Characters -> Pierrot, Fem mc(im working on alt) a mention of Harle
Warnings -> very soft in the beginning and tbh it stays that way. reader is down bad. this is smut, this is my first time writing anything like this so constructive criticism is welcome :).Perriots’ tongue. A lot of cum, based on a headcannon from @sweetlicorice I hope i did it justice. uuuh no beta
Word count: 6.6k
*ruff is the term i found for his ruffles but i still laugh when i read it
The Freak Circus belongs to @nekoboydreams
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Since Pierrot and the Circus had showed up you’ve been having a hard time thinking of anything, or anyone else. It was hard not to, it wasn’t even sexual..well not all of it. There were some things that just didn’t add up, his height, his smile, his silence despite the number of bells. All of those things added up should wave a pretty big flag but you’d be damned if you noticed anything except for his overactive eyes.
All you had done was show a tiny bit of kindness but to be frank with the people around here… it probably felt like more to him. It sure seemed like it when he showed back up with a ticket and a promise. Which lead you through that nightmare of a circus, I’m still not convinced the assistant Pierrot…killed?.... Was fake. But he seemed so sweet, he absolutely lit up when you complimented his act. And the way he grabbed your hand? Ugh swoon.
Then you had met the Harlequin, Pierrots opposite. Not intentionally, but he is very outspoken, despite wanting to ignore all his little comments just to spite him and his stupid grin…but as it stands his words did worm their way into my head. I mean come on, he’s basically begging for any scrap of attention, especially if it steals it away from you 6 foot puppy.
Which then leads us to our next dilemma. What were the steps to take when you find yourself lusting after a clown? Maybe you should wiki it. It’s not like he’ll be here forever, if you did end up spending more time with him you’ll have to remember he’s leaving. Whilst the silent menace did seem to have the workings for a very memorable night, you find it hard to imagine him letting you go after.
Look at you, thinking so far ahead about a guy you just met. You really need to get laid. And with that depressing thought, you turn your head towards your balcony, almost wishing to find a pair of golden eyes.. Wait
Shooting up you squint at the floating glowing hearts. You stand slowly, still very unsure if this is something you should entertain. But your feet seem to have decided for you as you find yourself looking up at the Pierrot yet again. The barrier seemed inadequate when he pressed a hand against the glass. You stare at it like it held all the answers. But upon actually looking? You raised a hand, tracing your pointer finger over his fingers, it was so much bigger than you thought. You slowly press your whole hand against his, comparing the two. Seeing how the tips of your fingers just barely grazed his second knuckle, the claw making it that much longer.
After staring at his hand for far too long and realizing he has definitely caught you, your hand retreated, glancing at the lock and seriously debating your life choices you risk a glance up.
He was a lot closer than before, his mask now resting on the glass, eyes still the pulsing hearts, a deep blush covered his cheeks. You could barely make out his open mouth, his panting having fogged up the glass. You should shut the blinds, walk away, try and forget the man…? At your door. But look at him. He wouldn’t hurt you, would he? He sure seemed to hang on every little thing you did. And he claimed that kidnapping was his way of protecting you. Maybe he just had a very twisted way of showing his affection. Your eyes wander towards the bloody rose on your nightstand, long since turned brown but your macabre heart only beats faster.
Fine, it’s not like you’d forgive yourself if you lost this chance. You flick the lock and pull the door open before you could change your mind. Pierrot almost toppled in, barely catching himself before he fell into you. But that did not stop his hands from immediately finding you. One hand on your shoulder, the other curling around your waist.
“My lady, my star, I didn’t mean to interrupt but you just looked so beautiful.”
“I thought I was going to be alone tonight” his eyes shrunk.
“I can leave if thats what you wish-”
“No I didn’t say that. I was just surprised. A little confused, maybe?”
“About what, My Lady? I’ll answer anything you wish”
“I can’t quite decide whether you want to like, eat me, or eat me. Or if I have it all wrong to begin with.” A long pause filled the space between you two.
“Eat you?” his head tilt made puppies jealous. The longer he thought about it the more conflicted he seemed.
“Yea, you seem very interested in me, my uh scent? Or at least that's what I gathered from you sniffing me every chance you get…” as your mind tried to supply you with words to ask if you’d survive the experience without actually telling him that you thought he might actually eat you. The joking tilt to your question fizzled out when Pierrot remained silent.
After a beat longer than you could stand you force out a dry chuckle. Clearly you had gone about this wrong. Maybe it was salvageable? You watched his face slowly start to shift from confusion to intrigue to concern.
“Do you want me to eat you, My lady?” His rough voice sent shivers straight down your spine and for a moment the question didn’t register. Until it did and your face exploded with color.
“Well- I uh.. I just meant..uhm I don’t know!” throwing your hands up and then dragging them down your heated face. Taking a couple steps back until your legs hit the mattress, allowing yourself to fall backwards onto the duvet. A groan slipped between your fingers as embarrassment flooded your system. A moment later there was a dip on the bed next to you. Followed by a feather light touch, just a couple fingers circling your wrist. He gently pulled your hand away from your face and you could see how concerned he had become.
Alright then, it's time to face the music. Your pride now thoroughly ruined, you decide being blunt may be your only salvation. Your doubts about how human he was were gone, there's no way that a human man his age would have struggled so much with those jokes. In that realization lied a hint to your earlier question…would he actually eat you?
“Alright, bad jokes I guess.” You take a deep breath, if he was going to eat you, wouldn’t he have done it when you were drugged and chained in that tent? Right, he would have done it already. With that small bit of hope, you continued.
“I guess I was trying to ask which of your…imuplses were stronger. Your lust, or your hunger” the last word barely made it past your lips. But he heard them, the second it left you his grip on your wrist tightened. It wasn’t painful but you could feel the tips of his claws pressing into your skin. A sigh left as you glanced down at the glove clad hand, your free hand reaching out for him. Time to face the music.
“I- I know you’re not human.. That the circus is more than just a show, an act. I think I’ve known for a while.” You pause feeling Pierrot start to shake. Taking a deep breath you look at him, his pupils nothing more than slits, shaking in time with the rest of him.
“I want you anyway. I want it all, the darkness, the possessive glances, the shadows that seem to follow me. I want your hands on me, I want your warmth, your silence, your protection.” another pause. “I want your mark, I want to be yours”
Watching his face as you spoke was a reward itself. His pupils slowly grew, the shaking slow but never stopped. The longer your list became the heavier his breath seemed to become. Upon mentioning his mark his entire demeanor changed. One moment you were laying on your bed looking up at him, hands interlocked. The next? He was on top of you, knees on either side of your thighs. His hands now laced into yours, pinning you against the mattress.
“You should not say such things, My Star. I don’t know if I can control myself” the heart shaped pupils tracked every little movement you made, intentional or not. Like a predator who finally, finally has its prey between its teeth. Your earlier thoughts of racing into this too fast are long gone as you whisper your last desire.
“I want you to take me with you when you go.” Given who you just whispered that to, it could be misconstrued. There are more morbid ways of carrying someone with you, one that the circus seem to be well versed in. You held your breath, this is it. Are you going to be eaten? Or cherished.
“Truly?” Pierrot was now a hairs breath away from your lips, absolute torture for your touch deprived head.
“Please.” It came out with a sigh and that was it. He finally closed the distance, the mask he wore still colder than flesh but the heat of his blush had seeped through. In an effort to touch him, you try to pull your hands from his grasp. Instead of releasing your hands he pulled away, pulling a whine from your lips. The sound was almost enough to pull him back in but he had something he needed to say.
“If I take you with me, you can never come back. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go. My lady please be sure. I will take care of everything, we can find you a job at the circus..and act perhaps or maybe my assistant?”
“The last ‘assistant’ I saw ended up with a blade between their eyes, Pierrot” whilst you didn’t spend nearly enough time thinking about the “murder” that had taken place in his act, you still knew deep in your bones that the fool had been killed.
Pierrots little furrow returned, along with a tiny frown you wanted to kiss away.
“I would never hurt you, My Love. I would sooner turn my blade unto myself” He seemed genuinely seemed distraught by the idea.
“No, I just meant that your acts, along with Jesters’ and Harles’. They all end with some poor fool lying in a pool of blood…” He seemed to realize then that you had put two and two together. You knew they killed people for entertainment, and you were still beneath him pondering roles you could fill. The whole situation filled him with a heat he couldn’t ignore anymore.
“You are truly a rare gem, My Lady. If you wish for a job I shall find you one. Everything you wish, My Love.” At that he lowered his head until his mouth was lined up with your ear, his breath sending delicious little shivers down your spine. His tongue then traced a line up your neck, following your jawline. You could feel his smile grow against your skin.
“Pierrot-” you whine at him. He’s so slow, n smelt so so good. Every nerve was singing, begging for attention. There was still so much to discuss but it was becoming impossible for you to think about anything other than Pierrot. His long fingers still laced between yours, his body hovering over your own. His heavy breathing in your ear, the now cooling trail he left on your neck. Too much. Not enough.
“Pierrot please, please just touch me.” it came out whiner than you wanted but it served its purpose as he took a sharp inhale. Seconds later your hands were free as his own raced to tear your shirt apart. Desperate to fulfill a request you made what feels like ages ago. As soon as your skin was exposed he started mouth at your collarbone, his teeth scratching against the delicate skin.
“My Lady you said you wanted my mark, were you- may I?” his words were starting to slur together, you could feel his drool drippping down your chest. You look down to see his love struck eyes already staring at you. Well, you did ask for it didn’t you?
“Be honest, how bad will it hurt?” you hoped that was enough of a yes, your nerves choking off the simple word. You had already decided on receiving it ever since Harle claimed the side of your neck. It had hurt but only for a moment and when Pierrot had seen it yesterday he had asked to cover it but your nerves for the upcoming night had pushed him away. You started to regret that as soon as the words left you but the damage had been done, and Pierrot had bounded off to find the green clown.
“Oh, my sweet’ I’ll be as gentle as I can…I can finally cover his horrid mark” his voice sounded shaky, like he was holding back but only by a thread. The area was still pretty tender from the still healing mark but he seemed set on covering it. with a sigh you turned your head, allowing him access to the mark. You could hear a quick inhale and then the sharp sting of his teeth penetrated the irritated skin around Harles’ bite.
As quickly as he had started he retreated. just enough to lave the new wound with his tongue. When he did finally pull back he was licking the last bit of your blood off his teeth. His eyes locked with the mark, high enough that you couldn’t see it yourself without a mirror but you could feel it. He didn’t stare for long, moving on to the other side. One of his massive hands slide from your waist up. He was gentle with the movement, moving up until his claws scratched up the back of your neck. Tangling his fingers in your hair he tilted your head until the expanse of your neck was completely bare to him.
He took a moment to drag his tongue over his canvas before sinking his teeth in. Once, twice, after each bite he cleaned the mark and planted a single kiss over it. It felt almost like a ritual, the sting, the careful cleaning and sealed with his kiss. It was easy to lose yourself in the pattern. The rush of endorphins makes your head spin.
With your hands free and mind free of concerns you trace Pierrots’ arms, up to his back, down his spine. Anywhere you could reach. You kept your touch gentle but you could feel him shiver all the same. It dawned on you that he was still clothed.. You were mostly clothed but it still didn’t feel fair.
“Pierrot” other words felt too far away, but you didn’t need other words with him, did you?
He paused right before claiming another part of your skin,
“My dearest? Are you alright?” he was looking up at you now, you hadn’t realized how far down your chest he had gotten. Concern was etched into his face, and you could already see his mind racing.
“Shirt, your shirt. Off now please?” yea who needed complete sentences anyway. His eyes lit up with the realization but quickly dimmed. He abandoned your chest to sit up, looking down at you.
“My lady, I am not…it might be best for my clothes to remain on.”
Ugh you needed full sentences. “How will I mark you if you’re completely covered?” it was definitely whiny and maybe a tad desperate but it worked. Pierrot immediately set to work on his costume. First his ruff*, as it came off he tossed it over his shoulder.Along with his belt and finally his shirt. He unlaced the front and as it came apart you were blessed with his toned pale torso. It was littered with pale scars, some reminded you of the knives he handled at work. You sat up a little, propping yourself up with one arm behind you. You traced over some of the more troubling scars.
Thick raised welts, some in sets of 3 or 4, some just standing alone. They looked more like an animal had put them there. You were so focused on studying him that you hadn’t noticed how still he had become. Your eyes traveled down, this was not the time or place to ask him about his scars. Besides there were more uh, pressing matters at hand. Such as the deep v line and silver happy trail leading towards a jaw dropping bulge that you somehow managed to miss before.
You let your fingers trace down the coarse hair until you reached the waistband, slipping your fingers underneath before looking up at him. You might've broken him, he stared down at you like he was seeing you again for the first time. Maybe he was, you were bare underneath him, littered in his marks and your own hand slipping into his pants. He seemed to be holding his breath, pupils tiny hearts as they jumped all over your figure. Trying to figure out what to do next.
“You’re breathtaking Pierrot” It came with your exhale, apparently you were also holding your breath. “Stunning, you work so hard.” each word went directly to his dick, you could see it twitch with the praise. Part of you wondered if you could get him off like that, just whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Unraveling him with your words alone, but as tempting as that sounded…
“Pants too?” His head snapped up so fast that the bells on his hat let out their own quick protest. You had wondered about that but when you had attempted to touch it before it resulted in the current situation you’re in. but with pants. That you desperately needed off him.
His hand came down, a gentle tug that pulled your fingers away. Huffing you took to unbuttoning your own pants, tugging the zipper down, showcasing just a sliver of your underwear. Nothing fancy but he didn't seem to mind. His face exploded with color, both hands now wrapped around your waist as he stared at the fabric. His own fingers decided to slip under the waistband, he glanced up at you as if asking permission.
“only if yours comes off after” you flicked one of his bells trying to loosen some of the nerves threatening to swallow you whole. It seemed to do the trick as you were pushed back onto the bed. Your pants and underwear were ripped from your body and tossed behind the monster. A small squeal left your lips as you snapped your thighs shut, hands coming down to cover yourself. A silly instinct considering how bare your chest was but oh well.
“My lady, please dont hide from me, you’re so perfect, so beautiful, so mine” he was panting between his words. He had lowered his head to your tummy, looking up at you with the most pitiful expression.
“I told you, yours have to come off too” You were pouting but it gave you a moment to gather your strength. He quickly stood and shed everything but his giant hat.
“Are you going to keep that on when you fuck me?” that was supposed to be an inside thought damnit. He had returned to his place between your legs and tilted his head at you. said hat jingling as if they answered for him.
“I do not think it is wise for me to remove it, my Dear”
“Pierrot, I already know you’re not human. You don't have to hide from me.” He pondered your words for a moment before bending over you. His voice sounded deeper when he spoke next.
“Are you sure? My Lady, I’m not sure I can let you go if you run from me” Oh he was being serious wasn't he. You decided that the throb the words gave you wasn't to be thought about and instead nodded up at him with a smile.
“i’m starting to think you already want me to run” He huffed at you, pouting.
“If you insist My Dear, I will remove it but I did warn you.” his hands shook just enough for you to notice when he pulled the hat free.
It took everything in you not to gasp as 3 shiny black horns came into view. You slid a hand up his torso until your fingers reached the soft hairs on the back of his next. You pulled him closer so you could reach, tracing your free hand over the ridges of an outer horn. He let out a low groan while his entire body shivered.
“Careful, please my Lady.. I am sensitive there”
“Does it hurt?”
“n-no just…its just” He never finished the sentence, just pushed his hips to yours. slapping a giant reminder of what else he had just revealed to you. Pushing him back slightly you look down at the massive cock now resting on your tummy.
Your eyes follow the silver trail down to the untamed bush. a thick pale shaft, curved up with bumps lining the bottom. It was almost as long as your forearm and you know that if you wrapped your hand around it, your fingers wouldn’t touch. The fat tip was a light orange, almost gold as you watch a drop of what looked like honey drip out. before you could process what you were doing you swiped the drop up with your thumb before running your tongue over it. Definitely not honey but oddly sweet. like salted caramel with more salt.
“Did you just, My lady I-” Oh sweet Pierrot, rather innocent for a monster but it was absolutely adorable.
“You taste so sweet Pierrot, I could get addicted.” an exaggeration, probably. All the air seemed to rush out of him as he curled in on himself a little.
“You should not say such things” His voice was shaky but was dripping in something that made your entire body hot. Your own body prepping, dripping down between your thighs. With Pierrot being so close to it, you couldn’t help but hold your breath. He took a long breath in and a second later he had his massive hands prying your thighs apart.
“My turn~” he all but growled at you. Before you could respond you watched his mask crack open and his long golden tongue slide out. His drool was on your skin before he actually made contact, it pooling a little over the seam. He dragged his tongue over the line, opening you for his attention. The reaction was immediate, the tip starting at your opening and collecting the slick dripping down. He hummed at the taste and he continued dragging his tongue up until it flicked over your clit. Your entire body jolted at the quick movement.
“Pierrot- gentle there please” followed by a whimper just fueled him. He circled the tiny bud with the tip of his appendage for a moment, watching you lose your breath. Just as your hand reached down to push, or maybe pull at him? His head moved. A slow trail back down to your dripping entrance before he slipped inside. He pushed deeper until he reached your cervix, letting his obnoxiously long tongue curl up a little before pulling it free.
“I think I understand now, My lady”
“U-understand?” Why was he talking? You didn’t take Pierrot to be a tease.
“You want me to eat you” His tone had turned dark enough to sharpen your focus.
“Just don’t..hurt me” what else could you have said? His eyes darkened when he realized that you had been hurt just like he had.
“My lady, you are mine, you will always be mine. I would never hurt you. I will spend every waking moment to prove that to you. I only wish to protect you, to keep you close. So I can watch you, keep all the dangers away. Keep you safe.” His words settled over you like a blanket. He was crazy, but so were you. Fuck it.
“Then eat me” a delirious little giggle followed as Pierrot fell to his knees between your legs. Your knees resting on his shoulders as he pulled you to his mouth. He was big enough that you could feel his teeth resting on the top of your mound as his tongue started fucking into you. He could bite down and take it all in one go, he could do so so much damage. But instead he’s rubbing his tongue over your walls, it was a slow pace until he found a small spongy spot and your back arched up. A small whine left your lips as he focused on the spot. Curling his tongue a little so he could press it up against the spot. Over and over again.
You hands found purchase in his hair, your hips bucking up into his mouth. You could feel a small ball of heat forming, growing bigger and tighter until it became too much.
“P-Pierrot im gonna, wait Pier-” As soon as you started speaking he applied a little more pressure and the knot snapped. You hands pulling at him a little as your thighs tried to close. You could feel your walls spasming around him as your vision whited out for a moment. You floated in bliss for who knows how long until the sensations started to become too much. Pulling you back down into your body you started pushing at Pierrots head.
“Too much, Pierrot please” it took a couple pleas before he let go of your pulsing sex.
“You taste absolutely divine, My dear.” Pierrot looked drunk on lust, his head now resting on your tummy, looking up at you with complete and utter adoration. You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. You were still coming down from your high when he stood up, he scooped you up and moved you up until you were laying with your head on your pillows. Once you were situated he moved. Positioning himself between your legs, placing his member on your abdomen, showcasing how deep he would be inside you.
“You’ll go slow right? You’re so.. I don’t know if I can take all of you” Your concerns were written all over your face.
“Just tell me to stop and I will My Star, I promise” Your opening was already soaked, between his drool and your cum you would be fine but it was still daunting. His pre was covering him, it was dripping like molasses down his shaft. Part of you(a pretty big part) wanted to lick it up but instead you reached down and pressed his tip against your entrance.
“Slowly” It was meant to sound stronger than it did, but Pierrot listened anyway. Lightly rocking his hips and applying the slightest hint of pressure. For a little thats how it went, he pushed forward, just enough for your body to give a little then let up before pressing forward a little more. Up until the head pop in and both of you gasped. You had never been stretched this wide before, and now that he was in? You didn’t know if he’d be able to pull back out. But he did try to continue his pattern of push and release.
But this time he couldn’t pull back at all. His breath caught when he tried again and you legs came around him, pulling him closer. And in turn forcing him deeper inside. The stretch burned just enough to have tears pool, and of course he noticed immediately. Freezing and rushing to wipe your tears away, leaving little kisses all over your face. You’re sure that he’s trying to apologize and the distraction was most welcome but you needed more. You slid a hand down between your bodies and circled your clit with two fingers. Breathing through the tight feeling in your abdomen.
Pierrot pulled away to watch you work, your face slowly relaxing as pleasure took over the stretch. You pulled him a little closer and he slid deeper without the sudden cramping. As if realizing why he swatted your hand away and replaced it with his own. His claw brushing over the hood as the pad of his finger pressed down and started moving in little circles like you had done.
A sigh left you as you focused on breathing and pulling him deeper. You could feel him leaking inside and for a brief moment you wondered if a baby was a risk, surely not though..right? The thought was tossed aside when you felt Pierrot's bush pressed against you. A deep groan rumbled through Pierrot as he ground his hips, trying to bury himself deeper inside you. You looked down to see the smallest bump right over where he was buried. Without thinking you pressed a hand against it, the pressure pulling a moan out of the beast. And when he looked down and saw the outline of himself inside you? He may have gotten harder, if it were possible. But there was one change that needed to be mentioned.
“Pierrot~ did you just get..thicker?” You had thought you had taken all of him, but with another roll of his hips he managed to bury a little more inside. You tried to sit up a little, needing to see for yourself but Pierrot just pressed you back down. He started rocking his hip, just barely pulling out before pushing back in. He lowered his head, a hand returning to your hair. He pulled your head to the side and after running his tongue up the length of your neck he finally answered you.
“My Knot, My lady” He said it like it was completely normal. He followed it with a bite, returning to his earlier pattern. Bite, lick, kiss. But the bites were getting a little deeper, his tongue spending just a little longer on the little cuts, multiple little kisses over the mark before moving on. He littered your chest and neck with marks, over your shoulders and you could feel each one thrumming with energy. He latched onto a nipple and his long tongue wrapped around it, flicking over the bud until it was stiff and standing proud before moving onto the next. You were losing your mind over the inhumane pleasure you were feeling.
The longer he went the faster his hips moved, one hand on your waist, holding you in place as his thrusts started pushing you up the mattress. You had all but lost consciousness. He was stuffing full, more than you thought physically possible but here you were. The bump on your tummy became more prominent with each thrust and your little gasps and moans were only spurring him on.
“My Lady, My dear, you feel so good, so perfect. My perfect love, all mine” Pierrot started rambling on whilst the knot started to get bigger. Each thrust pushed it further against your opening, he paused there pushing a little. Trying to carve himself a little deeper inside. You couldn’t do anything but take it. The hand buried in your hair started to tighten, his claws grazing the back of your neck sending shivers down your spine. The hand on your waist moved back down to your clit, when did he stop that? Maybe you were further gone than you thought. Your train of thought crashed when he started up with quick little circles, your walls spasmed and you’re sure anyone nearby heard the cry that escaped you.
Above you Pierrot lost it. Letting go of your hair he grabbed the headboard, the wood splintering under his grip. He watched as you cream over his cock, his hips jerked, pushing pushing until your spasming walls opened enough to allow his knot to pop. All the air from your lungs rushed out when he finally slid home. Letting out what almost sounded like a howl and the knot started swelling. You could feel the heat filling your womb as he came, it was so so hot, spreading warmth throughout your whole body. The bump now solid as his cum filled every bit of space inside you and then some.
Whining you reached up to try and pull him down into a kiss, the feeling became a little uncomfortable. It took a couple tries as he was locked onto the bump on your tummy. He brought a hand down and pressed on it a little, you let out a little moan and his eyes shot up to your face.
“Full” was all you offered him. A grin spread across his face. Now that you could take a moment to look at him he was a mess. His hair was sticking out in places from your hands, his heart eyes in full swing. The blush that painted his face crept down his neck, along with a singular track of drool.
“No one will touch you now, you have my mark, inside and out.” He bent back over you, breathing heavy.
“Just one more thing, My love” as soon as the words left him he latched onto the space between your neck and collarbone. He bit down, harder than any of his other bites. You couldn’t help but hiss, his tongue was soothing the area inside the bite but the longer he held the further his teeth sunk. You tugged a little on his hair, trying to pull him off but he sank in deeper A flash of fear shot through you, just as you started to panic he pulled away. The wound was deep enough to scar, blood immediately welling up. Pierrot licked it all away, then laid kisses over the mark. He had blood smeared over his lips when he pulled back.
“There, this one won’t fade like the others, this one will stay with you” You didn’t know what to say, every inch of you was throbbing. Covered in bites and the pulsing knot still lodged inside was not letting you think properly. Pierrot seemed content though, he slowly moved the two of you until you were laying on top of him. He pulled the covers over your conjoined bodies and pressed you closer to him.
The two of you laid there like that for a while, catching your breath and just feeling him inside you.
“Pierrot? When will it uh, when will it go down?” it had been at least 15 minutes and you were still locked together. You didn’t mind being this close to him but the pool of cum sitting inside you was becoming uncomfortable, with you on your stomach and all.
“It will stay until you are bred” another statement delivered like it was normal, but when you looked up he was panting, surly imagining you swollen with his child.
“Can I even? You know, since were not really the same?” you whispered the last part, not wanting to say it at all.
“I don’t know, but I won’t stop until you are.” As hot as that sounded, it also sounded like a threat. You heaved a sigh and tried to tug yourself free. If he was going to keep you like this for a while, at least you could shower right? The two of you were covered in sweat, tears, cum and blood. The knot gave just enough to give you hope but it was too big to pull free without pain. Pierrot whimpered underneath you, his hands pulling you back down onto him.
“I just want to shower, My love. We both need to.” He just stared at you with those pleading eyes. You just rolled yours.
“You can fill me again after a shower and some food… and maybe a nap” there was a deep ache that started to settle over your bones. How late was it? It was already dark when Pierrot arrived. You looked behind you to see the sun peaking out. Well… at least you had today off.
You looked back down at him to see him pouting, but his knot did seem to go down some. Maybe it was like an erection, non-sexy things to make it go down. Whatever, you tried to lift your hips again, the knot slipping a little further out. As the widest part caught at the rim you whined. Pierrot tried to push you back down but you held strong.
“No no it’s ok, just hold on” Your legs shook as you tried to hold still while your body struggled to let go. With one finally push upwards you were free. You fell forward, Pierrot slipping out of your abused hole, his cum slowly following suit.
Pierrot got up then, picking you up and placing you back on the bed for a moment.
“I’ll start a bath for us, My lady”
As you watched his form disappear in the bathroom you felt just how much he came, it was pooling between your thighs. At the risk of your bedsheets you spread your thighs to see creamy gold tinged strings connecting your thighs. Thick and sticky, and pooling onto your sheets. That was definitely going to stain. You watched it dripped and a thought occurred then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you ran your finger over your thigh, collecting some before sucking it clean. Like his pre, it was sweet but this had a more heady taste. Almost intoxicating. A groan came from the doorway and your head shot up.
There Pierrot stood, having watched you taste his spend for the second time this evening. The embarrassment flooded your face but you offered no explanation. In fact, just for kicks. You swiped two fingers through it again. Taking your time with licking them clean, maintaining eye contact with the clown. For a moment he just stood there, watching like it was the most important thing in this world. Whilst it was fun to mess with him, as you chuckled you felt another rush of cum exit. It was definitely time for a bath.
You made a move to stand and Pierrot rushed over, sweeping you up into his arms before carrying you into the bathroom. He set you down on the counter and took a wet cloth and started wiping at the sticky cum that was starting to dry on your skin. He was gentle with his movements but when he reached your opening you still hissed at the contact.
“I am sorry, My lady. I did not mean to hurt you” You could see the guilt start to wash over his face.
“No, I’m just sensitive, and cold. Can we get in now?” the tub was already filled with steaming water, he must have found your bubble soap bc the tub had mountains of the lavender smelling suds. Next to it was a small plate, it had crackers, some grapes and water. You tried to snatch the bottle while he carried you over to the tub but Pierrot was too tall so you settled for waiting. He slowly stepped into the tub with you still in his arms.
The water was hot enough to sooth the ache and when Pierrot settled behind you and grabbed the bottle you had reached for you decided you didn’t need bones anymore. You melted into Pierrots chest as he held the bottle to your lips. You took it from him then. When you handed it back he replaced it with a grape. Feeding you whilst whispering little praises in your ear. Promises to keep you safe, to love you. Feeling completely safe, warm and cared for in his arms you decided to trust that. Whatever happened, he’d never hurt you.
The problem with your current bf Suguru is that he’s way to charming 😔
Suguru Geto is a problem.
Your problem.
The kind of problem that smiles like he already knows what you’re thinking and most of the time, he does.
You can’t even be mad about it. Not really. Not when he leans against the kitchen counter in that loose black shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair tied just high enough that a few strands fall around his face. He’s effortlessly put-together in that maddening, he-knows-he’s-hot kind of way.
And the worst part? He is.
You swear he weaponizes it, that lazy smile, that voice that dips just low enough to make your pulse skip.
He catches you staring. Of course he does.
“Something on my face?” he asks, tone smooth, teasing.
You blink, caught. “No,” you mumble, trying to sound casual. “Just thinking.”
“Oh?” He pushes off the counter, closing the distance between you in three unhurried steps. “About what, pretty thing?”
His words curl against your ear like velvet, and you immediately forget whatever you were going to say.
He grins when you don’t answer — slow, smug, knowing. His hand slides along your waist like it belongs there, thumb brushing just under the hem of your shirt. “You’re bad at lying, you know that?”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” he interrupts softly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “But it’s cute.”
You huff, trying not to melt, which is impossible because Suguru Geto has that exact kind of calm confidence that makes you want to hand over your sanity.
“You’re insufferable,” you mutter.
“Mm.” His nose brushes yours. “And yet, here you are. Looking at me like I’m the best bf you’ve ever had.”
You roll your eyes, but your heartbeat betrays you. He notices that too — of course he does. His smile softens, eyes gleaming with something quieter. “You know I love when you get shy like that.”
“I’m not shy.”
He chuckles, low and warm. “Sure, baby. Keep telling yourself that.”
He tilts your chin up with his fingers, gaze dragging slowly over your face like he’s memorizing every inch. “You weren’t shy bouncing on my cock last night,” he murmurs, and you forget how to breathe for a second.
You want to come up with a clever response, something that doesn’t sound like your brain has melted into fondness — but it’s impossible when he looks at you like that, when he’s so sure of you, of himself, of the hold he has on you.
And maybe that’s why you love him. Because Suguru Geto doesn’t just love with affection, he loves with certainty. The kind that wraps around you, steady and unshakable.
You finally manage a small, dazed smile. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
He smirks, brushing his lips over your temple. “You knew that before you fell for me.”
Satoru’s had a long day and wants to play with you and use some pretty toys on you until you’re squirming in his lap—with one small twist
Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, blindfolds, vibrators, sensory deprivation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, lots and lots of praise
A/N: it turns him on to see u wearing his blindfold like how guys like seeing their gfs in their hoodie
Satoru’s blindfold is snug around your temples and eyes, blocking out the light. It’s soft—silky, cool against your eyelids. Darkness swallows your vision, leaving behind only the hum of his voice in your ear and the faint feeling of his breath against your temple. Satoru’s thighs flex under you, his hands on your hips, helping you settle on his lap.
“Just relax, yeah?” Satoru murmurs, words warm and lazy, though you can feel that grin of his even if you can’t see it. His big hands cup your hips, guiding you back against his chest. His thighs are broad beneath you, body heat soaking through your clothes, the steady rise and fall of his chest—all your senses are dialled up to ten with the blindfold wrapped around your eyes.
You hear the faint click before you feel it. The low buzz fills the quiet, and your pulse leaps.
“Aw, already tense?” Satoru teases, mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”
Then he does.
The vibrator hums against your clit through the thin fabric of your panties, the vibration sharp and sudden. Your whole body jerks in his lap, thighs clamping tight, a broken gasp spilling out before you can stop it.
“Fuck—Satoru—” you gasp, jerking back against him.
Satoru just chuckles, lazy and smug. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest so you can’t wriggle away.
“Easy, baby. I wanna play with you,” he murmurs as he presses the vibrator to your soaked panties, dragging it side to side, the pressure building until your breath is coming shallow, ragged. You can’t see Satoru, can’t predict his movements, and that makes every little shift unbearable—every drag of the toy feels sharper, hotter.
“Sensitive,” he hums, voice dropping lower, almost reverent. “Always so sensitive for me. Look at you squirm—”
“I c-can’t—” You writhe, fingers clawing at his forearms where they hold you in place. “Satoru, please—”
“Mm, you can.” His free hand slides up your chest, palm spreading over your sternum, holding you still against him while the toy grinds harder against your clit. “You’ll take it, won’t you? Let me play with you a little.”
There’s a sharp click and the vibrations intensify, your hips twitching in his lap as you mewl helplessly. Blindfolded, the world is reduced to sound and sensation—the deep rumble of his laugh when you gasp, the press of his thighs caging you, the relentless hum between your legs.
Your head falls back against his shoulder, mouth parted, breath stuttering out in broken moans. He kisses your temple, gentle contrast to the way he’s tormenting you. “That’s it,” he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction. “Let go for me, baby. Wanna feel you fall apart right here in my lap. Wanna play with sweet girl.”
“Satoru—Satoru fuck,” you whine, teeth digging into your bottom lip, shifting on his lap but his hold holds firm, wrapped around your hips, pressing the toy harder against your clothed clit. Your slick soaks the fabric of your panties, and Satoru rubs the vibrator, dragging it up and down against the silky soaked fabric.
“So wet for me already,” Satoru murmurs by your ear, and you can feel the heat of his gaze between your thighs, making your stomach flip, cheeks heating.
“W-wait—Satoru—Mngh—“ you try protest but a firm press of the vibrator makes you jolt and you cum embarrassingly fast, soaking your panties through, pleasure shocking through you, thighs pressing together tight. “Oh—Hngh—“
“Oh that’s it,” Satoru breathes, voice low, and edge of a rasp that makes your spine tingle. His fingers stroke over your soaked panties, feeling the wet cling, the outline of your pussy clear against the fabric. “Messy girl,” he hums. “Look what you did to yourself.”
And then Satoru starts to peel them off. The wet fabric peels from your skin as he drags your panties down, slow, torturous. Cold air kisses your soaked core, making you clench around nothing, thighs threatening to snap shut until Satoru pries them open with his long fingers.
“Pretty little pussy,” he breathes against your ear. “Let’s try that again—without the panties in the way.”
Satoru turns the vibrator back on, humming back to life and it presses directly against your swollen clit, no barrier this time. The shock is white-hot, your back bowing instantly, hips fighting his grip. “S-satoru—fuck—!”
“So pretty,” Satoru sighs as he rubs the vibrator over your bare clit, the vibration making your toes curl and spine straighten and arch. “Pretty, pretty girl.”
“Oh—Oh, fuck— Hngh—“ you whimper as the toy presses to your clit, Satoru rubbing slow circles, fingers keeping your thighs pried open, baring your cunt to him. Your eyes squeeze shut behind the blindfold, breaths shaky and loud in your ears. Your skin hums and tingles, vibrations making your pussy clench, toes curling.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Satoru presses the vibrator harder to your clit, pressing it the underside to make you gasp. “You look so pretty like this, letting me play with your cute little clit.”
“Satoru—Hnhgh—“ you whine, thighs clenching, vibration buzzing against your clit, pleasure coiling tight in your gut, second orgasm crawling quicker than the first.
“Cum for me, sweet girl,” Satoru croons into your ear. “Let me see the pretty pussy cry.”
“Satoru—“ Your head rolls back and a sharp gasp is dragged from you as you cum, thighs spasming, cum dribbling down the inside of your thighs. It tingles through your spine, bursting behind your closed lids, panting for breath.
“That’s my baby,” Satoru croons softly as he rubs his thumb over your hipbone and gently eases the blindfold off. Your blink, lashes wet, adjusting to the light and Satoru’s grin greets you, soft and affectionate. “Hi there,” he whispers as he kisses the corner of your eye, tasting your salty tears.
↪ ( ˶ a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you. for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. and then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't. because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.˵ )
pairing ☆ richman!Gojo x bodyguard!reader.
content ☆ fem!reader, no curses au, they're both around 30, they had a previous relationship, reverse cowgirl, matting press, doggy, multiple round, multiple orgasms, very provocative gojo (?), big stretch, bid dick, pussy drunk, cock drunk, emotional sex, rough sex, needy sex, cum play, dumbification (both), gojo is downnn bad, forcing her to use her words, begging (both), mean reader ig, a lot of cursing, angst, oral sex (both receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampied, mention of blood, fights scenes, broken bones, pet name (mostly sweetheart and once baby), sexual tension, slow burn, explicit language, explicit content, power dynamics, military mention (mild ptsd), gun mentions, fearing for each other’s life.
word count ☆ 14.5k
notes ☆ this is for my 200 followers 🥹 thank you for all the reblogs they are very very much appreciated!! I didn't know where I was going with this fic lmao, I just hope that some of you will enjoy reading it! I'm always open to feed back :))) be mindful this is my first long (?) fic, I threw some stuff together and hoped for the best oops
⊹— read on AO3
You were assigned to Gojo Saturo.
Of all the men you could possibly protect, it had to be him—your ex-friend with benefits.
You sat across from him at a table that probably cost more than your entire apartment—fingers twitching under the weight of irritation. The upscale place was dimly lit, the kind meant for quiet luxury.
“You both understood?” your superior asked, sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. Gojo grinned, the same playful smirk on his annoyingly handsome face. The past nine years had only done him favors, he'd grown taller—making him tall like a damn tower—his features sharper, his frame broader. ‘Maybe he'd been training’ you thought. ‘Or it’s just life sculpting him into something even more irritatingly perfect.’ you frown your brows.
You left him when things started to be serious. Back then, Gojo had some difficulties to understand he was just a sex friend. But it didn't really matter, you had to leave for the military anyway.
For a long time, you didn't want to process feelings, attachments—that was just bullshit. And you still think it’s bullshit… But now, nine years later, somehow, you were right back where you started.
You retired from the military after sustaining severe injuries. But you still craved the thrill—fights, missions, the adrenaline rush. It kept you on track. Like drugs, you were addicted. So, you became a sort of bodyguard.
Over the years, you had protected royals, rich heirs, celebrities—anyone with a target on their back. It owned you the reputation as being the best in your field. You were ruthless, cold-blooded, killing without hesitation if needed.
Your face remained stoic, your gaze locked onto Gojo as he held yours. “Yeah, got it. babysit the rich brat until the gala's over.” you mocked, leaning back against the chair.
Satoru chuckled, he couldn't help but tease you “Oh, come on now. You make it sound so boring” tilting his head like a cat toying with its prey. “I thought you'd be happy to spend some time with an old friend”
You scoffed. “Friend is a strong word, Gojo” that response only fueled his mischief. “You're right” he crosses his arms as he continues, “We were never just friends—”
Insufferable brat. You cut him off before he continues.
“I’m here to do my job. Nothing more,” you said without a hint of emotion in your tone, fixing him with a glare that should've shut him up.
It didn't.
His piercing blue eyes gleamed with amusement. “Of course, sweetie," he purred, resting his elbows on the table, leaning in, “just admit you missed seeing my beautiful face.”
You exhaled sharply, already exhausted ‘maybe a small knife pressed against his throat wouldn't hurt—just a little warning.’
“What I miss, is protecting some quiet person who knows their limits and let me do my damn job in peace. Thisis what I truly miss”. Gojo hummed, shamelessly dragging his gaze over you “Personally, I missed that sharp tongue of yours.”
“Alright, enough,” your superior cuts in, his tone serious—a clear warning that he had no patience for the ridiculous back-and-forth between you two. “Stay close at all times. there are threats left and right against him leading up to the gala.” he turned his attention to Gojo “You don't act up, and you listen to whatever she tells you.” the rich man was clearly enjoying himself. “Don't worry, I love when she bosses me around.” he winks at you before standing up and leaving the restaurant… like this was all a game to him.
Your superior exhaled heavily, already bracing for the headache to come. Then, he dropped the next bomb. “You need to stay at his place.”
You try your best to keep a straight face. “What?”
“Gojo is already informed. You're moving in tonight,” and with that, he leaves the table, leaving you seething.
Your fist met with the surface with a dull thud. “Damn it,” you muttered, frustration curling hot in your chest.
This is going to be a long, long week.
──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
You rode to Gojo's house, spending the time to talk yourself down. You had spent years perfecting your composure. You had survived war zones, assassinations, and high-profile threats. There was no reason for Gojo fucking Satoru to get under your skin.
And yet.
His house—no, his mansion—was perched high above the city, a fortress of sleek glass and security. The driveway alone was bigger than some of the safe houses you'd stayed in.
When you pulled up to his gates, the night was well-advanced, the cold biting your cheeks as you lift up your helmet. You met some guards at the entrance stating that Gojo was expecting you.
Obviously.
The second you stepped through the doors, the place smelled ridiculously expensive. The living room was massive, with a sunken seating area surrounding a glass-enclosed firepit. There are floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the space, offering a panoramic view of the glittering cityscape below. A massive, curved staircase led to the second floor, the railings lined with soft, glowing, light strips, guiding the way up.
The place screamed luxury—unapologetically extravagant, but with taste.
Just like him.
You sighed, rolling the tension from your shoulders as you tugged off your gloves. The ride had been long—your muscles ached, your motorbike uniform clung to you, slightly damp with sweat. All you wanted was a shower and some sleep.
“You're so sexy in that uniform,” a raspy—his raspy voice came from above. You looked up to find him leaning against the railing, messy white hair, sleeves rolled up to reveal veiny forearms, collarbone peeking through the loose neckline of his shirt.
And that goddamn cocky smirk.
“Gojo,” you warned, voice firm—making sure to let him know you with your tone that you don’t want to deal with his shit right now. He ignored it entirely, blue eyes twinkling as they dragged over you with zero shame. “Seriously, bending you over in it wouldn't be so bad.” your fingers stopped their motion for a fraction second before continuing your movement.
Satoru in all his splendor.
“Wouldn't be so bad if I curb-stomped you into the floor.” you respond. Gojo restrained a laugh, eyes sparking with mirth. he fucking loved this—pushing your limits. “Actually, I wouldn't mind that either.” you grit your teeth at the comment.
“Just show me where my fucking room is."
When you reached him, he let out a dramatic sigh, “Not even a little peck before sleep, sweetheart?” you blankly stared at him “Alright, no need to look at me with so much love.” he ironically says as he turned around, leading you to your room.
──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
4am.
The digital clock glowed dimly as you pounded your fists against the heavy bag. you slept only two hours—which, honestly was decent considering you never slept well. the military had drilled you into the art of light, vigilant rest, training you to snap into action as the slightest disturbance. And staying here, with Gojo just down the hall, only worsened that already unstable peace.
“Fuck it,” your fist connected with the training bag, a loud thud echoing through the empty gym. You did a home tour by your own after your kind host dropped you to your bedroom—and to your relief, you found a fully equipped training room. Exactly what you needed to burn off frustration time to time.
Sweats dripped down your temple, muscles burning from exertion as you moved with precision and force, the heavy bag jerking with each impact. Your t-shirt had been abandoned long ago—tossed to the side as the heat from training built up—leaving you in nothing but sports bra and low-slung sweatpants.
“Gojo, are you going to stay there for long?” you snapped as he stayed put in the doorway, thinking you hadn't noticed him those past fifteen minutes, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world. He grinned, unbothered “Was testing if you could notice a threat even while distracted.”
you snorted “well, now that you oh-so-sweetly reassured yourself, could you fuck off?” your fist slammed onto the bag harder, sending it swinging violently.
You felt his eyes on you—those big blue piercing one feeling like he was seeing everything you tried to hide. It almost burnt holes on your skin.
His eyes darted at the sweat slipping on your back. “Damn," his voice was low “I think I prefer you like this—hot, sweaty, breathless,” he insisted on the last word.
Your eyes flicked to his figure as he took slow steps forward. “I think I like you gone.” He clicked his tongue, tilting his head as if you disappointed him. “Why always so hostile? I could be way more helpful than that punching ball.”
You were too fucking exhausted for his teasing game… So exhausted that your next punch sent the bag flying so violently it nearly knocked over the weight rack. You caught it with one of your wrapped hand, fingers tightening around the worn leather.
You exhaled sharply, preparing yourself to face his bullshit… and insufferable sexy face. “I swear Satoru—” you stepped closer to him, closing the space between you. Only to realize how stupidly tall he was up close. You weren't small either but standing like this— with a solid eight inches between you—made you feel very tinynext to him.
“Satoru,” he repeats, rolling his name on his tongue. “It's been a while since you've said my name… Say it again.”
He leaned in—eyes lazily tracing your lips, the small hairs at the back of your neck sticking to your skin, your full breasts pressed tight against your sports bra. A strong desire lingering in his eyes as he imagined licking every drop of your sweat.
He tested your patience “You know,” he murmured. “I really love this view.”
And that was it, you had enough.
In no time you grabbed him, hooked your arm, and flipped his ass over your shoulder—slamming him onto the floor. Before he could react, you were on him, your thighs straddling his hips, your hand wrapped around his throat. Gojo’s eyes widened in shock—he did not expect that. But the surprise was soon enough replaced by a slow curl of his lips.
“Fuck,” he chocked out, “That was hot, sweetheart.”
you tightened your grip around his neck “Gojo, you're a fucking perv.” You snarl out as you feel something hard pressing between your legs. “I’m just a man," he lifted his hand in fake innocence. "You kept bouncing around that bag, how could I not get some ideas?”
The worst part of all those stuffs is that you were turned on by all his teasing—no matter how much you tried to be disgusted by it, the dampness of your panties any time he made a comment said otherwise.
“Gojo, you're a total pathetic man,” you mutter rolling your hips down harder, closing your thighs firmly around him just to hurt a little more. His pupils instantly blown wide and his lips part sightly—that fucking bastard was loving it.
“Y-yeah, pathetic,” he chokes out “I-I’m a-a very p-pathetic man." your panties were so damn soaked by now as his length presses sinfully against your core—it was a miracle you didn’t soaked his sweatpants.
You refuse to acknowledge the feelings, you don't need it, you don't need him, you don't need to go back to him.
You release his throat with a final squeeze, eyes heavy, dragging your fingers down his heavy chest—feeling the hard ridges of muscle tense under your touch, before you push yourself up and off him. You see his hips twitching up, as if he was chasing the missing heat of your pussy.
Gojo let out a broken—needy whimper, as you adjust your waistband and roll your shoulders back, trying to gather your thoughts, walking toward the door. Ignoring the aching pulse between your legs.
You throw one last glance to Gojo, you can see his erection straining against his pants from where you stand, aching to be taken care of—his face’s features twist in desperation.
“Be ready at eight a.m. We've got recon to do.” and with that, you leave him there, fighting the urge to go back inside and make a mess out of his white fluffy hair—and probably more.
──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The ride to the venue is longer than necessary with Gojo whom insisted on riding with you. You should have known better than accepting his demand.
He can not keep his hands to himself.
At first, his hands rested innocently on your stomach, but as soon as you took off, he let them slide lower, palm resting on your inner thighs—fingers tracing circles way too close to your core—the vibrations of the bike only making it worse.
At the next red light, you snap your hand down, gripping his wrist. “Keep your hands to yourself,” you warn him. “Either way I’ll have to cut them off.”
His chest rumbles with laughter against your back. “What if I don't want to?” you hear his teasing voice through the speaker of your helmet. “You're never asking about what I want, sweetheart.” his hands squeeze you through your pants.
“I think I’m gonna kick your ass off the bike.” You bite back as you feel a headache starting. “Go to hell that damn mission,” your jaw tightened, ‘why does he have to make everything so difficult’
The light turns green and you don't hesitate to accelerate like a damn crazy— earning some curses from your companion, his arms wrapping around you, his thighs locking firmly against yours. And once he accommodates to the speed, he's laughing, slightly enjoying the way you speed down the street like you're trying to outrun the heat pooling between your legs.
It only took 10 more minutes to arrive in front of the luxurious hotel, one of the most extravagant hotels in the city. The gala will be held there, a beautiful place—a perfect representation of Gojo’s wealth and arrogance.
“Gorgeous place, huh?” he muses when he notices you take some time to get off your bike. “Maybe we should get a room after the mission, to celebrate our teamwork.” you swing your leg off smoothly, ignoring him as you unbuckle your helmet—making your way into the fabulous hallway.
When you step inside, multiple people are working on the preparations—setting up tables, adjusting lighting, and fussing over floral arrangements. You walk straight past them, heading toward the ballroom where the main event will take place. The room is massive—high ceilings with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, multiple balconies. it's beautiful, but a logistical nightmare for security. too many places to hide, too many potential vantage points for a sniper.
Gojo lets out a low whistle, walking a step behind, hands in his pockets— acting like a damn tourist instead of a man with an actual bounty on his head. You continue your round and pass the ballroom, letting him do whatever he is pleased to. You head toward the back corridors, checking the service entrances, mapping out the security offices. The staff is too busy setting up to pay you much attention—though they keep glancing at Gojo… probably wondering if he's some high-profile guest.
But just as this thought travel your mind, something shifts.
A group of security personnel moves in, just a little too fast. Too coordinated.
You recognize the stance immediately : trained, disciplined. Not just the hotel staff. Your instincts scream at you, your feet move before your mind fully catches up—you step toward Gojo to warn him…and that's when you see it.
A figure in the hallway, gun raised. aimed directly at Gojo’s head.
Your body does a 360—physically and mentally.
You twist on your heel, muscles coiled, and throw your knife—hided meticulously under your jacket. It slices through the air, and the second it buries itself deep in the shooter's forearm, he lets out a sharp yell, his aim faltering.
It's all you need.
You charge.
Your combat boots barely make a sound as you sprint toward the shooter. You're on him before he even recovers, grabbing his wrist and twisting it outward—hard.
POP.
He screams, his shoulder socket dislocating from the brutal angle, the gun slipping from his fingers. Your knee flies up, slamming into his sternum. You feel his ribs shift under the impact, his breath leaving him in choked gasp before you shove him aside like trash.
“Holy shit—” Gojo whistles, but you don't hear the rest as you see three more attackers already closing in. One of them lunges with a knife—fast, and extremely precise.
But so are you. You shift sideways at the last second, grabbing his wrist mid-swipe. Then in a brutal motion, you twist. His own blade sinks into his thigh. A strangled gurgle leaves his lips as he stumbles back, collapsing to his knees, clutching the handle buried in his leg.
A shoot of adrenaline runs in your blood, electric… and you’re almost savoring your victory when suddenly you feel arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you from the floor.
You don’t bother letting your brain think—letting all your muscle memory doing the job. You snap your head back, cracking the nose of your opponent with the force of a fucking hammer. Blood sprays onto your shoulder and the wall. Your fast to slam your elbow into his throat, his air supply instantly cut off, his body jerking as he crumples to the floor.
The last guy is bigger, stronger—seems to be military trained from the way he moves. But that doesn't matter, you've had to deal with fiercer men before. When he's close enough, you drop low—leg swings out in a sweeping arc.
CRACK.
His legs are ripped out from under him—his back hitting the floor so hard his head ricochetted. You don't let him breathe, your fist driving down, once.
Twice, three times.
The last punch bursts his lip open, blood dripping down his chin. Your fingers wrap around his throat. You lean in close, sweat dripping down your temple, eyes heavy of the need to kill. “You fucked with the wrong person.” a broken noise coming from his lung makes its way through your daze. You tighten your grip just to hear thatnoise again.
Clapping.
You whip around, chest heaving, eyes wide open, your body covered with blood.
Your eyes meet clear iced blue eyes, a mouth grinning like the devil himself.
“Well, well, well,” he whistles, stepping over the bodies of the men you just demolished. “I gotta admit, that was fucking sexy.”
your brain is still catching up, heart pulsing with adrenaline “What the hell is wrong with you?” you snap. “We almost got fucking assassinated.”
His grin deepens. “Oh, my sweet sweet soldier…” he crouches down, tilting his head. “That wasn't an assassination.”
You freeze. You hope it's not what you think it is.
He gestures lazily at the unconscious men. “That was a test,” he lifts his shoulders, unbothered. “Wanted to be sur you still got it.” he winks, amused.
your blood runs hot and your grip—on the nearly dead man lying beneath you—loosen. “A test?” Gojo shrugs, way too casual for someone who just watched you beat the absolute shit out of four men. His gaze drags over you—knuckles bloodied, chest rising and falling quickly—and his smirk only widens.
You don't think much as you launch at him, fury taking over—fully prepared to knock that smug grin off his face… for good.
Only this time, he's ready. He catches your wrist mid-swing. “No, no,” he purrs, his grip tightening enough to make you aware of his strength. “Play nice.”
Your free hand grabs the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer, “Fuck you and your stupid games," you spit, tone full of hate. "I can't wait for this week to end,” you see completely red, losing all self-control.
And your last sentence has the effect of a nuclear bomb on the tall man.
His usual gleaming eyes fade into something darker. His eyes once playful, turn sharp, dangerous as the long white eyelashes flutter to take a nasty look at you. “And what?" his voice is low, cold—jaw clenched so tightly it might break. "Leave like you did nine years ago?” his face coming closer at each word coming out of his kissable lips, his warm breath hitting your skin. “Leaving without a second look?”
Your stomach twists. He's standing too close—looking at you like he wants to rip you apart. And you can’t help yourself, can’t stop your eyes from dropping to his eyes to his lips.
Your chest rises and falls sharply. Your body is still burning from the fight, but this—this is worse. You rip your wrist from his grasp, shoving him hard enough that he stumbles back a step.
And he laughs. An empty crazy laugh, far from his usual cocky, full-bodied laugh.
It sounds like a man who had lost all his reasons to live.
It sounds like someone whose world crumbles and he can’t do a single fucking thing to stop it.
“That's all you ever fucking do, huh?” his voice is sharp, dripping with the need to hurt. “Run.”
you flinch, ever so slightly. But he sees it. And he seems satisfied, perversely satisfied
‘I finally got a reaction out of her.’ Type of satisfaction.
"I didn't have a choice," you force the words out, voice controlled—contrasting with the war taking place inside you. Gojo’s expression darkens even more, and you swear his bright eyes just… shaded.
“Bullshit, you always had a choice.” he steps forward, and this time, you don't move back.
If he punched you, it will be well-deserved. You wouldn't dodge it—it’s actually your strongest wish during this right moment: being hit like you deserve it. His fist on your face would hurt less than the words coming out of his mouth.
“You just didn't choose me.” your heart stops, feeling something inside you cracks.
But you don't want him to see it.
So, as much as you hate what you're about to say, you steel yourself and let it out. “What, you think I owed you something?” the words taste bitter, burning your tongue even as they leave your mouth.
Gojo’s lips parts, but nothing comes out at first.
Then quietly—too fucking quietly, “No.” his voice is ragged, raw. “But I thought you cared.” you feel it like a punch to the gut. Gojo never says things like this. And surely was never in the state he is in front of you—all his body shaking, tone sounding like he’s on the verge of crying a whole ocean, eyes… dead.
He surely is all teasing remarks and well-placed avoidance but never is he a looking like you ruined him. Like you destroyed a part no one could ever rebuild—except… you.
A part of you wants to desperately scream that yes, you did care.
You still do for fuck’s sake.
You still care so much you can’t sleep correctly at night, you still care so much you want to burn the world for him, you still care so much your whole body is screaming—no, yelling at your brain to repair what you had done…
You still care so much you vanished for him.
But you say none of that. Instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away.
And he lets you.
For mere seconds, he lets you leave—again. But Satoru feels his whole heart breaks into more pieces than it already was as he faces your back, “Don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command.
For a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. But he doesn't.
Because he still wants you to choose him…
And you never do.
──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The ride back home is fine. If fine meant quiet, tense, and filled with too much unsaid shit hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Then yeah, it is fine. More than fine even.
Gojo didn't pull his usual antics—no wandering hands, no teasing remarks.
Just silence.
His hands stay firmly on his own thighs, gripping the edges of the seat. And somehow that irritates you even more.
You can feel the weight of his gaze the entire ride back, burning into the back of your head like a brand. He doesn't speak, but his presence is suffocating.
By the time you pull up to his estate, he gets off the bike before you can even kill the engine. His movements are sharp, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. For a moment, he just stands there, staring at you, like he's debating something. You stare back, chest rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline still buzzing through your veins.
With a low scoff, he turns on his heels, and heads inside without a word. You don't follow. Not immediately at least—taking a moment for yourself, trying to gather back your composure.
You stay seated on your bike, hands tightening around the handlebars, knuckles white. Heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. The wind bites at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the cold settling in your chest.
──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The next day is spent preparing for the gala. You go over the blueprints of the venue again, double-checking entrance and exist, every potential blind spot.
The chaos from yesterday has been cleaned up—not a single trace of the fight remains. The bloodied bodies have been taken care of, the shattered glass replaced with pristine tables, the blood smeared across the walls scrubbed away as if it never existed.
As if it was nothing more than a fever dream.
You analyze the guest list, looking for possible threats. You argue with Gojo about security placements, mostly because he doesn't take anything seriously. “Take a look at this. Tell me if you recognize anyone shady.”
The tall man barely glances at the screen before muttering, “They're all shady.” you roll your eyes, “That's not helpful.”
He shrugs, stepping toward the grand windows. “I don't really care.” And that clearly hit on your last sane nerve.
“Gojo, could you at least pretend to care?” you put a hand on your hips, patience thinning.
He exhales through his nose, barely sparing you glance over his shoulder, when he replies with a calmness that cuts deeper than yelling ever could, “You're the one who didn't care, remember?” and that shuts you up, effectively.
He doesn't wait for your response, doesn't push, doesn't linger. Just clasps his hands behind his back, taking a slow tour of the ballroom, his gaze dragging over the chandeliers, the polished floors, the extravagant decor—all while completely ignoring you.
The gala is tomorrow.
For the first time of your life, you’re unsure of how things could turn out.
──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Morning comes too soon. You barely slept, torn between the looming mission ahead and the cold, unbearable silence that had settled between you and Gojo. Since that night at the hotel, it had been nothing but tension—thick, suffocating, unspoken.
A battlefield of sidelong glances, clipped conversations, and empty spaces where words should have been. especially your words.
Words of regrets.
And now, as you sit stiffly across from Gojo on his sleek leather couch, arms crossed so tightly your nails bite into your skin, it's clear nothing has changed. He doesn't look at you—he hasn't since that night—since those words left his mouth, cutting deeper than any blade you took.
Your superior clears his throat, dragging you back to the present. His voice clipped, all business. “You'll be attending as a couple.”
The words slam into you like a wrecking ball. “You’re kidding,” you say flatly, glaring at your superior.
“No,” he says simply. and you hear him, letting out a laugh. The sound sends cold down your spine.
“It's the best cover. Gojo is a known public figure, and he's expected to bring someone.” His tone’s monotone as ever. “You, on the other hand, aren't on anyone's radar. It's the perfect excuse to keep you close and avoid suspicion.”
You shake your head. “There has to be another way,” you bite the inside of your cheek, gripping your own arms as if that'll keep you from exploding.
This is a fucking disaster.
“There isn't.”
Fucking hell.
How are you supposed to play lovers when everything between you is broken, shattered, and stitched back together with nothing but avoidance? You can feel—for the incomputable time this week—a pair of blue eyes fixing you, but you refuse to meet them. You already know what he's thinking.
That you well-deserved that.
That you were the one who ran away from him nine years ago, without any explanations.
Your jaw locks as you finally risk a glance at him. He's watching you, studying you.
Blue glacial eyes pinning you in place—as expected. Then slowly, he tilts his head, lips curling into a grin. “Well,” his voice’s low, vibrant with something dark. “This should be fun.”
The moment your superior is done explaining you all the procedure from your entrance to the moment you’re supposed to immobilize your enemies, you push yourself off the couch and stride toward your room, your pulse hammering too fast.
It's too much. Your feelings taking control of you—your brain, your body, your soul.
The air is still charged, like static before a storm. Even more now that you know you're going as a couple. Behind you, Gojo doesn't say a word. He doesn't try to stop you either.
Of course, he doesn't.
You try to convince yourself it's easier this way. Easier to act like none of it matters. Like the past isn't clinging to both of you with bloodied, desperate hands.
The second the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. The tension in your shoulders lingers, pressing your forehead against the door.
‘focus’' you tell yourself.
Tonight is business, the mission comes first. It's not about him—not about your feelings.
You step into the bathroom, turning the shower knob. Water rushing out, steam filling the space almost instantly.
Hot, scalding—exactly what you need. You peel off your clothes, letting them drop carelessly to the floor before stepping inside.
The first touch of water burns, but you don't move away. Instead, you welcome it. Let it wash over you, over your skin, over the lingering heat still trapped in your body from the way Gojo looked at you earlier. Your hands slide over your arms, down your sides, over the curves of your body, the pressure firm as if you could scrub away the past—him.
The water runs through your hair, down your back, down your thighs, and still, you can't shake the way your body remembers him. The way it still reacts to the mere idea of him.
It pisses you off.
Your fingers tighten into fists before you force yourself to exhale, resting your forehead against the cool tile. You stay like this for a while—letting the water scald you, hoping it can burn out the thing still curling inside your chest, still whispering his name in the back of your mind.
By the time you finally step out, steam curls around the mirror, the bathroom thick with heat. You wrap yourself in a towel, sighing as you push the door open.
As you step closer to the bed, you notice a box on your bed.
Black, sleek, expensive.
Your breath catches for a second, it's not hard to guess who left it. You approach it slowly, a wary sort of anticipation buzzing under your skin.
On the box, sit a thoughtfully folded paper. A small, piece of paper with the unmistakable Gojo’s handwriting.
‘’ sweetheart,
I can't let you ruin my reputation with those cheap dresses you own. I have an image to maintain, after all. A rich man can't have people thinking he's poor.
Wear this.
— Satoru ‘’
Your pulse quickens under your skin.
Sweetheart.
Something in your chest tightens, flutters, pounds.
You crush it, fight it.
With steady hands, you set the note aside and lift the lid of the box—and you freeze.
The dress inside is breathtaking.
It's a shade of blue so deep, so striking—the same as his eyes, his beloved eyes. You swallow, fingertips ghosting over the fabric. It's impossibly smooth, slipping through your fingers like liquid, designed to mold to every curve, to hug your body like a second skin.
A dress that demands attention.
You take it out of the box and immediately notice the back. Or rather, the lack of one. The fabric dips dangerously low. With a sort of thin white belt that wraps behind your neck, fastening at the nape before cascading down in a delicate, tantalizing line. Tracing your vertebral column. A seductive dress, yet functional enough to fight in case.
You return your attention to the box.
Your eyes widen as you see a pair of underwear. A soft filthy shade of blue, slightly lighter than the dress delicate and teasing. The panties are sheer in all the wrong places, practically see-through, the thin straps barely qualifying as fabric. Offering little to the imagination. there’re subtle glittering embellishments, catching the light just enough to draw eye—right on your pubic bone, making a delicate bow.
Just enough to drive a man insane.
Your throat runs dry.
That fucking bastard.
You dig further into the box with a stupid smile on your face, only to find jewelry. A necklace so fine it barely feels real, elegant enough to steal attention. Earrings that shimmer subtly, matching perfectly with the delicate bracelet nestled beside them.
Everything about this is so intimate.
You hate that your heart still reacts, that your fingers tremble slightly as you lift the necklace, as you let the fabric of the dress slip between your fingers. Every single piece was selected with intent. This isn't just a gift…
It's a statement.
Gojo Satoru is back at it again… and he wants to show the world who you are.
Who you belong to.
You need to keep your bold cold. Mission. Mission then next… Gojo.
──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
8:17 p.m. you see as you finish getting ready.
Adrenaline rushing through your veins— hands moving on mechanism, fastening the holster around your thigh before slipping the small firearm into place, the slit of your dress perfectly concealing it. Since Gojo is the host and you’re his partner for the night, there won't be any security checks for you at the entrance.
You allow yourself one final breath, steadying your pulse as your hand move to the door handle.
Tonight, your job is to protect him. nothing more.
You push the door open, and nothing could have prepared you for what is waiting for you right behind it. In front of you stand an anxious Gojo, fixing his suit jacket, smoothing the fabric before his fingers nervously reach up to adjust his tie—walking back and forth.
Your breath hitches.
The tie he's fumbling with is the exact same shade as your dress—his signature blue, the color of his eyes, the color that haunts your dream more often than you'd like to admit. His scent hits your nose, flooding your senses. Something fresh, subtly spiced. It messes with your head, makes it hard to focus. His hair is a little bit messy, like he's been running his hands through it while waiting for who knows how long.
When he ears the sound of your heels hitting the floor, his eyes quicken to find yours.
And everything around you freeze.
Gojo stays still. His usual teasing remark falter, no lazy smirk, no arrogance. Just… silence as his gaze consumes you.
It's like the weight of the last few days of distance disappears, and all that remains is… you, him, us.
“I-” he starts but fails to find the correct words. “That's…you- I mean,” he shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts but fails once again, and miserably.
So instead, he takes a slow step forward, his hand reaching out. You don't hesitate, taking it in yours—letting your heart chooses… for once. His fingers are warm against yours, his grip tight, like he's afraid to let go—to let you go
Your eyes speak louder than any of the words you could pull out of your mouths. He gently turns you, his eyes trailing over the open expanse of your back as you slowly turn on yourself. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
“What's happening, Satoru?” you tease, a little smirk tugging on the corner of your lips. “You finally dare to look at me, after all the ignoring these pasts days?” You tilt your head back, lifting your chin to meet his eyes.
Even in your heels, you remain towered by him, his presence overwhelming. Gojo’s eyes betray something deep—pain, maybe regret.
“Sweetheart…” he murmurs, pulling you closer by the hand that holds yours. The sudden motion takes you by surprise, a gasp leaving your lips as your body crashes into his. “I’m always looking at you.” He growls softly. The heat of his body pressing against yours, makes you weak—experiencing difficulties to bring your breathing to a regular peace.
The word mission keeps echoing in your head.
You shouldn't give in, not when he got so defensive, not when you still had walls built around you.
“Gojo,” you whisper as his eyes flickers to your lips.
He leans in, his forehead touching yours, closing his eyes. “We need to figure it out,” he says simply. “Give me a chance.” his hands grip your waist, molding your body to his. “Tell me why you left, please,” his voice’s filled with a raw, aching honesty that make your heart drop.
Your brain is racing at a thousand miles per hour, your pulse drumming in your ears—the tension between you two is palpable, undeniable.
Your hands go to the back of his head, tugging sightly his hair, making him open his mouth in a pretty O as his eyes flutter shut—he’s so close to you. You feel your heart bursting for him, his lips so close to yours...
He’s almost breathing you in. You breathe out his name—in the tiniest voice known to earth as your lips bumpagainst his.
“After the gala,” you murmur. “But let's go for now. we're running late…”
With the last remained strength, you pull back. A pretty shade of pink creeps onto Gojo’s cheeks—the sight of it makes you smile. He’s still holding you by the waist, looking at you with the most heartbreaking puppy eyes.
You try to ignore his desperation as you both walk down the stairs, and before you can move reach the door… Gojo’s voice calls out right behind you, low and filled with something close to mischief. “Wait,”
You stop in your tracks, turning to look at him, and that playful smirk already made its comeback. He lifts your hands—hand that he hasn’t let go—to eye-level, then loosens his grip just enough to intertwine his fingers with yours.
His eyes fixed on your face, watching for your reaction. “It's better like this,” he says, his voice mix of teasing and seriousness when he sees your confused expression. “If we're playing couple, let's do it right,” he adds.
You shake your head in disbelief, unable to suppress the bright smile tugging at your lips. “Satoru, let's go now,"
He opens the door, the cold night air hitting your skin.
“I love when you call me Saturo, sweetheart.”
──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
the streets blur past, neon lights casting fleeting glows over his sharp features as he drives through the city. Gojo insisted on being the one to drive, choosing one of his luxurious car— not without making a comment on how it'd be nearly impossible to ride your bike in that dress but he'd gladly let you ride him in that dress.
the ride is quiet. not the comfortable kind, but the charged, suffocating kind. you can feel his eyes flicking toward you between red lights.
the hotel appears, tall and grand, its golden lights illuminating the massive entrance. unlike when you came checking security, the driveway is packed with luxury cars, men in tailored suits, women in gowns worth small fortunes. there're even photographers lining the barricades, flashes firing like relentless lighting.
despite your superior's briefing, you still feel nervous. of course you have attented events like this before to protect your clients, but never were you the center of attention.
suddenly, dodging bullets in a batteflied seems far less stressful than whatever the hell this masquerade is. at least, the car windows are tinted, giving you some more minutes.
gojo feels you tense up as he stops in front of the entrance. he turns to you, bringing a hand to cup your face, tilting your chin so you meet his gaze. “it's okay, sweetheart," his thumb traces soft, reassuring circles on your cheek. “i'm with you. focus on the job, okay?” then, with an easy smile, he steps out of the car.
the moment he does, you hear people calling his name, cameras clicking furiously. and gojo being gojo, steps out with that infuriating confidence, adjusting his cufflinks like he owns the damn place. pretty fucking bastard
gojo makes his way to your door before the valet even moves. he opens it himself, hand extended, waiting. and you can feel this is not only for the show. you let out a sharp exhales, taking his hand to get out of the car.
the moment your heels hit the ground, the flashes explode even brighter, voices pitching higher, demanding your attention. gojo's fingers intertwine with yours—firm, possessive—as he pulls you closer, leaning down just enough so only you can hear. “wanted to let you know,” his breath tickling your ear “knowing what's under this dress is no helpful to hide my boner in front of these photographers.”
before you can react, he presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple. then with the smooth ease of a man who knows exactly what he's doing, he lifts your hand to his lips and plants the softest kiss against you knuckles. “also, don't forget to smile.”
──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Inside, the gala is exactly what you expected—crystal chandeliers spilling molten gold over the sea of designer-clad elites, laughter too polished to be real, and conversations laced with unspoken agendas. The air is thick with expensive perfume and quit power plays.
Gojo moves through it effortlessly, magnetic as ever. He plays the perfect host, flashing easy grins and exchanging pleasantries with people you couldn't care less about. You, on the other hand, remain sharp, scanning the room, keeping your senses on high alert.
Or at least… you try.
It's hard to stay focused when you're super-aware of his warmth, enveloping you.
His palm rests low on your back, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded circles against your spine. His lips graze your temple as he leans in, voice low with some meaningless observation, but his breath is too warm, too deliberate. A shiver runs down your body each time he murmurs sweet nothing.
The hours stretch on, an endless cycle of fake smiles and calculated small talk. The weight of the night starts pressing against your ribs, exhaustion creeping in. You need a moment.
“I’m getting us drinks,” you murmur, pulling away from your partner touch, ignoring the way your body immediately protests the loss of warmth.
“How thoughtful of my wife” he teases, lips curling into something wicked.
You almost fall to the floor, headfirst.
Wife.
The word comes too easily from his mouth, like it belongs there. And what is more surprising is you catch yourself liking it.
Shaking off the heat starting to take over you, you weave through the crowd, reaching the refreshments table. Your mind still lingers on him, your thoughts are actually full of him.
So full of him, of his tease, his cocky grin…
A shadow of a smile tugs at your lips as the realization slowly grows on you.
Evidence.
You don’t want to run anymore.
When you turn back—two glasses of champagne in your hand—Gojo is gone.
Your pulse stumbles.
He’s nowhere to be seen.
Your breath quickens, eyes scanning every corner, every exit.
Nothing.
Where the hell is he?
You shove the glasses onto the nearest table, ignoring the startled look of a waiter. Your training reflex urges you to stay calm, but panic claws at your throat.
Gojo isn't just your responsibility. He's—
Focus.
You spot one of the security personnel near the ballroom's entrance, a stocky man with an earpiece and a sharp gaze. You stride toward him, voice low but urgent. “Did you see Gojo leave?” the man frowns slightly, “he stepped out a few minutes ago. Took the private elevator up.”
your stomach knots. “Someone was with him?”
He nods. “Yes. A few men. Well-dressed.”
Fury spikes through you. ‘And that didn't alarm you?’
you could beat his ass off if it wasn't for Gojo right now. Where did they find those incompetent men.
Spinning on your heel, you move fast, heart hammering. The gala's noise fades behind you as you push through the discreet hallway leading to the private elevators. The display shows it stopped on the roof.
Your pulse spikes. You slam the button.
Nothing. locked.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath.
You don't have more time to lose… so without hesitation, you head for the stairwell, heels be damned.
You rip the gun from its hidden strap at your thigh and climb two steps at a time. The adrenaline burns away any exhaustion, pushing faster.
By the time you reach the top, your breath is ragged. Hand tight on your gun, you push the rooftop door open slightly—hiding behind it in case it’s a trape.
And your blood turns to ice.
Gojo stands near the edge, bathed in city lights, his white hair a stark contrast against the night. The wind howls between the buildings, the breeze fluttering his tie—the same shade of his eyes, the same shade of your dress.
His usual carefree stance betraying nothing, hands in his pocket like he's discussing business over whiskey rather than staring down the barrels of guns.
Four men surround him.
They're dressed too well to be common thugs, but you know better—real danger rarely looks the part. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar curving at the corner of his mouth, has his gun aimed directly at the back of Satoru’s head.
Your grip tightens around your own gun.
And then Gojo speaks. “I suggest you let me go,” he drawls, voice laced with amusement. “Or my wife's going to rip you apart.”
His smirk deepens, he stands all tall and proud. “Also, we arranged we talk after the gala, to make things clear. I don't think she'd be very happy that you keep me for the night.”
The men exchange glances, unimpressed. Scar-lips steps forward, a cruel smirk twisting his scar. “You're worth a lot, Satoru Gojo.”
A ransom situation.
Gojo pinches the bridge of his nose like they're giving him the worst headache known to man. “Look,” he starts, tilting his head back—pressing his head further against the gun aimed at him. “I don't know who sent you, but this is embarrassing. Four of you? To handle me? That’s clearly not enough.”
He sighs in exasperation. “If I were you, I’d start running before she gets pissed.”
They barely have a second to process his words before you make your move. You can't risk any longer. and Gojo is doing perfectly at distracting them.
One breath. One shot.
You step out. Aim. Fire
The bullet buries itself into the shoulder of the man nearest to Gojo. He stumbles back with a pained grunt.
and Satoru moves.
He moves faster than the wind whipping through the rooftop. In the time it takes for scar-lips to turn toward you, Gojo’s there. A sickening crack echoes through the rooftop as your tall man drives his elbow into the wide man's jaw with enough force to send him staggering. Without pause, he pivots, driving a brutal kick into another's ribs. The crack is sickening.
You react instinctively, ducking behind an industrial vent as one of the men pulls a gun in your direction.
Another shot rings out.
Gojo moves like liquid shadow, disarming one of the attackers with terrifying efficiency. The opponent barely has time to process that he's slammed into the ground.
Scar-lips, despite his disoriented state, reaches for his gun again.
But the blue-eyed man doesn't let him. He's on him in a blink, gripping his wrist with an almost lazy ease before twisting it violently in the wrong direction. The man screams, his gun clattering to the floor. Gojo doesn't let go. Instead, he leans in, voice sickeningly sweet. “Told ya, she'd be mad.”
You’ve seen trained fighters. You are one. But the practical ease he disarmed every single man on his own? This is something else.
The speed, the precision, the sheer control—it's unsettling.
The last man standing tries to flee, you take aim and fire a warning shot near his feet. He freezes, hands trembling in surrender.
The rooftop falls into silence, only the labored groans of the fallen men breaking the stillness. The adrenaline still surges through your veins as you lower your gun, stepping closer to Gojo, who brushes nonexistent dust off his sleeve like he didn't juts annihilate four men in less than two minutes.
“You good?” he asks, eyes flickering over you, concern hidden beneath his usual playful tone.
“I should be asking you that.”
“What? you think a couple of suits can take me down?” he winks, but there's something unreadable in his eyes. Something he doesn't want you to see.
You don't press. At least, not now.
Instead, you step forward, pressing your heel into scar-lips' injured arm. He yelps.
“So, who sent you?” scar-lips stays still, unwilling to say anything.
The other men groan on the ground, the sting of their broken bones keeping them from trying anything stupid.
Gojo sighs as if he's bored. As if this whole thing is an inconvenience rather than a threat to his life. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out his phone.
“You know,” he hums, tapping the screen with a lazy smirk “I could call someone. But they wouldn't be as nice as she is.” He gestures at you with a tilt of his head, his tone light, but his eyes? Glacial.
Scar-lips doesn't flinch. You press down harder on his arm. “Fuck! alright, alright!” Gojo grins like you just made his night.
“Contract” he grits out. “Someone put a price on your head. It's big. Too big to ignore.” Satoru clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “That's vague. who?” scar-lips looks like he's debating if answering is worth the consequences. “Not local”
“International.” you press.
He nods, slowly. “Someone wants you dead, Gojo. Badly. All we got was a time and place.” His gaze flicks up to you, sharp despite pain. "And instructions to take the girl too".
The air grows thick. “Me?”
The man on the floor exhales “Whoever hired us knew you'd be with him. They want you alive.” Something cold settles in your stomach.
Gojo, however, laughs. It's quiet, then louder, echoing against the rooftop.
Scar-lips looks at him like he's lost his damn mind. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Gojo wipes at the corner of his eyes like he actually found that funny. “Man, you guys must be new. Do you know how many times someone's tried to put me in a body bag?” He crotches down to his level, voice dripping lower. “And not a single one ever succeeded.”
Gojo nods toward you, lips quirking. “Someone wants her alive? Buddy, you should be more scared of that than anything else.”
They want you alive. That means whoever put out this hit isn't just after Gojo—they're after something he has. Something that’ll hurt him more than the simple fact of ‘capturing’ him.
The implications make your blood runs cold. Because no one knew your relationship with the rich man. And you barely have more time to think about it.
From the corner of your eyes you see one of the men on the ground—one you thought was barely conscious—lunges.
It happens fast. Too fast.
A blade glints under the rooftop lights, aiming straight for Gojo’s ribs.
Your arms move before your brain. The gunshot rings out, echoing across the night.
The man crumples.
And in the same time Scar-lips yells, trying to scramble back, but Gojo’s hand shoot out, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up. “I’d be annoyed if this wasn't so damn predictable,” his voice has lost its amusement. It's cold now. Deadly. “You made a big mistake touching what's mine.” His fingers tighten. For a second, you think he'll kill him.
He sighs—a sound full of tiredness—and his grip loosens. “I’d love to drag this out, but we have a gala to return to,” he says, and with that, he lets go. The man collapses to the ground, coughing violently.
Gojo steps over him like he's nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. He reaches for your hand, gently pulling you away.
“Someone's coming to pick you up.” he adds, his tone far too casual for what just happened, “Be grateful. I called someone to take care of you, buddies. I only do that to my special guests.”
He slams the rooftop door shut behind them with a sense of finality, cutting off the chaos that lingers in the air.
As you make your way down the stairs, you abruptly stop, questions swirling in your mind.
“What's wrong?” Gojo asks.
You meet his gaze, searching his eyes, trying to figure out what he's hiding from you. He steps closer, "you, okay?”
You don't answer, and you feel the weight of silence settles between you. It's suffocating, you don't know how to break it. So, you shake your head. You want to ask him why he hired you. Why he needs you when he could've handled everything alone. You want to know if there's more to this—more to you—than the simple fact of being his bodyguard. The questions burn at the back of your throat, but you swallow it down, afraid of what the answers might be.
Gojo’s hand pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, his touch gentle—like always when he touches you—making you truly look at him. His palm cups your cheeks.
“Hey.” His eyes are full of concern, worried. his thumb brushes over your cheek, a fleeting touch, as if he's trying to ground you. You're not sure if it's for your sake or his.
“You're acting weird,” he murmurs, tilting his head. your throat tightens.
“And you're acting like this is normal.”
A short laugh escapes him, not a single hint of humor in it. His grip on your face loosens, but he doesn't pull away. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me why,” the words come out quieter than you intended, but no less desperate. “Why hire someone to protect you?” something flickers in his gaze, quick enough that you almost miss it. His fingers twitch against your skin. “You really think I need a bodyguard?” The way he says it sounds wrong—too light, too easy.
“Exactly, you don't." your voice is unwavering now, the certainty of it strengthening you. “The way you fought—it was effortless. You're better than any soldier I’ve seen,” you hesitate, the memories clicking into place. “Better than me.”
You remember your punch he blocked that night, back at the gala preparations. The sheer force he used. You should have realized then.
Gojo is quiet for a moment. He lets his hand drop from your face. The loss of his warmth makes your chest ache.
“I thought it'd be obvious by now,” he mutters, looking away.
It isn't.
It's not obvious at all. And the fact that he won't just say it outright makes your frustration curl tight in your chest.
You take a step back, shaking your head. “Well, as you can see… it's not.” you cross your arms, the hurt leaking into your voice.
Gojo’s head snaps back toward you, eyes narrowing. “You overthink too much.”
You scoff, anger bubbling up despite your exhaustion. “Then give me answers. If you did, I wouldn't have to.”
His jaw clenches, you think he's going to throw out some flippant remark, something to brush this all under the rug like he always does.
But then—
He takes a step forward.
And another.
Until there's barely any space left between you.
“Maybe I don't want you to know,” he says, voice low, almost quiet to hear.
The words send a sharp pang through you. He's never been this blunt before. “Why?” you whisper, almost afraid to ask, but you need to go through this.
Together.
“I’m afraid you won't look at me the same.”
Your heart clenches at the quiet honesty in his voice.
“Satoru," you murmur, refusing to back down, “You dressed me tonight. You brought me here as your date…” the next words are quieter, “you even called me your wife,” your voice shakes, but you keep going. “And I was scared to lose you tonight.” the words are raw and unfiltered, the weight of them hitting the space between you with unbearable force.
Gojo stills. His breath is uneven, and his eyes—those brilliant blue eyes—widen just slightly. You close your own, exhaling shakily before continuing.
“I ran once. Nine years ago,” your voice is barely a whisper now. “I was young. I was afraid. And it was a mistake…” his entire body tenses. “Satoru,” you open your eyes, meeting his. “I want you. All of you. and surprisingly, I’m willing to stay. To stand next to you. To kill for you if that's what it takes to keep you safe,” you pause, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m not afraid of threats. I don't want to run anymore.”
Gojo looks wrecked. Completely and utterly undone.
You press a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid, unsteady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “Nothing you could ever say will change my decision or the way I see you.” your voice is firm when you adds your final word. “Nothing.”
He swallows hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he doesn't know whether to pull you in or push you away—to protect you from people that would want to hurt you, only to hurt him.
He breaks.
His arms wrap around you, crushing you to him, his grip almost desperate. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. And for the first time, Gojo Satoru—the untouchable, unshakable man—trembles.
“Making me go through all that,” he says against your hair, “being irrefutable with me and letting me beat the hell out of four men—" his fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes like he's terrified you'll disappear. “It took you all that to finally tell me what's on your heart?”
you r eyes are glassy with emotions, wrapping your arms around him just as tightly “I’m sorry.”
He lets out a shaky breath, and you swear you feel droplets of water on your shoulder. “Stay,” it's not a command, not a plea—just a confession. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, into the way he holds you like he's never wanted anything more.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
And just like that, nothing else matters.
The gala, the stares, the whispers—none of it exists as you slip out through the back entrance, hands locked together, ignoring the world you're leaving behind.
Gojo doesn't let go.
Not even when he opens the car door for you, not even when he slides into the driver's seat. His hand stays on your thigh, fingers warm and steady, tracing idle patterns against your skin. Every red light is an excuse—an excuse to lift your hand to his lips, pressing slow, deliberate kisses on your knuckles, the pads of your fingers, the inside of you wrist.
You shiver, watching him through lidded eyes. “You're being soft.”
He hums, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. “You love it, don't you?” and you don't deny it.
The drive is quiet, heavy with something unspoken. When he pulls up in front of his house, fingers still tracing slow, burning circles on you thigh, the weight of earlier comes crashing back. You shift in your seat as he turns the engine off, eyes flicking toward him.
“What were you going to say earlier?” his motions pause for a second and instead of answering, he leans in, his breath hitting your jaw as his lips ghost over your skin. “You really want to talk about that right now?”
The air is charged, thick with frustration and need. His lips press against the corner of your mouth—featherlight, teasing, but you can feel the restraint in the way his fingers grip your thigh.
You tilt your head, giving him more access to your neck as a sigh leave your lips. “I need to know.”
Gojo groans, low and deep. His hands move—one sliding up higher up your thigh, the other tangling in your hair as he pulls you toward him, his lips finally crashing against yours.
The kiss is messy—his mouth is chasing yours, licking your lips demanding the right to claim you. You don't even remember shifting onto his lap, only that his hands are on your hips, gripping tight as if he wants to make sure you’re real. His breath is ragged when he pulls back, forehead pressed against yours. Your lipstick stains his lips, smudged, messy, sinful.
“You really wanna do this now?” his voice is rough, uneven. Your dress are ridden up your thighs, allowing his long digits slip under it with ease, brushing against your bare skin. “In all honesty, I’d rather have you like this, falling apart in my hands. Or my tongue. Or fingers. Or whatever you’re wanting to.”
Your pulse is wild, but you don't back down. “Satoru,” you lift a hand, softly wiping the lipstick from his lips. “Tell me.”
His sigh is one of defeat, his head falling back on the headrest. “I didn't hire you to protect me,” His voice is quieter now, raw in a way you've never heard before. “I hired you because I wanted you close.”
Gojo chuckles, amused by his antics. “You ran from me nine years ago,” he presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck—wet, lingering. “I had to do some stratagems to have you.”
Your eyes burn with emotions—ones you don't have time to process because Gojo’s lips trail lower, his tongue flicking out, teasing, tasting. “Being an influential young man got me some enemies. I had to know how to fight like a soldier—if not better. As the years went by, I became even more influential. And with some quick calls, I was able to find you."
“I don't think I deserve you, Gojo.” the words spill out, breathless. He clicks his tongue, pulling back the strict necessary to meet your gaze. His hands frame your face “Sweetheart,” his voice’s barely above a whisper. “Let's go inside,” his teeth graze your skin “I’m going to show you just how much you deserve me.”
──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
You barely step through the threshold before his hands are on you again, pushing you against the wall. His kiss is devastating, all-consuming, a plea and a demand in one. His hands roam, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips with such a desperation it shakes your whole body.
“You're killing me,” he groans, voice hoarse, “I need you. need to taste you.” your dress is barely hanging on, undone but still covering you like some cruel temptation, and that makes it worse for him. He doesn't pull it off, his fingers skim the fabric, then push it up, bunching around your waist.
Your light blue panties—delicate, sheer, adorned with tiny pearls. The one he meticulously chose for you. He fucking loses it at the sight.
“Goddamn it, I know it would fit you like a second skin,” his voice shatters, his breath stuttering as his thumb brushed the pearls, the fabric already damp. A pretty little thing wrapped up so nicely just for him. His hands shake when he presses his palm flat against your cunt, cupping you through the soaked fabric. “You're so wet. You wanted me this bad?”
you whimper, nodding, your knees already weak.
He drops to his knees so fast it's almost embarrassing. He doesn't even push your panties aside right away. He takes his time to kiss up your thighs—not just to tease, but to worship. His lips press against every scar, every mark, each one a silent promise. “My pretty strong girl,” he murmurs, his fingers squeezing your legs. “You’re thousands time hotter with those, just sayin’.” He winks up at you, baby blue eyes eating up by his pupils.
“Satoru—” his name dies on your tongue as his mouth bites the inside of your thigh, hard and leaving an imprint of his teeth that he soothes right after with his tongue.
And like some horny teenager, he licks all the way up to your dripping core—tongue flattened and hot. A gentle kiss is pressed right against your cunt, lips wrapping around your clothed clit. He sucks delicately, gripping the back of your thighs with the same intensity as your hands that flew to his snowy hair. Your nails graze his scalp when he gives kitten licks to your folds making him moan and his eyes roll back to the sweet, missed taste of your arousal.
Your thighs try to close and you squirm, trying to escape from the sheer force of his need. But his strong hands hold you open, force you to take it.
“F-Fuck—” Satoru growls as he finds better access by lifting on of your legs on his shoulder—allowing him to drink better your juices.
He dives his face into your pussy like a possessed man. “God, you taste sweet even through this,” he slurs, drunk on it, his voice muffled. “Missed having my mouth on you.”
His tongue dragges over the fabric, lapping, teasing, sucking—doing everything he could, he feels eager and more.
All he wants is to be marked by you. He wants to have your relase all over his face. He wants it to drip on his tie, his suit, his floor, everywhere.
His fingertips slip underneath your blue panties to pull them to the side. “Gojo—” your head slams back against the wall.
He doesn’t let you finish, slapping your clit with a rough slap. “Don’t call me Gojo,” he rasps, eyes squinting in disappointment. “You know my name. Call me Satoru and Satoru only.” He spreads your pussy open with his thumbs and buries his face right between your puffy folds, eating you out like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else. Like he needed to prove something.
“S-Satoru… I—” nothing coherent is forming in your foggy mind.
it's sloppy, desperate, obscene.
He's not contenting of licking only—he tongue fucks you open, your walls clamping on his taste bulb as his nose bumps against your clit at the same time. His fingers dug into your plump ass, yanking you closer, forcing you to grind against his mouth, finding a rhythm with his tongue, pushing it deeper onto your velvety walls when you roll your hips forward.
“t-too much—” your body is violently trembling.
“Been too long, huh? missed me eating your pretty little pussy?” he slides his tongue back up your sensitive button to flick it side to side and groans when he feels your clit pulsing against his. You’re dripping—a fucking fountain is happening between your thighs, his chin is drenched as he works you over, pulling moans out of you that made his cock throb painfully against his zipper.
His arms wrap around your waist, locking you in place, forcing you to take everything he gives. His moans vibrate against your skin, needy, delirious, he's getting off on this as much as you are. “You have no idea how much I wanted this back,” his voice is muffled by your heat. “Could stay down here forever.” He doesn't stop, doesn't let up—not even when your thighs squeeze around his head, leaving little to nothing for him to breathe.
Your body locks up, pleasure tightening, so close it hurts.His fingers dig into your flesh, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking like a mad man, and that's all it takes—you break apart with a cry, shuddering, coming all over his tongue.
Gojo groans like he's tasting something forbidden, something addictive, lapping it all up, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.
By the time he pulls away, his lips and chin are glistening, his pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he just ran miles. Your dress is still on, but your panties are pushed to the side, and he is a wrecked mess between your legs, staring at you like he's ready to die for you.
“Come here.” you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a filthy desperate kiss—tasting yourself on his tongue, your substance transferred on your lips too now. His hands scrambled to get his belt open, shaking so badly he barely undo it.
“l-let me help,” you whisper, stuttering for the time… catching both of you off guard.
Your hands brushes his as you pull his belt free, undoing his zipper. “I want to make it up to you,” you look at him in the eyes. “For running away.” your hands slide over his thighs, palming the thick outline of him through his pants.
He's already rock-hard, and he’s probably leaking in his boxer from how much he’s twitching. He lets out a pathetic whimper. “s-shit, you don't have to—”
As if you cared to ‘have to’, you have needs too.
You slide down his pants and boxer in one go. His cock slaps against his stomach, his flushed red tip drenched in his pre-cum and the most delicious, engorged girth you’ve seen.
Your hand wraps around him—and he’s definitely wider and bigger than before. He's so hard it must be painful, droplets of pre-cum sliding down his shaft. You drop to your knees and look up at him through your lashes “I need to, Satoru.”
Gojo chokes. “Yeah, please—” and he doesn’t know what he’s even begging for.
Please be mercifully? Please don’t tease? Please take me in your mouth? Please be rough? He doesn’t have a single idea.
You slowly stick out your tongue, circling his cockhead with the tip of your tongue. His hands immediately fly to your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he needs something to ground himself.
And he’s so sensitive, thighs twitching as you flick tauntingly over the tip before you sink down, taking him deep. Tongue pressing against the thick vein running along his dick. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing your head, your hand stroking the rest of him. Your lips stretch wide around him—tears prickling in your eyes as his fat tip hit the back of your throat each time you sink down on him.
Satoru moans your name like prayer and it’s so delighting to make the strongest so vulnerable, a pretty whimpering mess.
“fuck, f-fuck—too good, it's too fucking g-good—” and he truly wants to let you continue, truly wants to let you take him apart...
But his need to feel you his stronger than his upcoming deliverance.
It's been nine torturing long years.
He only wants your pretty little cunt wrapping around his cock. “I-If you don't stop—shit—if you d-don't stop r-right n-now, i'm gonna—” he grabs your wrists with urgence, pulling you off with a sinful pop, lips swollen, spits all over your chin and a thin string connecting you to his reddened tip.
“Bed. now.” He talks in hurry.
Except… you don't make it to the bed…
You get as far as the couch before you're shoving him down, straddling his lap, gripping his shoulders. His cock still out, flushed, leaking, twitching against his stomach. And your soaked cunt destroying the blue shade of your panties—making it translucid.
“Reverse cowgirl.” you say, full of tease. His brain short-circuits.
“w-what?”
You don't answer. You just move, shift until your back is to him, giving him a full view on the open dress, the curves of your body, the barest glimpse of your soaked panties still clinging to your folds.
“Oh, fuck—ohhh fuck,” his head drops back against the couch, hands finding your waist as you took his thick base and let the tip play with your clit before sinking down.
You both are drowning. “T-Toru— ahh, ‘s big—” your voice breaks. And surely was it already hard to take him before but now? It feels like he’s splitting you open, his rigid cock fighting the ring of resistance.
The biggest cock you’ve ever took.
“Th-that's okay,” gojo is hardly holding on, shaking beneath you, his mind swimming in the dearest world of your pussy he created in his mind... or was it real? Feeling this good? “You're d-doing good—ah!—your pussy is…doing—dunno…. fuckfuckfuck—”
Inch by inch, you take him your ears barely catching up his no sense—too concentred on breathing as your cunt is stretching impossibly wide to welcome him.
Sweat drips down your back. His adam’s apple bob as he leans in, and lick it up making you arch back in a beautiful bow—
He loses his patience.
He grabs your hips, slams you down, and fuck, both of you squeal.
His fingers are bruising, his breath wrecked against your spine, and you're already a trembling, cock-drunk mess in his lap. “t-toru—please—” he fills you so much, too much. It hurts, it’s good, it’s everything and nothing at the same time.
“Shhh,” he pants, his eyes closed shut, trying not to cum on the spot. “Let me make you mine again.”
He drags you up, thrusting up to meet you extremely slowly—letting him and you feel each other.
“Mhhh, toru..” your hands scramble for purchase against the couch as you rock back against him.
“That's right, babe,” he detaches his head from your back, taking a nice view of your naked back, your bunched up dress, your panties drenched in both your substances.
“Take me—please, take all of me.” His voice is a distant sound in your dumb state. And satoru is nothing better… a desperate, needy little sound escape his throat when he sees the way your pretty blue panties cling to you, your pussy stretched around the base of his cock, “s-shit, your panties— fuck, that's so—” Gojo can't even finish his sentence. His hands slip under your dress, his fingers finding your hard nipples and pinches them through your bra.
“Satoru, I—” you sob, rolling your hips, grinding down.
“That's it, ride me,” he begs, his hands palming your soft breasts. “You feel so fucking good, s-so tight—” you lift your hips just to slam back down, picking up a rhythm, and he loses his fucking mind. his moans spilling out in rapid desperate gasps.
“Baby, baby—” His length throbs inside you, his hips bucking up uncontrollably. He grabs at you, at your dress, your thighs, anywhere he can touch, his lips pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses along your neck.
“d-don't stop—please—f-fuck, please don't stop—” he sounds so ruined, so completely fucking gone.
Somehow you grind down even harder, sending the poor guy's body jolting. He's straight-up choking, his moans turn high-pitched, pathetic, whimpering. “Sweetheart, I can't— oh fuck, I’m gonna—” his voice breaks, shaking “I can't hold it— I can't, I can't—”
you lean back against his chest, turning just enough to catch the sight of him—his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, his entire body trembling beneath you. “t-toru,” you whimper, tightening around him. “cum for me.”
Gojo slams you down onto him one last time, a ragged, broken cry ripping from his throat. His cock pulses deep inside you, his grip on you almost bruising as he spills into you, moaning like he’s coming apart at the seams. His chest rising and falling erratically, his entire body completely ruined.
And even as the pleasure fades, he doesn't let go. “You're mine. Not letting you go again.” He doesn't give you time to respond as he suddenly grabs your wrists, shoving you face-down into the couch. “But that doesn't mean I’m done with you.” his body is still trembling, his cock still throbbing inside you, slick with both of your release.
“One round isn't enough,” heavy voice in your ear. He rolls his hips once, slow and deep, dragging his dick through the mess he's made of you.
Your whimper is swallowed by the cushions, fingers clawing at the fabric as he starts moving again. His pace is slow at first, torturous, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open again. Then he pulls out almost completely—just the tip remained inside—before slamming back in, so deep your vision blurs.
“Mhhh— Satoru!” the force of it knocks the breath out of you, makes you choke on your own moan. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, fisting your hair.
He pants, voice slurred, filthy. “So wet—so messy—fuck, listen to yourself.” and oh, you can hear it. The lewd, obscene squelching of your cunt sucking him back in with every thrust. It's dripping down your thighs, coating his cock, soaking the couch beneath you.
“s'dripping” he groans, pulling out just to watch the way your hole clenches, fluttering around nothing. Your slick mixed with his cum spilling out, glistening, pooling between your legs. “Fucking shit,” he grits his teeth, fisting his cock, slapping it against your swollen cunt, bringing his free hand to push back his cum inside of you. “Such a pretty mess."
“P-please,” you sob, wiggling your hips, trying to push back against him. you're so sensitive, already teetering on the edge again.
“Please what?” his grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back so his lips brush your ear. “Use your words, pretty. Beg for it.”
Your brain is mush, squirming beneath him, but you give him what he wants. “Please— please, t-toru fuck me—use me. W-want you s-so bad—need you so bad—”
His breath shudders. “You're so hot.”
And he slams back into you, deeper, harder, faster. You scream, your arms giving out as he fucks you into the cushions. His pace is wild, frantic, desperate—his cock found your g-spot, hitting it over and over again. Until your body is nothing but raw nerves and white-hot pleasure.
“y-you like this?” Gojo struggles finding his breathe, sweat dripping down his temple. “Like getting fucked stupid? like being ruined?” you can't even speak—just babbling his name as drool forms on the corner of your lips.
“’m not gonna last—fuck, I wanna feel you cum again, I need to feel it—” he moans, he swears your cunt was made perfectly for him and only him. One hand slipping between your legs, fingers rubbing at your clit in messy, quick circles.
“Come on—cum on my cock, wanna feel your cum all over me,” your whole body seizes, pleasure ripping through you so hard you think you black out for seconds. you cry out his name, back arching, legs shaking, walls clenching tight around him he nearly collapses. “ohhh ‘s gooood—wrapping around my cock aghn.”
His hips snap forward, his voice breaking as he lets his load filling your womb. This time there’s so much white liquid coming out of him it drips down his balls and thighs.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breaths, the lewd, sticky wetness between your legs, the faint creak of the couch beneath you. Gojo breaks it with a breathless, shaky laugh.
“You're a fucking dream,” he mumbles, pressing lazy, wet kisses to your shoulder. His arms wrapped tight around your waist.
You whisper his name, running your fingers through his damp hair. He exhales and lifts you into his arms, carrying you like you're something sacred, irreplaceable. Something he'll never allow to slip through his fingers again.
"Bedroom," he murmurs against your temple. “I need to love you properly this time.”
Your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat.
This is different. You wrap your arms around him as he carries you through the dimly lit house, his body still inside yours, still pulsing, still clinging to every last bit of warmth you give him.
Tonight, he took you like he was desperate. Like he had something to prove, like he needed to reclaim you after all these years apart. But now…
Now he's looking at you like you hung the stars in his sky.
When he lays you down on his bed, it feels like the world stops. Like you both exist in your own universe. Gojo hovers over you, delicately removing your dress and underwear, taking all his time to kiss your skin.
Every inch of your skin.
His hands trace over your soft skin as if you’re made of glass. He maps your body with his touch, memorizes you with his lips, presses soft, reverent kisses over your skin.
And he pauses when he reaches your scars. Trembling hands ghost over them, his expression unreadable. His eyes, impossibly blue even in the dim light, flicker up to yours. His fingertips linger on your scars, tracing them so gently it make your breath hitch.
“Nine years,” his lips press over each mark, worshipping. “Nine agonizingly years without you.” your chest aches. you cup his face, wiping the single tear coming down his cheek with your thumb. Satoru closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like he needs it to breathe.
“You don't get it.” murmuring it more to himself than you.
He looks down at you like you're everything. Like he doesn't believe you're real. Like you might just as well reconstitute his heart and destroy it in one single swipe of your hand.
He’s kissing you for the nth time tonight. But it’s different. It’s slow and deep. It’s delicate and soft.
It's not just hunger, not just lust. It's grief, it's relief, it's the kind of kiss that breaks you open and remakes you all at once.
When he finally pushes into you, it's not desperate. It's deliberate—he's trying to mold himself to you, he wants to leave an imprint of himself inside you forever.
“Satoru—” tears start to pearl at the corner of your eyes, blurring your view. Everything he’s doing is intense and hard to handle.
“I know, sweetheart,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, your neck, your collarbone. “Let me love you.”
You let him take his time. Let him move in deep, slow thrusts that leave you breathless. Let him pull every last moan from your lips until your nails dig into his back. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over again.
“Feel that?” Satoru takes your chin in his hand, making you look at him. “Do you feel my love? How desperate my body is to claim every inch of you? How eager I am to take everything you’re willing to? How eager I am to fight to earn your love? I want you to trust me, my love.”
There's no rush, just the overwhelming feeling of being connected—having each other the way you were always meant to.
“Toru, please,” you gasp into his mouth. Your heart feels full.
“I’ve got you,” he mutters, nose brushing against yours. his fingers lace through yours, pinning your hands above your head, your legs wrapping around his waist, your body arching into him.
“You're everything,” he whispers. “You always were.” your chest tightens, you feel yourself shatters as heat coils in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter.
You're so full of him—in all the possible way a human could—of love, of longing, of everything you've spent nine years trying to ignore.
“I love you,” the words slip before you can catch them. But you’re not frustrated nor uncomfortable with saying them first.
It sets something free inside you.
Gojo chokes on his breath. His rhythm stutters. His fingers tighten around yours. his lips tremble against your skin. “Say it again,” his voice breaks at the edge.
“I love you, Satoru.” his hips snap into you harder, pace remaining slow as if he's trying to commit every part of you to memory. “Say it again, sweetheart.”
“I love you—” and tears come down your cheeks—but you’re not sad… you’re happy. Happy to let your emotions out. Happy to be real with yourself and him.
His body tenses, his release crashing over him at the same time you hit yours. His lips find yours as you both shatter together.
When he collapses on top of you, he doesn't let go of your hand.
You're still tangled together, still connected when he speaks.
“I was serious,”
you hum, sleepy, completely boneless in his arms. “About what?” his fingers stroke over your hip. “About calling you… my wife.”
You tilt your head, searching his face.
He's looking at you like you're his entire world. He's never been surer of anything in his life.
“I don't just want you here tonight,” he says softly, kissing your nose. “I want you here forever.”
Tears sting your eyes, but you smile, brushing his hair out of his face. “Then start calling me that now, Satoru.” Gojo grins—that beautiful, bright, devastating grin.
And he can’t wait to show you the beautiful ring sitting on a pretty blue suede box on his jacket’s suit.
warnings: blunt, filthy language, nonchalant objectification, body piercing (nipples) power imbalance, mild pain play elements (divider by @fairytopea & @anitalenia
you walk in nervous. oversized hoodie. lip balm and sticky hands.
he clocks you immediately.
“you the little thing askin’ for nipple piercings?”
you nod. big eyes. biting your lip like you don’t already know how that sounds.
simon just jerks his head toward the back.
“room three. top off. don’t sit yet.”
you hesitate. he glances over his shoulder as he snaps on a pair of gloves.
“didn’t think i was gonna do it with your fuckin’ shirt on, did you?”
you follow him, trembling. everything smells like antiseptic and leather. harsh lighting. a cold vinyl chair.
you barely get your hoodie off before he’s tilting your chin up with one gloved hand.
“nervous?”
“yeah…”
“should be.”
he kneels in front of you, tray already rolled beside him. cold metal. clamps. cotton. saline.
“sit up straight. arms behind you. don’t fuckin’ twitch.”
his fingers are firm, not kind. he manhandles your tit, tugging and adjusting, pressing in with the pad of his thumb like he’s testing fruit at the market.
“hm. y’got nice tits,” he mutters. “real perky. look even better with metal in ‘em.”
you make a noise. soft, embarrassed. he grins.
“don’t go shy now. you’re the one walkin’ in here askin’ me to stab your nipples.”
he lines up the clamp.
“deep breath. on three.”
“okay—”
“one.”
stab.
you gasp. back arching.
“fuck—!”
he doesn’t even look phased. just wipes the blood clean and moves to the other one.
“keep squirmin’ like that and i’ll think you’re enjoyin’ it.”
you whine. he leans in, closer than necessary.
“if you come from this, i’m chargin’ you extra.”
the second one is worse. he doesn’t wait this time. doesn’t count. just grabs, lines up, and pierces.
you choke on your breath. tears bead up at your lashes.
he clicks his tongue and drags a rough thumb beneath your eye.
“c’mon, sweetheart. don’t cry. y’look like a proper slut with ‘em. did good.”
you blink at him. dazed.
“bet you’re soaked under those little shorts,” he hums, pulling his gloves off.
“wouldn’t be surprised if sittin’ on my table left a mark.”
he tosses the gloves in the bin. hands you the mirror.
“take a look. you earned it.”
and then?
“next time you want ink on your inner thigh, ask for me. i’ve got steady hands.”
he’s already gone by the time your legs start working again.
Hi, never done this before. I wanted to ask for jealous Baby Saja nsfw post. You can choose what makes him jealous, but I kinda want him to be a bit mean and needy during and a bit before the action.
i did not edit this my face is so red i need to BREATHE
Request | Rules | Masterlist
The moment you and Baby stepped into the apartment, you knew something was wrong.
Baby kicked the door close. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Eyes dark.
“Had fun?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, each syllable sharp enough to cut.
You blinked, thrown off. “What?”
“That little moment you had with him while I was talking to some fans,” he scoffed, closing the space between you in slow, deliberate steps. “All smiles, giggling at his jokes, touching your arm like you’re his. I take my eyes off you for a minute and you already attract pests?”
“Oh my god, Baby—”
“Don’t say my name like that. Like I’m overreacting.” His voice deepened as the shift took him — yellow eyes burning, pupils narrowing into slits, purple marks crawling up his arms and neck. His fangs caught the light when he snarled, crowding you until the back of your knees hit the couch. “You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?”
Your pulse skipped. You haven’t seen him like this before — predatory, unfiltered. You didn’t know that one small interaction with one of his fans would make him like this. You were just being polite. You didn’t mean to make Baby jealous.
You couldn’t carry the weight of his glare and looked away, but his fingers caught your chin, forcing your gaze back to his.
“Look at me. Your eyes belong to me. You belong to me.”
The kiss hit you before you could argue — hungry, possessive, teeth catching your lower lip like he could stake his claim with each bite. He bucked his hips forward, letting you feel the growing bulge in his pants.
“You’re mine,” he growled against your mouth. “Say it.”
“Y-yours,” you whispered.
His jaw ticked. “Not good enough.”
Before you could process, his arm hooked under your thighs and you were slung over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. Pink smoke and dark mist swirled around you, and in a blink, you were in the bedroom. He tossed you onto the bed, crawling over you with sharp intent.
“You like getting attention, huh?” he muttered, dragging a hand down your side until his palm cupped your thigh. “Fine. You’re gonna get all of mine.”
Another bruising kiss. Another grind of his hips between yours that had your breath hitching.
“Baby, please, we’re not—”
“You still don’t get it.” His voice was like dark silk over a knife’s edge. “He sees you smiling and thinks he can have you. That’s not happening. Not while I’m here.”
Fangs grazed your neck before pressing in — not enough to pierce, but enough to sting and throb under the heat of his mouth. You felt his smirk when he licked over the mark.
“Gonna cover you in these,” he murmured against your collarbone. “So no one has to wonder who you belong to.”
Claws replaced the fingers on his one hand. With one sharp drag, your clothes were shredded, falling away in tatters. His eyes drank you in, hungry and unrestrained. “So beautiful, so pure,” he taunted. “Too bad I’m gonna ruin you.”
He mapped out every inch of you, taking out his frustrations on your body by leaving bites, bruises, and heat wherever his mouth and hands wandered. “I should break his fingers. Or his neck. Maybe both.”
His fingers slipped down, a darker smile curving his lips as he finds you already wet. “Fuck. You’re ready for me.”
He held up his slick-coated fingers to your face. “Suck.”
You obeyed, locking eyes with him, pleading for something — mercy, release, anything. His eyes remained unwavering.
He flipped you with ease, pushing your face into the sheets and arching your back. You felt so exposed like this, your body laid bare like an offering to him while he stayed clothed.
He shoved two thick fingers into you in one smooth thrust, making you cry out.
“You’re dripping,” he murmurs. “Bet if I spread you open, I’d see how desperate you are.”
His calloused palm ground against you while he curled his fingers just right, only to pull back before you could adjust. Every whimper earned you a sharp slap to your ass.
“You wanna cum? Beg for it.”
You tried, but your voice cracked when he hit that spot inside you again. Suddenly, he removed his fingers and yanked your hair, dragging your back flush to his chest.
“I said—” SLAP “—beg.”
Your cheek stung where his palm landed, eyes glassy, but you obeyed. “Please, Baby. I want to—HMM!”
His clawed hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries as his fingers pounded back into you, scissoring until slick, wet sounds filled the room. You trembled, vision going white—
And then he pulled away, pushing you back on the bed. He wiped his fingers on your hip like you were just a mess he’d made.
He flipped you on your back and settled on top of you, mouth marking his way down your stomach until he was between your thighs. The first swipe of his tongue was slow, teasing, before he latched on hard, sucking like he was starving.
Moans kept tumbling out of your mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He slapped your thigh.
“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” he said, yellow orbs staring at you, unwavering. “I want you to remember who’s making you feel this way.”
His mouth was sinful, laced with a desperation that matched the tension in his eyes — hot, wet, sucking hard enough to make you moan his name over and over. His nails dug into your hips, holding you still even as you tried to move against his tongue.
You were getting close again. And then he pulled back again.
“No!” You jerked toward him, trying to chase his lips, walls fluttering around nothing. “Please, please, please,” you begged, gasping for breath.
He didn’t answer with words. He stripped, lined himself up, and slammed into you hard enough to tear another bloodcurdling scream from your throat. Every thrust was a reminder, every growl dripping with possessiveness.
“Gonna fuck you so dumb I’ll be the only one left in your head,” he said as he angled his hips and thrusted in a way that made you see stars.
Earlier’s memory flashed in Baby’s mind. How someone else made you laugh with some stupid joke. How they got a sweet smile out of you so easily. How they leaned close to you. How you let them. Every thought made his pace grow brutal.
“I am gonna fucking gut him, run my claws across his body and kill him,” he growled. His glamour shattered entirely — glowing purple swirls now covering his entire body, claws and fangs longer, eyes burning brighter. “He can’t have you. He will never have you. I’ll suck the living soul out of him and send it to the depths of hell to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
His words should terrify you. Instead, your body clenched around him, and you let out a breathless, pathetic moan before you could stop it.
He grinned devilishly. “Oh? You like that, huh? Like the thought of me killing for you? Me killing him using the same hands that hold you, care for you, make you come with just a few fingers?” He laughed. “Dirty, dirty girl.”
His hips slammed into you, his cock buried deep, every thrust hitting so hard the headboard hit the wall. You’re crying, shaking, nails digging into his arms just to stay grounded.
“Baby—please—” you choked.
He smirks, fangs flashing. “Please what? Say it.”
“I—want to come—”
“You want to?” His hand snakes around your throat, squeezing lightly. “You think you deserve it?”
You nodded frantically, more tears slipping free.
When he finally decides you’ve had enough, it’s not mercy—it’s control.
“Go ahead,” he breathed hard. “Come. Now.”
Your orgasm tore through you, sharp and all-consuming, your body locking tight around him. He fucked you through it, ignoring your overstimulated pleas.
“That’s it,” he panted, leaning down to bite your shoulder. “So fucking pretty when you fall apart for me.”
Baby chased his own high, muttering a string of minemineminemine against your mouth and skin as he lazily kissed you. With a few more sloppy thrusts, he finally came with a groan, hips stuttering as he spilled inside of you.
By the time he pulled out, your hole was leaking, your body was a canvas of red and purple marks, your neck and thighs claimed in ways that would take days to fade. And Baby, with his demon eyes still glowing, just leaned over you with a smirk and a knowing glint in his eyes.
“Don’t tap out yet.” He moved up your body and caged your head in between his thighs, tapping his still-hard cock on your cheek. “I’m not done with you. We won’t stop until you learn your lesson.”
Can I request headcanons for poly Saja Boys reacting to his female s/o, who kept trying to leave when they just started dating her because all of them were dating before even meeting her and she's too used to being the third wheel so she leaves to give them privacy please?
pairing: poly!Saja Boys x reader
warnings: Emotional Insecurity, Past Relationship Trauma, Isolation, Mild Angst
disclaimer: not my pic!
This actually made me really sad :( sending hugs to everyone who ever felt left out once in their life. You are all beautiful and deserve better
At first, no one noticed.
The Saja boys were chaos wrapped in charm — teasing each other at breakfast, wrestling over the last dumpling, or sprawled across the couch in a tangle of limbs and blankets. You loved watching them. The way they laughed together, moved together, fit together. They had a rhythm — something instinctual, something old.
You were the new beat.
And even though they never made you feel unwelcome, you couldn’t help but feel… temporary. Like a guest in someone else's love story.
It started with the smallest things.
At dinner, if there were six chairs but only five seats filled, you took the farthest one. Out of the way. Just in case someone wanted to sit closer to someone else.
When they played video games, you handed them controllers and watched from the floor, pretending you were “just bad at it anyway.”
You excused yourself early from cuddles, even when one of them reached out to tug you closer.
You said, “You guys go ahead, I’ll just clean up.”
You said, “It’s fine, I’ll shower later.”
You said, “Don’t worry about me.”
You smiled. Always smiled.
Because you were happy. Weren’t you?
But deep down, you were doing math. Always calculating space.
Who wanted to sit next to whom. Who deserved the middle seat.
Who had history — and who was just tagging along.
One afternoon, they were curled up watching a movie. You came in with drinks, but they were already close, already comfortable — Mystery’s head on Romance’s lap, Abby half-asleep against Jinu’s chest, Baby squeezed in beside them with a blanket over his shoulder.
There was a small spot left on the edge of the couch, barely big enough for you.
You stood there for a second.
And then, quietly, you set the drinks down and backed out.
You told yourself it was fine.
They were tired. They looked happy. You didn’t want to ruin the moment.
So you curled up on the floor with a pillow and scrolled through your phone, pretending to laugh at memes you didn’t really read.
Nobody said anything. They didn’t mean to miss it.
But no one reached for you, either.
Later that night, in the bathroom with the door locked and the fan on, you stared at your reflection.
You whispered it to yourself like a prayer.
"They love you. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be clingy. Don’t ruin it."
You splashed cold water on your face.
And when you came out, you smiled. Like always.
Jinu noticed it first.
Not because you were loud about it — quite the opposite.
It was the silence that got to him.
You used to sit in his lap during breakfast, stealing pieces of fruit off his plate. Now you sat across the table, smiling politely, like a guest.
You used to interrupt his conversations with cheeky remarks, little touches on his arm, a kiss to the cheek when he was trying to be serious. Now you let him finish his thoughts — every word — and nodded like a stranger.
He noticed the way you’d bring everyone their mugs of tea but “forget” yours. The way you hovered in doorways instead of walking in.
The way you looked at them — like they were a painting behind glass.
Beautiful. Untouchable.
And you were just… lucky to look.
One night, Jinu came back from training late and found the others all half-asleep in a pile of limbs on the couch. You weren’t there.
He checked the kitchen.
The bathroom.
Finally found you curled up in the laundry room of all places, surrounded by a warm pile of clean towels.
"Hey," he said gently, crouching down. "Everything okay?"
You startled — tried to smile, tried to act casual.
“Oh! Yeah. I was just folding stuff. Didn’t wanna wake anyone.”
It was almost believable. Except the towels weren’t folded. And your eyes were red.
Jinu didn’t push. Not yet.
He sat beside you and offered his hand. You didn’t take it. You just leaned your shoulder against the dryer and looked down at your lap.
A long silence stretched between you.
"Do we make you feel like you’re not part of this?" he asked softly.
You shook your head too quickly. "No! Not at all. I just… I don’t want to get in the way. You guys have a thing. A bond. I don’t want to ruin that."
Jinu blinked, stunned.
Because in his mind, you were already part of their bond.
The softness in Mystery's voice. The brightness in Abby's laugh. The way Baby's hands reached for yours when he was scared. The way Romance only cooked your favorite meals now.
You weren’t the outsider.
But you clearly thought you were.
"You’re not in the way," he said, voice low and serious. "You’re in us. In all of this. You’ve changed it — for the better."
You gave a little laugh. But it cracked at the edges.
"I know. I just… I don’t want to take up too much space."
That was when it really hit him.
You weren’t asking for more.
You were trying to shrink. To fit. To avoid being too much.
His heart ached.
That night, Jinu didn’t say anything to the others just yet.
He climbed into bed beside you, wrapped an arm tightly around your waist, and kissed the back of your neck.
But he didn’t fall asleep.
He lay there for hours, thinking.
Because you deserved better than silent guilt and unnoticed space.
You deserved proof.
And he would make sure you got it.
The next morning, Jinu sat quietly at the kitchen table, nursing his coffee while the others filtered in one by one — hair messy, shirts half-buttoned, sleep still clinging to their voices.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.
Watched as you poured everyone’s drinks again — and forgot your own.
Watched as you pulled a chair away from the center and sat at the end of the table.
Watched as you listened, laughed, nodded… but never entered.
Finally, after you’d stepped out to get something from the hallway, he spoke.
“She thinks she’s the third wheel.”
Every eye snapped to him.
“What?” Mystery said, frowning.
“Wait, who?” Abby asked. “You mean—?”
“Her,” Jinu said, voice quiet. “She’s been pulling away. Leaving herself out. Not because she’s mad. Because she thinks we were already complete without her.”
There was silence. Then Baby said softly, “But we’re not.”
“I know,” Jinu said. “But she doesn’t.”
That day, things began to shift.
Not all at once. Not in loud declarations.
But in a thousand quiet ways.
Romance was the first to move. That night, he cooked her favorite meal — and only her favorite meal. When she insisted everyone else might want something different, he looked her dead in the eyes and said, “Tough. We’re all eating what you love tonight. Because you’re the center today.”
She blinked. He winked.
Abby started pulling her into conversations. Not just including her, but looking at her first. “What do you think?” he’d ask before anyone else spoke. “You always have the best ideas.”
He’d say it so confidently that it made her wonder if maybe… maybe she did.
Mystery didn’t say much — he never did.
But the next time she brought mugs of tea and forgot hers again, he disappeared for five minutes and returned with a cup.
Set it in front of her wordlessly.
And then switched seats to sit beside her instead of across.
Baby began dragging her into the center of everything. Onto the couch. Into the bed pile. Onto his lap. “You go in the middle,” he said firmly. “You’re the warmest.”
It was such a simple thing. But she cried in the bathroom later.
And Jinu? He started saying it out loud. Often.
“You’re not extra. You’re ours.”
“You don’t have to earn your place — you already have it.”
“You don’t have to make space. There is space. For you. Always.”
Eventually, you began to believe it.
You started talking more. Reaching out more. Taking up space without apology.
And the first night you climbed into the middle of the bed pile without waiting for anyone to invite you — Baby immediately threw a blanket over your head, Abby cheered, Romance called it “about damn time,” and Jinu just kissed your forehead like he’d been waiting for this moment all along.
You didn’t say it that night.
But when you drifted to sleep surrounded by warmth and love, you thought:
"Maybe I’m not on the outside anymore."
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