#tog languages

[normal-thoughts-official]

Hopping off that last post slightly to say that I also think a good part of the reason Joe can afford to still feel everything so intensely is because of Nicky. Not just because of the obvious part where they are both sickeningly in love and have been for thousands of years without ever feeling it any less, but also because I think Nicky built a dynamic with him that allows Joe to stay so passionate

(There's more than just that, obviously, such as the fact that the group NEEDS someone like Joe, who isn't jaded or cool headed, but I already talked about that on the other post)

Nicky is the ice. That's a fact. He's not cold as in unfeeling but he is extremely cool headed. The greatest example of that, in my opinion, is the way he treats Booker after his betrayal: while Joe rages and screams at him, Nicky just tells him to leave it. You'd think that he isn't mad, but in the end, Nicky is the only one who doesn't say goodbye to Booker. Nile talks to him at the bar. Andy tells him about his punishment and hugs him. Even Joe looks back and gives him a nod, despite his anger. Nicky doesn't acknowledge him. I don't think he looks at him or talks to him once after they learn about the betrayal. He isn't telling Joe to leave it because he isn't pissed; he is saying it because now is not the time and they need to focus on getting out of the lab. Rationality first, feelings later. The goal always comes first to Nicky. He's a sniper, he's calculating, he's steady. It's the main mark of his character, in my opinion

So, he provides the steadiness that Joe needs, which allows Joe to not become quite as steady himself

I see that in pretty objective, practical ways - their dynamic in battle being the most obvious example. I am once again bringing up the battle outfits; Joe is more focused on his damn baseball cap than on packing his weapons. He puts his scimitar on his back (completely impractical) and then also tries to carry a bag slung over one shoulder (that keeps bumping into the scimitar and going back and he needs to keep readjusting it in a never ending battle with his own setup). He has like one gun on him. Meanwhile Nicky is Weapons Georg-ing his way through the desert like nobody's business. And then we see that half of these weapons are meant for Joe. Nicky is so attuned that he knows instinctively when Joe has ran out of bullets and he passes him guns without either of them even needing to look at each other, much less say anything; it's completely obvious that this is something they have been doing for centuries, that it comes naturally to them. If Nicky weren't there to give Joe weapons, Joe would have to have an ounce of practicality and keep his love for the vibes at bay long enough to pack efficiently. But Nicky IS there, and so Joe can afford to be the dorky, somewhat carefree man that Nicky adores, and bring some levity as they are heading to their mission (his cocky, teasing little smile as they are in the helicopter, for example)

If Nicky weren't there to stay between Joe and the door, if Nicky didn't sleep with a gun in his hand, then Joe would have to. But he does, so Joe doesn't, which allows him to dream peacefully and without worrying too much about whatever nonsense might be heading their way. I could keep going, but you get the picture: Joe would have had to keep more of a lid on his feelings if Nicky weren't there to take care of the practical problems that demand a cooler head

(And just to be extra clear, by that I don't mean that Joe is a Hotheaded Angry Brown Man and Nicky is The Voice Of Reason. I mean that Joe is a romantic and an artist, someone who's very in touch with his feelings and open about feeling them, which makes him uniquely vulnerable in their line of work. And that Nicky, knowing that, covers his blind spots)

And Joe, in turn, covers Nicky's blind spots as well, of course. He's the one (quite literally) holding Nicky together, making sure he doesn't let that overly rational head of his get the better of him and bury his feelings too far. Where Nicky hands Joe weapons, Joe finishes off Nicky's kills; most of the time, when they're fighting together, it's Nicky incapacitating people and then throwing them over his shoulder so Joe can kill them. That always stood out to me, because we know that none of them like killing; I think this is Joe's way of shouldering that weight for Nicky, making sure he has less to worry about and feel bad for, too

I used to think that Joe was the emotional protector and Nicky was the physical protector because of that (like, obviously both do both, but this was the role they took most prevalently). But the more I think about it, the more I realize that Nicky is also protecting Joe's feelings; because Joe doesn't have to grow more jaded and cool and rational if Nicky can do that for him. So he can continue to be who he is - light, passionate, loving, intense, open, vulnerable - because Nicky's got his back. It's my personal headcanon that Nicky has vowed to himself that he'd do everything in his power to keep Joe from losing that spark in him, and he's making good on that promise

It's a very interestingly equal relationship, where they not only balance each other out, but in doing so, allow the other to remain who they are, because that stark difference is part of what they love about each other

[acourtofquestions]

Has Sarah J. Maas ever listed her inspirations for the realm? (Like Leigh Bardugo always mentions Prussia especially when it comes to language and fashion)… and I’m just curious what SJM’s were???

[incorrecttowerofgodquotes]

If I ever get a job at Webtoon, I promise to update Tower of God’s translation so it doesn’t read like straight ass

[starfall-spirit]

My Light, My Strength

Most Romance Week prompts will be attached to a romantic song.

Day 2: Faith Hill's There You'll Be

SJMRW Prompt: Love Languages

Ship: Rowaelin

Summary: Coming home from an exhausting day of delegations and and paperwork, the last thing Aelin wants to do is follow her mate into the main town for his surprise. The gift in store, simple as it may be, turns out to be a memory she'll cherish for her next thousand years with Rowan.

Finally. Silence finally greeted me as my last attendant left the office with my signature in hand. Finally, I could go home to my mate. I could go home to a quiet dinner and a hot bath and a warm bed. Though our efforts to rebuild the kingdom left us with little time and energy for certain types of intimacy, I knew I could at least count on Rowan to hold me night after night.

But doubt reared it's head as I froze at my bedroom threshold, surprised to find my mate dressed in nice, yet casual clothes. He was clearly ready to head out, rather than dine in the privacy of our room. "Where are you off to?"

"We are off to your surprise."

I sighed, trying to politely decline leaving the castle without making him think I was ungrateful to his effort in whatever he had planned for the night. "Rowan, can it wait until tomorrow? Or another day I don't have a thousand things to do."

"You're a young queen rebuilding a conquered country, Aelin. You'll always have a thousand things to do. That's why we have to make time." He kissed my forehead. "Come on. I promise you'll love it." Still, I hesitated. He was clearly dying to show me whatever his plotting had amounted to. "Two hours,” he pressed. When had things gotten so dismal my mate was bargaining time to take me on a date? “We'll be home before the stars greet us, I promise."

I nodded. "Two hours, Whitethorn."

He grinned. "You're dressed to impress, Fireheart. Go change into what I laid out. We're going casual tonight.”

~~~~~

Twenty minutes later I was dressed in flats and a summer dress, my pinned hair let loose to flow down my back, rustled by the summer evening's breeze. Passing through the town square, Rowan guided me a bit further, finally stopping before a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant I hadn't seen in over a decade.

My exhaustion faded to awe. "Rowan, how did you—" My chest tightened. "The last time I was here I was with my mother. She'd take Aedion and I into town in the mornings. We always ended with lunch here."

"Your cousin's shared a story or two from your childhood. I know how stressed you've been lately. I thought getting away from the politics and back to your people may help.”

Because Terrasen was a country that thrives beyond the castle walls. I was queen to more than snobbish lords looking for a vulnerability in my early reign.

Guilt settled in and I turned my back to the restaurant. “Three months. I’ve been so busy proving I could navigate official matters, I’ve barely considered… Thought dead for a decade, and after winning the war, their consort greeted them before their queen.”

“We understand.” I whipped back around, a familiar woman standing in the shop entrance. The human restaurant owner was in her mid-forties now, but she’d hardly changed from the woman I remembered. “It seems congratulations are in order.”

“Amelie.”

“Hello, Aelin.”

I swallowed, hugging her tightly. She had adored Aedion and I those years ago, and I would never forget her kindness. Maybe it was an extra spoonful of dessert for Aedion and I. Other times we earned the treat of watching the kitchen at work. All were moments I treasuered and never imagined I'd find again.

“Sometimes order must be found before all else. What matters is that you’re here now.” She pulled back, pride in her eyes. “You’ve grown up.”

I chuckled. “You could say that.”

“Come on then. Your mate’s reserved a table for you.”

Even in the evenings the town was buzzing. Few people had stopped to gawk or request my attention as Rowan and I walked here, but here in the little family business… Some seemed wary, others welcoming, and some were just downright stunned. I offered a warm smile, my attention dragged away at the light scrape of my chair on the tile floor.

"Relax, Fireheart."

The endearment instantly soothed my nerves, the tension in my shoulders easing as my mate seated me before moving around the table. Eyes slipped away and I let the quaint charm of the place—the warm paint choice, the smell of freshly cooked meat and vegetables, the chatter and music from the next street—wash over me.

This was my childhood beyond the castle. And however much or little of its history my mate had gathered, sitting here for the first time in over a decade with him was… healing.

An appetizer tray and house wine was brought to the table before we were left to choose our meal. “What are you thinking, Aelin?”

There was something tender in his tone telling me he wasn’t asking about what I had in mind for my order. “I’m thinking it’s a miracle.”

“That we made it?”

I smirked. “It’s a miracle, Rowan, that we went from being at each others throats to you surprising me with a chance to forget things for a few moments. We’ve come a long way since Wendlyn. And not just geographically.”

He smiled. “Save business for tomorrow, Fireheart.”

“No.” He sighed. “Tomorrow, I won’t even think of politics and parties.” I watched worry morph to pride and felt my smile grow to match his. “Tomorrow, Rowan, I greet my people.”

~~~~~

Shoot me a message/ask/comment if you want to be added to my tag list

@sjmromanceweek // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime

[mazojo]

Bestie wake up new fav reaction image dropped!!

[tardisfireworks]

I keep thinking about Quynh. Imagine getting out of the bloody iron maiden, and no one sounds right anymore. You feel you should understand them, but every word sounds foreign. You can read out the letters and characters, but they're being used in some newfangled combinations that don't make sense to you.

You can't communicate with any of the mortals. You thought maybe it was a solid 50 years, 100 years? No. You were in that iron maiden for more than 400 years.

In those 400 years, everything has changed. Before, it took you hundreds of years by foot to find Andy, and now - it will take maybe weeks? Days? Mere hours?

And you find that Andy is no longer immortal. A distant memory of blood, Lykon, please, why aren't you healing, blood floods back into your brain.

Andy will die. Which means Andy is dying.

And you will lose (or have already lost?) your oldest friend and companion. You spent all that time suffocating, drowning, and coming back to life to wake up to this.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

Still on tos so take my opinion with a grain of salt but I think it's hilarious that out of the three main og shows, tng has the primary gay ship with the healthiest communication out of all three of them DESPITE (and maybe even because?) one of the members of said ship being a straight-up android

[bbchlow]

I love how we all agree that Nicky has no respect whatsoever for the english language

[magickkart]

Made a Nicholas from Sudtirol playlist for yall to enjoy.

What makes it specifically a Nicky from Sudtirol and not a normal Nicky The Old Guard di Genova playlist? I dunno man it’s about the vibe. There’s also some German songs in there I guess.

[laviejaguardia]

laviejaguardia 😍😍😍

I feel SO official™ 😂😂 one perk of this site's English obsession, I can get cute URLs 💁🏻‍♀️

[normal-thoughts-official]

Why Joe and Nicky deserve to win the sun and moon showdown, and if they don't I'll end up in the INTERPOL Most Wanted list

A not at all dramatic essay

(This is the plain text version. To see the version with bold, italics, hyperlinks, and big text, click here)

1. Not only do they canonically use moon imagery to refer to each other, but their context adds new symbolism to that metaphor that other duos don't have

If you haven't seen TOG and aren't familiar with the van speech, well, I recommend that you do, but I'll transcribe it for your convenience:

"He's not my 'boyfriend'. This man is more to me than you can dream. He's the moon when I'm lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold. And his kiss still thrills me even after a millennium. His heart overflows with the kindness of which this world is not worthy of. I love this man beyond measure and reason, he's not my 'boyfriend'. He's all and he's more"

Yeah, pretty long way of saying "actually we're husbands", but let's focus on the "he's the moon when I'm lost in darkness" bit. That bit alone is already insanely romantic and enough to make us fans go rabid with this tournament, but there is an extra layer of romanticism to it, because Mr Yusuf al-Kaysani (aka Joe) is Muslim, and in Islam, the moon represents the guidance of Allah through life, the calendar is based on the moon cycles, and the brightness of the moon is compared to both the face of the Prophet Muhammad and the first batch of souls to enter Paradise. Therefore, the moon, in Joe's culture, is intrinsecally linked with the divine, guidance, holiness, and time

So, when Joe compares Nicky to the moon, he's not only saying that he brings light into a dark world; he is saying that he is the very guiding light that leads him to a blessed life, that he is the foundation through which the world and time can be understood, and that his beauty and holiness is comparable to that of the souls of Heaven themselves

Which is all already enough for me to bite through wood, but the specific relationship between the moon and the understanding of time in Joe's culture is also particularly meaningful for Joe and Nicky, because Joe and Nicky are two of the 5 people who are immortal in the entire world. And one of the core themes of the movie is how that sense of timelessness leads them to isolation, and a constant state of loss. There is a deep melancholy that permeates their entire existence due to the fact that time as we know it no longer makes sense to them, and they live outside of it, skirting around eras and history. So, by comparing Nicky to the very body that marked the passage of time for Joe, he is saying that Nicky is what helps him make sense of the impossible, that he is the constant in Joe's eternity, that he brings meaning to their confusing and sometimes alienating existence

But wait! There's more!

Because Joe and Nicky met in al-Quds (also known as Jerusalem) in the year 493 AH (also known as 1099 CE in the Gregorian Calendar) and had to travel together across the desert for a long time, which means that, for the first few years of their life together, they were in fact relying on the moon to guide them in their path. So they both have a deep intrinsic understanding of how the moon is a compass, the most reliable thing in uncertainty. And the moon has been guiding their steps, their relationship, since their paths were first joined. And they weren't separated since

Like. Listen, I'm sure Star Trek is great and its fans are lovely, and I salute the Star Trek fandom for everything it did for fandom history in general, but you cannot tell me that Spirk has this much baggage associated with the sunmoon symbolism. It just doesn't. If this were a hand touching tournament, no one would have as much symbolism linked to it than y'all, but when it comes to being the sun and moon, no one is doing it like Joe and Nicky

2. The most appealing aspect of the SunMoon dynamic is how they need to defeat all odds to be with each other, and Joe and Nicky have that in spades

"Oh I don't think that's the most ap-" IRRELEVANT. I'll talk about the other ones too. Just keep reading, okay? /joking

As you might know, Joe and Nicky met on opposite sides of a battlefield. They killed each other. (Many times). And what happened then?

They ressurrected and became immortal. That alone is already impossible, but it gets better - even for the rules of immortality in their universe, Joe and Nicky are still an impossibility that has never happened before or since

Because in The Old Guard, immortality is extremely rare. There have only ever been 7 immortals in the entire history of humanity. There are usually several millennia between the appearance of one immortal and the next one. Other than them, the shortest time gap between one immortal appearing and the next was 800 years. But Joe and Nicky became immortal at the same time, on the same day. Their very existence bends the rules of an universe that already bends the rules of the universe they lived in beforehand anyway. Joe and Nicky being together defies the very fabric of time, and if that isn't some sun and moon shit, I don't know what is

But it's not just some destiny shit either. Joe and Nicky were also not supposed to be together by other standards. For starters, they were on opposite sides of a war. Nicky was a fucking priest, and he joined the goddamn actual honest to god crusades. He was hateful and ignorant and awful, and when he chose Joe, he left behind everything he knew before him. All his certainties, his beliefs, his faith, his family, everything he had ever been taught. I'm also gonna go ahead and say that that ties into the whole "the sun is what makes the moon shine" metaphor - because everything that defines Nicky as he is now is the direct result of how meeting Joe changed him

And listen, listen to me. I'm not saying that he stopped being a bigot for Joe, because if he did, I doubt Joe would want him. He did it because it was the right thing to do, and he was wrong and ignorant and indoctrinated by the church. But he still had to make the choice to turn his back to all that, and that plain and simply would not have happened if he hadn't met Joe. It was Nicky's own effort, but meeting Joe was the catalyst

Joe, similarly, had to overcome a lifetime's worth of (well earned) resentment and hatred for what Nicky did. Joe forgiving Nicky at all is already nearly an impossibility (and he would be well within his right to never do that), but he didn't just forgive Nicky, he fell in love with him. And he chose him, well aware of how bloody and terrible his past was, and despite the fact that there is no way he wasn't deeply conflicted about what he felt for Nicky after everything the Christians put him through. I cannot even begin to imagine how hard this process must have been for Joe, and it was one he didn't have to go through at all - which means that he chose to

And that's not even taking into account the very personal resentments between the two of them, because they weren't just on opposing armies, they literally and personally killed each other. Several times over. And yet, impossibly, against all logic, against everything they had ever felt and believed in prior to each other, against possibly their own desires, they fell in love. They fell in love and have been hopelessly devoted to each other every since

And THEN, on top of all that at the beginning of their relationship, they lived as an interracial, interfaith*, gay couple, through what were undoubtedly the worst times in humanity's history to be either of those things. For 900 years, they had to love each other in secret and with varying degrees of risk associated with ever being found out as a couple, or even with being associated with each other at all to begin with

(*It is debatable what their current relationship with their respective original faiths is, since it isn't mentioned in the movie. But even if both of them had turned their back on their religions, they are still culturally Christian and culturally Muslim, and that makes a difference. Personally, though, I don't think either of them turned their backs on their religions, although I do believe Nicky turned his back to the Catholic Church as an institution for obvious reasons)

That's not even counting all the incredibly traumatic shit that they went through ever since (which I won't mention in detail because it's spoilers and also this is long enough already) and that would definitely break a couple with a less unbreakable bond. Through centuries and centuries of pain and regret, they have chosen nothing and no one but each other, first and foremost, no matter what that meant.

Nicky even brings it up in the comics:

[ID: Joe and Nicky touching foreheads with their eyes closed. Nicky is holding Joe's chin and he says, "why is it so difficult, Joe? We've been afforded more time than any lovers I can name. And still, every moment we scrape together feels precious. Something always happens-" End ID]

(From the Tales Through Time one-shot series. I generally think the comics are meh and the movie is where it's at, but I do recommend reading this one. It is set before the movie happens so there are no spoilers)

There has never been a time where being together was easy, and yet, Joe and Nicky chose each other no matter what. They chose each other even when it meant being separated and getting only scraps of time together in secret. If that isn't some sun and moon shit, I don't know what is

3. They complement each other

And not in the dumb stereotypical "the sunshine one and the grumpy one" way either. For starters, Joe isn't bubbly, and Nicky isn't grumpy. No, they have two characteristics that I think represent the sun and moon way better than that anyway - Joe is an extremely intense person, and Nicky, an extremely cool headed one

Joe doesn't feel anything by halves, and despite the fact that he has lived through several lifetimes, it still seems as if everything he goes through is happening for the first time. Every time Nicky or another one of the family dies, Joe looks just as desperate as he would a millennium ago, despite the fact that he's had centuries to get used to the fact that they die and then come back to life. He's the only one who's that affected by it (obviously none of them enjoy seeing each other die, but the rest seem to have accepted to some degree that it's a part of their lives, or at least gotten used to it). He has experienced so many horrible things, yet he is still as affected and disgusted by it every time, going as far as lashing out sometimes. When he's angry, no one is able to hold him back from yelling at the person he's angry at (not even Nicky). Similarly, not even an actual van full of armed homophobic guards is able to stop him from simply dropping a passionate speech about how important Nicky is to him, complete with getting misty-eyed and kissing him at the end (and I'm not even bringing up the fact that both of them have their hands and their feet tied)

To me, that is the most sun-coded possible trait, because the sun is intense, hard to ignore, and quite literally burning. The intensity with which Joe feels also feels like it could burn, but it's also what makes him so warm and loving

Nicky is also a pretty intense person, but, unlike Joe, he is super cool headed about it. For starters, Nicky is a sniper; he is capable of staying still for hours at a time, observing, figuring out the best time to strike. That demands an amount of control over himself, his feelings, even his instincts, that is admirable. But he's not just like that on a mission; Nicky is very careful with what he says, when he speaks, what he lets other people see of him. His expressions are all subtle, contained, and even when he is in a state of murderous rage, he doesn't lash out. He doesn't lose control. The same way that the moon and the sun share their brightness, Joe and Nicky share their intensity, but Nicky is able to subdue it while Joe burns with it and lets that be his strength

Where Joe is expansive and wears his heart on his sleeve, Nicky is cautious and guarded. Where Joe gets lost in his own feelings and loses sight of what they need to do, Nicky keeps their heads straight and reminds him of what they need to do. Like the moon that guides one through the desert

They're different and complementary, but also intrinsecally tied to each other. They have the same spark where it matters, but present it in different, complementary ways. They are a part of each other, but they're also themselves first and foremost. That's what the sun and moon are all about

Sun and moon imagery has been the staple of the Joenicky fandom since day fucking 1, and for good reasons

VOTE JOE AND NICKY IN THE SUN AND MOON DUO SHOWDOWN

[acourtofquestions]

The true villain of Heir of Fire MISSCOMMUNICATION

because for the love of wyrd CHAOL CELAENA DORIAN just sit in a room together and talk and please especially the latter SOMEONE FILL DORIAN IN🤦‍♀️😅😂

[kittensupremee-blog]

Watch "[Tower of God] Head off edit 4k mmv #shorts" on YouTube

I make tower of god edit

it would amazing of you to check out my edits

give it a follow and like to my channel.

If you have any requests I’d be glad to do them.

[partyfear]

went a minute over a timed presentation bc a girl in my group spoke too slow and i need somewhere to put this frustration............

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[moonlightazriel]

๋࣭⭑ Worlds Apart Masterlist ๋࣭⭑

Summary: The wingleader and loyal servant of Manon Blackbeak is sent to investigate a weird portal in the middle of the Witch Kindgom, things take a twist when the portal teleports her to a unwkown land, without knowing how to go back to her world, she'll have to face a new reality, a well known enemy and her conflictious feelings towards a familiar Shadowsinger.

Main Pairing: Azriel X OC female reader

Side Pairings: Feysand, Nessian, Emorie, Elriel and Elucien.

Warnings: Mentions of war, smut, blood, alcohol and mature language. Heavy spoilers for the TOG series...

☾⭑ Chapters ⭑☽

☾⭑ Prologue ☾⭑ Chapter 1 ☾⭑ Chapter 2 ☾⭑ Chapter 3 ☾⭑ Chapter 4 ☾⭑ Chapter 5 ☾⭑ Chapter 6 ☾⭑ Chapter 7 ☾⭑ Chapter 8 ☾⭑ Chapter 9 ☾⭑ Chapter 10 ☾⭑ Chapter 11 ☾⭑ Chapter 12 ☾⭑ Chapter 13 ☾⭑ Chapter 14 ☾⭑ Chapter 15 ☾⭑ Chapter 16 ☾⭑ Chapter 17 ☾⭑ Chapter 18 ☾⭑ Chapter 19 ☾⭑ Chapter 20 ☾⭑ Epilogue

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