took a sharp inhale as you waited for his next move then he smirked at you as he moved and repeated his ministrations on your other leg.

This time when he came into contact with your heat you lifted your hips and rubbed your covered clit against his nose.

Satoru chuckled at your eagerness. “Wine always makes you so slutty…” You couldn’t help but giggle at his words. He dragged his finger down the lace covering your slit. “Yeah? My little slut.” You felt yourself dampen at his words. He latched his index and middle fingers underneath the side of your underwear and tugged.

He threw the flimsy piece of fabric behind him and placed a sweet kiss to your clit.

A gasp escaped from your lips when he dragged his tongue from your sopping wet entrance to your clit. He greedily wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud and started to lightly suck. He groaned at the taste of you on his tongue.

You laced your fingers through his pillow soft hair as he continued to assault your cunt with his devious tongue. Over the time you two had been sleeping together he came to know your body very well.

He spat on your cunt and watched it trickle down to you needy hole before he inserted two of his lengthy digits into your wet heat—instantly hitting that spot deep inside of you. You had to throw your hand over your mouth to stop a scream from ringing in the room.

He pumped his fingers in tandem with his tongue lapping at your clit. Satoru brought his unoccupied hand up to swat yours away from your mouth.

He brought you to the edge so fast you barely had time to keep up. As you finally tipped over the peak—your pleasure ripped through your body. Your thighs begun to shake and a sultry moan slipped off your tongue.

Satoru slowly removed his fingers from you once your first orgasm of the night had subsided. He climbed up your body and kissed you with all teeth and tongue.

He made your body feel like it was on fire. Every where his lips touched, his hands touched. The fire he lit within you was all consuming. And you would gladly let it consume you. You would let him consume you.

He pushed himself up and you trailed your lips down his jaw and neck as he reached over to grab a condom out of the side table. You quickly made work of freeing him from the confines of his pants. He chuckled at how needy you were for him.

“Fuck.” A sharp gasp fell from his pink lips when your soft hand wrapped around his length. You started to drag the head of his uncovered cock through your folds and his hips jutted. “Y-you can’t do that.”

“Why not,” you pouted. You’ve contemplated forgoing a condom multiple times but better judgment always won.

He shuffled around so that he was level with your face and he moved your hand so he could roll the condom down his length. “Because it already takes everything in me not to fuck you bare. Per your request.” He responded as he lifted your right leg straight up so that your ankle was next to his neck.

If you were mine it wouldn’t matter. You so desperately wanted to say. You lost your train of thought when he began to sink into you. You couldn’t help the gasp that fell from your mouth at the stretch of him entering you. Even with him preparing you, he was still quite large.

His grip on your thigh tightened when he bottomed out. He sat still for a second, letting you adjust. His eyes stayed on yours as he finally started to move—taking you apart piece by piece.

“S-shit,” you moaned. The position he had you in was almost too much. It felt too good. He was hitting that sweet spot inside of you with each thrust. Your hands flew to his shirt and balled the fabric in between your hands as some sort of leverage.

“You feel so good, baby. Always feel so good f’me.” His free hand that wasn’t gripping your thigh fell in between your legs and started to rub tantalizing circles around your sensitive clit. Satoru’s eyes soon followed his hand as he watched his cock fuck its way in and out of your tight cunt. That delicious push and pull. The sight pushed him embarrassingly close to his edge.

He picked up the pace of his thrusts and his thumb against your clit and the most obscene noises started to flow off your tongue. “Sat-ah! Oh, fuck.” Your eyes slammed shut as it all became too much. The feeling of him inside your slick walls, the smell of him, of the both of you, his eyes—his everything. “Mmm, you feel so good. So big.”

“Yeah? You close?” He huffed out after a deep groan erupted from him. He was close and he could tell you were too. “Open your eyes. Let me see you, pretty.”

You pryed your eyes open and he leaned down closer into your space. He hovered right over your face, his lips ghosting over yours. “There she is. That’s my girl.”

You mewled at his words. “I lo-,” You could barely speak with the sounds that were leaving your mouth. “I love-, Fuck!”

“You love my dick? Hm, baby?”

And yes, you were about to say those three little words. And you always are. You always had to stop yourself from saying I love you. But how could you not when he was looking at you like that, talking to you in that sweet and caring way. When he’s fucking you that deeply, borderline making love to you.

He started to piston his hips into you, “I’m so fucking close.” The squelching from your pussy was getting worse and that let him know you were right there with him. The head of his cock was repeatedly hitting your gspot and your walls started to flutter around him.

“Satoru!” You practically screamed as you came, hard. He followed your release shortly as he let out a groan into your mouth.

He held you still and close as he filled the condom with his come, forever wishing he was filling you up instead.

But you were right then and it is something he always remembers. You deserve to have a family with someone worthy and he was not. Satoru doesn’t think he’d ever be worthy or deserving of love from you. That you would even think to love someone as broken as him.

He slowly pulled out of you with a hiss. The white haired man placed a tender kiss to your forehead before he pulled away.

He went to the bathroom to toss the condom and get a cloth to clean you both up and when he came back you were fast asleep. Satoru couldn’t help but admire your soft features. He felt a slight pang in his heart as he realized that this wouldn’t be his forever.

The next morning you woke in a daze. You went from being on the couch to your bed. Assuming Satoru carried you there, no doubt.

You dragged yourself out of the bed and headed to your bathroom to get ready for the day. And that is when your brain started to bother you again.

The two of you had been doing this for two years now. He was everywhere in your apartment, his toothbrush, his stupid mint mouthwash that you couldn’t help but taste every time you kissed him. You could smell his body wash in the air.

That is exactly why you always caught yourself almost confessing your love to him. The normalcy of it all. The way you two moved when no one was around was exactly that of a couple. But you would be a fool to think he felt the same way. At the end of the day, you were still his best friends little sister and just an easy lay.

You sat down at your island with a cup of coffee and your laptop in front of you, the shopping cart with your bridesmaid dress loaded up. You would marry Satoru, that much you were sure of. You would start a family with him. You wanted it all with him.

As you finished out the transaction, you got a text from Satoru.

satoru ;p: You down to watch a movie tonight? And this time we can actually watch the movie.

You found yourself smiling at his text but you needed to have a talk with him. This was putting a mental toll on you. A ‘will they wont they’ in your own life and it was getting a little frustrating.

Best case scenario is he’s willing to take that leap with you and you tell Suguru and everyone’s happy for you.

Worst case scenario is he doesn’t want to take that leap with you and you two break things off.

or Worst worst case scenario is he does want to take that leap and Sugurus not happy about it.

That’s not that bad? Right? You could live with that. And you could at least give it a try. Or else you’d be stuck in this limbo.

you: yeah and i need to talk to you about something

On the other side of town Satoru was spinning around in his desk chair, his nerves were through the roof.

Did you find someone?

Were you about to end this agreement?

He knew this would happen one day. He just didn’t expect it to happen right now.

You were sitting on your couch waiting for Satoru to come over. Eight o’clock tonight he said. And it was eight fifteen, but who were you to assume he’d be on time.

When he finally walked in you greeted him at the door, “Hey.” He placed a kiss on your forehead as he took off his shoes.

“Movie first or talk first?” A nervous chuckle followed his statement.

You started to fidget with the bracelet on your wrist. Your favorite piece of jewelry, actually. The one Satoru had gotten you for you last birthday. You were nervous too.

You didn’t want this to end but the line between just sleeping together and actually being together started to blur and that was a dangerous thing. “Can we talk first?”

He nodded, “Go ahead.”

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to plan before he got here but just thinking about it made you anxious. “Is this still just sex to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” you move your hand back and forth between the two of you. “Us.”

“I mean what we have is always gonna be different than a regular hook up. We’re friends.” Satoru answered.

“Satoru you have clothes here. Your toothbrush too. I even by that specific mouthwash you like just so you have it here. We cook together. And we kiss and makeout and fuck. Does that not feel like more to you.”

Of course it does. That first moment he kissed you it did. “Does it have to?”

You felt your heart crack at his words. He doesn’t view this the same as you. You were realizing that much. “It does to me. And I want more than that. I want you.”

“We can’t.” He ran his hands up and down his face in frustration.

“Or you mean you don’t want to.”

He said your name softly. “That’s not what I’m saying. We can’t. We can’t go farther than this.”

“Why. Give me one good fucking reason why we can’t if you want this too.”

“Suguru.”

You scoffed at his response. “Of course. I should’ve known, right. I should’ve known it would always come back to that. To him.”

“I can’t betray him like that.” He couldn’t lose the one person whose been family to him through it all. But that just might mean he’ll lose the best thing that ever could’ve happened to him—you.

“If that’s how you see it then news flash Satoru, you already have.” You shoved your index fingers against his chest. “That first night we slept together. That night when you came into my bed and fucked me you betrayed him.” You words were filled with fierce venom. You didn’t think before you spoke and you were hurting him. Of course that isn’t what you wanted but you were so tired of that being what was getting in the way of you two.

“So that’s it then?” Now he’s the one motioning between the two of you. “Our agreement. This relationship is done?”

“Satoru, I’m twenty-three. My best friend who is my age is getting married. I’m already behind. I can’t keep wasting my time being a secret when I could be falling in love and starting a family. If this isn’t what you want. If I’m not what you want, then yeah. It’s done.”

“Okay.” Satoru nodded his head and slipped his shoes back on. He headed back to his car and sat there as a few hot tears slid down his cheek. He just lost the best thing he never had and he knew that but he didn’t know what else he was supposed to have done.

You stood there for a few moments in the silence before you decided to call it a night and head to bed. Your tears flooded your pillow that night as you thought of what could’ve been. A life with Satoru. But you needed to do what was best for you.

taglist; comment under this post to be added!

[getouyuri]

r/Marriage: am i (24m) overly obsessed with my wife (24f)? — satoru gojo

౨ৎ pairing — oyabun!gojo x secretary!reader

summary — all work and no play makes the fearsome oyabun of the gojo-gumi a tremendously dull boy. since you're a saint, you come into his office with no panties and a mission; to let your puppy play.

word count — 13k

౨ৎ content & warnings — mdni 18+, pwp, mlw, fem!reader, normal modern au, yakuza au, humor, smut, fluff, pet names (baby, sweets, sugar, princess, pretty, wifey, hubby), gojo and reader are married, whipped gojo, gojo is actually insane, dark themes, violence, mentions of murder, p in v, submissive top gojo, sub!gojo, dom!reader, femdom, mommy kink, semi-public sex, pussydrunk gojo, office sex, mild pet play / puppy play, oral (f! receiving), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking (both receiving), reader uses gojo’s tie like a leash, MEN WHO WHIMPER >>>

author's note — i love yakuza aus and i love sub top wife guy gojo what can i sayyyy. this is my first fic on this account and it's just self indulgent as hell tbh. this is Not necessary to read, but if you want a little more background on this au, you can find info here. more notes at the end! hope u all enjoy 🫶🏽

writing © getouyuri. fanart © maronjapan9art. dividers © thecutestgrotto.

It’s not even 12pm on a Friday, 95 degrees, when the white flag swinging from his person is finally brought to his attention.

“Boss,” Choso says, completely straight-faced as he cleans a gun and stares imploringly at Satoru. Waxing and waning. “There's… something hanging out of your pocket.”

“Oh?” Satoru looks down, snags his fingers into the panties that are peeking out from his slacks, and rubs his thumb over the delicate embroidery in the hem. Interesting. “Oh, sweet.”

A completely normal, well-adjusted member of society would turn into a bumbling, blushing maiden and stuff these goodies away, mortified. Too bad he’s a shameless certified freak, seven days a week.

Like he’s playing cat’s cradle, he pulls at the inner hem and spreads the lingerie open to get a good bird’s eye view down into the panties. Satoru tests the stretch of the material. Turns it this way and that. Examines the gusset for any exciting stains and clicks his tongue when he finds none.

The air of the group at his beck and call sours into something painfully awkward, almost disbelieving. When he clears his throat, all eyes look away from him. Satoru takes the opportunity to crumple the fabric and press his nose into it in order to breathe your scent in.

Delectable. 10/10.

Outside the nearest window is the familiar buzz of typical Tokyo afternoon activity and traffic. Sitting in a loose ‘v’ around him in the ten-seater van they’re packed into are the men he’s tagging along with to swing by the red light district in pursuit of Ryomen’s trail. It’s rare that Satoru himself gets involved in tasks like this that are far below his pay grade, but he’ll take any opportunity he can get to get close to that fuckface and give him hell. He can practically smell his rival’s scent on the breeze.

“Huh,” he finally remarks. Choso is the only one that dares to look at him. “My wife must’ve planted these on me earlier.”

That morning, Satoru regretfully had to pull himself from his comfortable bed and his wife’s soothing warmth, though he promised you (with cuddles and kisses to further convince you and wipe the frown off of your face) that he’d wrap things up quick and meet you at the Gojo-gumi’s main headquarters for lunch. Unfortunately, hours later and worn ragged, he knows now that there was no way he would’ve been able to head over there any earlier than now. He texted you to let you know the change of plans.

Pure fucking chaos was unleashed on Tokyo this morning, all of it carefully orchestrated by Ryomen. One of the Gojo-gumi’s bigger warehouses that they use as storage for black market weapons and drugs was ransacked and then bombed by Tora-gumi shitheads. Many of Satoru’s men that stepped in to try and defend the warehouse’s stock were killed.

At the exact same time there was a shootout in one of the strip clubs— fittingly named Hell’s Paradise— that Satoru owns as one of his many, many business fronts. He and his men arrive on the scene soon after the fact and find the bodies of some of the women that worked there, all of which were personally beneath his unwavering protection that he failed to give them today, alongside some civilians that got caught in the crossfire.

Shoko herself isn’t here, but the traces of smoke linger around her girlfriend— and Satoru’s friend— like a protective ward when he goes to speak with her. Clearly, Shoko was either in the building or cat napping with her not too long ago.

Satoru isn’t labeled as the most terrifying oyabun in Japan for no reason; he handles all of it coldly and clinically to make sure many, many people pay the price for daring to threaten the syndicate, his family, that he’s worked so hard to maintain and provide for. He personally beats the fuck out of and kills the Tora-gumi’s members that were involved in both incidents, and what Satoru doesn’t do with his own bare hands, he sends Choso out like an angel of death to take care of.

While Choso ‘cleans up’, he calls Shoko and sends her out on the prowl to feel out if there’ll be any more planned attacks on the Gojo-gumi.

Fucking Ryomen.

Stepping out into the alleyway behind Hell’s Paradise, he fishes his good luck charm out for the fifth time today and takes another long whiff.

But hey, at least he has a piece of his wife with him wherever he goes, right?

Satoru gets a ride back to the Gojo-gumi headquarters. There’s a bathroom attached to the room with a shower that he had installed years back, so he strips off his bloodied clothes, showers and changes into a fresh suit, meanders back into his office, and tosses himself into his chair.

“God, what a pain,” he whines to himself.

If Satoru could pawn this monstrosity of a paperwork pile sitting in front of him off to one of his secretaries (like you, for example), he so would. Alas, things of this caliber are delegated to the boss man, and the boss man only.

His blue eyes linger on the skyline outside of the window. The Gojo-gumi headquarters is located in the heart of Tokyo and it’s not exactly a secret; hell, even the police know where this place is and what goes on behind its closed doors. Unlike his various business fronts, this establishment is strictly a hub that his syndicate directly operates out of. Organizing all their criminal operations, managing businesses, holding meetings, it all goes down here.

Years ago, it was rare that Satoru could be found sitting here. He used to just swing by the main room, get shit done, not spare his office a glance, and leave. Now, though, he has extra incentive to frequent his office. You’re here every day of the week.

The room feels filled to the brim with your presence despite you being conspicuously absent. The dark wooden surface of his desk is topped with a framed picture of you and him at their wedding, and next to it are various trinkets that you’ve bought with him in mind. His sweetheart.

Satoru lounges back in his plush leather chair (because he likes that it makes him look like royalty, thank you very much), man-spreading with a faint pout. The beginnings of a migraine buzzes right behind his eyes the longer he stares at the work calling his name.

There’s that deal he needs to finalize with Suguru that’ll leave them with a 20% increase in profits by the end of Q1. The Gojo-gumi's gonna be swimming in cash, and the Sutoraifu-gumi will have a steady supply of the goods their members need. Lord knows Suguru and his men need it after the whole Kenjaku debacle that went down a while back. Satoru’ll get to those papers soon and send them off with Suguru’s biker girl whenever she swings by again to hang out with you.

Then he has to look at the letter from the chief of police, which, yawn, that’s the least of his concerns. The detective— Kusa-something, whatever, he always forgets his name— must’ve tattled on him again for his, ah, unsavory way of handling business. That damn rookie Kusachi has a nasty habit of getting in his way and trying to take him on. Satoru could just try to pay the chief off again… and maybe he could visit Kusada’s home, set him straight. And by set him straight, he means chatting to Kusabuse’s family and telling him that their man’s extracurricular activities are gonna get him killed. His family can handle it from there.

And then—

A soft knock at his door pulls him out of his reverie. “I’m busyyy, Kento, Ijichi!” he calls just in case they’re here to hound him, fingers adorned in rings absently adjusting his tie.

It opens to reveal Kento’s unimpressed stare. He glances over Satoru’s unorganized desk, important documents scattered all over and clearly not finished. ‘Organized chaos’ he calls it. You tell him that it’s just shit on a platter.

“… cat’s outta the bag, I guess,” Satoru says glumly, his pout unbefitting of an oyabun further deepening.

Apparently, by the little entourage that Kento has with him, his second-in-command isn’t here to scold him, though. Because you, his gorgeous wife, enters his office next with Ijichi shuffling in behind you, who closes the door behind the group of three.

Satoru perks up like a meerkat and leans forward, fingers dropping away from his tie to instead interlace as he regards everyone, you in particular harboring most of his attention, with a cheery grin that’s at odds with his reputation. Though he’s the epitome of lax playfulness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his gaze as he looks them all over. You have a folder tucked beneath one arm and you look bored.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Satoru drawls, his tone as smooth as silk. "My three favorite people, alllll in one room. It’s a little too early to be throwing me a surprise birthday party, isn’t it? My birthday isn’t for another few months,” he jests.

Ijichi not so subtly checks the date on his phone even though he knows damn well it’s April, not December. On the other hand, Kento’s eyes flatten slightly. One of his hands goes to his hip while the other massages at the bridge of his nose as if he’s already getting a headache; as he usually does in the oyabun’s presence. “Now isn’t the time for jokes, Satoru,” Kento inserts, dour as ever.

Your poker face twitches.

A blown raspberry echoes in his office. “You always say that, Kento. Would it kill you to pull that stick out of your ass and smell the roses? Experience joy and whimsy?” Satoru dramatically intones. His hand splays across his chest. “You wound me.”

Kento doesn’t even bother to entertain him. Back straight and thumb practically digging into his skin, he rattles off his report; the Gojo-gumi were able to intercept Ryomen’s ploy to undercut the Gojo-gumi’s control over the heroin trade. When he finishes, he promptly turns and makes like Scooby Doo, not wanting to be there a second longer. Ijichi hurriedly scurries at his heels.

The door clicks shut behind them and he puffs out a breath of relief at his wakagashira’s and saiko-kommon’s departure, sitting back in his chair with a gentle creak of the leather beneath him. Satoru kicks his leg up over the other, the side of his calf resting on his knee, and looks you up and down. “And then there were two. Fancy seeing you here, wifey,” he drawls.

“You say that as if we don’t work in the same building,” you snort. Then you soften, closely examining him. “You okay? Your texts worried me earlier, so I texted Choso and his partner to get more details. I heard things got pretty hectic earlier.”

He smiles at you, feeling all warm and fuzzy. Satoru doesn’t get how couples just faze out of the honeymoon stage. Years later and you still have him wanting to kick his feet whenever he’s in your presence. “Things are peachy, pinky swear. I’ve got it covered, sugar. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he assures you. He crosses his fingers over his heart.

You eye him for a moment longer, but whatever you spy on his face makes you relax. Thwacking the folder against the wooden surface before scattering it among the pile, you then round Satoru’s desk and plant yourself in front of him. He inhales unsubtly, catching a whiff of your perfume that makes him go a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, and your lips twitch as you take your throne on the lip of his desk.

Everyone here at headquarters is required to follow a certain dress code. Satoru outshines them all, of course, fitted in finely tailored slacks and dress shirts with either a crisp light blue waistcoat thrown atop it or an ironed suit jacket. And as one of the many secretaries flitting around the building keeping the well-oiled Gojo-gumi machine chugging, it’s important for you to look just as professional. Especially since you’re his wife.

Which is why you look like an infuriatingly sexy librarian, decked out in a tight black pencil skirt that hugs your hips, a blouse with the top two buttons undone and the collar pressed open to flaunt the designer necklace he bought you swinging from your neck, sheer black nylon thigh-highs that he’d kill to feel around his head, and stilettos, cute little charms on the buckles giving your outfit a whisper bit of cheer.

(The thought of you making yourself look extra pretty today just for him has Satoru internally busting on the spot, his blood simmering beneath the fine layer of his skin.)

‘The oyabun’s wife’, his men always dreamily sigh when you walk past them— only to whip around and stare at the wall when he slinks by not even a step behind you, his blue eyes cold and caustic when he glares at them in warning. Gorgeous, breath-taking, a prized jewel— and you’re all his.

“Normally I’d only be here to scold you and make you do your work, hubby,” you hum.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in my near future,” Satoru muses aloud, raising his eyebrows at you in question.

“No. Just a ‘however’.” Instead of being two dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyy’, they’re two smartasses fashioned in the same factory, complete with warnings labels.

“Yeesh. Can I ever be right with you?” He plasters his hand over his heart yet again and gives you a simpering moue.

You roll your eyes, a wordless ‘duh’. Satoru's lips slant upwards into a Cheshire cat smile as you reach forward and loop his tie around your fingers before giving it a tug, coaxing his chair to roll forward on the sleek hardwood floor. He uncrosses his legs and allows himself to be pulled up and out of it, heeled like a dog, stepping forward to stand between your legs after lightly kicking his chair away with a soft clatter.

Looking down at you through long white lashes that flutter like the first snowfall of winter, his gaze is a mix of playfulness and appreciation in its rawest form. Satoru has to admit, this view is far more pleasant than any spreadsheet that he was pretending to give his attention to before you strode in.

Your perch on his desk gives you an air of sophisticated dominance that makes his cock give a very interested twitch in his trousers that he can’t help. Sue him for being horrendously attracted to his wife.

Though he towers over you by a mere head due to the slight height advantage that his desk gives you, there’s no doubt that he yields completely and utterly to you. His brain conjures up an image of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Glorious and championing above the rest of them; victorious.

‘Woof’, he thinks unintelligently.

“However,” you finally continue, beginning to smile. You keep a hold on his tie and tap his nose with the pointer of your free hand, which he wrinkles at you. “I’ve decided that I’ll spare you the lecture for today.”

Satoru's hands come up to rest on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the sleek nylon covering them. Your inviting warmth bleeds through the thin fabric. He so badly wants to get on the floor, brush them down, and sink his teeth into your plush skin until your skin pinkens. He settles for giving you a gentle squeeze.

“I thank you, oh great and benevolent goddess of the yakuza underworld,” he proclaims, delighting in the fondly exasperated groan that rumbles low in your throat. “I gotta say, I'm grateful for the reprieve, sweets. Though I suspect your mercy is short-lived," he adds with a chuckle. “So give it up already. Spill.”

Fucking hell. There goes a tiny fraction of the element of surprise that you thought you were holding over him like an anvil in a cartoon.

You silently curse his eerie perceptiveness. And his newfound x-ray vision, apparently, since he leans back a fraction to take you in again, his focus lingering on your skirt. But hey, the ball’s still very much in your court, and you’re playing to win.

Not letting it faze you, you heft your legs up, his hands shifting with you, and drape them around Satoru’s waist. His desk creaks beneath you at the distribution of weight. “Yeah, yeah. What I mean to say is that your husbandly duties are calling to you, not your obligations as oyabun.”

Satoru’s blue eyes search yours and he tilts his head, adorably puppy-like in a manner that suggests he’s more innocent than his ruthless reputation paints him to be. Though he’s the epitome of laxness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his expectancy that’d make lesser men quiver and confess to their every sin.

You stare right back at him. “I don’t have any panties on,” you explain simply.

If Satoru was aroused before, he’s now hornier than a pent-up nun. He hardens so fast that it makes him dizzy. “So you’re on that type of timing, got it,” he notes through his suddenly dry mouth as if his brain chemistry isn’t actively warping with this new information.

He wets his lips. His attention darts to the door. “Ijichi locked it,” you confirm before he can ask his question.

Good. Now he can focus on what matters: no panties. No panties. No panties. Fuck.

"Well, as your husband, it's my duty to attend to your every need and desire. And right now, it seems one of those needs is to have me buried deep inside your pretty kitty,” he coos, voice dripping something sinful. “But wowww, I never thought I’d see my stern ‘business over pleasure’ sweet pie pulling this kind of stunt. Seducing me so shamelessly in my own office, where anyone could walk in and catch us in a compromising position... for shame! What would people say if they knew you were on a mission to tempt your poor, innocent husband into sin?”

You sigh, long-suffering.

Suddenly curious to see if you’re hiding another surprise elsewhere, one hand leaves your knee and drifts up to the undone buttons of your blouse, popping another one open to expose more of your soft skin. Satoru bites his lip as his eyes snag on the lace of your bra. A shame that you’re not bra-less, but he’s fine with seeing you wear half of the set he commissioned for you from a designer in France that you like. He’s more than okay with this, actually.

You make no move to scold him or cover yourself up— you just amusedly stay fixed on him, your eyes gaining that telltale gleam when you’ve got him all tied up in knots. He’s walked into a honeytrap, hasn’t he?

Despite the clear desire emanating from him, there's a tenderness to his touch, a reverence for your body as the hand on your knee skirts up. He slides it higher up your thigh until the hem of your thigh-high gives way to skin, disappearing beneath your tight skirt to ascertain your bold claim. When Satoru’s knuckles graze your bare folds, which are slowly slickening, he whines as if he’s the one being touched. “Fuck, princess... you're actually not wearing anything at all, huh?” He groans softly, half surprised and half not that you were telling the truth.

“Duh,” you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you, though. Did you not see the—“

“The little treat that the panty fairy snuck into my pocket?” Now understanding, Satoru’s grin grows. Reverent… and, well, very perverted. “Sure did. I sniffed them, too.”

Your face contorts as if you don’t know what part to address first before you give up.

“But sometimes thiiis guy.” His eyes pointedly roll upwards in the direction of his forehead, then down at the obvious bulge in his pants. “Likes to take the backseat and let this big guy do all of the thinking. Can you blame me for being a little off my game today?”

“I can, actually. Do better. Even Yuuji gets more work done than you do,” you reply plainly.

Which says a lot. Yuuji’s one of the other secretaries here, though giving him that title feels… a little generous. You and Satoru see him regularly since Choso feels more comfortable going out and doing his job when Yuuji’s safe at headquarters. The teenager comes scampering into the building every day after school and Satoru pays him to do the class work that his teachers send him off with, play on his Nintendo Switch, and sometimes organize the racks of boxed files or make phone calls.

“Heyyy!”

Your cool breaks and you laugh. “You’re just easy to get to. That’s okay, though. It makes things more fun for me,” you tease in a slight singsongy lilt. You turn your head to worry his earlobe between your teeth, nipping then sucking for good measure before releasing it with an audible pop.

Breathing starting to pick up, he drops his face into the crook of your neck and drowns himself in the cocktail of the spritz of that floral perfume you favor and your natural scent. All the while, he blindly traces your slit. Up and down, entrance, clit, entrance, clit.

You cup your husband’s nape as Satoru nuzzles into your neck more urgently, feeling him shiver against you as your palm rasps over the short prickly hairs of his undercut, petting him. Your legs part a bit, skirt inching up as you rut your cunt against Satoru’s exploratory fingers and smear your wetness on him. Still, he doesn’t push in yet.

You’d think he’s teasing you if not for the obvious signs that he’s stalling. Either waiting for your permission or waiting for the best time to ask for it.

How well-trained.

"You make it sound like a bad thing, sugar. Like being under your thumb is a weakness and not a treat," Satoru says abruptly. "I prefer to think of it as... being very, very stupidly in love with my wife. I’m so far gone for you that I’d do anything that you asked of me.”

It’s so easy for him to say such devastating things from the heart without batting an eye; he’s as earnest as a child. It fells you day by day.

His voice is soft despite his low, raspy cadence, brilliant blue eyes bright with his eagerness to serve. At times, it’s almost hard to reconcile this man, the one who’s eating out of the palm of your hand, his nonexistent tail wagging the entire time, with one of the most feared oyabuns in Japan who could probably level half of Tokyo in an hour.

But you’re not forgetting his acts of what he calls ‘devotion’ any time soon. It’s rare that you walk in on him showing the full spread of his true colors, but there’s multiple incidents that stick out like a sore thumb. The one that clings to you like a particularly persistent burr occurred months before you even started dating.

It had been a fairly normal day, all things considered. Most of the men of the Gojo-gumi were preparing to intercept one of Ryomen’s ploys, banding together like sharks after blood in the main common room at headquarters. You remember frowning as you peered at each passing individual that was armed to the nines, searching for their leader so that you could deliver important documents before he could go gallivanting off to get his hands dirty, but Satoru was nowhere to be found.

You went to drop off the manila folder to his office but paused when you heard voices through the cracked door of his office. Sighing, you squatted to slip it under his door and leave, but Satoru’s voice in particular made your blood run cold and your joints lock up before you could lower yourself. “I should cut your balls off and feed them to you, you piece of shit,” he muttered with a scoff.

Apparently, one of his men, Hiro, had been coveting after you. His little work crush was fairly innocent to everyone who caught wind of it, but Satoru? He was the only one who dug into it and discovered Hiro’s… unsavory way of going about privately expressing his affections for you.

Unable to resist, you peeked through the crack right as Satoru unceremoniously tossed Hiro to the floor in front of Nanami and Choso, both of them passively watching. The easy, relaxed posture of Satoru’s lean frame hardened, his broad shoulders squaring as he stared down at the man’s mask of fear. His light blue eyes, typically vibrant and full of mirth, held a cold, calculating glint, like fake flakes fluttering around a snow globe.

You couldn’t watch much of what followed. You turned away when Satoru drew a wickedly sharp dagger from the strap around his thigh and stabbed it straight through the thickness of Hiro’s leg without so much as a warning. His underling’s screams echoed through the room as Satoru slowly, methodically twisted the blade, tearing through flesh and sinew. Blood pooled around the wound and spilled down the sides of his leg, staining the polished floor a deep, sticky red. Numbed to the violence, Nanami bent down at Satoru’s gesture and snatched Hiro’s phone from his pocket as he sobbed and sobbed, decisively crushing it and any evidence it contained beneath his shoe.

“Miss secretaaary, that you?” Satoru’s voice startled you for a second time that day. You forced your attention back to the cracked door, gaze locking onto Satoru’s pleasant, cheery smile that he gave you as if he wasn’t brutally torturing a man that he was planning to soon kill in cold blood. “Oh, good, it is. You can leave those documents on my desk.”

And that was that.

Satoru’s not exactly a good man. He’s done terrible things, will do worse still. This is a man that’s killed for you countless times and would do it again in a heartbeat. But if you asked him to give it up, he’d walk away from the Gojo-gumi and Japan as a whole without a word. He’d start fresh, wash himself of his sins, and build himself anew just for you. Not that you’d ever ask him to do that, but just knowing that you could and that he’d follow through… you’ve never felt so powerful, so needed in your entire life.

Satoru truly loves you.

“You know, I’ve heard that it’s good to air your privates out from time to time. For circulation and all that jazz.” The Satoru of the present interrupts. The tip of his finger curls, swiping up some of your wetness that spills from your entrance. “Clearly, though, you just wanna fuck nasty.”

You snort out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I need you or whatever,” you dismiss him. As if you don’t need this man to nut in you, like, yesterday.

You grab his wrist, guiding him to fully probe at you instead of skirting around the core of you like he has been for the last few minutes. Quick to take you up on the offer, he parts your folds.

Satoru’s pointer finger sinks into you knuckle-deep, hot and fast, and you moan. It takes him a moment to realize why the slide is so easy, and when he does, he whips his head up, suddenly wild and straining at his leash.

“Sweets,” he groans with barely concealed awe. “When did you do this, huh?” He crooks, searching, and you arch when the roughened pad of his trigger finger pets at your walls, so close to where you want him. Tightening around him does nothing to disguise how comfortably loose you are from prepping yourself earlier. Then, a little giggly, a little manic, “Did all those spreadsheets on your desk get you hot and bothered?”

“Mhm, you know I just lo-love payroll,” you hiss when he works another stupidly long finger into you, then a third, his wedding band gleaming on it, and finally massages your g-spot. Your nails flex against his nape. “Had a quick finger blast 1000 session in the staff bathroom.”

“Hot,” he says with feeling. While prying for the sordid details is tempting, there’s more important matters at hand. Like rearranging your guts on his desk to satiate yours and his neediness while you chant ‘good boy good boy good puppy’ before someone inevitably comes knocking to bother him.

Humming a jaunty tune, Satoru pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt, feeling you grow wetter and hotter with each slow lazy thrust. He takes his time, relishing the way your velvety walls flutter around the intrusion of his digits every time he perfectly hits his mark.

Artistically draped atop his desk, you’re beautifully flushed and your eyes are glazed over, lashes fluttering when they threaten to roll back. He can see the fondness etched into your expression, the love, even as you examine him with that imperious tilt to your chin. Your face says what you don’t speak aloud: 'I know I have you wrapped around my little finger, and I'm not afraid to use that to my advantage.’

He’s no art fiend, but he’d go scuba diving in an instant to find the missing head of the Winged Victory of Samothrace and gorilla glue the two parts back together to prove that you’re art in the flesh, a statue of a goddess made with blood, sweat, tears, and passion come to life.

There’s very little space between you. Your breaths intermingle. Pointedly, he glances down at your lips, and you do the same to him.

“C’mere,” he beckons, but you’re already hauling him in with the hand on the back of his neck.

You slot their mouths together with a low, happy noise akin to a purr. He kisses back eagerly, desperately, positively starved for your affection that he’s been yearning for all day. Satoru’s lips part with a shuddery sigh and he pushes his tongue past your pillowy lips to stroke along yours, tasting the sweetness of your mouth; a dash of mocha overridden by those matcha chocolates that he got you hooked on.

You squeeze tighter around his waist, milking a wounded noise from him. Gentle yet firm, you trap his tongue between your teeth, scraping over it and coaxing out the reaction you want. He predictably wedges himself closer and you drag your nylon-clad thigh over the bulge at the crotch of his pants, up and down.

The desk creaks beneath you again as Satoru leans into it and shamelessly dry humps your leg with obvious flexes of his hips. You’re no better, though, rutting into the cup of his palm and squirming in delight every time those delicious callouses of his chafe against your aching clit.

“Feeling good?” He mumbles into you. You nod, tilting your head and realigning your lips, making their kiss that much more heated. His ministrations briefly make your mouth uselessly part against his, too wrapped up in pleasure to function.

Satoru’s the first to break away. He hikes your skirt up, revealing more of your plushy legs clad in those sinful thigh-highs until he finallyyyy lays eyes on the prize. He cups your mound then pulls his palm away, just to watch how thin translucent strings chase after him before snapping and splattering on your inner thighs.

He lifts his hand and looks you dead in the eye, warming some of your gathered wetness between his forefinger and middle before sucking them clean. Ravenous. You know what he wants.

“Can I, y’know, take a proper look at your pussy up close?” Satoru asks, sly but not sly. “I wouldn’t be a good hubby if I didn’t make sure that my girl properly got herself nice and ready for m—“

“Satoru? Get on your knees.”

You have to give it to him, the man moves fast as fuck when given an order. Satoru swiftly drops down, making you worry for his knees that hit the rug hard enough that the wood below it audibly thunks.

And he stares. In an unabashedly perverted manner, at that.

“Let’s see this pretty pussy,” is all he mumbles, chewing his lips and fastening his thumbs into the skin around your folds, tugging you open with a filthy squelch of wet skin peeling away from wet skin. Spreading you wide enough that you prickle with pins and needles— or maybe that’s just because of his unnerving stare.

Your glistening cunt is swollen and enticingly slick with need. The sight of your pussy lips unfurling before him and your clit peeking out from beneath its hood has his mouth watering. Satoru’s cock jumps in his pants like he’s just had a live wire threaded into the slit of his cockhead, desperate to bury inside of you, balls deep.

He looks up at you then. His cerulean eyes gleam with a borderline manic light, wolfish in his intensity. “What next? Want me to heel? Chase my tail? Roll over?” He drawls, cocking his head. He’s more than ready to debase himself in any way you want just to get his back scratched.

You shrug, “I want whatever you want.”

Greed is a sin or whatever, he thinks dimly. But he can't bring himself to care. His fingers dance up and hook under the crook of your right knee, placing it on his shoulder. “Then lemme eat my meal.”

You hate that that makes you shudder. It also makes you wanna shut him up.

“Who are you asking?” You check, cupping your ear. “Try again; you know better, baby.”

The lilt you take on to simultaneously coax and rebuke him only serves to turn him on more, making his poor neglected cock press insistently against his zipper. Satoru knows that look in your eyes. It's the same one you give him when he's been particularly foolish— the ‘bouquet(s) incident’ instantly comes to mind— or when you want something from him. In this case, it's clear that his wife wants him to be good.

His cheeks flush a soft pink, his blue eyes growing hazier with lust, not embarrassment. You’d think that he’d rally against the condescension that coats your words like condensation pearling on a windowpane, but not an inch of his pride bristles beneath your firm hand. Not when he’d strip himself down to the marrow and hand all of himself to you on a silver platter. His pleasure, his pain, his heart and soul… it’s all yours for the taking.

“Mommy,” he moans as if the word itself does more for him than it does for you. And it probably does. “My sexy, gorgeous, take-no-shit-from-anyone, especially her husband, mommy. Can I taste you, please?”

You smile, pleased. Then, finally, because he’s been waiting so patiently, “Go ahead.”

Shit, you don’t gotta tell him twice.

Like a scenthound tracking a trail, Satoru instantly shoves his way between your legs and buries his face in your crotch, gulping down lungfuls of your scent with the desperation of an addict and making you huff out a shaky laugh. The heat radiating from you is staggering.

"You smell like heaven, holy fuck. Good enough to eat. Lucky for you, I’m starving,” he borderline complains. It’s a complete juxtaposition to how he purrs those muffled words into your skin. You shudder at the vibrations.

“That was corny as—“

Satoru was as menacing when it came to pleasuring you as he was as oyabun. There’s no shooting straight and simple with him; he’s reckless, skateboarding on the knife’s edge for the hell of it. He goes from carelessly smothering himself into you, eyes teetering back in their sockets as if drunk with each pass of your slick across his chin, lips, cheeks, to turning his head and dragging messy kisses into the crease between your hip and leg. His saliva and your wetness ooze down your inner thigh, akin to a ripe May mango being carved open and spilt on hot concrete.

But if he’s dangerous, then you’re terrifying.

Pain shears razor-sharp through his scalp. You snag your fingers into his hair, guiding and tethering at the same time, forcing him to stare into the mess they’ve both made of you. He whines, chomping at the bit for it.

“That’s not what I gave you permission to do. Down, boy.” You click your tongue. His teeth click together with how fast he shuts his trap. “I’m beginning to think that you can’t take orders after all. What a shame,” you sigh, the timbre of your voice gentle but your words condescending.

Though he gives you a guilty pout, his cock instantly spurts precum due to the way you’re speaking to him, further soiling his boxers. A teensy part of him wants to act out, harmlessly push against you until you round on him with the intensity of a thousand suns so that you’ll break him over your knee. Playing the part of the petulant brat is fun sometimes. However, his knee-jerk reaction to prove you wrong and take you up on your silent challenge that you’ve presented him with wins out.

Satoru can be a good boy without a doubt.

Sure, he was never the type to care about what other people thought of him, just as long as everyone knows that he’s the reigning king of the yakuza scene. That he’s the richest, the handsomest, everything in that vein.

But the idea of showing you how he could lend his ear to you and listen well, how he was only good for you, that he was only yours to kiss and love and fuck, was enough to drive him borderline crazy.

With his extremely selective hearing and all that corded muscle packed beneath his baby soft skin, you both know damn well that he could steer this situation however he pleased if he wanted to. Yet he goes pliant in your grip, watching, waiting, licking hungrily at his pronounced canines. A predator turned tame as he awaits your order.

It makes you feel drunkenly valorous.

You tilt his head up, angling him so, as if reminding yourself that you’re holding genuine gold and not any of that counterfeit bullshit. His blue eyes are half-mast and dreamy when you peer into them, pupils blown wide. He’s sitting back on his heels with a casual ease, too far away to kiss but not far enough that you can’t smell the intoxicating scent of him, a heady mix of vanilla and cinnamon and sandalwood.

This beautiful, arrogant, infuriating nutcase of a man. Seeing him like this makes your heart do flips. You live for moments like these, when he can let go and just be yours completely. The most feared man in Japan, brought to his knees by the woman he loves.

You tap your chin. “Didn’t your parents teach you that it’s improper to play with your food?”

His retort comes quick. “I think they cared more about making sure I could properly unload, load, and shoot a gun in less than ten seconds. And juggle multiple businesses at once. All of which I excel at, by the way.”

“Smart ass,” you scoff, but the words lack their usual bite. You sound affectionate.

“Mm, but you love my mouth.” Satoru, lecherous, wiggles his eyebrows. You can’t deny that.

“What was it that Suguru told me ages ago?” Satoru wonders aloud, glancing up at the ceiling as if it’ll come to him in a show of divine light. You’re incredibly unimpressed and almost want to shove him face first into you and do all the work yourself, but you wait. “‘Thanks should be given thricefold?’ That’s all I’m doing.”

He replants his face into your inner thigh, wetting the lacy top of your thigh-high with one indulgent lick, then latches onto your plump thigh and sucks and bites with a vengeance. The peachy pink of his shapely lips bleeds forth and mixes with your skin, producing the same color beneath his teeth. Once the hickey is dark enough for his standards and you’re writhing a little, he mumbles a faint ‘thank you’ and switches to your other leg, mauling your skin with obnoxiously loud slurps, leaving a second mark and professing his thanks again.

Then his mouth finally makes contact with your cunt and you’re a goner.

This is the same man that got you a little wet on their first date, you remind yourself. You remember sitting across from him, taking subtle deep breaths as if the very air in your lungs would break every piece of fine china in the five star Michelin restaurant that Satoru dragged you to, and stiffly cutting your wagyu steak.

Satoru knocked back the rest of his non-alcoholic drink like it was a shot, ice clinking against his lips, then sucked the single cherry between them. Grinning a little at you, he chewed into the cherry with crisp snaps of his teeth until only the stem remained. And the show-off kept his mouth open so that you could watch him tie the teeny tiny stem into a neat knot using only his tongue and the support of his teeth.

It’s safe to say that he’s really, really talented with his tongue.

He drags deep, open-mouthed kisses up and down your slit, sloppily making out with your cunt. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and firmly licks into you, and when he moans like a whore into your quivering pussy at the first taste of real, genuine ambrosia, the vibrations take root in your nerves and shake them fiercely. You keen as if you’ve been socked in the stomach, hands digging harder into his fluffy white hair and making him moan again.

“Oh, shit, yesyesyes, good boy,” you pant at the very sudden and very enjoyable onslaught.

From what you’ve learned, the best way to train a puppy is through positive reinforcement, patience, and rewarding good behavior. It works wonders.

Satoru's hand crawls to the underside of your left thigh and he tosses that one over his broad shoulders too, settling in to eat you out with single-minded focus. He feasts on you like a man starved, gathering the wetness that drips from your core, dipping inside your entrance that doesn’t resist him even a little bit to taste you more fully and nuzzling his nose against your clit, spurred on by the praises you keep singing. Three laps and he’s a swimmer. The cocktail of his saliva and your slick coats his chin and pools on the wood beneath your ass.

You dig the points of your stilettos just above his shoulder blades. Using your newfound stirrups and gripping the reins of his hair, you vigorously grind yourself against his face to try and unravel the knot in your stomach. Satoru loves when you get bossy like this, wrangling him so that you can take what you want. It’s so fucking hot.

“That’s what good pussy sounds like,” he groans, muffled by your skin, even though he can barely hear the lewd squelches of your responsive body himself, the wet clicks of his suckling. Your trembling thighs are firmly locked around his head— it wouldn’t be so bad to suffocate here. You squeeze harder, squishing his ears further against his head, as if telling him to shut up and stop quoting Vines of all things while buried in his favorite deep-dish.

He doesn’t stop running his mouth, though. “Tastes so good, f-fuck, bet you feel good too with how soaked you are. Keep moving your hips just like that, mommy, use me— just like that, yeaaah,” is breathed nose-deep into your folds that soaks every word up like a sponge. “Drag that pretty cunt all over me.”

His lips are lovely and warm, diligent in his ministrations. Choppy exhales ghost across your skin and make you flinch. He pulls back a little to lave over your clit, tasting the sweet, salty wetness that coats it, and he sinks into the bliss and into you. He gorges himself on the sweetness of your juices, swallowing it down and letting it trickle down his throat.

Satoru looks up at you, eyes frantic with adoration like he’s pleased to be doing this, just eating you out without any sort of gain for himself. There’s been countless times where Satoru’s pinned you down and munched for hours, languorous in his effort to coax noises and reactions from you. He’s done it in a changing room, during their movie marathons, on his private jet to one of their vacation homes, fresh from beating people black and blue, when you were sleeping in their cozy king-sized bed back at the Gojo estate… the list goes on. Earning gratification via your pleasure is enough for him.

Each stroke through your weeping slit elicits an approving moan or whimper from the beauty perched atop his desk, growing higher in pitch the closer you get to the edge. Your husband sounds just as wrecked, mewling babbled nonsense into you, ferally plunging his tongue in and out of your silken depths that he’d kill to stay swaddled in forever.

You screw yourself down onto him with equal fervor, your body heaving with the force of your pleasure, twisting and writhing and making the desk creak. Perhaps you’re being a bit too punishing with your pace and not letting him up for air, but Satoru takes it all with grace, not a single whimper of protest slipping past your hips that slap against his face.

"Cum for me, angel," he pathetically begs, his thumb seeking out your clit to trace circles against it. His tongue continues its relentless assault, determined to push you over the edge and into blissful oblivion. "Let me feel you. Want my baby to make a mess of me, c’mon.”

When it becomes too much, the fervent sparks licking down the sparkler too fast, you lightly bat his head away. Satoru goes quickly and obediently. Your hips itch to chase him. “Open, puppy,” you bite out.

His mouth falls open, whiny pants drooling down his pretty pink tongue. That’s all it takes to do you in. With his thumb rolling over your swollen rosebud and his eagerness on full display, you let the intensity of your orgasm sweep you away and you keen as you squirt all over his face.

Viscous fluid splashes on his tongue and he moans, looking utterly out of it as he watches you find your release. Slick coats his cheeks, chin, and lips in a glistening sheen and he licks up what he can. Satoru scrambles forward for more of it even as you try to physically hold him at bay with the weak hand fixed in his wavy strands.

“Please!” He basically cries. You’re a sucker for good manners. You’d try harder to keep him away if you actually didn’t want him all over you, so he takes your unspoken permission that comes in the form of a furrowed brow, as if you’re scolding yourself for giving in, and he runs with it.

He practically collapses into you. He seals his mouth back over your gushing pussy, fingers abandoning your clit in favor of clawing at the nylon smoothed over your thighs. Groaning, your shaking legs relax around his head and slip off his shoulders, splayed open for him to lick his plate clean. Satoru does just that, a little clumsy in his haste but no less passionate.

He keeps going until your erratic twitches turn into steady shudders, your nonstop moans quieting down, until his jaw aches from how hungrily he threw himself into the task. He doesn’t even realize that he’s palming himself through his slacks until his hips sway forward and he pulsates in his grip.

Satoru reluctantly draws back as if it physically pains him to not be buried beneath your skin when your high heel lightly kicks at his flank, too overstimulated to allow him to keep going. His gaze drags over you, recommitting every fine detail to memory; trembling lips punctured by teeth marks, your expression dreamy, body curled halfway over him and ripe for the taking. He wants to remember you like this, wants to burn this image into his brain so that he can call it up when the long nights stretch before him and the weight of his duties threaten to crush him.

“You’re so pretty, mommy. My pretty baby,” he whispers.

He meets your eyes that burn into him. He can only imagine what he looks like. Pink from the tips of his ears down to his neck, face messily painted over with your slick, white hair fluffed up and a little frizzy from the sweat at his hairline. A pussydrunk mess.

You almost want to press your high heel to his chest, kick him to the floor, and then ride him until he cries. The lazier half of you wants to sit back and take the reins from below.

“Let’s get those pants of yours off, baby,” you gently coo.

Satoru exhales sharply and fumbles with his belt. The leather strap slips through the buckle with a sharp clink and he tosses it to the floor. His boxers drag along his erection almost painfully as he shoves them and his slacks down to bunch around his shapely thighs.

Flushed and dripping, his cock draws up now that it’s free of the confines and slaps against his abdomen, staining his pristine white button up with the copious amounts of precum that slicks it. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve been convinced that he already blew his load in his pants. You sit up straighter to get a better look, looking as drunk as he feels.

“Please let me fuck you, mommy... I need it so bad. Need to make you feel good,” he pleads, blue eyes nearly rolling up to the light fixtures on the office ceiling as he finally fists his weepy cock. It feels so good that it hurts.

He was never apologetic about his spoiled golden child tendencies when it comes to you, even borderline proud of acting so shameless about it at times.

Still, Satoru needs a certain level of coaxing in order to be truly vulnerable. His obedience has always been fickle— difficult to coax out of him when his head is on straight, his thoughts moving too fast for him to melt like putty beneath you that easy. Pride is a wretched, untamable thing. An unstoppable force and an immovable object.

Yet he’s on his knees begging to get inside of you.

“Get up,” you breathe.

“Huh?” He mumbles stupidly, still fixed on you.

Your laugh is devastatingly fond. “Are we fucking or what?” You shove your pencil skirt up to your midsection.

Satoru gets a little distracted by the sight of your mussed up thigh highs, the tops of them soaked through, the splotchy hickeys dotting both of your legs, and your messy folds. His thumb stutters over his swollen cockhead.

“You don’t wanna leave mommy waiting, do you? Come get your dick wet.”

The second you finish speaking, he’s on you, flying up onto his feet and ignoring the smarting pain in his knees. He reaches past you and wildly sweeps at his desk, sending papers and pens to the floor. In the next instant, his hands are on the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs up and out to get a good look at your bare ass and glistening cunt.

While admiring the view, he risks his precious left hand by letting it come down to deliver a sharp smack to your ass. When you don’t bite his head off, he does it again, because damn, that’s a lot of movement back there. Your asscheek flares red like a warning. He’s of the opinion that you should get ‘Ms. Nasty’ tatted there, but you always shoot down the idea.

Fingers wrench at your hips to haul you forward, making you choke on air. Sweaty palms scramble for purchase on the smooth oak, stretching back behind you and hooking onto the edge of the desk at the last minute before he can send both of you falling to the floor in a heap.

“Gentle,” you scold. The flare of his nostrils gives away his uncharacteristic disappointment with himself, which you think is a little unfair to himself. He really has been so well behaved; one mishap is nothing. Humming soothingly, you pet at his cheek and his tension releases like a deflated balloon.

You shimmy a little, rubbing your velvety warmth all over his cock that he notches at your entrance. "Good boy," you purr, hooking your legs around his waist and crossing your ankles at the small of his back, tying them together with a cute little bow. "Such an obedient little puppy, following mommy's every command.”

Satoru groans, guttural and wet, and surges forward to connect their lips. The tangy taste of your own slick greets you, but you don’t mind, drinking down every pornographic whimper that drips from his mouth.

“Put it in,” you mumble between drawn out kisses. You rub your thumb just behind one of his ears and a pleased hum rumbles through his chest, which rises and falls rapidly as anticipation coils tightly in his gut. You shove his suit jacket off of his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, then loosen Satoru’s tie enough that you can get your fingers on the first button at his collar and work your way down. You leave his shirt hanging from his shoulders but you roll his sleeves up.

Arms that have snapped countless necks flex as Satoru plants his hands on the desk on either side of your hips, caging you in. You drag your hands up and down them, squeezing at the muscle of his biceps beneath his skin, shamelessly feeling up your husband. His cocky smirk is like a brand against your lips.

One, two, three more kisses are exchanged before he pulls back with a wet pop and you can finally peel your eyes open.

Lean muscle and pale scarred skin greets you, peeking from behind the curtain of his undone shirt. Not that you can see it from here, but you can practically picture the massive tattoo of a six-eyed, six-winged angel that he has etched into his back. There’s that jagged scar of his that always makes you wince in sympathy, the line of it running from one shoulder to his opposite hip that an assassin gave him when he was in high school. A smattering of fine white hairs races down his navel to the denser patch of hair curling around his cock. God, you wanna rub yourself all over him like a cat in heat— especially on those washboard abs of his.

With a deep breath, he begins pushing in, working just the tip in past the ring of your cunt. Instantly, Satoru stutters over a moan as if near tears.

Your velvety hole drenches Satoru’s cock with your syrupy slick and clamps down mercilessly as if trying to trap him inside. He shudders, a full-body tremor that starts at the top of his head and travels down the length of his body. Satoru has to grit his teeth to keep from emptying his balls right then and there like a teenager getting his first taste of pussy.

He’s genuinely delirious. His head is dizzy, stupid, because his wife is obscenely fucking tight despite everything and so damn warm. “My toes are throwing up gang signs,” Satoru coughs out as they curl in his Italian leather shoes and you bust out laughing. As responsive as ever, your cunt tries to wring his dick like a towel and he chokes.

You’re actually gonna be the death of him. Here he lies, Gojo Satoru, the deadly oyabun of the Gojo-gumi and the pride of the Gojo clan, dead via sex. May he forever rest in peace.

You’re not faring much better, though. Your previous orgasm left you raw and sensitive, so you’re fighting against the urge to run from his cock and the pleasure that crashes over you each time he throbs inside of you. “And I’m sending off Morse code signals,” you breathlessly joke. It’s a miracle that you’re able to manage a coherent sentence.

“Uh huh, I can tell.” Satoru licks his lips, staring down at where he guides another inch into you, then another, making you slap the desk to try and cope with the way he’s spreading you open. You feel full to the brim and he’s not even halfway there. “Your tight little cunt’s telling me that she can’t handle my cock.”

He needs his mouth washed out with soap. You have to hold back another peal of laughter.

Satoru brokenly whimpers, a sound that’s equal parts pleasure and pain, when you yank at his designer silk tie like a leash without warning. The expensive fabric pulls taut against his throat. Your next tug sends him stumbling forward, hips slapping against the plumpness of your ass with a heavy smack that echoes through his spacious office, forcing him to sink into your welcoming heat up to the hilt. The desk creaks, the wood protesting the rough treatment. Both of you moan when his cockhead smushes against your g-spot and your brain momentarily goes blank.

“You sure it’s not the other way around?” You try for a smirk and it wobbles around the edges.

“Hmph.” Satoru manages to pout at you, pursing his lips. He even rolls his eyes. This diva.

Attempting to dig up the dregs of your sanity and cling to it is hard. You’re one wrong step away from losing your cool, the sheer pressure and pleasure of being practically split in two overwhelming you. It's too much, too intense, and yet you can't stop from leaning into it nor stop the excessive amounts of slick pooling around him and dribbling onto the desk in a steady rhythm, spelling out your arousal. All you know is that you want more— more of Satoru and this perfect, mind-numbing ecstasy.

The man of the hour goes willingly as you wrap more of his tie around your fingers and reel him impossibly closer. He drops his weak head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck as he grinds his hips in tight circles that stir up your insides, practically humping your ass like a rutting canine. He only stops when you let loose an unsteady peep.

His breath shakes out of him in short, sharp gusts, lost in the sensation of being buried inside of you. "You feel so fucking good, sugar," Satoru slurs his words a little, nipping at the tendons in your neck that flex when you swallow before soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. He inhales the lip-smacking scent of your natural scent and your perfume. "So wet and perfect. Can't get enough of this sweet cunt."

He kisses his way down your neck and to your collarbone as you both adjust to being so intimately joined, reveling in how you loll your head back to give him more skin to work with. He spies down your shirt that gapes open a little, showing where your necklace is trapped between your heaving breasts, and gets an idea.

The muscles in his arms bunch up right before Satoru rips at the front of your blouse, figuring he’ll buy you a prettier and more expensive one later. He doesn't care. All he cares about is getting his hands on your tits, plain and simple.

You can only watch in mild horror as buttons pop off and fly everywhere (one nearly takes out his eye), ping ping pinging off the walls and the floor, a shower of scattered stars. One goes skittering beneath his office door. Another bounces so hard off of a tiny lamp across the room that it goes careening off of the side table and the lightbulb smashes into bits on the floor.

Since everything’s already going to shit, he doesn’t bother with finesse when it comes to the front of your now decimated, but blessedly open, shirt. He simply yanks the fabric down your arms until it pools around your elbows.

“What the hell, Satoru!” You scold him. The subtle hitch of your hips and your dilated pupils betray you. “I swear to god, if you don’t learn the art of subtlety and figure out how to stay quiet, I’ll—“

“Relax, my men’ll probably think it was hail or something,” he says flippantly.

Your glare is withering. Shit, he needs to score brownie points all over again.

He nips at the soft upper curves of your breasts, burying his face between them as far as he can with the restriction of your bra holding him back, and innocently blinks up at you, trying to look as sweet as pie. “Wait, I’m sorry for interrupting you. Go on, wrap it up. Tell me how you’d shut me up, yeah? Would it hurt? I wanna know all the dirty deets,” Satoru simpers.

“Hit dogs holler.”

Ooooooh.

“Fuck, fuck, stop right there, I nearly came,” Satoru moans dramatically.

Your low, aggrieved noise turns into a wobbly inhale when he leans down to mouth at the swell of your cleavage, tongue tracing the edge of a cup before he pulls that down too.

Out pops your titty. His dick nearly busts inside of you as if saying hi. He quickly yanks down the other cup to let both of your breasts fully spill free, both of them begging to be worshipped. “There’s my girls,” he croons.

Your nipples quickly harden now that they’re exposed to the cool air chugging through the vents. There’s very few things better than anointing every inch of your pretty tits with kisses and licks and nips, which he does happily. He squishes them together to enthusiastically motorboat them (he misses the way your eye twitches), slaps your left tit to watch it jiggle and spits on the right one, watching the strand of saliva slip down the curve of your body. Satoru chases it down and sucks your nipple into his mouth. Being winded by all this stimulation does nothing to stop you from eagerly arching into him.

“Having fun?” You ask dryly. Teeth roll your nipple around, gently biting into it and eliciting a weak spasm from you. Your vision threatens to cross when that makes your body swallow his cock in further.

He pulls back, breaking the seal of his lips on your breast with a lewd pop. Just to ensure he’s covered all his bases, he openly sniffs your chest. You grimace at him. “Mmmmm. Yup. Can I move now, mommy?”

You nod.

“Good.”

You’re promptly fully laid down atop the desk. Before you can even blink, he’s screwing his shoes into the foothold of the carpet beneath him, gripping at your hips, and he plasters half of the weight of his upper half on you without crushing you.

Hips draw back with the tautness of a bowstring, a deadly instrument of war. The tension is suspended when he slides the thickness of him almost fully out, your folds just barely clinging to the underside of his throbbing cockhead.

He releases it. Driving forward, he hits his mark with military precision and you swear you can feel him up in your throat.

“Satoru,” you gasp, your voice nearly drowned out by the sticky squelch of his body reconnecting with yours. You’re leaking so much that your ass and thighs and his pelvis are finely glazed with slick, a concoction as thickly sweet as the one pasted over pastries.

“Shit.” The curse punches its way up his throat and out of the drooling seam of his mouth. Starting up a filthy grind drags more from his worn lungs. He rocks with the sensual finesse and purpose of someone seasoned in the realm of the red light district, dragging along each crevice of your heavenly warmth.

(Your stern, nonchalant facade nearly crumbled when you asked him if he’d ever been to the red light district back when you first started dating years ago, long before wedding bells rang. At the time, you kind of wanted to throw up even though it would’ve made sense and you would’ve understood. Why get jealous of what came before you? However, Satoru looked at you like you hit your head. “For Gojo-gumi business? Yeah, of course I have. I literally own a few clubs in those parts.”)

Every silky inch of you threatens to be his ruin. You’re pillow soft. Satoru has to screw his eyes shut in a futile attempt to handle it. “God, fuuuuck, baby. M’so drunk on this pretty body of yours, so addicted to you that it’s driving me crazy,” he warbles.

His fingertips dig into the soft pouch of your hips, keeping you in place so that you can release your death grip on the edge of his desk. “There you go, that’s— that’s perfect, right there. That’s a good boy. Mommy’s perfect boy,” you babble right back.

The way you praise him all sweet with your voice tuned to a higher pitch, your blessed hands finally petting over every inch of him that you can touch, slipping under his shirt to dance along the knobs of his spine, nails biting into the inked angel on his back, drawing your fingers back out to brush them along his face— it’s like a switch flips in his brain, reducing him to a needy mess incapable of doing nothing but pleasing you. You have him under lock and key.

The poor desk beneath you feebly creaks and wobbles, openly protesting their coupling. Drawers rattle in their slots from the force of Satoru's increasingly powerful thrusts, banging open in a chaotic cacophony and spilling papers and office supplies onto the floor. With a whine, Satoru changes the pace so that he’s battering his way in and out of your cunt to the rhythm of your pulsations around his cock, like a bass being plucked. Your joint moans grow borderline frantic.

“Open your eyes.” Satoru peels his eyelids apart to look at you as requested. He blinks back the spots lining his vision.

Your beauty is the kind that he’s sure artists would kill to put on paper. Sweat glistens enticingly on your trembling body, making it seem like you’ve been buffed in stardust, your abs fluttering every time his cockhead kisses that spongy spot deep inside you that drives you insane. The commanding pools of your eyes reel him in and it makes him melt.

“My gorgeous fucking wife,” he rasps. “Mine.”

The flat of Satoru’s palm smooths down to your stomach. He presses down right where there’s visible distension from the thickness of his cock embedding itself in you. Your lips fall apart in a lewd ‘o’ as the pressure adds to the hot sparks of pleasure flooding your body. “That’s how deep I am, huh, princess? It's allll in your tummy,” he crows breathlessly, trying to sound cocky but failing. Miserably.

Your nod is borderline frantic. “Keep fucking me just like this,” you insist, eyes rolling back, body jolting. And he obliges.

His face is dusted in a dark pink shade that L’Oréal would kill to make a lipstick out of and Satoru’s sporting a fucked-out, hopelessly giddy grin. Sweat marches down his temples, his snow-white hair falling damp and disheveled over his brow from his exertions. His once crisp button-up hangs off his broad shoulders, the tie swinging from around his pale neck.

Blue eyes hazy and wrecked, lust swims in the yawning voids of his irises as he stares down at where he’s joined with his wife. He watches, enraptured, as your stretched cunt greedily sucks him in, tight walls adhering to him and pumping out slick.

With the way Satoru’s sinking into you with heavy deep strokes, you matching him with frenzied ruts of your own hips, it’s like he’s trying to crawl inside of you and never come out. This intimate closeness is what he craves, needs. Satoru’s long white eyelashes, clumpy and wet, veil his vision with how low lidded his eyes are. He blinks at you between the slits with raw, open affection.

Using his hold on your hips, he yanks you onto his cock over and over and over again. His chin drops to bump against his sternum, groans hissing through the barrier of his teeth as you cry out and squeeze around him. “Sosososo fucking good, swear on everything that you’re perfect. Use me for your pleasure. Juuust like that, pretty, I got you,” Satoru spews like a two-bit whore on the street.

He’s too loud. Any illusion that you may have been quiet enough to have gone undetected to the rest of the building has been long shattered, but schematics, schematics.

Your thumb draws at the plump swell of Satoru’s bottom lip, pushing into the slight natural divot of them. His eyes follow the movement, transfixed, and he opens up without hesitation when you replace your thumb with two fingers.

Satisfied, you sink them into Satoru’s mouth. “Stay quiet and occupy yourself with mommy’s fingers.” He lets out a muffled moan in response as you push them deeper, tongue instinctively curling to try and force them right back out, but he forces himself to relax. He draws his tongue lazily over your fingers, tasting his own saliva mingling with the faint flavor of your lotion.

Creeping over his soft palate, you press at the back of his throat, coolly watching him gag around the invading force for a moment before sliding them back out, back in with a wet noise. Drool escapes the corners of his stretched lips in rivulets and dribbles down his chin and onto your sternum, making him look more like a sloppy, over-excited puppy than the feared yakuza boss he is.

The points of his canines shrieeeek over the gloss of your nails when you stretch your fingers apart in a ‘v’ and nestle them between his teeth. Yet he doesn’t bite down. He holds your fingers there like a soft mouthed retriever, docile and tender.

“My baby likes having any part of mommy in his mouth, yeah?” You manage.

He dutifully nods. You indulge him until your fingers prune, letting him suckle and gag himself on you to his heart’s content. There’s a constant stream of gargled moans and whimpers flowing from him, all of his words running together until it’s just meaningless sound. Only then do you pull them out, allowing more of his saliva to splatter on your sternum and ooze down between your bobbing breasts.

It’s a little hard to secure a hold with your wet fingers, but you manage to snag the edge of his tie and once again use it to dictate the pace of his thrusts, pushing and pulling him around the same way one does with a toy.

By now, any semblance of coherency has all but been forgotten and he’s just rutting into you, mindless, puppy-like; the relief of fixating on you and your pleasure a thrilling change of pace from the constant demands and expectations that come with his position. He may be looming over you as he fucks you like his life depends on it, but he’s under no illusion that he’s the one in control here.

They’re moving in sync, two waves cresting and crashing and ensuring each other’s ruin every time they come together. Teeth chafe against skin, promising, before sinking in. Fingers grapple for proper leverage, smoothly trimmed nails sinking into warm thighs and scalps and sweaty backs. Your ass claps against his thighs so hard that it burns, sopping pussy ravenous in its efforts to envelop him.

“Shit, m’not gonna last long,” you heave. Your legs tighten around his slutty ass waist and cling there for dear life when one of his flexing hands drops away from your hip, hurriedly dipping down between you and frantically rubbing his thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You’re so close, I can feel it, f-fuck, squeezing me so tight. C’mon. Make a mess of my cock, please cum for me again, mommy. I’m all yours, I’m all yours, I’m all yours,” Satoru deliriously whines.

You see red.

It’s not the kind of red that comes from anger. No, it’s the kind that comes from having your brain cells fry from the sheer mind-numbing euphoria that bursts through your body like a supernova. You’re pretty sure you wail as your slick rushes wetly from your plugged up cunt, but it’s drowned out by the roaring blood swelling in your ears.

You babble a litany of nonsense, half of it praise and half of it mindless chants for more, for less, you don’t know. Satoru more than happily fucks you through your orgasm, thumbing your clit, driving wildly into you and making you mercilessly convulse.

"That's it, angel," he groans, feeling his own release fast approaching. A gooey feeling curls in his stomach, hotly insistent, and his balls draw up. It’s riding him hard.

Bowing further over you, he bodily pries your shaking legs away from his waist and tosses them over his shoulders, folding you in half like a lawn chair and making one sleeve of his shirt slide further down his arm. The new angle allows him to push impossibly deeper and your moan scratches it’s way out of the column of your throat.

"I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna cum, sweets," he grits out through clenched teeth, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. But it's a losing battle, his body trembling and tensing as he teeters on the precipice of ecstasy. Only you, his anchor, ties him down to earth. "Tell me I can... tell me I can cum inside this perfect cunt."

You don’t respond, either too busy drowning in the remnants of your climax or just blatantly ignoring him, and he releases a big shuddery whimper when he realizes his misstep. “Please,” he tries.

Big blue eyes watery and wide, he looks like a ruined angel above you. “I’ll buy you that new phone you wanted, or take you on a trip anywhere in the world. I’ll do anything, say the word and I will. Just— just lemme cum. Please, mommy.” His saliva-slick lips drag down your chest and seal around one of your pearly nipples, suckling gently and trying to appeal further to you.

He sounds so broken, so desperate, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. It almost makes you wonder if you could cum again just from hearing him like this. You know you could make him beg for hours if you wanted to, even demand that he halt completely, but he hasn’t done anything to warrant being on the receiving end of your borderline sadistic streak.

(Though, knowing this 6’3 eager to please masochist on top of you, he’d rock with it.)

“Go ahead, baby,” you tell him. Nails claw at his back, likely shredding along the feathery lines of the tatted angel’s wings, further spurring him on.

“Ffffuck, thank you, thank you, I love you so much,” he chants around your swollen nipple, voice breaking on each word. He pulls his mouth away, spit clinging to his lower lip and connecting him to your tits that sway every time he rocks his twitching hips against yours.

Satoru greedily paws at you, squeezing your pillowy breasts, tracing your curves, pressing into your navel, anything he can get his hands on. He's like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet, determined to sample everything until he’s no longer allowed to.

Your neck strains as you thrash your head and he visibly wavers like a house about to fall. “What, can’t take it anymore?” Satoru pokes fun, but his question is really a ‘you good?’

“Shut up.” ‘I’m fine, I love you, go ahead.’

The perks of a married couple… telepathy.

Satoru drops his head, slams into you a little faster. The drawers continue rattling like teeth in a jar. Despite the euphoria clogging your pores and melting your brain down, you lift your hands, cupping his face, thumbs fanning outwards from the bridge of his nose and gently digging into the warming apples of his cheeks.

He leans into your touch, nuzzling into your palms as your thumbs brush away tears that he didn’t realize were escaping him. In his electric blue eyes that make your nerves sing with just a glance, you can see the depth of his devotion and trust in you, the way he's utterly handing himself over to you in this moment.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper. “Mommy’s perfect puppy.”

His vision goes black and his mouth opens. Then, suddenly, a searing and blinding white explodes across his retinas like a droplet of paint in a cup of water as he lets go.

His cock jerks, painting you over and over again with spurts of his spend. He pulses inside you with each aftershock that rumbles through his very bones, your pussy eagerly wringing around him in turn, milking him and siphoning his soul out via his cock, and forcing him to plug his load in deep.

The whole while, Satoru lets out watery whimpers, peppering your scrunched up face in sloppy uncoordinated puppy kisses and grinding into you. If you squint, you swear you can see a fluffy white tail wagging faster than the beat of a hummingbird’s wings behind him.

As he comes down and his movements peter off, stopping to mould his pelvis to the curve of your ass and leave himself buried in you, he nuzzles his way between your tits. Your perfectly soft, plush, pillowy tits. This is heaven. Needily, he rubs his cheek on the gentle swell of your right boob, drinking you and the smell of sex and sweat in.

Your hand sinks into his white hair, stroking the sweaty strands and trying to comb them into place between gentle scratches at his scalp to pacify him further. He practically purrs. In his wife’s presence, Satoru isn’t the almighty oyabun of the Gojo-gumi. Nuh uh, no sir. He’s completely and utterly your annoying husband that scrambles for your affection as if he’s a broke person on the street chasing pennies— and you always give it to him.

Together, the two of you slowly breathe and bask in the afterglow. Satoru, humming out sweet nothings, you, petting over him and probably tracking the fan above them that spins round and round. Minds blissfully blank.

(‘I need to buy this man a collar,’ you think to yourself. ‘And then peg the absolute dogshit out of him.’)

God, he’s so fortunate to be able to come home to you every damn day. He’s been counting his lucky stars since the day they met. A sudden burst of emotion swells in his chest, warm and golden like the summer sun.

“Love you, pretty,” he sighs dreamily. He catches your hand in his, planting a kiss to the back of it, then to your engagement ring and wedding band.

Your hands refix themselves on his cheeks with a gentle squeeze. “I love you too, baby,” you murmur, drawing him into a hopelessly sappy kiss. He pecks you one, two, three more times, chasing your lips, and you laugh softly.

Satoru jolts when skin cracks against skin in a sudden spank, a vicious throb skyrocketing beneath the skin of his ass. “Hey! Way to ruin the moment!” He complains with the most offended look he can muster. You smile with false serenity.

He’s sure it’ll bruise into a small reminder, one that will surely haunt him for days to come whenever he sits in his uncomfortably firm office chair and feels the bruise pulse beneath the pressure, drawing him back to this moment— Satoru breaking your back on his desk, waiting for you to give him permission to go ahead while he writhes, needy and wanting and begging with his body.

You pull back a little to scrutinize him. “That was for my shirt that you—“ he winces when you jab a finger at him, “destroyed.”

You yelp when he abruptly slots his arms beneath you and hoists you up off of the desk. Satoru drops down into his chair, sending them skidding back a few steps when it gets the wheels rolling, and cordons you off in his lap by squeezing you close, his stupid dick still buried in your guts. You widen your legs to properly straddle him then frown at the sensation of tacky drying cum, slick, and sweat between your bodies.

Behind Satoru, the sun peeks over his head and sets his white hair aglow. Towering buildings go on and on, stretching out before the empire of the Gojo-gumi.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and lets his touch linger a little before he snuggles you closer. In his arms, you’re utterly at ease. He’s equally at peace— always is, actually, in your presence. You quiet the incessant din of his life and fill it with you; your snark, your gentleness that you only ever show him, your authority that he leans on, your love and your dreams for you and him.

You’re intrinsically part of him now. Nothing can ever change that.

“I’ll buy you a new one, relaaaax. You can wear my shirt on your way out and I’ll just grab one of my spare suits for myself,” Satoru cajoles, puckering his lips and theatrically fluttering his lashes. You grumble something highly censorable. Trying to find a way to hush you up before you can let loose on him, he glances around the room, drinking in the pens, papers, the shattered lamp, random buttons, and half of their clothing littering the ground. A mess that he most definitely will not be cleaning up himself.

Then, once he finds it, he scoots them along a fraction in the chair and taps his foot against a certain paper. You look behind you. “Oh, good, I needed your signature on this. Now I can go forward with my plan,” Satoru says cheerily.

You blink, confused. You don’t hold any executive power in this building, not enough to warrant your signature. Nor have you signed anything of note in the last week, here at headquarters, at home, or otherwise.

Satoru taps his foot against it again. Dotted along the paper are dried splotches of what is most likely your wetness. Your supposed ‘signature.’ Heat rises to your face. “I got us a seventh vacation home!”

“Fucker.”

After he has a giggle fest over it and you quiet him down with more kisses and unserious scoldings, which leads to an overly heated make out session that has you evaluating the pros and cons of another round, a fist pounds on the door. You pause in the middle of mauling your husband’s neck, painting the smooth expanse in hickeys in revenge for the two fat ones throbbing on your thighs, and pinch his side to push him into action.

Satoru rolls his eyes so hard that it’s a wonder they don’t get lodged back in his skull. “Does it look like I’m available? The door’s locked for a reason,” he hollers.

A beat. You hear Kento’s familiar, utterly exhausted sigh. “If you two are done in there.” It’s clear what he’s referring to. Your eyes flare again and Satoru tries for a smile. “Gojo is needed elsewhere. I’ve been made aware that Geto has been blowing up his phone for quite some time now. It’s urgent.”

Then, when neither of you answer, Kento adds, “There’s been an incident in Shibuya.”

Oh hell no.

Satoru’s about to show Shibuya a real incident for interrupting his moment with his wife.

author’s note: he will be collared in a drabble GOD WILLING

thank you all for reading this freaky ass shit, hoping to post more of my 1748282 wips soon :3 reblog and/or comment to let me know ur thoughts because i eat replies UP, they’re all greatly appreciated muuuah 🫶🏽

tags: @stuboo2053 @pvmpkingod @spirit-kat @skz8stay @loyalguma @amane1271 @irishiruuu @m1nrrva @onixsky @q2uq2u @enchantinghonymoon @exc3llentshot @libr4sonsa @kaitospo @n1vi @ieathairs

here are my fav comments from my betas (#smashsecretaryreader2k25movement):

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ satoru hates the idea of cock-warming. he thinks it's pointless, getting the opportunity to be in you, and not even bothering to make the most of it.

his idea of making the most, well, it would consist only of fucking you so hard, you won't be able to move the next day. that's what good boyfriends do, right?

"good boyfriends do whatever their girlfriend asks them to do," you counter.

satoru whines in response, looking up at you. all pretty, you're seated in his lap, as he lays on the bed. strands of white hair fall into his eyes, and you brush them away.

he pouts, "i am a good boyfriend." satoru's getting impatient, wanting to just feel your snug cunt around him. his throbbing cock sits hard on his stomach, red-tipped and leaky.

"then, please?" drawing out the syllables, you give him the best you can: puppy eyes. he caves. instantly.

grumbling, "fine. i guess you can put her in you. willingly choose not to move, too, or whatever."

you clap your hands, emerging victorious. you're not willing to test your luck, though, not commenting on the fact that you've told him multiple times not to refer to his penis with she/her pronouns.

he groans as you sink onto him, his thick length pushing past your spongey walls. there's a filthy squelching that fills the room, paired with your quiet whimpers.

satoru's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into the flesh. "shit, pretty girl, tight 'n' wet f'me. taking me s'good." his words slur into one another, lost in the depths of arousal.

there's always a certain amount of self-control it takes, to not immediately cum the second he's all the way in. "'toru," you murmur, accidentally clenching around him.

"fuck," he mutters, "you can't do that, squeeze your little pussy like that, if you aren't gonna do anything about it."

"sorry," you say, sheepish. his eyes flutter shut, a hum dismissing the apology.

"now, what? just... stay like that?" satoru tilts his head at you, questioningly. sassy, if you may add. he just really can't believe you'd rather be doing this.

shifting above him, you lean down, resting your head on his bare chest. "yeah. isn't it nice?"

his arms wrap come up, to wrap around your waist. there's a beat of silence from him. begrudgingly, your rigid boyfriend shrugs, "maybe."

you're too content to roll your eyes. he wouldn't admit it, but satoru was filled with love, in this moment. his shoulders relax, and his entire body seems to ease, a breath of satisfaction leaving him. he feels at peace. he's always at peace, when he's with you, but this is different.

more real. more raw.

it's incredibly intimate. he feels like he's a part of you, like there's nothing keeping you separated. satoru inhales your scent, holding you just a little tighter.

"baby, i love you," he whispers, voice thick with emotion.

you smile against him, "i love you, too, 'toru."

to say the least, cock-warming is his new favorite thing. there is no sitting beside him on the couch anymore, not when you're alone. no laying next to each other on bed, either.

if he was clingy before, he's a monster now. if you're near, he wants to be inside you. not to have sex, but just to rest. it's not like you're complaining, anyways. at the end of the day, you're down bad for him, just as much as he is for you.

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star - Chapter two preview

Spoilers- don't read if you haven't read Chap one!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings- Fingering, oral (f recieving) Satoru being very into consent and a lil freak, reader being cute and falling- and lots of saying 'fuck' bc I do that - based on these Pornstar Satoru hcs

This may be out sooner than two weeks, as they're driving me INSANE, so here is a preview for now <3 I'll keep you all updated when the next is coming out!

It’s not just his skill, how good his thick finger feels inside of you, how beautiful his lidded eyes are, it’s the energy emitting from his being, with every exhale, how he looks at you underneath him. You gasp as he hits a spot deep inside your slick walls, making you see white hot stars for just a moment, soft cry escaping your lips, you’re so wet you can hear it, the squelching of your cunt so loud in his penthouse.

But it’s not just how good it feels, you know it’s something more, how Satoru looks at you like you’re the prettiest thing there is, like you’re all there is. His other hand strokes your hair back, as your thigh hitches up over his hip, allowing him to sink deeper with an impossibly long finger now. The way he feels, his weight on you, everything about him overwhelming all your senses.

“Look at you, fuck…” His soft murmur causes his hot breath to brush your lips, you taste just how sweet he is, your hands gripping his expensive shirt, as your eyes roll back with how his fingers hit. “There you go, feel her pulsing around me, can you take two sweetheart?”

“They’re thick…” He chuckles now, cocky in his little grin, pulling one out to suck it off, and your throat goes dry, seeing his cheeks hollow, and his own eyes fluttering shut as he moans.

“It tastes so sweet, god.” He sucks his other clean finger, tapping your thigh now. “Relax, if you can’t we’ll go back to one, okay?”

“Y-yes.” You’re so cute laid under him, the little squeak when he slips two into your tight little cunt making him chuckle. “You’re laughing at me.”

“You’re so adorable. Sorry.” He’s smiling at your half assed little glare, but you’re all flustered, your cheeks heated to the touch when he presses his lips on one, sinking both fingers in now, making you cry out at the stretch. “Loosen up, sweets, relax. Just feel it.”

Just feel.

But you feel too much.

Fuck.

You nod as he leans up, dying to yank his lips down on yours, craving the connection even as he eases you to relax, to take more of him, and when you do, when you’re that full, your moans get throatier, cunt slicker. He exhales as he feels it, as he watches you, easing back to shove that skirt higher up, to look at your little hole sucking him in so greedily.

“God I wanna bury my fucking face in her, can I?” Your lips part in a gasp, when he’s laying prone between your thighs, easing his fingers out to spread your lips, watching your little hole wink and twitch as it leaks more of your arousal out of it.

“Y-you do?” He smirks now, soft tousled hair falling over his brow, you brush it back then, making him even harder, cock twitching in response to that, as he inhales your scent.

“I would die to have you cum all over my face, drown me in it.” Who is he. He’s insane and ruining you. “Your cunt is even fucking cute.”

“How can it be cute?” He’s chuckling again, breathing against you, and yours comes faster, breasts rising and falling in your open sweater.

“They can be cute, especially yours.” He smacks a kiss on it - ‘muah’ making you giggle then, instantly relaxing, as you realize…

You trust him.

He’s a stranger, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like you’ve known this insane man forever, exhaling and spreading your thighs more, he notices the action, you relaxing under his palms, earning more of him dying to enter you. But he has this feeling, that once he does?

You’ll fucking ruin him.

Your taste alone is sweeter than any wine he’s had, the most corny shit he should not come up with in his sex addled mind, but you make him think of more, of every reaction of your pretty body. How you cry out, your sighs, the way your hips shift now, your little hands gripping his shoulders, nails pressing in, making him vividly picture how good it’ll feel when they’re raking down his back.

“You want it, hmm sweets?” He asks again, kissing higher, sighing as he nears you, feels your heat against his face. You nod then, shyly, and he leans up a bit, pressing one more kiss over your hood, chin brushing your needy little clit. “I need explicit consent, enthusiastic consent before we go further.”

Fuck he’s perfect.

You’re playing a dangerous game, you already feel yourself falling into the unreal swirling blue storms of the eyes looking up at you, from between your thighs. Your hands relax then, cupping his cheek, which he presses a kiss on your palm, and you decide any of him is worth it, how badly he makes you need him, how willingly your body is ready to respond, your heart needs to stay in its chest.

“Yes, I would love you to, please.” Your words end him, sweeter from your lips than he could imagine, and with that he doesn’t just lick you, no, Satoru Gojo devours you then and there. “Ah! S-Satoru!”

“Mnh…” He’s buried his face against your pretty pussy, and fuck he’s ruined further just from it, from sweet arousal seeping into his tastebuds, as he dives that tongue in your pulsing little hole. You’re tensing under him, tummy trembling when he presses down on it, making his next stroke so intense you start to fall apart under him, hands yanking his silky locks.

You taste sweeter than anything.

And fuck if Satoru Gojo doesn’t have one hell of a sweet tooth.

Taglist for the actual story will get tagged when it comes out, for previews I only tag the perm crew so dw you're still on the list lol! <3

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @raendarkfaerie @shokosbunny

[oreo-creampies]

“𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cam girl!reader, daddy/princess, satoru jerks off on live, squirting, edging, overstimulation, orgasm control, dacryphilia, light mind break, praise & degradation go hand in hand, anal, oral from the back, jerking off

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: Hi, I love your works, would you consider writing about where the girl is a camgirl and the jjk men taking turn to make her cum and squirt by tipping her so they basically control the toys she has in her? I feel like you would be the perfect writer to write that kind of stuff.

𝐟𝐞𝐲: hi! :) I did this one separately, where they control when you cum, and they are either watching or recording with you. Since I don’t think they could all make the reader character squirt five times back to back. Hope you don’t mind the change and enjoy it anyway.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

Come bidding war night Satoru dominated your stream. Making tonight another to add underneath the 'sugardaddy_69 bullies whore into tears' playlist.

Gliding his fist along his veiny long cock, his tip getting pinker the longer he pushes off cumming. He isn't letting you cum despite how you're begging. You sound too sexy, "Please daddy, need to!" The control he has over your pleasure is too sweet.

If only he could replace the dildo slowly fucking your beautiful, dripping wet cunt. He could squeeze your squishy thighs, bite your hip's soft crease, and take his time ruining you on camera.

Clinging onto the blanket beneath you, your slick dripping down your trembling thighs. "Please Daddy needacum I'm so close." You're slurring your words together, crying in desperation. Turning the toy off when he doesn't respond fast enough. Spreading your lips apart showing the camera your spasming cunt.

mommy_milkers22 donates 3,000: let her cum already got damn! wana see her pussy gush!

Gliding the still, long thick dildo into your cunt with a loud squelch. Turning the machine, it pace gets faster with each stroke. Your eyes roll back, and your loud moan almost makes him cum.

Quickly Satoru pays more than enough to get his way. Turning on his camera, already perfectly angled. It would be easy to get you to film with him after you took one look at his muscular body and long, veiny cock.

sugardaddy_69 donates 10,000: nice try, her cunt is mine. don't cum yet, keep fucking your beautiful cunt n check my account for my live stream

Leaning back and stroking his cock, watching you struggle to focus. Loudly moaning, gliding his hand along his cock. Pre-cum pearling on his pink cockhead. "Been edging myself too. You've been such a good girl. Cum right now and I'll fly you out to fuck you senseless." Your beautiful cunt gushes.

Satoru tugs on his fluffy hair, biting his lip, the veins in his cock pulse, and thick white cum spurts on his chiseled abs. Giving himself a few more strokes until it's too much. Smirking at your answer in his post nut haze.

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

Trembling, your cunt clenching with each quick stroke. Gliding your dripping wet cunt on his veiny, thick cock by your hips. The sweet ache of Toji's merciless way of using your squelching cunt like it's a fleshlight adds to the pleasure.

Creaming on his thick cock, "That's how many?" Your toes curl from the way his cock head brushes your cervix. He's going painfully pleasurable deep into your cunt. You can't focus on coming up with an answer when his cock is stirring your pussy and brains up.

"If you can't count, you can't cum. Don't make me stop when your slopping cunt is trying to milk my cock." Whining, clenching his cock, eliciting a raspy groan from Toji.

Moaning, "Fiiive!" Slamming you down hard on his cock, rutting his hips up. His skin slaps yours. Your eyes roll back, toes curling, thighs trembling. "Nnn Daddy don't stop! Want everyone to see how big a slut I am for your cock!" Getting off on knowing there are several thousand people masturbating to you getting fucked stupid.

Toji grunts, "This is how you're supposed to fuck a whore." Rubbing your clit, your cunt spasm, clenching Toji's cock like you're pulsing. The building pleasure is too intense and you want it to crush you, and make your brain dead. You didn't need to think, you need to cum on Toji's thick cock.

"Look at your sloppy cunt taking my cock." Toji turns his head. Your cunt is so beautiful stretched wide by Toji's wet, veiny pale cock fucking into you. His cock is so big. How is your pussy fitting all of him?

Your tight cunt tugging he tries to bottom out. He groans, "Love the way she's too tight to let me go. Might have to stuff you full of cum." The thought pushes you over the edge. Thick cum gushes on Toji's cock, dripping onto the floor.

The computer chimes, "addicted_towhores420 paid 2,500 said: don't stop, break her cunt, cum in your whore. I want to see it drip out from between her lips when you pull out and she's gapping from being used." Your cunt clenches around Toji's cock.

"Please cum! Please cum! Wanna fill your warm cum drip outta my pussy." Fucking you faster with each word that comes out of your mouth till you can't speak. Moaning loudly, you can't think with how roughly Toji is fucking your overly sensitive cunt.

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

There is nowhere to move despite not being tied up. Trapped between Suguru's handsome face and the edge of the bed. Bent over occasionally reading the chat and watching Suguru eat your cunt till she's sloppy on stream.

He's filling your asshole with a pulsing, thick dildo. You could feel its powerful vibration in your cunt, clenching Suguru's pierced tongue. You're losing your mind from Suguru's relentlessly stoking your sweet spot with his hard metal tongue ring.

Your thighs are trembling. Rutting your hips against the edge of the bed. Clawing at the sheets. Reading out, "Can't believe she's trying to run away." Furrowing your brows, clenching Suguru's tongue. The soreness to your abused cunt adds to your pleasure.

Looking at the camera whining, "Can't help it. It's too much, Daddy's tongue feels too good! Can't cum! Wanna cum! Too much! Already cummed too much!" Your jaw drops and intense pleasure consumes you.

Squirting on Suguru's face, he tightens his grasp on your squishy thigh. Fucking the dildo into your ass quicker, twisting it. Both holes clenching, quivering, desperately trying to jerk your hips away.

You push Suguru's head back, tangling your fingers in his long hair. He groans into your cunt, gliding his tongue out. Licking your lips clean, rubbing your sensitive clit. Crying, glitching away from the intense pleasure.

Burying your face into the bed when he pulls away. Your wiggles settle into quivers, "We not done yet sweetheart." He pushes the dildo up to the hilt. Groaning, " Can't get enough of makin' you cum. Need to feel your sloppy cunt squeezin' my cock till it's too much for me to handle."

Lining his cock up, swiping it between your plush lips. Nudging barely the tip into your sensitive cunt, his fat head warm and soft. The temptation of the pleasure stretch his thick cock gives has you pushing your hips back.

Wrapping his hand around your neck, gradually choking you. "Good girl, take your daddy's cock. I'm gonna fuck ya till you can't walk, break your beautiful cunt, fill her up, then eat her out some more." Lifting your body, holding you off the ground, keeping you bent over, fucking you like he hates you.

Oreo’s m.list

[kunareads]

if i believe you | chapter eight

cords of kindness

clan head!satoru x reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 2.5k

a/n: one of my favs so far :)

content: there is a jump scare in this chapter and you will know when you see it. mostly fluff! misogyny, clan politics in the background, so much yearning

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

the car rolls to a stop without a sound. you reach for the handle, but the door swings open first.

satoru’s already there, somehow—blindfold in place, white hair catching the light. he offers you his hand, steady and patient, the way he always is with you.

there’s something unreadable about him here—too polished, too still. like he belongs in this world, even though you know he hates it.

your shoes click against stone as you step out, sharp and singular in the too-quiet night. the kamo estate unfolds before you in symmetry: rows of sculpted hedges, every lantern flickering the same way. even the shadows seem rehearsed.

satoru falls into step beside you as you walk toward the entrance. the space around him bends subtly—heat rising off stone, a soft distortion you don’t notice until it’s there. his infinity’s up. you’ve only felt it once, at your wedding.

you slow without meaning to. not from nerves, really. it’s the stillness of this place, how complete it is. like looking at a portrait and realizing the eyes are real.

snap out of it.

you remember what you were taught—back straight, shoulders back, chin tilted—and adjust instinctively. it was all precision. no room for softness or pausing to admire how the light caught on silk or stone. and if you were perfect, you were safe. mostly.

you were raised for this. not this company, but this pageantry. different teeth, same bite.

the doors open before you reach them.

eyes track you as you steps inside. not overtly—no one’s rude enough for that—but you notice it in the way heads tilt, in the ripple of conversation that curls and quiets.

no one greets you directly, but the temperature of the room shifts. satoru is impossible to ignore on his own. but standing beside someone? that’s new in this setting. who stands next to satoru gojo?

and you feel it, warm against your back—the strange awe that trails after him brushing up against you, too.

whatever they’re looking for, they’ll find it.

younger voices murmur toward the middle of the room. not loudly, but loud enough. you catch pieces—”thought he always came alone,” and “—no, it’s her—” like you’ve already been a subject of discussion. like your name arrived before you did.

a man near the far wall—blond hair with dark green roots, a sneer that looks permanent—tilts his head like he’s bored with all this and you, specifically. he lets his gaze sweep over you, flipping a coin, deciding what you’re worth.

you hold his stare, don’t blink. you’ve played this game before.

he looks away first.

the kamos themselves don’t whisper. they don’t need to. their elegance has teeth. one of their elders—a woman with silver hair and posture like it’s been carved into her—steps into your path. her clothes are flawless, her expression unreadable.

“graceful,” she says. “just like your mother.”

you don’t flinch. not outwardly. but your spine pulls a fraction tighter. a reflex.

satoru’s hand finds the small of your back in less than a second—light, just enough pressure to tether. you don’t lean into it, but you don’t move away. it’s nice to have the option, you think.

you’re very familiar with your mother’s specific brand of grace. the rigidity in her posture. the obvious rehearsal of each movement. her way of cutting people down with a glance.

you wonder which part they see. which part you haven’t managed to shake.

you keep walking.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the dining hall is quiet in the way you’d expect—soundless, soft-lit, full of things too old to touch. everything smells like wood polish and paper.

you take your seat beside satoru, letting your hands rest lightly in your lap. the porcelain is fine, the glasses crystal-cut, the place cards handwritten. the napkins are folded into perfect thirds.

satoru shifts his chair before he sits. it’s a quiet thing, deliberate, making enough room that your elbows won’t brush accidentally.

an unspoken invitation: take up space.

you wouldn’t normally accept. but tonight, you do. he’s very difficult to say no to.

you smooth the fabric of your skirt, angle your body toward the center of the table, not away. posture open, chin up. you’ve done this before.

there’s a small imperfection in the place setting in front of him—one of his chopsticks half a centimeter out of line. you adjust it absently. he doesn’t say anything, but he turns his head, a near-laugh in the corner of his mouth.

conversation drifts like steam above the table—measured, polite, pointless. the courses arrive one by one, delicate and artful.

you lift a spoonful of something citrus-colored and unidentifiable. you smile when someone two seats down makes a vague comment about the weather—convincing enough that they don’t try again.

across from you, someone sits with his ankle crossed over his knee, his posture arrogant in the way only old money and raw talent can justify.

you recognize him as the same man who stared you down when you arrived. he hasn’t said a word since he sat down, hasn’t needed to. his gaze cuts across the table every so often like he’s collecting weaknesses.

you don’t know his name. you don’t particularly want to. it’s obvious from the way satoru’s looking in his direction, the set of his jaw like a knife held flat, that they know each other. and would prefer not to share oxygen.

his expression is mild, almost bored—but you know better. you’ve seen this look on him before: across from your parents in the sitting room, smile dangerous and performative, tapping his fingers against his knee like he was tired of holding back.

his voice is missing from the room the way silence follows a threat. not out of absence—out of calculation.

you reach for your glass, slow and fluid and ask, just for him, ”how long is this dinner supposed to last?”

his mouth quirks. “longer than you deserve to suffer through.”

“are you saying you don’t come here for the ambiance?”

“i’m saying if i’d known they were serving radish soup, i would’ve brought you snacks.”

you look at him, and it’s there—that slight, stupid warmth in your chest that’s been missing for days.

“i can see the appeal, gojo,” says the man across from you.

his voice is disarmingly normal, something lazy in the cadence. then—

“pretty little thing who knows when to keep her mouth shut.”

it takes a second for the words to register. another for the air to thin.

your mother taught you never to react to cruelty. especially not when others are watching. if you don’t flinch, it’s not real. so you don’t.

the room doesn’t react either. it’s practiced silence—a room full of people pretending they didn’t hear anything.

no one looks at you. no one looks at him. the words settle over the table like ash—fine, fragile, waiting to be disturbed.

you feel it before you see it: satoru goes still. sets down his glass like he’s worried it’ll break between his fingers, leans back in his chair, settling into something familiar.

there’s something dangerous about his composure. the whole table braces for impact.

“try fucking with someone other than my wife, naoya,” he says flatly, with the kind of calm that scares people more than shouting.

“before i forget where we are.”

you hear a chair shift near the end of the table. a cough, awkward and too loud. someone sets down a spoon. an elder looks away—not in disapproval, but understanding.

and the man across from you—naoya, you’ve learned—has the audacity to smirk. but his jaw ticks. his eyes don’t linger.

satoru doesn’t look at you. he just picks up his chopsticks and goes back to eating like nothing happened.

you stay still. stunned, rooted. the words echo. my wife. a line in the sand.

and when small plates of fruit start getting placed for dessert, he doesn’t ask. he picks through his own, sorts out your favorites, and slides them onto your plate.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the rest of dinner passes without incident.

later, after the formalities are handled and eyes stop tracking your every move, you step outside with satoru.

the night is cooler than when you arrived. the garden path winds softly ahead, and the lanterns out here glow dimmer, less curated.

you walk in silence for a while, neither of you in a hurry to fill it. it gives you room to think.

no one’s ever stepped in for your sake before. not like that. not at all. and it’s not something you ever thought to want—not until it was already done.

“you didn’t have to say anything,” you murmur.

“i had to defend your honor,” he says, a little too earnestly. “very traditional. very chivalrous.”

you smile—small and surprised. “…thank you”

he nudges your shoulder with his. “you liked it.”

“i did not.”

“you did.”

you shake your head, but the smile stays.

it’s easy, suddenly to fall into this rhythm with him again. to pretend this is just another night. that there wasn’t silence before this, and that there isn’t still silence between you now—softer, but still waiting

you end up near a koi pond—long and quiet, lined in stone. the surface glitters under moonlight. the fish glide in slow, lazy circles, like nothing in the world has ever frightened them.

until satoru stoops to pick up a pebble and tosses it in.

“don’t,” you say, too late. “they don’t like that.”

he blinks at the water, then at you. “well,” he says solemnly. “now i’m embarrassed.”

you glance at him, skeptical.

he smiles. “don’t worry. i’ll write them a formal apology. dear honorable koi, please forgive my momentary lapse in etiquette…”

it’s stupid. so stupid, but a giggle bubbles out before you can stop it.

you haven’t even smiled in days. and somehow, satoru pulls that part of you loose again with half a conversation.

“see?” he says, pleased with himself. “they forgive me already.”

“they’re very tolerant.”

“like you, apparently.”

you smile at him. “you’re lucky they don’t have teeth.”

“are you threatening me on behalf of the fish?”

you don’t answer. he beams at you anyway.

there’s a stone bench tucked beneath the sweep of a willow tree a few feet away. satoru gestures toward it dramatically, like he’s offering you a throne.

the bench is cool under your skirt as he sits beside you, not too close—but close enough that your knees almost touch. the air smells like flowers and clean water.

for a while, there’s only the sound of the pond lapping gently at stone, of distant voices muffled by hedges and formality.

“i missed your voice,” he says quietly.

you turn your head. his tone is lower now, more vulnerable. it feels like a truce.

you don’t answer right away. you reach for his hand, slow and careful, checking if you’re allowed. like if he moved, even a little, you’d pretend you weren’t reaching at all.

he lets you take it. his fingers curl easily around yours, like he’s been waiting for the chance.

you let your thumb graze the line of his knuckles. “i didn’t think you would.”

you’re not sure why you say it out loud. maybe it slipped through a crack in your restraint. but it’s there between you now, naked and irretrievable.

he doesn’t answer. he just tilts his head toward you slightly with a soft smile.

“you’re nothing like your mother.”

that’s what catches. not how he says it—mild, weightless—but that he says it at all.

“do i look like her?” you ask, before you can talk yourself out of it.

he looks at you like he’s weighing the truth against the damage.

then: “no.”

a lie. a kindness. you let it stand.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the car door shuts with a soft thud as you both shift quietly into place, the estate disappearing behind tinted glass. the car is warm. too warm, maybe, but neither of you mentions it.

you’re both quiet. not because there’s nothing to say, but because there’s too much—and none of it would sound right out loud. and that’s fine, you think. the silence that’s been cutting you both open for days is decidedly soft right now.

streetlights pass in blurs. satoru rests his head against the seat. his eyes are still covered, his mouth unreadable.

but he’s here. still beside you. after everything—all that space living between you—it’s enough.

after a few minutes, he shifts toward you and reaches for your hand. you offer it to him instinctively, letting him lace your fingers together like he’s missing the feeling.

he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. it feels like thank you. or maybe sorry. or something heavier he hasn’t found the words for.

your heart stutters. the warmth travels fast—hand to chest, chest to throat, eyes burning before you know it. it shouldn’t undo you this easily, but there’s a thread in you being tied back together.

you slide over on the seat, enough that you don’t have to pull your hand away when he settles it back down in his lap. you let your head tip toward him, and his shoulder meets it without protest.

nothing has been resolved. not really. there are still pieces of the two of you waiting on the floor when you get home. but his hand is in yours, and his shoulder doesn’t flinch when you lean in. so maybe this is how it starts again—not with an apology, but with a reach.

the rhythm of the car, the hum of the tires, the warmth between your palms—eventually, it’s enough to pull you under. and you think, just before sleep takes you, if he stayed like this forever, you’d never ask for more.

you don’t know how long you’re asleep. only that you wake when the car jolts over a bump in the road.

before you can move—before you even lift your head—

“go back to sleep,” satoru murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “please.”

[kenpachissluut]

ᰔᩚ Jujutsu kaisen men & their secret dark fantasies (18+) ᰔᩚ

warning: smut, explicit content & language, 18+mdni, dark fetish, gore, anal, foot fetish..

Sukuna Ryomen - Blood Play ꨄ︎

Sukuna would love to try some Blood Play with you. Not only cause he loves the scent of your sweet blood but also because it’s intoxicating for him. Fucking you while you are on your period or cutting/scratching you with his claws while he pounds the life out of you. Definitely would also taste your blood & suck it off, getting addicted in a second.

Toji Fushiguro - Threesome ꨄ︎

Toji always dreamed about having a threesome with you. But not with a other woman, but with a other man. He wants to see how his pretty girlfriend gets fucked by two dicks in every hole to stuff. His first choice would be Shiu, cause he trusts him. He just wanna give you double pleasure and how does it works better than two cocks to stuff you full?

Shiu Kong - Voyeurism ꨄ︎

Shiu is a little pervert Voyeur. He likes to watch you (even without your permission) while you masturbate. Seeing you getting off while moaning his name or watching a porn while you glide a fat pink dildo in & out your wet spread pussy thinking it is his cock? Amazing. While he watches you he smokes a cigarette, stroking himself desperately.

Nanami Kento - Anilingus ꨄ︎

Nanami hasn‘t many dark fantasies. But one of his is Anilingus, the mere thought of licking & devouring your ass is really turning him on. He also would love to do anal with you but is too shy to ask you, cause it’s such a taboo topic. But once he catched his confidence and you even agreed prepare for a good ass eating & much more.

Naoya Zenin - Foot Fetish ꨄ︎

Naoya has a Foot Fetish. Who would have thought that? That misogynistic arrogant Man who loves your feet. Seeing them all pretty, having a pedicure & red nail polish he secretly thinks about you giving him a Foot Job. Not that he would ever admit it though. But you would definitely catch him staring at your feet or sometimes while he would fuck you & your feet are nearly he teasingly licks them & even sucks on your toes.

Hiromi Higuruma - DIY Porn ꨄ︎

Hiromi despises porn. The only woman he wants to see getting fucked are you, only by him. He secretly wishes to ask you to make a DiY Porn with him. So if you would be away or he misses you badly, he can get himself off while watching you getting pounded by none other than himself. He‘s too shy to ask you, afraid he crosses a line. But if you would say yes, be sure he would record everything about you.

Gojo Satoru - Cuckolding ꨄ︎

Satoru wants to see you getting fucked by another man. Preferably from his best friend Suguru. He wants to see you getting pleasured and rimmed hard while he sits across the room, stroking his throbbing hard Cock with a smirk on his face. He knows he would do you also an favor with it as he knows how much of a Slut you are, especially for him.

Geto Suguru - Pet Play ꨄ︎

Suguru would love to see you dressed up like a little Kitty or cute Bunny. Acting all cute, purring and crawling around with your furry tail and ears. He would fuck you so hard until he stuffs you full with his load of cum while you act like a little sweet animal. He would buy you cute sets of lingerie you can wear for him and if you behave get ready for gentle little pats.

Choso Kamo - CBT (Cock & Ball Torture) ꨄ︎

Choso secretly aches for you to inflict some pain on his Cock and Balls. Binding ropes on his most sensitive parts while he whimpers and begs for more. Stuffing his mouth full with a gag as tears stream his face down while you torture him on not letting him to cum until you are completely satisfied and he behaved like a good little boy.

Kusakabe Atsuya - Food Play ꨄ︎

Kusakabe wants to smear your already sweet pussy full with whipped cream, chocolate sauce trailing your body down while he eagerly licks it off. Inserting some of his sweet lollipops into your tight hole while he watches every little reaction of you. He would fuck you so rough after it and expecting you to taste his cock mixed with your natural cum & sweet flavors.

Kenpachissluut 🎀

comments & reblogs appreciated 🫶🏻

[manmuncher777]

Just thinking about Gojo and his hands. Of course when you first became friends he was doing anything in his power to prove the size difference between you, he loved how tiny he made you look in comparison. How easily he could scoop you up, how his massive frame practically eclipsed yours when he stood near you. And as you started to get closer and spend more time with each other, Gojo couldn’t stop wondering how easily he could use his size in… other ways. How easy it would be to throw you across his lap, measuring his hands against yours so he could see how much deeper he would reach inside you, mind wandering to places a little less platonic.

But he wasn’t wrong, oh how much deeper his fingers felt when they were inside you. Compared to what you were able to do, Gojo was on another level. Two thick digits stretching through that small ring of resistence before sinking into your welcoming cunt. Gojo couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of you wrapped so sweetly around him, better than anything the could’ve imagined. Swallowing thickly as his eyes trained on your face, watching every little flinch and twist of pleasure as he began fucking you on his fingers, watching in awe as they sunk into your soaking cunt so easily. Mouth hanging slightly ajar as if it was the most perfect thing he had ever seen. Your eyes lolled shut with each stroke of his fingers, massaging your velvety walls. The tips of his digits brushing cruelly against your g-spot. You couldn’t recall exactly how you had got to this situation, your best friend knuckle deep in your cunt, but you couldn’t even think of complaining with your legs trembling so sluttily for him.

“Toru~” a sharp gasp leaves your throat as his thumb begins to circle your clit.

“Oh sweets, no fair” he whispered, voice cracking ever so slightly, your eyes drifting open to your best friend, completely ruined from just fingering you.

“You’ve been keeping this pretty pussy from me”