Warnings: Pranking them, miscommunication on purpose, rage bait, cursing. Idk it’s just jokes.
Content: Texts
Gojo:
Geto:
Sukuna:
Toji:
An: OMG GUYS sorry they’re so short it was so hard to make these on my iPad. Is there an app I can use to make it easier and faster and allows more chat bubbles? Anyway I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to request any text message stories like this one in my ask box! Thank yoouuuu 𑣲
' being loved by satoru gojo ' giggling squealing kicking my feet warnings : idfk fluff , gojo being head over heels for you
taking a break after a long day of training and instructing a bunch of stubborn teenagers, you and shoko were sitting in the staff room---discussing things that gojo has done for you that seemed totally normal.
to you.
"satoru left a mission halfway through one time because i said i missed him." you shrug.
shoko nearly choked on her coffee, "he did what?"
you didn't understand why shoko was reacting. i mean, that was totally normal. ...right?
she places her mug down, eyeing you suspiciously. "how often does he carry your bags?"
"all the time."
"open doors?"
"yeah?"
"buys you things?"
"well, obviously."
every one of your answers to her questions, shoko grew more and more confused. she knew that you two were dating, but she always assumed he didn't really get attached to people. well, not like that at least.
shoko clears her throat, "you know he doesn't do any of that for the rest of us, right?" she lowers her voice. "last week i asked him to pass me a pen and he threw it at my head."
"what?" you gasp---and that's when the flashbacks hit you.
gojo automatically ties your shoelaces even though he knows you're more than capable.
gojo carries you when you're tired.
gojo remembering your coffee order.
gojo giving you his jacket before you can even say that you're cold.
gojo dropping everything when you call.
each memory gets progressively more embarrassing because of your obliviousness. so, after the break with shoko, you went looking for gojo for confirmation.
finding him on the field, watching and instructing yuji and megumi while they train together, you approach him.
"do you really do all those things because you love me?"
gojo blinks, "well hello to you too," he chuckles deeply, turning to face you. "explain, sweetheart."
you huff, "like.. everything! you tie my shoelaces, you buy me things without asking, you carry me when i'm tired---"
"who else would i do it for?"
"...shoko says normal boyfriends don't carry spare hair ties." your lips purse together, turning your face away.
gojo tilts his head to the side, placing his index finger under your chin to guide your face back to his. "normal boyfriends are losers."
okay eat this up before i move onto my rin itoshi mini series
remember please do not copy, steal, rewrite, or put my works into ai. i work hard on all my fics.
୨୧ — You were drooling, eyes rolling back as you dug your nails into his shoulders trying to slow Valko down. Useless. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as he drove into you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer between desperate pants.
“V-Val- hhahh- Val-ko- s'too- m'gonna- too m-much-“
Words? What were those? Your brain had turned to mush about three orgasms ago.
A whimper caught in your throat. Tears pricked at your lashes at the stretch, at being so fucking full, like he'd shoved your organs aside to make room.
“Hah-“ His voice broke, and you could feel every muscle in his body trembling, fighting something feral as his tail lashed wildly behind him. “Tryna be gentle but you-“
He fucked you like a beast anyway. Forehead pressed to yours, ears flat against his head, panting into your mouth. Your slick made the filthiest sounds every time he thrust home and when his teeth found your neck hard enough to break skin, the noise you made had his rhythm stuttering.
“Sorry- ngh- didn't mean-“ But he didn't stop. Couldn't.
His hand slid under your back, arching you up into him. The other pinned your wrist to the mattress. Blood smeared across your throat from his lips.
“That's it, that’s my good girl-“ Completely gone. Ruined.
You came screaming and do you think that made him slow down? Fuck no. He didn't slow down even a little.
“Again.” Barely a whisper. Begging. Pleading for just one more scream from those pretty lips…
“Valko- can't- no more-“
His ears drooped, this wounded little sound in his chest, “I know babe, m'sorry-“ His hips snapped forward anyway, “what’s a pup supposed to do? You just feel so good- cant- shit- can’t stop-“
Your cunt was a sloppy, ruined mess at this point- syrupy strings of your cum and arousal coating his cock, smearing creamy across your inner thighs. You could feel yourself dripping between your ass, making a puddle beneath you.
Then something big started pressing at your entrance.
You felt it before your sex stupid brain could process it- this thick, swelling pressure at your already stuffed hole. Stretching you wider. Wider. Too wide-
His knot.
It shoved inside with a wet POP and you shrieked, back bowing clean off the mattress, nails carving bleeding trenches down his spine. The sudden fullness -that fat bulge locking him in, plugging you up, pressing against every sensitive nerve- had your vision whiting out again. Your cunt spasmed around him, another orgasm cresting before the last one even finished, milking his knot in desperate fluttering clenches.
“Huh? What happened?” Total confusion. His ears shot up, head tilting, “You alright babe? Did I do something?”
“Your- your fucking knot- fuckfuckfuck-“ you choked out.
“What?” He blinked down at you, all golden puppy eyes while his monster sized knot split you in half, “What's wrong with it?”
“Ser -seriously? Sh’too- It's s’too big-“
“It is?” As he smirks he shifts his weight and you damn near passed out, “seems fine to me?”
You laughed -or sobbed, hard to tell- and it broke into a moan when he rolled his hips experimentally. You grabbed his hand and shoved it down between your bodies, pressing it against the bulge in your lower belly. Obscene. Fucking obscene.
“Valko.”
He looked down. Blinked. His tail started wagging. Actually wagging!
“Oh wow.” Like he'd found something mildly interesting, “That's pretty crazy.”
“YEAH.”
“Does it actually hurt?” He pressed against the bulge with genuine curiosity and your eyes nearly rolled back into your skull. Tail still going.
“Do you- hahh- do you seriously not know- how huge-“
“Dunno, never measured?” He dropped a casual kiss on your forehead, sweet as anything, while his fat fucking knot throbbed like it was trying to reshape your insides. “Always been like this. Annnnd those noises don’t really convince me you’re in pain.”
You were gonna fucking murder him. Right after you finished losing your mind on his cock.
He ground down into you and you came so hard you forgot your own name, pussy clenching around him like a goddamn vice.
“Oh- shit- shit-“ Finally cracking, his voice going high and whiney, “Squeezing me so tight, you’re gonna make me-“
He buried his face in your neck and came with a broken whine, and you felt it- pulse after pulse of hot cum pumping into you, filling you up til your belly rounded out even more. His arms caged you in, tail thumping against the mattress as he bred you full.
“S'good,” he slurred against your throat…
“Valko,” you whimpered, brain leaking out your ears., “M'so full-“
“Mm?” He sounded so pleased with himself.
Still absolutely clueless.
Way later -who even knows how long- he was still on top of you, weight braced on his elbows so he didn't crush you. His knot pulsed lazy and another warm gush filled you up.
“Hey,” he mumbled into your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice.
“Mm.”
“So...” His fingers walked playfully up your side, making you squirm- which only made you clench around his knot and whimper, “You think my knot's big, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Nah but like-“ He propped himself up to look at you, smirking, tail swishing, “You were really loud about it. Pretty sure the neighbors know now.”
“I hate you.”
“Mmhm.” He rolled his hips just slightly -enough to make you gasp- and his grin widened. “That why you're still milking my cock right now?”
Your face burned, “I- I can't- it's involuntary-“
“Sure it is.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, nuzzling, “S'okay baby. I think it's cute how much you love my huge knot.”
“I never said-“
“‘S'so fucking big Valko,'”he mimicked in a breathy voice, and you smacked his chest while he snickered. “'Your knot Valko, oh my god-“
“I do NOT sound like that.”
“You kinda do.” Another lazy grind. Another gush of cum. His eyes glittered. “Wanna hear what else you said? Got real creative toward the end there.”
You shoved at his shoulder uselessly. He didn't budge, just laughed and buried his face in your neck, pressing smiling kisses to your skin.
“M'just teasing, babe” His tail curled around your thigh, “youre cute when you're embarrassed.” He nuzzled the tippy top of your head.
“I'm gonna kill you when your knot finally goes down.”
“Mm, that's fair.” He snuggled closer, entirely unbothered, “Gives me like twenty more minutes to annoy you though.”
His hips shifted again, lazy and deliberate, and the noise you made was mortifying.
Seriously, I want to slap the shit out of the MC in this scene. You manage to get Zyglavis naked in the tub with you and turn him on only to get sick from the heat?! What the shit-biscuit is that?!
YOU. WILL. WRITE. oh you want to write so bad. all the motivation is here. the plot is so good. words come to you so naturally. YOU ARE GOING TO WRITE. RIGHT NOW.
A tremor ran through his hand, the brush hovering an inch from the canvas. The deep cerulean of the sea in his painting seemed to mock him, its vastness reflecting the emptiness in his own heart. You, his bride, were gone. Snatched away by a sacrifice he still couldn't bear to comprehend, a selfless act that saved him and condemned him to a life devoid of your warmth.
He was Rafayel, the celebrated painter of Linkon, his name whispered with reverence across Deepspace. But the accolades were hollow, the fame a bitter irony. What was the point of capturing beauty when the only beauty he craved was forever out of reach?
His studio, a sanctuary of creation, had become a mausoleum of memories. Canvases piled high, sculptures draped in white sheets, countless photographs scattered like fallen petals – each a desperate attempt to immortalize you. Thomas, his ever-present manager and the only soul privy to his agonizing secret, had never seen these pieces, these raw, bleeding fragments of his soul.
You were everywhere. In the delicate curve of a sculpted collarbone, the way the light caught a painted strand of hair, the mischievous glint he captured in your eyes from a faded memory. He’d painted you in sun-drenched fields, beneath moonlit skies, amidst crashing waves – each stroke a prayer, each shade a tear. He'd molded your likeness in clay, carved it in wood, cast it in bronze, his hands aching with the desperate need to feel you, even if its this way.
He painted not just because he was good, not just because the art world demanded it. He painted because it was his only tether to you, his only way to scream his longing into the silent void. Each brushstroke was a defiance against forgetting, a furious act of remembrance. He wouldn't, couldn't, allow your image to fade, not a single detail. Your face, your body, your hair, your eyes – every curve, every nuance, every color – he had them etched into canvas, solidified in stone. He would never forget his bride, his love. The very thought was a betrayal he could not bear.
Sometimes, late at night, when the city slept and the stars were his only witnesses, he would stand before a painting of you, the one where you were laughing, your head thrown back, pure joy radiating from your eyes. He’d reach out, his fingers hovering over the canvas, an ache so profound it threatened to shatter him. "My bride," he’d whisper, the words a raw wound in the quiet. "Where are you? Do you know... how much I yearn for you?"
He was the Sea God, once mighty, now adrift in a sea of sorrow, his power useless against the one tide that had taken you from him. He closed his eyes, the image of your sacrifice burning behind his lids. If only he could turn back time, if only he could have taken your place. The ocean, his ancient domain, now felt like a vast, cold expanse, mirroring the emptiness within him. Yet, he continued to paint, continued to sculpt, each piece a silent promise, a desperate beacon cast into the depths of Deepspace.
