꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
“No.”
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"
"—the answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—
"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
“Mhm.”
"And it was such a good question.”
You turn a page. "Really?”
“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”
You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—
…
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes.
“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”
Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…
Oh.
That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”
It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.
“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"
“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”
Lips parting, you blink.
…why is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”
His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”
Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
“Oh—uh, hi mom!”
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”
“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”
“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"
"—have you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”
“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
You’re the one people relied on.
Just… never the one people chose.
“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”
“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”
…
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”
“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.
Shit.
“I-I—I didn’t say—"
“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”
“—Mom, I—"
“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.
‘We’ve been so worried.’
…
If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.
“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”
Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
But…
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”
“Huh?”
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.
“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”
“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”
For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"
“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”
And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”
Why does he sound… bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? He’s not your mother.
“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”
“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“But I—”
“Drop it.”
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"
“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”
Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”
“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"
“Oh, finally.”
Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.
You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesn’t.
And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
…
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”
His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”
"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”
“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”
…
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”
"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."
He’s been her intern for that long.
That’s the question, right?
"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”
He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.
“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"…sorry. Who is thi—"
“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"
Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
📞 Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—
"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”
"Stop. I-I really think—"
“—Satoru, what are you doing?’
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.
“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
“Sooo… funny story…”
“—what did you do?!”
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
…what look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh… okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasn’t even an option, was it?
…is he crazy?
“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
Yup. He’s crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"…that is not the point."
“Mm… feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
…
His family’s in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
But…
"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."
"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”
He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
Shit…
That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖
apocalypse - prologue
undergroundboxer!kuna x reader [soulmate au]
series masterlist
∞︎︎
you had come to the conclusion that your soulmate was either a felon or a cold-blooded murderer.
you were leaning more towards the latter.
there were only so many times you could wake up with sore ribs and aching knuckles before starting to consider homicide as a genuine career path for your soulmate.
you were sixteen years old when you began feeling what he felt and he rarely felt happiness.
at sixteen, you remembered clinging onto hope, faith that things would change for the better.
at nineteen, you tried denial. optimism even. maybe he just had niche hobbies?
now, at twenty-two, exhausted and running on three hours of sleep and an unhealthy dependence on caffeine, you had finally settled on acceptance.
your soulmate was batshit crazy, absolutely insane.
the realization came to you somewhere between waking up at three in the morning because someone was being beaten up and nearly throwing up on the marble floors of your bathroom after feeling a wave of adrenaline so violent, it couldn’t possibly belong to a sane person.
you blamed him for the dark circles under your eyes, as well as the chronic irritability, insomnia and the emotional damage too.
“hey sunshine!”
you glanced up from your kitchen island to see shoko freely walking into your apartment as if it was her own. which, considering the amount of time she spent there, perhaps it was.
“you look awful.” utahime voiced from beside her as she walked towards your fridge, pulling out a bottle of coconut water, “devils dick wouldn't let you sleep again?”
you stared blankly out at the city skyline stretching beyond the floor to ceiling windows, morning fog curled between skyscrapers while the city below came to life beneath streaks of pale sunlight, almost pink.
“yes,” you replied bluntly, taking a sip of the black coffee in hand, “unless i’m the one suddenly developing anger issues and an overwhelming desire to commit aggravated assault.”
shoko snorted into her matcha at your words, though a thin layer of concern blanketed her eyes as she watched you.
you felt it before you saw him, the soft fur brushing against your ankles as you looked down at the familiar tuft of brown, “hi, ani.”
the cat purred against you lowly, circling your feet once before making his way towards the porcelain bowl filled with his breakfast.
it was a bit sad how your cat was your one companion in the vast penthouse you resided in. technically, the house belonged to your parents who were overseas so often, it was entirely in your possession alongside an absurd monthly allowance and very little supervision.
most people your age would’ve killed for this kind of freedom.
a luxury apartment in the middle of the city, prestigious university and a future already carved out neatly in front of you.
from an outside perspective, your life was perfect.
except for the stain beneath the surface of everything. him.
a constant you despised, yet he was all too impossible to ignore.
most soulmates exchanged softness through their bond. love, warmth and peace.
you exchanged pain, phantom bruises and what you were fairly certain was unresolved psychological trauma.
“how bad was it?” shoko questioned as she sat on the stool by the island.
you considered the question for a moment.
truly, last night wasn’t his worst night but it wasn’t his best either.
“my left thigh kinda hurts.”
“ooh,” she winced, “that’s new.”
“yup. he’s branching out,” you brought your cup up to your lips, “lucky me.”
the soulmate bond manifested differently for everyone, but emotional and physical sensations were universal. tiny things passed between soulmates all the time, including stress, exhaustion, happiness and lust.
utahime once told you soulmates were a blessing.
you’d nearly laughed in her face. did she know what a blessing was?
“maybe he’s in jail.’ shoko offered lazily as utahime immediately shot her a look.
you looked up at the girl. jail?
you almost hoped he was, that way the chances of meeting the son of a bitch were practically down to zero. you didn't want anything to do with the sadistic motherfucker.
your friends found your situation significantly sadder than you did, mostly because all of them had experienced their bond the way it was intended.
warm, soft and disgustingly tender.
utahime met sora during your graduation trip to greece. it was in the middle of a beach club and you distinctly recalled the way utahime went all quiet, the way they couldn’t look away from each other despite utahime always swearing that fate had handcrafted him specifically to irritate her.
you don’t remember how they progressed, only that they did. more than you could even imagine.
shoko met percy during your welcome week in freshman year, all anxious minds and bright eyes. you remembered the way shoko used to continuously rub the bridge of her nose because she claimed her soulmate wore the heaviest glasses on earth. then there he was. tousled hair, thick-rimmed glasses and all.
they’ve been inseparable ever since.
sometimes, you felt like the worst person alive because you resented them, just a little bit.
not because they were happy, but because they got softness where you got violence.
if you closed your eyes, just for a moment, you could recall exactly when you'd first felt him.
while walking through the school hall in first year, the most overwhelming sense of fear overcame you. real and true terror, practically paralyzing you in place. dread that was raw and sharp, crashing into your ribs hard enough to steal the air right from your lungs.
then came the pain, something you’d grow all too familiar with.
pain that only got worse with age.
you found yourself continuously trying to make sense of the colossal question mark that was your soulmate. who was he? what was he so afraid of? why was he in constant pain?
still, you learned the rhythm of him.
it was embarrassing, honestly. you knew things about your soulmate that no stranger should know.
you knew he preferred sleeping on his back because his shoulders were always too bruised to lie on comfortably. you knew he clenched his jaw till his molars hurt when he was furious. you knew he rarely slept through the night and how he carried exhaustion like it was stitched into his bones.
and worst of all, you knew exactly what his anger felt like and it was ugly. not explosive or wild in a dramatic sense but controlled.
it sat low in your stomach like a rock, dangerous and waiting.
sometimes, in the middle of lectures, your chest would suddenly tighten for absolutely no reason and you’d know instantly.
those were the worst days and they happened more often than you’d like.
your body would grow tense hours before it even happened, as if it already knew what was coming. your pulse would spike and adrenaline would drip into your bloodstream until your own fingers twitch with restlessness.
then came the impact. a burst of pain and the metallic taste of blood in your mouth that you could never see.
panic used to fill you at the sensation and now, you’d barely flinch.
“again?” utahime would whisper from beside you during your labs.
you’d simply nod.
apparently, your soulmate enjoyed fist fighting at eight in the fucking monring. truthfully, you didn’t know what scared you more. the violence itself or how used to it you’ve become.
because despite everything, the resentment sitting bitter on your tongue every time he dragged you into another sleepless night, you still found yourself searching for him constantly.
in crowds, trains and crossing busy streets. but you never felt his presence around, so you knew they were futile attempts.
you hated that too. the way your body longed for someone your mind already decided was a monster. the devil reincarnated.
sometimes, late at night, when the city outside your windows finally quieted down and the skyline blurred into soft hues of orange and pink, you’d feel him lying awake.
always restless and consistently pained.
there was something deeply unsettling about sharing insomnia with a stranger.
you’d feel him shifting endlessly beneath bedsheets, the tension in his shoulders and agitation under his skin. occasionally, the dull ache of old bruises blooming across muscle.
those nights left you exhausted and you always tried to ignore it at first, but one night, half-asleep and irritated beyond relief, you wrapped your arms around yourself beneath your comforter with a frustrated little sigh. a weak attempt to offer him a semblance of comfort.
go the fuck to sleep.
the effect was so immediate, it had your heart growing erratic.
you felt him still, completely and truly. a calm settled over your chest like a balm on wound.
after that, it became routine.
you’d discovered a hack of some sort.
to get through to him, you have to act as if you are him.
you’d taken up yoga with hime because it seemed to ease his sore muscles.
some nights, you’d feel him spiraling so violently with anger so strong, it crawled beneath your own skin. on those nights, you’d sit on your balcony overlooking the starry night enveloping the skyline in a deep blue. a case of markers in hand along with an adults coloring book. one of those complex ones with multiple minuscule shapes.
and color, you did. because it seemed to soothe him.
you knew it because you could feel it happen in real time.
the slow loosening of tension beneath skin and the steadying of his heartbeat. then the exhaustion would finally pull him under.
it felt strangely intimate.
though it started selfishly because you wanted the rest, you soon began doing it for him.
sometimes, you wondered if he knew it was you.
if he realized that the sudden calmness swallowing him whole at three in the morning belonged to somebody else.
if he knew his soulmate sat forty floors above the city in pretty pink pyjamas and color stained hands trying to soothe a rage she didn’t understand.
the thought made your chest ache because you knew he knew.
despite how badly fate had screwed you over, he was still yours.
and somehow, horrifyingly, you were still his.
despite it all, he still felt so unbearably human.
most nights were spent peacefully from that day on, for the most part.
you could tolerate him now but there were still quieter nights where he couldn’t sleep.
the bond grew restless during those hours, tension humming beneath your skin like static. you’d feel him, his exhaustion weighing heavy in your own bones despite the fact that you’d done absolutely nothing all day besides write up your report.
“he’s awake…” you mumbled one night, shoko glancing up from where she sat on the couch in your room, typing up her essay on her laptop despite the deadline being three hours ago.
“again?” shoko huffed, “does this guy not sleep?”
you simply hummed once because sometimes he does. when you help him sleep.
it was all too intimate in the worst way possible.
at times, you felt like he lived beneath your skin more than inside his own body.
when you wrapped your arms around yourself, mumbling a go to sleep, somewhere across the city, your soulmate listened.
one emotion you both felt was the soul-tying loneliness.
you understood loneliness, grown up and made friends with it.
it seems he did as well. he dealt with his in a different way than you did yours, though.
it happened late one night when you were halfway through your night routine.
at first, it was subtle, a warmth against your lips.
your movements slowed instantly, fingers hovering near your face as confusion knitted your brows together. what the fuck?
then came another sensation, this time featherlight touches across your jaw.
your stomach dropped because what followed was the most excruciating pain you’d ever felt, exploding through your body so suddenly, your serum bottle slipped from your hands and shattered across the bathroom floor.
and you collapsed with it.
a gasp tore from your throat as agony spread violently beneath your skin, hot enough to make your vision blur. it felt all wrong, burning and suffocating.
you knew exactly what was happening.
he was touching someone else.
you remembered shoko mentioning it once after utahime drunkenly asked too many questions about soulmate bonds during freshman year.
physical intimacy with someone who wasn't your soulmate caused backlash through the bond.
“apparently, it feels awful,” shoko stated, “super painful.”
awful? that fucking liar.
this wasn’t just awful. you felt like you were burning.
you curled against the cold marble tiles, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach as another wave of pain hit hard enough to drag a broken sound from your throat. it felt like being split apart from the inside out as tears blurred your vision.
“stop…” you whispered shakily, though you didn’t know who you were talking to anymore.
him? fate?
the pain built as you continued to feel touches that weren’t yours, warm skin that wasn’t yours.
someone else’s hands against him.
it made you sick.
humiliation mixed violently with heartbreak until you could barely breath through it, till you sobbed against yours hands.
messy and continuous tears soaked your sleeves as you sat on the bathroom floor, fury and devastation clawing through you so violently, you didn’t knwo what to do.
“i hate you!” you choked out as your lungs burned.
you felt the sudden stillness instantly, followed by a hollow feeling in your gut.
it hit your ribs so unexpectedly, your chest caught.
guilt. real guilt.
your expression twisted immediately. that sick son of a bitch.
that only angered you more.
you dug your nails into your palms hard enough to break skin and pain shot through you then, wanting him to feel it, to hurt the way he always made you hurt.
you slammed your first against the tile once, twice then again as your knuckles split open eventually but you barely noticed.
then suddenly…warmth.
you went still, breathing shaking unevenly as the sensation wrapped around you in an unfamiliar fashion.
it was a pair of arms, strong as they held you.
your breathing stuttered as you processed what was happening.
was he…hugging himself? like how you would?
he was holding himself because he didn’t know how else to reach you, to console you.
your anger cracked slightly at the edges because for the first time in years, he felt close. not in his usual worrying or irritating way.
and no matter how much you hated yourself for it, you leaned into it.
because after all, you were just as lonely as he seemed to be.
after that day, even following his piteous attempt at comfort, you were vengeful.
gone were the nights you’d hold yourself, him, to sleep. gone were the late night drawings or the yoga classes, the massages for his sore muscles and the relaxing teas.
gone was your gentleness along with any semblance of hope you had clung onto like snow on mountains.
you fucking hated fate.
∞
“maybe he’s dead.” shoko offered as you glanced up at her from the blaring screen of your laptop, illuminating your face in the darkness.
utahime shot her a look as you sighed gently.
you weren’t sure if her words were meant to console you but you weren’t sure they did.
you hated him, yes, but did you want him dead?
the thought sent a pang up your chest. no, you didn’t.
because you hadn’t even met him yet.
where all your friends had already fulfilled their bonds, you were left pondering the possibility of fate playing a sick trick on you,
“i mean, with all the fights he gets into, i wouldn’t be surprised.” shoko continued, her words trailing off as she caught utahime’s glare.
you shook your head once, ignoring the tightness beneath your ribs, “if he was dead, who the fuck am i feeling every day?”
shoko hummed once, as if pondering the thought, “maybe he’s in hell!”
now, that seemed probable.
rain tapped gently against the windows while blond played softly in the background as you returned your attention back to the half-finished page in front of you.
it was oddly peaceful in a way you weren’t used to. which meant he was either asleep or unconscious.
honestly, both possibilities reassured you equally so.
“you need to leave your castle, princess.” utahime smiled mockingly from her place on your carpeted floor as you rolled your eyes gently, fingers pausing atop your keyboard.
“why?” you muttered, thumb absentmindedly rubbing soft circles against your wrist.
“um, because of human interaction?” shoko dropped onto your bed, arms and legs starfished across the plush white sheets atop your king sized bed.
you rolled your eyes once more, “and you guys are…?”
both girls grumbled at your response making you smile softly, looking back down at your laptop as ani purred from his place curled at your feet.
you did leave your home! how else would you shop? or attend your lectures? or get your sixth coffee of the day?
“there’s a party downtown tonight.” shoko grinned at you genty, practically soft-launching the idea as you scoffed once.
“ew.”
“don’t say ew with that stupid face like you’re old!”
“m’not old,” you shrugged, “i’d just rather do anything else.”
shoko huffed, sitting up on your bed before walking towards your place on the couch, "you always do anything else! you’ve been so down recently, just let us help!”
you almost wanted to laugh. a party wouldn’t help by any means.
instead, you swallowed quietly, looking back down at your laptop.
he had been strangely distant lately, ever the rage-filled psychopath, but quieter somehow. you didn’t know if you liked it or not.
“c’mon,” utahime pleaded, “just one night!”
before you could answer, you felt it again.
a rush of adrenaline flooding your veins so suddenly, your jaw clenched.
the room went quiet as utahime’s expression shifted, “devils dick?”
you sighed inwardly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
it was a familiar feeling, hot and electric and so fucking alive beneath your skin. you didn’t want to wait for the pain to follow.
“okay.”
the girls exchanged a look.
“okay?!” shoko exclaimed with a grin as you sighed gently.
“that’s what i said.”
her squeals were met with silence as you tried to calm your-his-breathing.
there was this weird feeling in your gut, deep and carved in stone, like tonight was significant.
it felt almost damning.
∞
an - just a little glimpse into this worlddd! no kuna in this yet so :( but u guys will meet him ch1 !! also this is prob gonna be a shorter seriessss like 6-8 parts!
anyways lmk what u guys thinkkkk and if u want more of this au!
also wanna say i read a fic like 7ish yrs ago on here from @/stuckonspidey, i dont think they're on here anymore but they had a soulmate fic that inspired this that i wrote a while ago sooo credits to themmm i remember loving that fic smmmm! :)
synopsis: in the time you've loved him, you've learned he's stubborn at best and possessive at worst. maybe even a little unhinged when you take the time to think about it, which is why you don't, you'll just start to miss him all over again. you'd think a couple years away from each other would change the oddly thrilling dynamic between you two, but you're proven wrong once he's back in your orbit
genre/warnings: exes to lovers, smut, angst, profanity, slight yandere behavior from suguru, reader loves pushing his buttons and pulling that side out of him, the type of exes that everyone bets on how long it'll take for them to get back together lol, wc: 6.4k!!
if you’ve asked to be tagged and didn’t get notified of this update, im not ignoring you, I just have yet to make the tag list 😭
m.list | part one | next part
Can you not be fucking boring and get your ass over here already?
So? You’ll have two whole days to rest after.
Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just get your ass over here, I miss my friend.
You already knew it in your soul that Shoko already had more than a few drinks in her when she decided she’d ignore your initial decline last week, treating it more like maybe, instead of the definitive answer it absolutely was. But like she said, you’re her friend and you miss her too, so you dragged your ass to her condo, ditching your original plans of staying at home and binge watching your favorite show with a glass of your favorite wine in hand.
Now you’re here, catching up with long time friends with a tequila sunrise instead. Maybe you were being a little dramatic and boring earlier, forgetting that you’d start to loosen up and have a good time after a couple sips. Not that you’d blame yourself, work has been stressful, straight up kicking your ass at some points this month too.
You tell Kento all about it, because he’s probably one of the very few people that’ll understand the stress your job puts you through. Both of you just so happen to work in PR, constantly having to put out fires, most of the time there’s multiple fires blazing all at once.
The only thing keeping you going at this point is the pay. They may have you questioning the decisions you make on a daily basis, sometimes even going through an existential crisis from some of the morally questionable things you’ve resorted to in order to get the job done, but they pay you accordingly. Enough to live in a nice part of the city, buy the things you want without a second thought, and have more than enough money left over to hire a competent therapist.
Not that you’d do that, the last thing you need is to put more thought into what your life’s become.
Kento’s in a middle of telling you all about the current crisis going on with his job and boss when you both slowly overhear bickering in the background, turning your heads to see Shoko and Satoru whisper-screaming at in each other in the kitchen— both too tipsy to realize how obvious they’re being.
“Do you mind putting your story on pause for a minute?” you ask the man, pointing at the two as you do, which is a more than good enough explanation for what you’d be leaving the conversation to go do.
“Not at all,” he sighs, seemingly exhausted from just the sight of the two and how much energy they manage to have at the end of the work week. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” you mutter, grabbing your drink and walking over towards the two.
You didn’t even know Satoru was here, figuring he’d just gotten here and wondering what he could’ve possibly done to get into trouble already. By the time you step into the kitchen, they’re just hurling insults at each other, blaming each other over something you’re sure you’ll find out about soon. Shoko doesn’t hold back on telling him how much of an idiot he is, but he stops listening the very moment he notices you.
You watch his eyes grow wide with an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on— you couldn’t tell if he was scared or if he was sorry. All you know is that he did something wrong, Shoko’s scolding him for it, and he doesn’t immediately come out with the truth because he somehow thinks an explanation first would lessen the blow.
“She said you wouldn’t be here,” he says to you almost immediately, pointing at Shoko because there was no fucking way he was going down alone.
“I mean, I originally planned on coming, but then she called me and begged me to come,” you respond, confused over what that had to do with their little quarrel.
You take another step forward towards the two, they’re both tense and the longer they go without telling you why that’s such a big deal makes you tense up yourself.
“...Well?” you lightly throw your arms out, trying to break the long silence. “Are you two going to just keep standing there staring at me or are you going to explain why me being here is suddenly such a bad thing.”
“You being here isn’t a bad thing,” Shoko’s quick to correct you, slowly starting to feel guilty over pushing you to come over. “It’s just…”
“Look it was just a lack of communication, that’s all,” Satoru takes over and says after Shoko fails to finish her sentence.
“Oh my god— can you just spit it out already?” You all but say after growing impatient.
Satoru suddenly blurts out, “Suguru’s gonna be here. Any minute now, actually.”
Oh.
You don’t even know how to feel about that right now.
“What the fuck Satoru?” you breathe out. “Why would you do that?”
There’s not an ounce of anger in your voice, you sound more betrayed than anything and it just makes him feel even worse but he truly wouldn’t have invited his best friend if he knew you’d end up coming over too.
“I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear,” he responds and the remorse in his voice makes you believe him. He may be a selfish asshole, but it’s not that bad when it comes to you, especially in a situation like this. “He just– look, he just moved back a couple days ago. I didn’t even know he was moving back to begin with. I got so excited that I wanted to surprise everyone tonight.”
Explains why your ex randomly called you at 11:00 pm last night. You’ve been too tired to really think about it though and completely forgot all about it until tonight.
“Yeah,” Shoko adds, “I swear I would’ve never pushed you to come if I knew. Satoru only mentioned it after he noticed you talking to Kento.”
It’s been a little under 2 years since you two broke up and he abruptly left the city. Everyone swears that his decision to move had nothing to do with you, but you’ve always had a hard time believing it, even up until now, when he finally decides to move back.
The reason why the two in front of you are so apologetic right now is because they know how bad the break up was, how torn up you both were, and how it all became so much worse for you when you found out he left the fucking country. It was hard enough knowing everything ended on such bad terms, realizing you wouldn’t be getting closure over it just did you in.
But the past is the past— seriously. If you still felt that way, you’re sure his random call would’ve left you feeling shaken up, at the very least. Yet instead you saw the incoming call, waiting for it to go to voicemail, then went back to bed afterwards, as if nothing had ever happened.
“You know what, I think I’ll be fine,” you end up saying.
“Wait seriously?” Shoko flatly asks.
“Yeah,” you nod and offer her and Satoru a soft smile, “I mean c’mon, you’re his friends too. It’s not fair for you two to have to work around us just because we dated.”
They nod in response at first, both thinking that you two didn’t just date. Sure, you two were together and official, but they wouldn’t call what you had just dating. They’d compare it more to a hardship, one that changes you and builds character.
Yeah that’s it… except you and Suguru were putting each other through that at least once a week, not to mention that you both fucking enjoyed it.
But they don’t bother reminding you of how much you two thrived during the tumultuous parts of your relationships, and instead take your word for it, hoping to god that you truly meant it.
“You swear?” Satoru mutters.
“Mhm,” you hum back, he could almost feel the sincerity of it all if it weren’t for the fact that he knew how you and Suguru could be, together or not.
“Okay good,” he responds, not sounding too convinced, “because I just saw him walk in through the front door… and now he’s walking over towards us.”
Crap.
No, no. Not crap. It’s okay, you’re fine, you’re safe.
You hear him greeting Satoru and Shoko just a few feet behind you and it’s obvious he doesn’t realize the person facing away from him is you. It makes you take deep yet silent breaths to prepare yourself, hoping that whatever greeting you’ll be getting isn’t awkward or rude.
Once you start to feel his footsteps is when you step aside and slowly turn around, giving him the same smile you would wear when walking into a meeting with people you had yet to introduce yourself to.
The kind that signals “I know we both don’t want to be here right now, but I come in peace”.
And like you just a couple minutes ago, he too is surprised that you were here, especially since Satoru told him you wouldn’t be. But he extends the same “I come in peace” smile to you as well.
It’s something he’s great at, staying steady. Staying unmoved. A sudden change isn’t something that fazes him, he just rolls with it.
He doesn’t even mention anything about not expecting to see you here tonight, just sucks you into his initial greeting by curtly saying your name when coming to a full stop. It’s casual but familiar, effortless too.
“Well,” he smirks at no one in particular and shoves his hands into his pocket, maintaining his perfect posture and relaxed demeanor, “surprise.”
The brief conversation between the four of you is… good. So good it’s almost scary, the way you’re all able to avoid the topic surrounding why he left in the first place and sounding normal while you do so. All you know is that he literally just got back and has jet lag.
Oh, and that he’s happy to be back.
Did you say anything? Not really. You didn’t have questions ready for him like the other two did, so all you did was nod. It was an acknowledgement that you weren’t bitter about him being there and that you’re listening. In return, he glanced at you a healthy amount of times to show that he’s not ignoring your presence and that he considers you an active participant in it.
Though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel relieved that you got a sudden call in the middle of it, giving you the opportunity to step out onto the balcony to take it, feeling more thankful than ever for the new interns in office. And not only did it give you an excuse to leave, but it gave you the opportunity to go back to Kento to talk more about the drama at his job.
But that was after Suguru greeted him, along with everyone else he knew, then introducing himself to the ones he didn’t, because he knew he was going be sticking around to see them again.
The night goes on smoothly, you two maintained your distance when you could and acted cordially when you couldn’t. You’re sure Shoko will be calling you the next morning, telling you how proud she was of you for basically behaving. Maybe even Satoru, you two have grown close(r) this past year.
You even find yourself laughing at something one of the newer friends in your group said. Like actually laughing, because you felt comfortable enough to relax and be in the present rather than being in your head.
But then Satoru, Yu, and Suguru enter the kitchen, with Yu so innocently being the one to approach you, Shoko and Akari. It’s only normal for him butt in and wonder what it was you ladies were talking about.
And god bless Akari, who’s blissfully unaware that the ex you’ve always refused to talk about is Suguru.
She’s also just as kind as Yu, and doesn’t dance around the truth when she tells him about the fucking date you have next weekend, going as far as telling him it’d be at the restaurant that just opened last month.
Suguru pauses mid-sip when he hears that shit.
Yu on the other hand is delighted to hear that, because he’s actually a good person.
“Oh really? Nice!” his brown eyes sparkle as he says it, he’s smiling too. A true sucker for love.
Suguru smiles too.
His just has more amusement. It was the kind of smile that you give someone after they’ve said the most ridiculous statement ever, and it’s so stupid that you just hope they keep going.
That’s it, the kind of smile that dares you to keep fucking with him.
You’d rather not, so you pretend like you didn’t just see the way his eyes briefly darkened and respond to Yu.
“Yeah! Just a date though, nothing serious,” you chirp out.
“Not yet at least,” Akari says, completely unaware of how she just twisted the knife for Suguru.
It’s only something you and Suguru are aware of, though you seem to find it funny with how you try to look away and clear your throat, trying your best not to laugh.
He was never planning on saying anything in the first place, but your immediate reaction was all he needed to know in terms of how much you changed, which isn’t a lot, clearly.
But that’s okay, spending almost two years in Spain didn’t do jack shit for him either, which is why he decided to open his mouth.
“All that matters is you’re putting yourself out there again, right?” He asks. It’s soft and encouraging, meant to push the conversation forward.
It immediately triggers Satoru’s fight or flight. He’s seen Suguru pummel other men without warning for just standing too close to you, he knows he’s jealous as fuck under that calm exterior right now.
“Yeah— kinda,” you respond rather blissfully, “he’s been trying to get me to go out with him for a while now, I finally decided to give him a chance.”
“Persistent,” he hums, taking a sip of his drink to suppress a laugh. “He must be real excited to take you out then, huh?”
“I’d hope so,” you pensively say, suddenly sounding more interested in the guy than you actually are, “it’s always nice feeling a little wanted.”
“Oh I’m sure,” he passively mutters.
“Okay,” Shoko joyfully cuts in, clasping her hands together as a way to gather everyone's attention, “I completely forgot about the dessert I threw in the fridge to chill. Anybody want some?”
“What’d you make?” you ask.
“Tiramisu,” she nearly beams, knowing that it's one of your favorites and that she made lots of it.
Without sparing the man across the kitchen island another glance, you push yourself off the counter to help her carry the second dish out to the living room.
It’s something you keep up for the rest of the night actually— not looking his way, that is. It’s subtle, nobody notices except for him. It helps that he doesn’t try to get in your space afterwards either, he just keeps his distance, trying his best not to pay too much attention to you.
It’s more difficult than he thought it’d be. Keeping an eye on you is as easy as breathing for him, it was like second nature almost.
It was also something you were used to, at one point you even admitted it was something that made you feel safe.
He wonders how you’d feel about it now.
He wondered if you even felt anything at all, especially when he watched you give everyone except for Shoko an Irish goodbye, doing one last look over at the room filled with people. No, your eyes still didn’t stop on him, but he knows you’re aware of the eyes that followed you and watched as you walked off.
—
You’re in the parking garage when you hear the door that leads to the staircase swing open. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was, he was the type to take the stairs when he knew waiting for an elevator would just waste time.
You weren’t surprised that he followed you either. Deep down you already knew he would and expected it.
For the second time tonight, you’re turning around to look at him, but this time around you don’t give him the fake smile that you gave him earlier. There’s no need to pretend that you’re happy to see him, no need to act like everything’s okay for the sake of others. But there’s not a trace of anger or resentment in you either as you watch him walk closer, not even when he comes to a full stop.
For a while, neither of you say anything. There’s no rush to fill the silence, you just finally get a good look at each other, it has been nearly 2 years after all. Not much has changed about him, the only noticeable things being a new nose piercing— a hoop to be exact, and his hair being slightly shorter, judging by the way it looks tied back in his usual style.
Then you wait, watching the way the words get caught in his throat. The only reason why neither of you grow nervous or impatient is because you know each other. You know he has too many thoughts that he doesn’t know how to translate into words. He knows you’re not exactly dying to hear them either.
And you both know this is a moment that’s been played over and over in your heads more times than you’d ever admit.
No, it’s nothing like either of you thought it’d be. There’s no breaking down in tears, there’s no fit of anger, no intense profession of love. Instead it’s quiet, the only thing you’d agree on right now is that this is nice, knowing that you both chose peace for once, even if it was something you’d only get a few minutes of.
“You only said goodbye to Shoko,” he finally says.
“I did,” you murmur, “letting one person know is better than none though, no?”
He walked right into that one, but knew it was fully deserved.
“No, I know,” he murmurs back. “I tried calling you last night.”
“You did,” you confirm, still no animosity in your voice. “What for?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, “just wanted to hear your voice, to tell you the truth.”
“Okay,” you softly say, suppressing a laugh. “You’re hearing it now, feel any better?”
He chuckles, “no, not really.”
“And why is that?”
“Doesn’t make me miss you any less,” he casually admits.
You can’t help but sigh once you realize this conversation’s starting to take a turn towards where you didn’t want it to go. It’s not a dramatic one, it’s one that shows just how exhausted you are, that this was another thing you didn’t want to have to deal with.
“Hey Suguru?”
“Hm?”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with any of that information?” you flatly ask, just barely holding back on the sudden annoyance.
“You’re the one that asked,” he reminds you. “Do you not believe me?”
“You’re the one that came to me,” you remind him as well, beginning to look at him in disbelief, as if he’s lost his mind. “Okay fine, you miss me and it’s nearly two years later. Am I supposed to feel better or something because you randomly called me at 11 on a Thursday night?”
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles to himself. “No. I just wanted to fucking talk to you, is that so hard for you to believe?”
“Yeah, a little,” you say bitterly, “especially since you completely cut me off and moved to fucking Spain.”
The extra kick to your tone doesn’t go unnoticed by him and knows he deserves that too, knowing that he only moved to a place you enjoyed visiting purely out of spite. Not that he’ll admit that.
“Don’t act like I fuckin’ ghosted you, baby,” he lets out a low laugh. “We were broken up at the time.”
“Didn’t make it hurt any less,” you murmur as you begin to fumble with your keys.
That completely disarms him. The way you said it made him remember that you’re not just the woman he used to have petty fights with in the past. You’re also the one he’d love on, the one he swore he’d protect, the one that’s plagued his body, mind, and soul since the day you sunk your teeth into each other.
Yes, even while he was gone.
“Look, I really do mean it when I say I’m sorry,” he says, hoping you’d give him another minute or two if he opened up. “I was having a hard time too and thought leaving was the only way to fix it. I’ll always regret leaving like that. I understand if you don’t believe me, but for what it’s worth, there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you— you’re all I’ve thought about since moving back too.”
He wasn’t planning on saying all of that so soon, but if you didn’t mind pointing out the things that hurt you, then he didn’t see a reason in holding back on how he felt.
You were receptive, looking into his eyes when he spoke, nodding as if you understood him. There was hope that you’d somehow understand, and he really thought you did there for a moment.
But then you start ripping into him.
“I hope you know that while you got the chance to run off and work through your emotions in some slow, coastal city, I had to stay back and work through mine during the lunch breaks I barely got and the little time I had for myself. So yes, I understand where you’re coming from, but I don’t feel sorry for you, not one bit. I’ll never feel sorry for you,” you reveal with little to no effort, taking pleasure in the way his plans of having a heart to heart literally crumble right in front of him.
“But don’t worry, baby,” you murmur softly, taking a couple steps forward to whisper the very last of what you had to say in his ear— just so he’d really hear you. “I’ve thought about you a lot too… my stomach never fails to twist in disgust every single time and I’m starting to think it’s from how much I hate you. I don’t just regret dating you, I regret knowing you.”
It takes him a moment to process everything you just said to him and all he can do at first is let out a dry laugh. You really haven’t changed.
And again, neither has he. The moment he feels you start to pull away from him, he’s wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and tilts your head up to look at him.
You’re met with that same amused look from earlier— a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, the kind that shows you what happens when you keeping fucking with him.
“You know— it’s a good thing that I know about your bad habit of saying shit you don’t mean when you’re mad,” he murmurs, not breaking eye contact once, but neither do you. “Otherwise, I might’ve actually believed you.”
“And what makes you so sure I don’t mean every bit of it this time?” you ask in the same low tone.
“Because I know the difference between your anger and your hatred, and right now, you’re giving me all the signs I need to know that you’re just mad that I left,” he simply explains, not interested in going into too much detail about how you give it away. “It’s okay to be mad at me too, trust me, I fuckin’ get it. But I know you don’t hate me, kinda hard to believe that with how unsure you sound when you say it.”
To put it simply, it sounds forced to him.
He still has you in his hold and tightens the grip he has on you, but it doesn’t hurt. If your ex was good at anything, it’d be handling you with the utmost care, even when it’s to make sure he has your full attention while it was your turn to listen. His thumb draws circles on the back of your nape, you always loved when he did that. It was always the small things.
“You don’t have to believe me,” you scoff, “why would I care about what a man who lies to himself thinks?”
“Alright then,” he chuckles, taking that statement as a challenge. Then his voice drops an octave, “Say it again. Tell me you hate me. If I believe you, I’ll never bother you again.”
“You’re so fucking ridiculous.”
“No, I wanna hear it. Tell me you fuckin’ hate me again, baby.”
“I fucking hate you.”
“That was cute,” he remarks, suppressing a laugh. “You showed me you didn’t right when I mentioned never bothering you again though. What stung more? The thought of me leaving you alone again, or the fact that I even suggested it in the first place?”
“What are you even talking about?” you grimace at him.
“Your reaction to hearing the words ‘I’ll never bother you again’. I saw how hurt you were from just hearing that come out of my mouth,” his voice softens the more he explains. “You’re good at hiding these things, but don’t forget I’m good at catching them too.”
He’s right, and you change the subject because you’ve tried to forget that fact since he left.
“What happened to you just wanting to talk?” you whisper, pulling you both out of the odd moment you two were having. “Telling someone about how much you think about them, while holding them like you love them, isn’t what I consider a quick chat.”
“I guess you're right,” he hums back, “you’re not just someone though.”
“Is that something you remembered when you moved back, or did you just remember that tonight when you found out that I was dating again?”
You watch the irritation build up in his face, only for it to dissipate right after remembering that he didn’t come out here to fight you.
“Didn’t have to remember it,” he mutters. “I’ve known for years now.”
“Must not hold much meaning then with how easy it was for you to leave for as long as you did,” you murmur in disappointment.
“That was the hardest part,” he persists, now cupping your face and mindlessly running his thumbs through your jaw. “I signed a contract while I was there too, an obligation is an obligation no matter where you’re at. I’ve tried calling you a couple times, sending you some emails too, you just deleted them.”
“Didn’t open them either,” you gladly mention, before finally cutting to the chase. “What do you want, Suguru?”
“You,” he easily says, “all I’ve been able to think about this past year is giving us another try, see if the time and distance did something.”
A few more minutes pass with a couple sweet words and soft touches thrown in them. It’s scary how easy it was for you to fall back into what was once normal, but he made it easy. He knew what to say and made sure he only said words that he truly meant.
Being held by him felt nice, being wanted by him felt even nicer. You never really knew what it felt like to be seen until Suguru came along and showed you what that meant and the affection it holds.
Maybe that’s why you were so distraught with this last break up. It was different with all the others, he was always a drive away, there was always that possibility of getting back together. That’s what happened every time.
So when you remember the last time— how utterly lost you felt, how you felt like there was a chunk of your soul missing— you get spiteful.
“You know I love you, baby,” he softly reminds you. “What do you say?”
“I hope you rot in Hell.”
—
There’s not much else to say about your surprise reunion with Suguru, other than you left after he told you he’d save you a spot when he gets there.
He’s stubborn, getting the last word in is something you already expect from him.
You also knew that night in the parking garage was not the last you’d hear from him. Suguru’s persistent. Being told to go to hell is the last thing that would stop him from trying again.
You’ve heard from him every day since then. It’s never annoying, he’s not the type to smother you unless you ask him for it. The messages he sends you aren’t the kinds that you have to reply to right away. They’re the ones you can read and take your time replying to, if you even feel like replying at all.
The purpose of them serves more of a reminder that he’s back and that he’s not going anywhere, not that you feel much of an urgency when you remember that. He’s someone you can take your time with. Which is wonderful, because you plan on taking all the time you need. And not even that is a guarantee that you’ll want to give him another chance.
Which is why you never canceled on the date that you had planned for the night. You deserved to go out and have fun and forget about your life for a moment. Yeah, you can do that with your friends, but you all are so invested in each other's lives that spending time with them doesn’t provide much of an opportunity to step away from yourself.
Tonight’s… nice. This new restaurant is higher end, which isn’t bad, it just doesn’t have the same atmosphere as some other places you’d prefer to have your first dates at. It’s what you expected this place to be. The interior and furniture are modern. Main colors are black and emerald. Each dish is triple the price compared to most restaurants and no bigger than your palm.
You hope to god you don’t have to pay.
Your date's name is Gabriel. He’s a really sweet guy. Although, there’s not much you have in common with him. You find yourself mainly asking him open ended questions so that the conversation doesn’t awkwardly fizzle out, and thankfully it’s working. The one thing you’ve come to learn from constantly meeting new people is the best way to get them to open up is to get them to talk about themselves.
Everything’s going okay, and yet you’ve felt a disturbance in the air for the last ten minutes. You don’t realize what it is until your date goes on his phone for a moment when you decide to do a quick look over at the restaurant and see Suguru himself.
He’s a few seats away from you, and from where his seat is positioned, he’s had a clear view of you for however long he’s been here. He should be focused on his date right now, but he’s been a little busy waiting for you to notice him these past couple minutes. No, she doesn’t realize it, you have no idea how she doesn’t.
You almost question how Suguru was able to get a date and reservation so fast, but then you remember he’s handsome and wealthy. He’s also a little asshole that’ll use those two to his advantage if needed.
His presence almost immediately makes it more difficult to enjoy yourself and focus on your date. Not out of nervousness, you are way past that with him. This is pure annoyance. It gets so bad that you end up having to excuse yourself from the table a few minutes later, just so you could have a moment for yourself and relax.
Right before you reach the door of the bathroom, you get the idea to just wait in the hall instead, opting to lean against it while you use your phone. You didn’t really need to use it anyways.
“Long line in there?”
You almost hate how you were right.
“Seriously?” You snap at him in a low tone, all he does is offer you a slightly confused look in return. “Don’t look at me like that. We both know you’re just wasting that poor girl's time just so you could see what I’m doing here.”
“Not everything’s about you, baby,” he says, determined to maintain his innocence for the night. “It’s not a crime to suddenly want to eat here— the place has good reviews.”
“You are so full of shit,” you say, clearly stressed over his presence. “You have to book a month in advance to eat here. You moved back a week ago.”
“I know. That’s why I paid,” he states it like it’s obvious.
And that’s because it is. “That’s the point I’m trying to make!”
The more annoyed you get, the more pleased he seems by it, so you force yourself to calm down because you’d rather not have him get the brilliant idea to start picking on you.
“So what you’re saying is,” he tilts your chin up so you could look at him, “I found a random girl to take out, called the restaurant to see what time your reservation would be, paid triple the amount an average dinner costs here to get a reservation, then paid a little extra to be seated near your table— you think I’d do all of that just so I could be in the same place as you?”
Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head after realizing that he also took another customer's seat to get a better view of you. The answer is yes, you do think he’d do all of that, especially after seeing his initial reaction to learning that you were going out with another man, because he’s fucking crazy.
You sigh and look away from him. “You’re right, guess I’m overthinking things,” you say, making the man nod in agreement. He seems satisfied with how fast it took to get you to back down.
Then you open your mouth again.
“Probably just the nerves,” you shrug, feigning innocence that he’s easily able to see through. Not that you care, it was your turn to mess with him. “But hey— if I don’t make a good enough impression here, then there’s always the chance after dinner.”
His eyes narrow at that, but then magically finds it in himself to gain his composure– clearing his throat, unclenching his jaw.
Then he chuckles, darkly might you add, “and how do you plan on doing that sweetheart?”
“There’s no point in asking when all you need to do is just simply remember, baby.”
And that pisses him off in ways most people wouldn’t believe, so he lies.
“I’m having a hard time remembering right now actually, care to remind me?”
He does it so easily too, it takes zero effort showing you the asshole he’s capable of being.
“No, not really,” you say, taking a step closer to adjust his collar. Then you sigh in disappointment, cupping his jaw with one hand and looking straight into his eyes that were full of nothing but murderous intent right now. You’re just not sure if it’s towards you or your date tonight, maybe both. “I really am a fool for loving you as much as I did, aren’t I? Maybe I’ll forget too once I let him have his way with me later, seems to have worked pretty well for you since you have to ask.”
If you’re a fool, he’d admit he’s an even bigger one, just not tonight when he’s forced to picture you with another man in his head.
Your vulnerability takes zero effort, you’re the only person he knows that’s able to actually weaponize it. You know admitting something like that to him is something that’ll soften the sharpness of his gaze.
Loving him is easy to admit. Love isn’t a weakness to you, it’s not something that has control over you. You could set it aside for a moment while you stick your hand through his chest, rip his heart out, and keep it for yourself.
It’s sick.
He admires that about you.
If you’re a fool, he’d admit he’s an even bigger one any other day, just not tonight.
“You’re smart babe— picky too. Do you actually think he knows how to fuck like I do?” he whispers in your ear.
“No idea,” you calmly respond, which is harder than most days, you’re not very used to him dipping his head down into the crook of your neck to whisper something to you. “But I could fuck him as good as I always do, not that you’d remember.”
Oh he fucking does.
The way you’d slam your hips down on him over and over again, forgetting about everything in that moment, including him, all while you’d focus on treating him as if he were your personal toy. It’s just one of the things he misses about you.
There’s a sudden change in his tone when he finally speaks up after the little flashback.
“Let’s get out of here.” It’s not a demand, he’s throwing a suggestion out there and praying you take it, maybe even a beg if he were feeling more desperate than usual.
“I’m on a date,” you suddenly laugh.
“So am I,” he argues, but finds himself smiling too, “I’ll ditch mine if you ditch yours.”
“You are such an asshole,” you say, covering your face while you continue to laugh, all while he tries to move your hand away to get you to look at him. “I feel so bad that you dragged her into this.”
“She’s probably the happiest customer here— no pressure, order what you want, while the guy who’s footing the bill is spying on his girlfriend who’s on a date,” he shrugs, having already accepted that he looks even crazier now.
It doesn’t even surprise you though, you just shake your head. “I’m not gonna ditch him, Suguru. He thinks this whole thing is real.”
He smirks at that, “so what you’re saying is it’s fake for you?”
“It became fake when you decided to infiltrate my date,” your mutter.
“Alright fine,” he gives in, taking a deep breath, “don’t go home with him.”
“Do you actually think you’re in a position to ask that?”
“Nope,” he curtly responds, “this is me being so fuckin’ selfish right now. I will literally buy you whatever you want if you go home right after this.”
At least he admits it. Maybe it’s time to admit that you weren’t planning on going home with the guy to begin with.
Actually no, you’re better off keeping that to yourself.
“Okay fine,” you finally agree, before murmuring, “this isn’t me agreeing to giving you another chance though, you just look fucking insane right now.”
“I’m alright with that,” he hums, “what do you want, by the way?”
When Marquis Gojo Satoru goes missing after the bloody fight, the entire empire is in uproar! Until his loyal soldiers accidentally discover him living in a small village working as a... noodle seller? And he has a wife?!
pairings: Gojo Satoru x Reader
content/warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, inspired by drama, Gojo yearns to have a family, domestic life he deserves, pregnancy, marriage
WC: 5.5k
a/n: loosely inspired by Chinese drama Pursuit of Jade 逐玉!
idk who the artist is, pls help!
Two men walked through plains and meadows under the scorching, merciless sun. Their full armour weighed heavily on tired shoulders, and horses were getting more tired each day. They barely had any water, and milky buns long gone stale, with their usual soft dough crumpling under their touch.
They've been looking for their general for six months already, with the hunt being fruitless from the very start. Marquis Gojo Satoru fell on the battlefield alone, with all his other soldiers getting bowled like wild deer. Since that cursed night – no one has seen him. The most powerful general in the entire empire, with the emperor himself paying in pure silver just to find his most precious warrior.
That's why Suguru – his strategist – and Nanami – most devoted general – decided to walk the vast plains of the empire, just to find their Marquis. He wasn't dead, surely, as not many things could hurt his almost divine body. As if created by the Jade Emperor himself.
Built like a boar, with the strength of a thousand men, Gojo Satoru was the strongest one in the whole empire. Surely he must've been kept hidden, with hundreds of men trying to conceal the Marquis from the world and use him as a future leverage.
Could someone from a traitorous clan kidnap him?
Maybe his wounds after the fight were truly too severe, and he just wasn't strong enough to break free?
Whatever the reason was, Suguru and Nanami were dead-set on finishing their mission.
After a half day of walking, they stepped down the mountain, following a gentle brook that let their horses drink to the brim. Both men cleaned themselves up a bit and ate last, stale buns, dreaming of having even a simple bowl of noodles.
Thus, imagine how joyous they were upon seeing a little village, hidden deep between the mountains with nothing but tall trees and a wide river spinning through it. If Suguru didn't lift his head up while drinking from the brook, surely he wouldn't notice it. Low, wooden roofs were almost fully obscured by lush forest, and nothing but a gentle, white smoke curled around some dirty chimneys.
Food!
Both men almost run that way, with stomachs squirming in hunger and sweat dripping down their backs. Nanami dreamed of sitting down with a drink and meat, while Suguru foolishly wished that the villagers would know something about their Marquis.
After all, the battle was not that far away from here, and there was a chance that someone might've seen a wounded soldier wandering around the meadows.
When their horses passed the small, wooden gate, the little child immediately ran up to them.
"Can I pet, can I pet?" his small hand reached out towards the raven horse, brushing its massive leg gently before Suguru could even nod.
He got off the mare, squatting down to be on the same level as a kid.
"Tell me, boy, do you have any nice restaurants here in the village?" he asked, and the child hummed.
"Of course we have! The best noodles in the whole region, pretty lady!" he chirped, oogling Suguru's long hair smooching his cheeks.
Nanami scoffed, while Suguru only smiled gently. "Well, could you maybe take us there? You see, these two soldiers are very, very hungry."
The boy didn't seem to care about Suguru's pressure on the soldiers and simply nodded. He left the horse and pointed a finger at the small, two-level house, with multiple people sitting outside on little stools and grey smoke twisting around its roof.
"Thank you, dearest," Suguru said warmly, placing a sliver coin in the boy's hand.
Well, it should help his family last for at least a month.
"Do you think someone may've seen him?" Nanami asked while tying the horses to the fence outside the small restaurant.
"I hope so. But firstly, let's eat. I'm ready to collapse any second," Suguru mumbled, passing the wide-open doors.
The inside was rather simple but homely, with multiple families chirping joyfully over their noodles. The delicious smell of spices immediately hit Suguru's stomach, and long-withheld hunger suddenly became even worse.
They sat at the small table near the open window, enjoying the serene view of the slowly running river, with a few children playing at its crystalline water. Their laughter filled the stuffy air, and the gentle wind brushed Suguru's tired cheeks, bringing him a slight comfort. Birds chirped sweetly, and passing girls giggled under their noses, seeing two handsome, strange soldiers sitting politely in the restaurant.
And while they were waiting, with minds enjoying the peacefulness of this place, someone's voice suddenly brought them back.
"What can I get for you, gentlemen?"
Suguru turned his head, ready to order a bowl of spicy noodles and–
Oh.
Oh!
His knees went weak, and if not for the stool, he would surely fall miserably on the wooden floor. Blood immediately rushed to his head, fingers started to tremble, and if Nanami didn't grab his hand, it would surely curl around Gojo Satoru's neck.
Because why, dear heavens, the Marquis himself was standing before him perfectly fit and cheeky, with healthy rosiness blooming on his face and muscular body dressed in simple, commoner robes?
"M-Mar–" he stood up, but Satoru quickly pushed him back down.
The smile wasn't coming off his face, but his voice rolled out low and irritated. "Why are you here?"
"Why are we here?" Suguru almost burst. "Marquis, what do you mean by why are we here?!"
He couldn't quite believe it – the Marquis, man announced by the ministers themselves as surely dead, was, in fact, looking as if resurrected. His eyes, usually hued in deep ocean colour, looked rather... alive. Light and shiny, resembling the cyan paint spread over the canvas, soft and wet, glimmering under the warm beams of sunshine. His always so pale skin brimmed with healthy rosiness, usually suitable for most dearest birdies. Wet forehead was tied with milky cloth, keeping the snowy hair away from the brazen eyes.
Creamy robes hugged him loosely, with a few chilli oil stains bussing its grainy material.
He looked so... not noble. Not Marquis-like.
But much happier.
"Marquis, if we could talk–" Nanami started, but before he managed to finish, another voice chipped in.
Loud and angry, with a tired sigh and in the company of a fat finger knocking on the wooden table. "Hey, pretty boy! I ordered seconds a while ago!"
Suguru straightened up, jaw visibly tensed. He was ready to pull out his long sword and cut the man on the spot. "How dare you to talk to Ma–"
But before it, Satoru quickly smacked the back of his head.
"Sure thing, just give me a minute," he chirped politely, and Suguru almost fainted.
Never in the thirty years of his life has he ever heard the Marquis being polite to... anyone. Truly.
And so obedient at that, with a gentle smile curving his lips and a little nod of his head. The man, however, didn't seem to be satisfied, rambling under his breath and throwing a few curses every few seconds.
Six months ago, Suguru would see his head rolling on the wooden floor, with a Marquis slashing it off in a single, clean cut.
But now? Now his massive hand was keeping Suguru in place, not allowing him to stir up any trouble.
"You both eat first. I'm sure you must be hungry," he said warmly, patting the shoulders of his most reliable commanders. "We'll discuss it later."
"Marquis, but–" and, once again, before Nanami could finish, the rude customer decided to strike again.
"Pretty boy, I don't see you walking back to the kitchen for my seconds!"
Satoru sighed. His palms squeezed their shoulders, long fingers digging deep into the armour. Suguru, for a fleet moment, saw this familiar frown and blue veins popping on the Marquis's forehead, as if ready to burst with a merciless fury.
He's going to strike, Suguru thought. He won't let that bastard trash his good name.
Satoru rolled up the wide sleeves of his creamy robes, tying them with a thin rope around the elbows. Bulging muscles of his forearms glistened in sweat, with the sun cruelly smooching his pale skin.
And when he thought that Marquis, finally, finally, will deal with a man, another voice filled the heavy restaurant's air.
"Hey! Stop being rude to my husband unless you want to deal with me!"
It drove Suguru into the wooden stool, with its honeyed sweetness marked by an authoritative tone. Not many people were able to put someone into their place solely with a voice, but a fragile woman who came out from the kitchen, with a heavy chopper in her hand – could.
Husband?
Suguru's head started to spin. He looked up, seeing Marquis's lips curving in a gentle smile. Eyes cheeky, like two pale moons, while glancing back at the woman storming through the small restaurant.
"Think you can bully my husband while I'm here?"
Man's cheeks washed in embarrassment before he coughed. "My apologies, miss. If I knew he was your husband–"
"Even if he wasn't, you shouldn't be rude! He's too polite and won't harm a soul, but me?" she took a step, but Satoru quickly grabbed her. "Try me!"
She surrounded herself with an imposing aura, although standing next to Satoru, her head barely brushed his chest. Hair curled around the hearty face, with a light robe and dirty aproan hugging warmly plush hips.
"What a menace," she scoffed loudly, cleaning the chopper with a cloth, before glancing up at the Marquis. "And you should get more assertive. Must you always be so obedient?"
Obedient?
"Stop acting like a pushover, what if someone attacks you, hm? We have lots of bandits these days, and I won't always be there to protect you."
Pushover?
Protect Marquis?
Suguru sighed, grabbing his head. It pulsed with a malicious headache, and the more you talked, the more he felt like fainting.
"My dearest," Satoru smiled, looking down at your fuming cheeks. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you look with this little crease on your forehead?" he lifted up a thumb, placing it right between your eyebrows.
He started massaging it in gentle circles, rolling a sweet giggle out of your lips and finally getting rid of the frown.
"There she is," he whispered, cupping your cheeks stained in reddish oil. "My beautiful, ferocious wife. You need to stop threatening everyone with a chopper. What if one day you come upon imperial soldiers?"
You tsked, nuzzling into his warm hands. "I'll chop them too, if they try to bully you."
Suguru just couldn't listen to it anymore. Not only the intimate tension between Marquis and... you... was unbearable, but he also simply couldn't comprehend the sudden change that bloomed inside the most ruthless, powerful general of the empire.
He coughed quietly, finally getting your attention.
"Oh," rolled politely, before you quickly hid the chopper behind. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, too many people like to bully my husband and, well, you know how it is..." your hand unconsciously waved with a chopper again, and Suguru barely dodged its sharp steel. "Sometimes the wife needs to step in. You see, my husband is a scholar, so he's, hm, the more compliant one in this marriage."
Nanami laughed, but Suguru quickly threw him a cold stare.
He brought back a polite smile to his face, still slowly massaging the buzzing temple. "Miss, my friend and I have travelled a long way to meet with Mar– your husband. I hope you don't mind, we'll take him away just for a moment."
Your eyes bulged in surprise, looking up at Satoru's warm gaze.
"I didn't know Satoru had... friends," you giggled, hearing a soft scoff coming from your husband. "Of course you can, but eat first, please. You sure must be tired. If you wish, you can stay a few nights in our house too. Right, darling?"
Satoru grimaced when you looked back at Suguru, and his eyes narrowed. "Sure, baby. If that's what you want. But aren't you rather busy, my dear friends?"
It sounded like he was giving Suguru a choice, but the coldness of his gaze and slowly shaking head were enough to convey that both of them were forbidden from agreeing with his wife's idea.
Suguru, however, was furious as it was, and if staying a day or two meant taking Marquis down to size – he would be more than happy to do it.
Before Nanami murmured that they are, in fact, rather busy, the strategist quickly chirped in.
"My precious friend, I would be more than happy to stay under your roof," he said, standing up and bending down politely your way. "Miss, we're grateful for your priceless hospitality."
You giggled, waving gently with a chopper. "There's no need for courtesy. Stay as long as you want," your eyes moved back to Satoru, his arm curling around your waist. "Darling, just remember to pick up the vegetables from Fang's restaurant. Oh, and Miss Hua needs to write a letter to the magistrate, help her with that too, hm?"
You chirped while Satoru was looking down at your rosy face with a bizarre caress behind his serene eyes. As if gazing on the most precious, loveliest little nymph. In fact, he looked as though he wasn't listening at all, with fingers climbing up to your plush cheek, and a thumb brushing over the red, oil stain.
"Right, and come back before supper. You know that at that time I usually–"
"I know, the little brat makes her mommy nauseous," he smiled softly, and Suguru suddenly lost his appetite.
Wait a moment.
"Little brat?" Nanami chipped in first, with brows almost brushing his hairline. "Mar– Satoru, do you mean that your wife is..."
You looked at them, then at Satoru, then back at them, with a little tsk and hand patting his shoulder. "Truly! You didn't even tell them that you're going to be a father? What a good friend you are."
There was a second of silence, with Satoru trying to coo you sweetly and Nanami standing there like a log. With a slightly hazy gaze and mind trying to comprehend how a Marquis – the strongest man in the whole empire – got himself entangled not solely in a marriage with a commoner, but also in parenthood. His bloodline was precious, and his family would surely not accept the child whose mother was a simple noodle shop owner.
But then the three of them heard a loud thud, and a dark shadow of a man slowly hit the wooden floor.
Suguru, finally, fainted.
❀ ❀ ❀
He woke up a mere hour later, with a wet compress on his forehead and skull buzzing from the heat. The air felt sticky, like honey, sliding down his coarse throat and cumulating somewhere deep in chest. His head felt heavy, and warm beams of sun slipped through an open window, brushing his slightly wet forehead.
He noticed that heavy armour was removed from his body and replaced with thin, navy robes, with wide sleeves and a narrow, open collar.
The smell of boiled meat went straight to his stomach, although he wasn't in a restaurant anymore.
No, this room was neat and brimming with warmth, although rather small. The soft bed dipped under his weight as he slowly stood up. The wooden floor was cold against his feet, and he noticed a small table right in front of him, with a bowl of cold noodles and a cup. His knees hit the floor, and when eyes looked inside, he noticed a weird, lush mixture of herbs – probably something to help with overheating.
He inhaled noodles in a few seconds, with salty soy sauce dripping gently down his throat and into stomach, finally filling it with a delicious, homemade meal.
Suguru felt like crying, tasting something carried as if straight from the heavens. Something worthy of an emperor himself, with a perfect seasoning and spongy texture bouncing under his teeth.
The herbal mixture followed next, and he saw a small milky candy wrapped in paper, right next to the cup. When the bitterness of a drink struck his mind, he immediately took the candy and chewed on its creamy sweetness.
Although the meal made him a bit lazy and he wanted nothing more than to return to bed and sleep like a baby – the case of Marquis still hasn't been closed.
So he stood up, dusting off his knees and quietly went outside, covering eyes from the sun. It seemed that the restaurant was right below, with a few customers pottering around and your sweet laughter once again filling his mind. Going down the wooden stairs, he noticed your small figure through the window – with half-pinned-up hair brushing your cheeks and a warm smile, when another customer hummed deliciously over your noodles.
Your eyes met his lavender gaze, and you gasped, quickly going outside to meet his pale face. "Are you alright–"
"Suguru."
"Right," your hand landed on his cheeks, squeezing it softly as if kneading a bun. "You look much better now. The travel must've been tiring."
You took him by surprise, but something warm spread in his chest, feeling your gentle caress and thumb brushing over the rosy skin. Not many people treated him kindly, with care, and he tried to suppress an urge to nuzzle into your hand.
"If you're looking for Satoru, he went with your friend that way," you pointed a finger towards the small hut on the other side of the river. "This village is not big, so surely you'll find him somewhere."
Suguru nodded, still tracing the softness of your hearty face, with the kindest eyes he had ever seen. Truly, no noblewoman could be compared to the loveliness you carried like a second skin.
He strolled around the sandy paths, kicking the little stones that rolled under his feet. Curious villagers oogled him shyly, and each time he nodded politely, sending humble smiles and greeting a few children on the way. They followed him around the village, with little heads sweating under the sun and chubby hands reaching out for long, raven hair brushing his hips.
The smell of jasmine flowers filled the air when he crossed the small bridge, and a few petals slipped away from the fragile branches. A young girl laughed cheerfully in the house next door, and two old men sat calmly near the river's bank, trying to catch the splashing fish.
The village truly was... calm. Serene, almost idyllic, as if painted by the gods themselves, with the peaceful faces of the villagers and their cooing voices greeting Suguru on every corner.
He finally noticed a flash of snowy hair and quickly moved its way.
Satoru sat in the garden with a young woman and a little boy snuggling on her lap, while Nanami... dearest. Nanami was fixing the roof.
Never in his life would he have thought of seeing the first army general nailing the wooden planks with such a focus.
"I also want at least two tales of silver," the woman sighed, and Satoru politely wrote down her request. "But one is also enough. If that bastard decided to leave me, then let him pay."
"Two tales may be too much, but I'll try to bargain for you. Let's see," Satoru muttered, placing neat characters one under another. Little brush scrubbed slowly against the delicate surface, and only Suguru knew how skilled a calligrapher the Marquis was.
Truly taught by the best masters in the whole empire!
But the woman couldn't care less, for she never learnt how to read, and small characters reminded her of nothing but cute little bushes. Bending and curving under Satoru's steady hand, before he finished the letter and left it to dry under the sun.
His light eyes noticed Suguru's figure, and their cheerfulness was immediately replaced by a stroke of irritation.
What a bastard!
"Thank you, Satoru, I truly don't know how to repay you," the woman said shyly, gripping the letter in her hands.
The boy wriggled on her thighs, tugging on his mother's loose hair. Satoru lifted up a hand and pinched his chubby cheek, rolling a little giggle out of his lips.
"No worries, it's nothing. Just come to me when they reply, and I'll read it for you."
Nanami finished his little job too, and all three of them strolled outside through the wooden gate. Suguru didn't say anything for a while, taking in the rosy cheeks of his Marquis and oogling with curiosity all his exchanges with the villagers. They strolled around, picking up side jobs Satoru supposedly did every day – placing an order for vegetables and getting freshly delivered ones, checking the assortment for a little pharmacy, or giving short reading lessons to the local children.
People greeted him with this kind glimmer in their eyes, and kids hugged his legs, placing little stones, flowers and candies in his hands. He thanked them each time, ruffing silky hair, pinching their chubby faces and hiding every little, dirty stone in the sleeves of his robes.
On their way back to Satoru's house, Suguru finally managed to ask.
"Marquis, are we going to discuss it or just ignore the fact that you faked your death for six months?"
Satoru slowed his pace before finally stopping. Three men stood near the bridge, with light petals of the jasmine tree falling down on Satoru's milky hair. With no villagers around, he finally sighed.
"I didn't fake my death," he murmured, sitting near the riverbank.
The sun was slowly setting over the tall mountains surrounding the village, with tender hues of purple and pink and orange brushing the evening sky. Birds were slowly preparing for sleep, and villagers coming back from work in the fields. Big ox strolled behind them, tugging a little cart loaded with fresh fruits.
Satoru's eyes glanced up, reflecting the last rays of tangerine beams.
"After that battle, I fell into the river. The water must have thrown my body on the bank, because she saved me and took me back to her house. When I woke up, she was already there – tending my wounds and trying to stuff me full with noodles," he laughed warmly, as if remembering the first days spent in your presence. "I really wanted to heal up a bit and go back, but..."
Nanami and Suguru sat next to him, looking up at the fragrant jasmine branches hanging over the river.
"But I couldn't. You both know I never wanted to marry and have a family, but back there, after hearing her laugh the first time, something panged in my chest."
"Maybe your wound has opened," Nanami mumbled, and Suguru pinched his arm.
Satoru laughed, eyes still tracing the changing sky. "After meeting her, I finally understood what it truly means to be happy. To seek the next day and live in peacefulness, with nothing but her touch waking me every single morning."
Suguru hummed, remembering how warm you felt when your hand pinched his cheek. So kind and lovely, as if you honestly cared about this stranger you've met just an hour ago.
"She was constantly worried about people gossiping about her marriage, so I decided to use this chance and marry her. She wanted a husband, and I wished for nothing but to stay with her as long as I could," he continued, taking a white jasmine petal off his head. "But she was constantly afraid I would leave her one day, so to prove my devotion..."
Oh dearest god.
Suguru almost fainted again. "You decided to trap her with a baby? Are you crazy?"
He was crazy. So, so miserably crazy, and Suguru could see it in his eyes. In his hands, grabbing your waist in an almost possessive manner, and his always oh so gentle gaze, as if nothing else but his dear wife mattered in this world.
"I didn't trap her... well. At least she doesn't feel that way," he coughed, smiling like a fool. "She always wanted to have a family, so I decided to give it to her. What's wrong with it?"
"Marquis, are you hearing yourself?" Suguru almost hissed. "Just a year ago, you declined the most beautiful women offered to you by an emperor himself. And now you're telling me you decided to marry a simple commoner after knowing her for a month?"
"Well, he never offered me her," Satoru giggled. "And it was a week. She asked me to marry her after a week."
"She asked you?"
"Yes."
"And you agreed? Just like that?"
"Of course, it was love at first sight."
Suguru looked at Nanami, as if trying to make sure he wasn't the crazy one here. That Marquis truly went mad, and he lost all his senses.
Maybe while falling down, he hit his head? Maybe you bewitched him and forced a marriage?
But no one in this world could possibly force a tyrannical Marquis to do anything. Well, at least that's what Suguru have thought.
"Marquis, does it mean that... she doesn't know who you are?" Nanami asked, and everyone suddenly held their breath.
Including Satoru, who scratched his head sheepishly.
Oh.
Oh!
"She doesn't. You didn't tell her?!" Suguru once again almost shouted, and Satoru quickly shushed him.
"How could I? She thinks I'm a simple scholar who can do nothing but sweet-talk and read," he brushed another jasmine petal, and Suguru noticed a bit of worry behind his ocean eyes. "If she knew my real rank... There's a chance she would leave me. She's alone in this world – no parents, no family. If revealing my situation would mean losing her, I'd rather live as a commoner."
Suguru couldn't simply comprehend the weight of his words. For living as a commoner was everything people of their sort feared. To lose a status that could save your head in turmoil times such as this one was almost like a death sentence.
And Marquis was ready to do it solely for a fleeting tenderness.
"Does it mean you're not planning to go back?" Nanami asked quietly. "Do you want to stay announced as dead?"
Satoru was silent for a few minutes, with rays of sunshine slowly leaving his face. The moon lurked shyly from between jasmine branches, reflecting his wandering gaze. Suguru has never seen Marquis so quiet, so calm. As if his soul truly healed up from all the bestiality he needed to suffer just to float above anyone else.
The cold, sharp Marquis was no longer here, replaced by a man who tasted love for the first time. He was like a child learning how to walk, but at the same time, constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure his mother was watching over him.
And for Satoru – it was you.
You showed him the kindness of this world, and life deprived of the wrath he has felt for such a long time.
Marquis didn't say anything, but stood up instead and laughed under his breath. "It's almost supper time, let's go back. My wife always gets nauseous around this time, so I'll be the one cooking."
Suguru and Nanami simply nodded, following the Marquis back to the warm house.
They found you in a kitchen, humming softly and cutting the vegetables. The restaurant was already closed, and nothing but a soft beam of candles and a little buzz of crickets filled the small room.
Suguru has only now noticed your little bump, and he smiled when Satoru hugged you from behind.
"Sorry we took so long," he murmured, placing a wet kiss on your cheek. "There was simply too much to talk about."
You hummed, nodding head softly, till a few strands slipped away from your pinup. "It's okay, Satoru. Spend as much time as you need," you said, before looking up towards two men standing in the doors. "The room for you is ready. The supper will be, as soon as Satoru starts cutting the meat."
Marquis laughed, taking a heavy chopper and a fat piece of flesh. Suguru has never seen him in the kitchen, so he looked with pure curiosity at the way the iron blade slashed the tender meat.
What a bizzare sight, truly!
The supper wasn't anything special, but sitting together, talking and drinking – well, aside from you, of course – was the first time Suguru saw Marquis so relaxed.
Cheerful, free, with his head lying softly on your thighs and smooth locks caressed by your fingers. He was getting drunk faster than usual, babbling carelessly under his breath and peppering your little swell with kisses, till you flushed like the sweetest cherry and pushed him away. He joked and laughed, reminiscent of the days spent in royal academia with Suguru and Nanami (apparently, all of them met there, absolutely not on the battlefield) and delighted himself in stories about your first meeting.
About the moment he opened his eyes and saw an angel itself, to which you flushed feverishly and mumbled oh stop. Drunk Satoru was like a teenage boy boasting about his first love, and Suguru couldn't help but feel warmth spreading all over his chest every time Marquis peeked up at your lovely face.
When the night came, and it was time to part your ways, Suguru...
Dear heavens.
Suguru wished for nothing more than to be anywhere but right next to your room. For he heard everything.
Every sloppy kiss, every giggle, every shuddered breath of yours and silent Satoru, we can't, they're going to hear us. But Marquis, who was nothing if not madly in love, promised that don't worry baby, they won't, it will be fine, just let me taste you.
Fortunately, it seemed that you slapped his nosy hands away, because for the rest of the night, Marquis stayed silent.
Suguru and Nanami decided to stay for a few more nights, enjoying the idyllic charm of the village. Nanami would help in fixing the houses after the recent flood, and Suguru devoted his time to helping Satoru teach local kids. Marquis was the only person in the whole village who could read and write, thus local folks gladly attended his short, daily classes.
When Suguru came, the kids took a deep breath as if charmed by the gentleness and vigilance of his face. Satoru liked to fool around with little brats, but Suguru immediately put them in place, imposing a harsh, hour-long lesson as worthy of the most prominent strategist in the whole empire.
They sat with focused foreheads and beams of sweat glistening on their temples, while chubby fingers tried to draw clean, straight strokes.
Later that evening, Satoru told him that children liked the new pretty lady teacher, and you burst out in the most melodic laughter he's ever heard.
During the days, they fooled around, helped at the restaurant and did odd jobs for villagers, but the nights...
The nights were always reserved for you and Satoru.
And Suguru never dared to impose this gentle time between the two spouses, closing himself and Nanami off in the bedroom.
But he heard every little word rolled intimately between the two tender souls.
He heard the soft creak of the mattress as Satoru shifted closer to you, as if even sleep demanded less distance between your bodies.
He heard your quiet laughter, muffled into pillows, as though you didn't wish to disturb your guests.
He heard of your simple dreams and plans and all the worries you seemed to always have at the back of your mind.
He heard your quiet I love you and his trust me I love you more, followed by a silent kiss.
He heard the gentle splash of water shifting in the tub, followed by your quiet hum, almost absent-minded, while Satoru moved around you with careful hands.
He heard the faint press of lips against your temple.
The whispered goodnights that always sounded like promises.
And sometimes, he heard nothing at all.
Just silence.
But he knew that even during the most hushed nights, Satoru was always keeping you close – to his heart and soul and eyes. For he has never seen anything more precious than the peacefulness haunting his wife's forehead. And if a little, worried crease would appear between your brows, his thumb would gently massage it away. Lips would kiss it off, and you would snuggle up even closer, as if your body unconsciously yearned for your husband's touch.
There was a special kind of intimacy between the two lovers, whose odd fates and minds mixed in one lifeline. A bond most could be jealous of – in the way Satoru seemed to have you at his fingertips and you somehow always curled around them, floating near like a little goddess.
If Satoru was a believer, he would pray to nothing but the giggling eyes of his wife.
A few days later, when they were getting ready for the road, Suguru would look back at the young couple with a swelling heart.
For Marquis, who suffered enough in his short life, deserved nothing more than to gleam under the warm sun like a fair child, with his bright laughter forever carried through the mountains and meadows of the great empire.
౨ৎ your daughter not recognising satoru after a haircut (repost)
you didn’t expect him to actually do it.
he’d been threatening to for weeks, though. “it’s too hot,” he’d whine, flopping onto the couch, long white strands falling into his mouth. or “i’m basically shedding,” while brushing out his ends with your comb. always followed by: “i’m cutting it all off, you won’t even recognize me.”
you always hum, unconvinced. “you’d never survive the heartbreak.”
turns out, you were right—just not your heartbreak.
it starts the second he walks through the front door. he’s grinning, proud of himself, sunglasses still pushed up into his now much shorter hair. you don’t even get the chance to greet him because your daughter—the sweet little toddler that she is—just stares.
like he’s an intruder.
“…hi,” he says, smile twitching a little.
her tiny brows scrunch up.
then she points. “mommy? who’s that.”
you blink. look at gojo. look back at her.
“baby,” you start gently, already smiling, “that’s daddy.”
her nose scrunches. “nuh uh.”
gojo’s voice jumps an octave “excuse me?”
your daughter doesn’t even flinch. she hugs your leg tighter and mumbles, “you’re not daddy. he’s pretty.”
gojo blinks. “…i’m pretty though.”
“no you’re weird,” she says matter-of-factly. then she looks up at you like she’s concerned. “who is this man?”
you try to hold it in, but it bubbles up in a laugh, your hand flying to cover your mouth. gojo shoots you a look—devastated, betrayed, offended.
“you’re laughing at my pain,” he accuses.
“you look like you’re about to cry.”
“because my own daughter called me ugly, sweets.”
“no, she said weird.”
“that’s worse!”
you shrug, trying to stay calm while your daughter peeks around your leg again, eyes narrowed. “maybe you should’ve waited until after bedtime to go and get an identity crisis.”
he glares. “this is discrimination against people with good bone structure.”
“you cut your hair, satoru. not your jawline.”
“she doesn’t care about my jawline,” he whines. “she liked the fluff. she used to call me cotton candy.”
“okay, well. she also tried to lick your head once.”
“it was endearing!”
you’re giggling again when he crouches down to her height, eyes soft now, voice quiet.
“hey,” he says. “i know i look different, but it’s still me. promise.”
she stares at him. considers. then lifts one small hand and gently pats the top of his head.
“…you feel like a hedgehog.”
you bite your lip to keep from laughing out loud.
gojo groans. “i shaved off my parental rights, didn’t i.”
but she’s still standing there, little hand still petting him. her frown has softened into something closer to curiosity now.
“you talk like daddy,” she says.
“yeah?”
“and you smell like daddy.”
“that’s…. weird—”
“…maybe you are daddy.”
“thank you!”
she sighs, like she’s doing the world’s heaviest emotional labor, and then opens her chubby arms for him to pick her up. gojo does immediately, practically cradling her like she’s been lost at sea.
“daddy,” she whispers seriously, “next time, ask mama first.”
“yes ma’am,” he breathes, resting his cheek against her head like he’s just been forgiven by god himself.
you roll your eyes with a grin as he mouths ‘she loves me again!!’ over her head.
best friend or baby daddy, one thing's for sure, you're not getting rid of him!
pairings: bsf!Geto x f!Reader
content: MDNI, smut and fluff and light angst, modern AU, mutual pining, heavy yearning, they want each other BAD, friends-to-lovers-to-parents, unprotected piv sex, mating press, creampie, fingering, oral (m! + f! receiving), lots of teasing and tension, taking pictures during sex, unplanned pregnancy, discussions of pregnancy/marriage, cravings, reader is a lil insecure, Suguru adores her anyway, short Gojo cameo, protective/possessive dilf!Suguru lol, idiots in love
part of this wikihow collab with @neovillains, art by @captainsalsaa divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !
Step one?
Comfort you after you dumped yet another boyfriend.
Or maybe the first step had been one he never meant to take. Falling in love with the girl who pulled on his ponytail on the playground at age five. And at twenty-five? He fell even harder at the thought of what sort of face you'd make if he pulled your hair now, if you'd throw him a glare or a laugh, maybe pout your pretty lips at him before he bent you over his kitchen counter and -
"Suguru," You giggled, glancing over your shoulder, a playful glint shimmering in your eyes as you nudged his side. "Are you actually drunk?"
On you, maybe.
"No," He murmured, a cold hand finding your hip, an excuse, really, to pull you closer, press your body between his and the marble edge of the countertop as he reached over your head to grab the bowls he started keeping on the top shelf so you'd need his help grabbing them.
He caught the way your breath hitched in your throat, spine going stiff for a second, before relaxing into him like it was second nature by now, your head tilting to twist back against his chest and look up at him.
"You don't seem very heartbroken to me," He dryly commented, to which you just made a noncommittal hm, blinking a few times.
"I'm fine."
"Yeah?" He murmured, a little lost in your proximity, how right it felt for your back to be against his chest. "If he lost you, he must be a fucking idiot."
"Oh?" You giggled. "You know, he actually said we were in love with each other?"
"And? Are you in love with me?" Suguru teased, setting the bowls down to cage you in closer, his hand cutting off your chance at wiggling away when it landed on the counter, the fingers on your hips gripping a little tighter, wrinkling your dress.
Wishful thinking or not, he could almost feel the heat in your cheeks from here, your eyes crinkling when you just shrugged.
"What movie do you wanna watch?" You hummed, eyes flickering from his down to his lips, like you wanted to watch him reply, or maybe, hopefully, something more.
The game of pulling each other in just to push each other away at the last second still in swing after two decades.
"Whatever you want," Suguru shrugged back, the steady pop pop pops! of the kernels on the stove filling the background, the half-empty bottle of wine waiting to be polished off perched between two glasses. Yours was nearly full, but there were only a few drops left in his, despite drinking being your idea.
Showing up at his door on a Saturday night, gift bag in hand with tissue paper sticking out, wearing your favorite little sundress, cardigan hanging off your shoulders when you grinned up at him and asked if you could crash for a couple days.
"Boo," You did pout, and he hoped your proximity to his heart didn't mean you could hear it actually skipping a beat. "What if I want you to pick?"
He wished you only wanted him, period.
You stared sometimes and he could feel it there, simmering underneath your smile and living in the lines on your face. But you were always dating some other dark-haired asshole or he'd find himself in someone else's bed (who always looked a little too much like you, sharing the same shade of hair or the shape of your eyes). Living off of lingering touches and secret jokes and the moments where the boundaries blurred, where you'd be snuggled against his side or a kiss on the cheek would stray closer to the corner of your mouth instead.
Both of you waiting for the day the other one accepted defeat, conceded victory and came clean about the festering feelings you shared.
"Fine," He sighed, moving the pot to a different burner, flicking the heat off before taking off the lid, having to smack your hand away before you could snag a still-hot piece from the top before he could add any popcorn salt. "Just go sit down before you manage to burn yourself, okay?"
You rolled your eyes, poking his side before pouring more wine in his glass, carrying both over to the coffee table, too distracted watching him to pay attention to where you were walking, the corner catching your leg and sending you stumbling.
He would laugh at you later.
But now?
He was dropping the bowl back to the counter, hurrying over to help you up, your dress soaked and stained, clinging to your body, broken shards of glass littering the wooden floor.
"Shit, Sugu, I'm sorry," You frowned, chewing on your bottom lip as you pinched the sticky fabric away from your chest. But he caught the little glint in your eyes, the way one corner of your mouth involuntarily tugged up, like maybe you'd done it on purpose.
"Careful," He sighed, grabbing you by the waist to move you away from the safety hazard just to take your wrist anyway after he set you back down, pulling you down the hall to his room. "I'll throw that in the wash. You can just wear one of my shirts."
Sure, you already had a drawer full of your clothes at his place. But you both knew you'd rather wear something of his anyway.
"You're not mad, are you?" You asked, your face still scrunched up in disappointment when he pushed open the bedroom door.
"When have I ever been mad at you?"
He wanted to be, sometimes. When you introduced him to a new guy who would check out other girls when he should be thanking the fucking stars you even looked at him. When he thought about the time you got a little too wasted on your birthday a few years ago and kissed him in the backseat of a taxi just to forget the next morning. But the hurt could never hold it's shape, the anger could never set in, not when the need for you had engraved itself in his bones, to see you smile and hear your laugh at his jokes. No matter how much it ached to watch you offer yourself to others who didn't even see you.
Suguru went to grab a t-shirt off a hanger, glancing over his shoulder at you to find - fuck.
You already stripped out of your dress, perched pretty on the edge of his bed and staring at him almost innocently, your head tilted to the side as if to ask 'what?'
He shouldn't look, really, he absolutely should not, but his eyes don't know that, drifting down to the pretty swell of your breasts pushed out in a skimpy little lace bra that he was going to be thinking about long after you left, and his throat almost closes then and there.
"Here," He dryly choked out, his jaw clenching as he tossed you the shirt, dragging his attention down to where you discarded your dress.
"Thanks," You caught it, but barely made an effort to cover up your chest, your eyes following him as he bent over to pick it up, something that sounded close to a sigh escaping when he walked towards the door.
Suguru wouldn't crack. His composure couldn't. The only thing worse than you not being his was you not being in his life at all.
He could live with being in love with you. But knowing you didn't feel the same might kill him.
He didn't want a one-time thing, a single night spent in the sheets, but every part of you, every inch of your skin and second of your time. If you fucked him once just to say you couldn't be friends anymore, couldn't be anything, he didn't know what he'd do.
It was hard to know where the line was drawn when both of you had erased it so many times just to hastily scrawl a new one a little further back.
Carefully measuring out the laundry detergent and adjusting the settings on the washing machine before turning it on, the scent of your perfume and the wine clinging to him even after he turned away, glancing back down at the closed bedroom door. You were probably done changing by now, or close, at least.
He still knocked anyway, knuckles tapping against the wood, waiting for your reply.
"Can I come in?" Suguru called out, leaning against the door, trying not to think about what you looked like in his bed, the still image already burned in the back of his brain.
"Uh-huh," You hummed. Twisting the knob, he pushed it open, his stare locking onto you before he could even really process what he was seeing.
You were not done changing.
The hooks of your bra weren't even properly clasped, a tiny little thong hooked over your hips, your back to him while you rummaged through his nightstand. Something was in your hands that he couldn't see.
You glanced over your shoulder, a cute little smirk plastered to your lips that he wanted to kiss off of you, twist into a gasp, a moan of his name. "Hi."
"Hi," He echoed, low and gravelly, one corner of his mouth curling up to match yours.
You knew what you were doing.
And he was so tired of pretending he didn't.
"Say cheese," You giggled, holding up an old camera of his, finger hovering over the shutter while he folded his arms across his chest, his mouth set in a thin line even when you snapped a photo.
"Hand it over," He huffed, his focus straining to stay on your face while you walked over to him, bare feet padding across his floor until you were close enough to push the camera against his chest. The words were on his tongue before he could second guess saying them. "My turn."
The blush coloring your face made him feel warm, the sudden hints of shyness bleeding through when you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, like you just remembered how little you were wearing, how close he was.
"Scared?" Suguru mocked, giving you an out he hoped you wouldn't take.
"N-no," You stammered though, a crease forming between your furrowed brow as you protested.
"Back on the bed then," He murmured, wondering if you'd pose for him, if this would be the only picture you'd let him take of you tonight.
You hesitantly perched yourself back on the end, glancing down at yourself then back up at him, swallowing hard as you tried to collect your confidence again. Scooting back, parting your legs just enough that he caught a glimpse of the small damp patch on your panties, chuckling at the realization you were more worked up than him.
"More," He instructed, watching the way your lips parted and froze, how slowly your limbs started to move.
He sighed, sitting the camera down on the mattress next to you before sliding his hands over your soft thighs, spreading them for you, pretending your little gasp at the contact didn't make his cock practically jump in his boxers.
"Lay down for me, okay, pretty girl?" Suguru requested, softer this time, and you nodded, listening as you laid back, your body stiff as it sank down on his comforter. Only starting to relax once his hands slipped higher, the feeling of your bare skin under his palm only fueling the burning need he'd been suppressing for so long.
Hooking two sturdy fingers under the band of your panties and slowly peeling them down your thighs, taking his time and waiting for some squeak of his name to leave your mouth, but you just watched him back, biting down on the inside of your cheek.
Once your underwear hit the floor, you hesitantly shifted, opening yourself up for him. "Like this?"
Suguru wasn't sure he was going to make it out of here with his sanity in tact.
Step two?
He was going to fuck you until you admitted you'd been waiting for this just as long as him.
"Look at me," He quietly said, picking the camera back up to hide the hunger in his gaze as he peered through the viewfinder at you.
Your unsure stare reflecting his own desperation, lashes fluttering as you tried to decide what face to make.
He could help with that.
Returning one hand to the inside of your thigh, tracing a soft path up to the slick on your skin as placed his hand over your entrance, his thumb dipping just barely in to the knuckle while he watched your face for every tiny flicker in your expression. Entranced by how easily he made you squirm, your pretty pout like you wanted more and knowing he wouldn't give it to you unless you asked.
And click!
Of all the candids he'd taken over the years, the collection of your smiles and scoffs saved in photo albums and in his phone's camera rolls, he knew that this would be his favorite.
"Sugu-" You started, the uneven rise-and-fall of your chest only drawing his attention the strap of your bra slipping down your arm.
"Yeah, sweetheart?" He breathed, stuck staring at the sharp edge of one of your canines was tugging on your lower lip, the glimmer in your eyes at how intimate the nickname suddenly felt despite how many times he called you that before.
"Are you sure?" You slowly enunciated every syllable, straining to speak as his thumb dipped deeper. Trying not to give away how much he was affecting you, like he couldn't feel the muscles pull tighter, see the twitch of your hips as they fought to buck up and force him in more.
"Always have been about you," Suguru simply said, pushing his palm down over your clit, watching you gasp at the sudden pressure, eyes fluttering closed as you harshly sucked in a breath.
"God," You hissed.
"Take your bra off," He instructed, and you listened, struggling to prop yourself up enough to reach around with one hand and fumble to undo the clasp, throwing it off with a clatter to the floor.
Fuck.
The way your breasts bounced as you moved, how the buds of your nipples were already perked up and hard, just begging him to roll his tongue over them, to pinch and grope and hold. Mark your chest and your neck with enough kisses to erase the fact that anyone else had ever touched them before him.
He wanted to be the last man who would.
How could he not when you were looking at him like you needed him?
"You wanna tell me what you want?" He hm-ed, slipping his thumb back out, the slick pad dragging up to trace a ghost of a circle over the swollen bud while you whined at the abrupt absence.
"You, please," You whimpered, and he didn't think he'd ever been this hard before. "S-Sugu, I wan' you."
It took every ounce of control not to pull his cock out and fuck you until you cried that out again and again, until pretty tears were collected in your eyes and all you could do was whimper.
He slowly slotted two fingers inside, the stretch making you shudder, thighs struggle to resist the temptation to close on his hand.
He clicked his tongue, once, twice, three times.
"Keep them open for me, baby," He teased, and you just pushed out your bottom lip, weakly nodding as all your muscles tensed again, muscles straining to stay in place when he crooked his fingers all the way in.
"Fuck, fuck, god, there." Your cute moan made his head spin, how your breath almost stuttered every time you sucked it in just for him to immediately force it back out, skin he used to try so hard to avoid staring at in swim suits now completely bare in his sheets.
Pumping his fingers in-and-out, the filthy fucking sound of how wet you were for him ringing his his ears, how right it felt to have you squeezing desperately around him, to be the one pushing you closer and closer to cumming on his fingers.
"That's it, pretty," He softly said, feeling you throb at his low voice, pausing to test it out again. "Come on, breathe."
You tried, sucking in a small breath and looking at him with glossy eyes, silently begging him to keep going.
"Use your words, sweetheart," Suguru purred, swiping his thumb back over your sensitive clit and you shivered.
"Please let me cum," You begged out loud this time, trembling at his touch.
He chuckled, dark and low, slotting his fingers back inside, already trying to memorize which spots made you whine louder, thrusting in, out, in, out, until-
"Suguru."
His name ripped from your throat right as his fingers found the spongy spot in the back, fingertips pressing against it just enough for you to cry out his name a second time, your legs snapping shut as you grinded up against his hand.
"Go ahead, baby," He murmured, letting you rut against his palm for extra pressure and friction, readjusting so his thumb was massaging circles over the swollen bud. "C'mon, cum."
And fuck, he never thought you'd looked more beautiful than right now - lashes fluttering, pretty lips parted as your back arched off the bed, his fingers buried knuckle-deep in your cunt while you came.
"Look so pretty like this f'me," He promised, his thumb rolling over your clit while you blushed and squirmed, still trying to catch your breath when he didn't immediately pull out.
"S-shut up," Your voice was small as you stammered.
"Can I take another photo?" He teased, slipping his slick fingers out, and popping them in his own mouth, needing to taste you on his tongue.
The image of him cleaning the ring of white off his fingers seemed to make you more flustered, your glossy stare searing through his heart.
"You want to?" You swallowed hard.
He climbed on top of the bed, pulling his fingers out with a pop! and grazing over your lower lip with his thumb, caging you in under his broad frame.
"That a yes?" He hm-ed, and you nodded, letting him tug your mouth open. He pushed the same two fingers that had just been in his mouth into yours, your tongue swirling over his knuckles, sucking softly and peering up at him with those pretty eyes.
"Mhm," Your muffled voice purred back.
He fumbled for the camera, holding it back up and hovering his finger over the button as you met his stare through the viewfinder, your own hand reaching up to hold his and push his fingers in deeper while he snapped the photo.
"My pretty girl."
His his his.
Pulling out his fingers while he leaned over to deposit the camera on the nightstand, your lips still open, waiting for a kiss or about to tease him for a sentiment so silly, but a soft smile curled up.
"Yeah, yours."
Suguru Geto was in love. Something he always knew, but only existed in the loops of his mind, the quiet score of his life, playing in the background of every scene. But this, with you here, it was loud. In every look and touch, in every breath he exhaled, the atoms crackling in the air between your bodies.
"I need to fuck you," He heard himself say, hoarse and thick with something caught between desperation and desire.
"Oh yeah?" Your airy little giggle was abruptly cut off with his mouth colliding against yours, wondering if his tasted like wine or you as he sucked softly on your lower lip.
Your hands were struggling to pull his shirt up, only breaking the kiss to shove it up and over his head, your warm palms skimming over his muscles and tracing over each ridge and curve like you'd thought about touching him half as much as he thought about touching you.
"Sugu," You giggled again, letting him pepper your cheek with kisses, his mouth leaving hungry sucks in a line down your throat, marks you'd probably have to wear a scarf or makeup to cover at work in a few days.
He really couldn't stop touching you. Caressing your face and groping your breast and tracing your collarbone and trying to find an excuse to catalogue what every inch of you felt like under him.
"Mm?" He barely paused, feeling your delicate touch start to tug down the zipper of his jeans, the rustle of you unbuttoning them next. He wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples, groaning softly as he dragged his tongue over it as you managed to slip your fingers underneath his jeans and the band of his boxers to feel how hard he already was. Swiping your fingertips over his leaking tip to collect the pre-cum there and wiggling back out to bring it to your lips for your own taste.
His throat went dry.
More than dry. Actually, it felt like someone stuffed fucking cotton balls down it and his pants suddenly felt two sizes too tight as you dragged your tongue over your fingertips and batted your lashes at him.
"I thought you needed to fuck me," You reminded him with the sort of soft sigh that made him dizzy.
He was pushing off his plush mattress to finish what you started, discarding his jeans and boxers in one go, his composure not just cracked but crumbled into a million little pieces he couldn't clean up, the need turning him into the kind of man who couldn't care less about appearances or control if it mean he could fuck your brains out enough that you'd forget about all of that too.
His cock was practically pink, swollen and hard, swinging up to smack against his dark happy trail and muscles, your eyes getting even wider, glued to the thick length.
"Um, S-Sugu," You stuttered, and it was cute to see you lose your own cool, scooting back higher on the bed and propping yourself up on your elbows.
"Uh-huh?" He wryly cocked his head to the side as he climbed back on top of you, pulling you down by your hips as your head fell back on his pillow. Spreading your legs back open, glistening and gorgeous and all his.
"Kiss me again," You quietly requested, and he was more than happy to oblige.
Returning his lips to your own to press a tender kiss there while his tip nudged against your opening, your body jolting when he pinned you down with his weight. Slipping one hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss, his tongue tracing the ridges of your teeth while his other hand held your waist, your wrists wrapping around his neck while you moaned in his mouth, unable to do anything but grind up where his cock was practically twitching against your clit.
Getting more desperate by the second, your muffled moan turning into a whine, bucking up harder to chase your high from earlier.
"Put it in," Your voice was a strained whisper in-between kisses, rolling your hips up again.
"Say please," Suguru taunted, kissing your frown away before he could even really form.
"Please."
He was letting go of your waist to grab the base of his cock, pushing the first few inches in and watching your body tense and stiffen around him, your thighs trying not to close as he pushed past the first ring of resistance, the gasp you attempted to stifle not going unnoticed.
"You okay, baby?" He paused, your body squeezing him sinfully before he hadn't even quite made it halfway in.
"You're, um, bigger, than I imagined," You choked out, and he wasn't sure if it was his ego or his dick that got fucking bigger hearing you admit you imagined him at all.
"It'll fit," He murmured, barely containing the urge to bottom out already, taking his time stretching you out, molding you to each vein and ridge. "Promise I'll take care of you."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locked them there with your heels digging into his back, and the feeling of your soft thighs against his skin, the squeeze of the muscle had him burying himself in fully before he could stop it.
"Shit, Suguru, o-oh, oh," You mewled at him, nails scratching at his shoulder blades while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin, teeth nipping at his collarbone.
He kind of hoped you would bite him. Leave little indents of your teeth on his skin so he could run his fingers over it in the morning.
"Fuck," He murmured, stalling for a second just to appreciate how it felt. The warmth of your body trapped under his, the taste of you still on his tongue while his cock was snugly sheathed inside you, raw and-
Shit, he wasn't wearing a condom.
You hadn't asked him to. And to be honest, he didn't even think he had one. It's not like he'd been seeing anyone recently or even considered the possibility he might need one tonight.
It would probably be fine.
He could just pull out or-
"Baby," Your voice, so needy, distracted him.
Suguru's brain shut off.
All higher reasoning had been abandoned, replaced only by the thought of making you cum again (and again).
Sliding out just to shove himself back in, gentle thrusts growing faster, harder with every one of your whines and broken rasps of his name, your hands running over his back and your mouth on his throat. Eventually un-hooking your legs from his hips to pin your thighs to your chest, angling himself to hit that same spongy spot he had before, half-incoherent murmurs whispered into your skin of how beautiful you were, how badly he wanted you, needed you.
And you were nodding back, tears brimming at your lashes and moaning his name, offering quiet little swears that you belonged to him like it was a secret meant for the two of you to keep.
"Oh, t-there, fuck," You whimpered, his cock practically grinding against your cervix as his hips smacked against your skin, planting another open-mouthed kiss on your lips while you both struggled to stave off your climax. Neither of you wanted it to end. "Suguru, m' so close."
"I know, baby, I know," He groaned, barely holding himself together, all the carefully assembled pieces of his life about feeling like they were about to fracture the second his restraint snapped.
There was no going back after this.
No mask he'd be able to wear now that he knew what this felt like. Knew what you looked like pinned under him in the filthiest fucking mating press imaginable, fucked-out and filled-up by his cock slamming again and again while his thumb made messy circles over your clit, rolling and pinching it just to see what sort of noises he could pull out of you next. Especially not after knowing what face you made when you finished, your shattered gasp and your glazed-over eyes focused solely on him and fuck-
Fuck.
He cumming before he could stop himself, your body wrapped up so warm around him, the delicious squeeze like you wanted to draw out every last fucking drop, painting your insides white before he even had enough brain power to start to pull out, but by then, only the last few drops were left to leak onto your thighs. Both dazed, blinking and breathing, his cock still hard in his hand while he stared down at his seed dripping out of you.
You were probably on birth control.
Probably.
Suguru reached over to snag the camera off the nightstand, one hand still pinning your thighs down while the other held the camera back up.
"Say cheese."
Step three?
Show up to your apartment after you'd been avoiding him for what? Two months?
Work stuff, you said, already made plans, you bluffed, feeling sick, you excused.
You hadn't left his place upset - no, you showered and practically stayed in his bed until you had to go to work on Monday. Kissed him on the lips and brushed his bangs out of his face, but when he replayed the 36 hours of heaven, none of the words exchanged had technically been confessions. Or at least, nothing that would put a name to whatever the two of you were now.
It's not like you hadn't gone a couple weeks without seeing each other in person. But this was getting ridiculous - and exactly what he'd been worried about in the first place. He knew you were probably overthinking it, probably just as worried as he was that it'd screw everything up, judging by the still-constant stream of texts you sent him every day.
But he couldn't take it anymore - close enough to just calling it like it was and asking you out officially if it meant you'd stop whatever this was. He'd spent more nights by now fucking in fists to the photos he'd taken of you, painfully-aware of how much better the real thing was.
He could tell by the sound of some shitty reality show playing too-loud through the door that you were definitely home, but you didn't answer the first time he knocked. Or the fourth.
By the tenth, he was flipping through his keys to find the spare one to your place, his text messages to you left unread as he turned it in the lock, calling out your name as he stepped inside. No answer.
Panic had started to prick at his nerves, glancing around to see your stuff scattered around like you usually left it as he crept through your empty kitchen and living room. There weren't any dishes in the sink though, just a few empty packs of crackers, a small trash can by the couch, a blanket thrown over the side and a crushed pillow like you'd just been there. He heard it then - the sound of retching.
Shit. You were sick.
He followed the noise down the hall into the bathroom, the door already cracked open, softly saying your name as he approached so he wouldn't surprise you, but you coughed again, glancing over your shoulder clearly startled anyway.
"What are you-" You weakly rasped, a few stray hairs plastered to your forehead with sweat, tired circles around your eyes before you got sick again. He hurried to hold the rest of your hair back with one hand, the other rubbing little circles on your shoulder blade.
"Hey, it's okay," He murmured, concern replacing everything else he'd been preoccupied with when he showed up. "I was worried about you."
Something that looked like fear flashed across your features when you finished and peeked back over at him.
"Suguru," You slowly said his name, and just speaking sounded like it must hurt.
"Come on, want me to carry you back to the couch? I can go pick up some medicine for you, whatever else you want too," He offered, his thumb rubbing over your your shoulder blade in comforting half-circles. You didn't immediately answer, a small frown still stuck on your face. "You been to the doctor yet?"
"Suguru," You said his name again, more serious this time and he froze.
"Yeah?" He swallowed hard, and you refused to meet his stare.
"I'm pregnant," You murmured, so quietly that was barely audible over the bathroom exhaust fan.
His brain stopped working.
His body too - stuck in place, his thumb still pressing down on the tense muscles of your back.
"You're-" He started, then stopped himself. Each word forming its own separate thought, struggling to piece each of them together when weight of them all combined threatened to crush him. "Is it my baby?"
Fuck, it had to be.
You nodded, just a small bob of your head, and he could barely blink.
Baby. A baby. Yours and his.
"Don't hate me," You whispered sheepishly, shoulders shrinking together. "But I want to keep it."
"I could never hate you," He hoped it sounded reassuring, straining to keep his own happiness in check, struggling to be steady the way you clearly needed him to be. "Whatever you want, I'm here for you. And our baby."
"You mean it?" You turned, just enough that he was able to tug you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you.
"Promise." He pressed a kiss against your hair, cradling you closer.
Your breathing was still shaky, sniffling a few times before your arms wrapped around his waist, face pressed against his shirt.
"Have you been to the doctor yet?" He asked again, although it had an entirely different meaning now, one that still hadn't sunk in all the way yet.
"I called, after, um, I got the positive test," You talked into his chest, voice muffled but you refused to pull away either. "My first appointment isn't for another two weeks."
"I'll go with you," He muttered.
"You don't have-"
"I want to," Suguru chuckled. "Let me take care of you, okay?"
"That's kind of how we ended up here," You reminded him, and he didn't have to see your face to know you were pouting.
He still laughed though, because he'd still do it again.
"Want me to make you something to see if you can keep it down?" He decided to shift the subject, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes, content to play doctor or nurse (or husband) or whatever role you wanted from him.
Playing chef while he made you something warm, masseuse when he rubbed your back while you curled up next to him in bed, and boyfriend when you finally fell asleep, slipping out of your room to complete the chores that had started to pile up that you'd been too exhausted to do.
It was the least he could do when all your energy was already being devoted to his baby.
By the time he finished and crept back into your bedroom, you were still dreaming, the blankets kicked off of your body. The bed creaked as he climbed back in, settling next to your warm body.
His hand slipped down your side, readjusting so his chest was pressed against your back as his fingers drifted slowly over your stomach, just beneath your belly button, trying to picture it.
Would the baby be a boy? Or a girl?
A little mini-version of you running around, maybe with his eyes or hair?
You were already everything he ever wanted. Anything extra was just icing on top.
Step four?
Convince you to move into his place before the second trimester was over, it was bigger, anyway, had a spare bedroom he'd been using as a home gym he already started converting into a nursery. Spending the weekends building baby furniture and taking you out for dates disguised as shopping, buying little onesies and toys mostly so he could insist on treating you to lunch or dinner afterwards.
It was easier than he expected.
What wasn't?
Convincing you to marry him.
You were already carrying his child. Pretty and pregnant, the cute swell of your stomach you tried to hide under flowy dresses and oversized sweaters making his heart throb in his chest every time he saw it. His mouth would go dry, his eyes stuck staring if he caught you in the middle of changing, even when you shyly tried to turn away. Only having sex in certain positions where you could try to avoid letting him see it, although it usually ended up with him flipping you over on your back or pulling you on top.
"We're going to be late," Suguru sighed, throwing on a sweater from the closet.
"I just need a few more minutes," You pouted, halfway yelling from the bathroom.
He crossed over the bedroom, pushing the bathroom door open with two fingers so he could poke his head through. You were frowning at yourself in the mirror, readjusting your dress, like it'd make it any less obvious you were pregnant. Other clothing items were already discarded across the floor.
"Baby," He softly said, wrapping his arms around your waist, running a hand over your baby bump while the other slipped up to cup your swollen breast starting to spill out of your bra. Despite your insistence otherwise, your discomfort with your changing body, he still tried to offer to take you out to buy stuff for you instead of just the baby. "You look beautiful."
You did.
Everything in him ached to touch you constantly, and maybe it was protective or possessive or whatever you wanted to call it, but he hated that you wanted to hide it, the physical proof that you were his.
He wanted everyone to know it, wanted to slide a ring on your finger and have family photos on the fridge because you were carrying more of him with you now than just his heart.
You scowled at him in the mirror.
"I look pregnant," You muttered, like it was a bad thing.
"Yeah?" He chuckled, tracing the subtle curve of your stomach with his thumb. Twenty weeks. That was halfway there, wasn't it? He'd read more than a few parenting books in his spare time - looked up the latest articles on pregnancy and what to expect. He'd pour over the packets you left from the prenatal appointments with, asked off for each one in advance, absolutely refusing to let you go alone.
"I hate all my clothes," You huffed.
"You hated them before you were pregnant," Suguru sighed, pulling you closer and leaning down to plant a soft kiss against your throat. "You should probably wear something else though. Aren't they doing an ultrasound today?"
He phrased it like a question even though he knew they were.
You frowned again, wiggling away from him to slip out of his grip and walk over to the dresser, yanking out a pair of sweatpants.
"Everything fits weird," You complained, pulling your dress up and over your head, and Suguru stared, feeling the way his own jeans started to fit too tight at the sight of your exposed skin.
"We can go shopping for some new clothes after the appointment," Suguru absentmindedly said, still memorizing the pretty outline of your body.
He could kiss you, offer reassurance after reassurance that he did want you, but you were reluctant to believe him.
Your foot was still anxiously tapping the floor of the waiting room when you arrived, gripping his hand like it was a lifeline, your last tether stopping you from giving into the stress.
"It's gonna be fine," He leaned down to murmur in your ear, barely able to squeeze your hand back with how tightly you were holding it.
"What if it's not?" You were panicking, your other hand protectively placed over your stomach like you were shielding it from the rest of the world.
"Then we'll figure it out together."
His answer didn't seem to calm you much, the little circles he rubbed over your knuckles only making your foot tall a little slower.
"They keep looking at you," You eventually craned your neck up to whisper in his ear, frowning even harder than you had when you first walked in.
"Who?" He leaned down to whisper back.
"The other moms," You pouted, cutting a glare over to a woman who was, in fact, staring. She tried to turn away, but not before you both caught her blush.
"So?" He had to resist the smirk that wanted to creep up, lest he faced your wrath too. Like he could ever want anyone else when you were sitting next to him in the waiting room because his baby was growing inside of you, although this jealousy was something he probably would've killed to see you show over him six months ago.
"I'm probably going to be prying them off of you at the playground in a couple years," You huffed, and he couldn't help but chuckle picturing that.
But before you could focus your frown on him, a nurse called out your full name, his own forming at the reminder he was barely here as a boyfriend, that his baby might not even have his last name either.
He insisted on helping you stand, a hand on the small of your back even when you didn't really need it yet, following you through the hall and listening to you answer the same questions they always asked at every appointment until they led you to the small room that branched off the main hall. The lights were dimmed down already as he helped you lay back onto the table, the paper crinkling while you readjusted. He pulled the chair against the wall closer, slipping his hand back on yours while the nurse left and reassured an ultrasound tech would be there in a few minutes.
"Last guesses," You mumbled, chewing on your lower lip, breathing too fast. "Boy or a girl?"
"Girl," Suguru replied, although he didn't think it mattered much. Not as long as it was yours.
He did like the idea of the baby being a girl - if she had your eyes and your smile.
"I guess I'll go with boy then," You spoke quietly, eyeing the machine next to you. "I hope our baby looks like you either way."
Suguru didn't expect the way your sentiment made him feel - his heart practically stuttering as the words left your lips. Something squeezing tight in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.
But there were two sharp knocks on the door and suddenly it was swinging open, a peppy woman in shrugs stepping in with cheery greetings, waving and taking a seat on the other side of you to get started. Asking questions about names you had in mind and if you wanted to know the gender while she got set up, and it was silly, but it was like he had a crush on you all over again, watching you chat about the baby, how your eyes lit up just to get sheepish and almost embarrassed when you looked back at Suguru to find him staring.
It didn't take long for you to be slowly pulling the band of your sweatpants down, tissues stuck under it to keep the gel from getting on your clothes while you held up your sweatshirt high enough for her to spread the gel over your stomach, pressing down hard with the wand as the image pulled up on the projector. Taking measurements and checking body parts until she paused right as the baby turned.
"You see that?"
Not really.
"Sorta," You squinted, trying to squint and figure out what it is.
"Looks like you're having a girl!"
And all the earlier anxiety had dissolved, melted into the shy smile on your lips when you glanced back at him, your warm palm giving him a quick squeeze and an excited gleam in your eyes.
"We're gonna have a daughter," You talked so quiet, so soft, like you were still holding your breath.
A daughter. You voice, those words played on repeat the drive home, while you traced the outline of your baby's face on the roll of ultrasound photos you got sent home with.
"Suguru, are you even listening?" You snapped him out of his thoughts, the idea of what you'd look like with a little girl swaddled up in your arms, already planning on taking you out shopping again tomorrow for more baby outfits than any kid could actually need.
"Sorry, honey? What?" He apologized, placing a palm on your thigh and rubbing it while you hummed.
"I asked what you thought of the name Kiyoko," You repeated, setting the photos down on your lap to pull out your phone and probably look up lists of baby girl names.
"That's pretty," He hummed, mostly just enjoying hearing your enthused chatter next to him.
"Or Yumi?" He caught a glimpse of you with your eyebrow arched up as you asked, your attempt at a serious expression falling flat from the thrill you couldn't hide.
He never thought he'd be able to love another girl as much as you - but he guessed his daughter was the only exception.
It wasn't until he started to climb into bed next to you that night that he realized you might not know that.
"Um, Suguru?"
There was something off in the sound of your voice, how hesitant you were to roll over and face him.
"Something wrong, sweetheart?" He readjusted, propping himself up on his side as he brushed your hair out of your face.
"Are, um, you," You paused, frowning as you restarted your question. "Do you think you'll-"
He guessed you were giving up on whatever you wanted to ask as you groaned and buried your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.
"Sorry, just, pretend I didn't say anything," Your voice was muffled, clinging to him, fingers wrinkling his shirt and forcing it to ride up higher until a thin strip of skin was exposed.
"You sure?" He stroked your hair, returning your hug as he pulled you in closer with one strong arm.
"Yeah," You huffed, wiggling free and rolling over till you were between his legs.
He was about to slip his hands under your arms to tug you back up, but then you let one finger skim under his boxers, looking up and batting your eyes at him and he paused, the question he was about to ask dying on his tongue.
Yours seemed to have an idea of it's own.
Fingers ghosting over his dark happy trail while you bit your lip, slowly tugging down his boxers just enough to pull his cock out, already hard from watching you undress and ditch your daytime clothes for a thin slip earlier that hugged your swollen breasts before you'd crawled into bed.
"This for me?" You hummed, running your fingers over the thick vein pulsing along the side while he sucked in a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile on its own.
"Always," He murmured, the lump in his throat bobbing as you dragged your tongue along the length of him, mouth slowly wrapping around the tip.
God, it wasn't fucking fair.
How could he control himself when every part of you felt so good?
Head falling back on the pillow, jaw clenched as you slowly took him in inch-by-inch, swirling our tongue over him and down across the vein, traced the ridges until he was pressed up against the roof of your mouth, bumping into the back of your throat.
His hand grabbing your hair to help guide you, careful not to make you gag or bruise your throat, your fingers wrapped around his base to stroke what you couldn't fit in. Your moan when he pulled your hair harder than he meant to almost made him snap them and there.
Opening his eyes was his mistake.
He wished he could take a photo of this, the bob of your head and the way you peered up at him so pretty, his cock throbbing in your mouth and how eagerly your mouth softly sucked on him.
He barely pulled out before warm spurts of cum shot down your throat, meaning to cum on his own hand, but it didn't quite work. The thick almost translucent white coating your lips and making them glossy, half ending up on your face and the rest coating his hand as he roughly jerked long strokes.
"Fuck, sorry, I-"
You giggled, licking a little off your lips before wiping away at your cheek.
"It's fine, Sugu," You laughed, wiping your face off on his boxers, nose nuzzling through the fabric against his thigh. "Little warning, next time?"
"Yeah," He muttered, still dazed as he studied your face.
It seemed keeping it together wasn't something he could do when it came to you.
"Wanna shower?" You offered, getting off the bed, the bounce of your breasts as you carefully pulled your little nightdress off reminding him how badly he wanted to repay that favor.
"Sure," He shrugged, standing up after you and stepping out his boxers off before tossing them into the laundry basket.
He watched you get the water started, humming to yourself as you grabbed a new bottle of body wash from the cabinet underneath the sink and checked the temperature.
"Hey," He softly said, distracting you before you could step in.
"Yeah?" You paused, glancing over your shoulder at him.
"Wanna get married?"
You didn't react. Or maybe your lack of reaction was one in itself. A blank stare. A blink. Your hands still on the shower curtain.
"What?" You eventually choked out.
Suguru panicked - or came as close to panic as he could. Falling back on logic, all the facts you couldn't argue with.
"I was paying the bill for the last appointment, and you know, your insurance is terrible," He reasoned, keeping his expression serious, stoic, like you'd have to see his side. "I just think it'd make more sense for us to get married, use my insurance and save our money for the other important stuff."
He actually couldn't care less what the appointments cost or how much he spent on the baby - because he would make absolutely fucking sure you were both spoiled but, he wanted you to say yes.
"I can just pay for the appointments if that's the problem," You quietly murmured, a look on his face he'd never seen before he barely caught before you turned back around and stepped in the shower.
Shit.
He didn't have to guess to know that was a no.
Step five?
Try not to maim every guy that ever looked at you.
It had to be something instinctual - how it made his skin crawled whenever someone's shoulder brushed against yours on the street or a stare lingered too long on your face. Fuck, even Gojo sitting too-close to you had started to get to him, the easy way he slung his shoulder over the back of the couch and blabbered to you about his day while you laughed.
Normally, Suguru would not be silently struggling to maintain his polite smile when you offered to let Satoru feel the baby kick, new cracks starting to form in his facade as his best friend eagerly out his hand on your stomach.
"That's freaky," Gojo scrunched up his face, pulling his hand away at the first flutters of the kick.
"Jerk," You huffed, smacking his arm before struggling to readjust the pillows under your back, your own brows knitted together in frustration.
"Need something?" Suguru interrupted.
"I'm fine," You muttered, despite your discomfort.
"So, like," Gojo started, squinting down at your stomach before glance between you and Suguru. "Am I like, the godfather or-"
"Why not?" You shrugged right as Suguru shook his head no.
"Why not?" Gojo repeated in a whine, cutting him a look that only ever worked if you were the one directing it at him.
"I'd prefer my daughter lives off of more than chocolate and candy," Suguru sarcastically dismissed, scooting closer to you in the couch to slip the pillow that had been beside him underneath your back to help support it.
"I can cook," Satoru defensively protested, looking to your for support Suguru hoped he wouldn't received. "Besides, I have a great dentist so even if-"
"Shit, do we have to find her a dentist too?" You were ignoring the rest of his rambling, glancing back at Suguru with a frown at yet another task on the growing list of items to take care of.
"We can worry about that when she's actually here," Suguru shrugged, a hand settling on your shoulder and massaging the tense muscles there. "And has teeth."
"Okay," You sighed, still chewing on your bottom lip. You turned to your other side, your attention focusing again on your guest.
"You guys pick out a doctor yet?" Satoru asked, spreading his legs and leaning over to grab one of the still-warm cookies you baked after dinner. The sun had already set aside, only the glow from the TV and the kitchen light still on.
"Yeah, think so," You hummed, a hand resting on your stomach when you tried to get one too, pouting at your body's refusal to do what it used to until Suguru reached over to get the cookie for you.
"Got your hands pretty full, huh?" Satoru mumbled with his mouth still full, cookie crumbs sticking to his face.
"Suguru says we should just go ahead and get married," You sighed, taking another small bite before talking again. "For insurance stuff, I guess."
It was the first time you mentioned it in the past couple months since he first brought it up.
Satoru threw him a look like he was the biggest idiot on the planet before actually laughing.
"Just for insurance?" He cocked a brow up, an annoying glimmer of amusement flashing in the blue of his eyes while throwing Suguru a look that made him consider strangling his friend on the spot. "You know, my insurance is really-"
"Don't even think about it," Suguru shut him up before he could continue.
But you were glancing between them, a small frown weighing your lips down and a subtle crease between your brow. Were you actually disappointed?
"I'm actually pretty tired, guys, I, uh, think I'm gonna crash for the night," You mumbled, pushing up off the couch and ignoring Suguru's outstretched hand to stand on your own.
He could feel it sinking in his chest before you disappeared down the hall.
Another misstep. Pushing you away when he was trying to pull you closer.
"Insurance? Really?" Satoru snickered once you were out of earshot.
"Shut up," Suguru groaned.
"Just tell her you love her already and put a ring on it," He shrugged, leaning over to flick his arm. "Unless you want your kid to have a stepdad some day?"
Okay, Suguru really wanted to strangle him for suggesting that.
And it was his own fault for offering excuses, he knew that, still he didn't want to tell you he loved you and you think it was just because of the baby, or that was the only reason he was trying to tie you down to him. He wanted you to know he meant it.
To know he'd been waiting for the moment he could claim you his entire life, to call you his in every form, sign the paper and hear the word husband leave your lips.
Just being your boyfriend the past few months when you were having his baby was torture, enduring your unsure glances, the unease he tried and failed to kiss away.
What were you so scared of? And why was it him?
He still hadn't figured out by the time Satoru left, or when he eventually got in bed next to you, careful not to disturb your sleep - even if he suspected you were already awake.
Suguru was pretty sure he'd never been scared in his until he woke up to an empty bed. Cold sheets, no lingering body heat or even the scent of your shampoo clinging to your pillow when he rolled over to the empty space you should be.
Stumbling out of the bed still half-asleep himself, squinting as he rubbed his eyes and pushed open the bathroom door, but no, the lights were off and it was also empty. Calling out your name and crushing the budding anxiety clawing up his throat as he padded through the hall into the living room, the dim light from the kitchen hurting his eyes as they adjusted to the yellow glow.
His ears caught up first.
The faint sound of your sniffling reaching him as he rounded the corner to find you on the floor by the entryway, struggling to slip on your shoes, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants that didn't do much to hide your baby bump as you wiped at your cheeks with one hand. Dressed like you were planning on going somewhere, purse laying on the floor next to you, phone and keys hanging halfway out of it.
"Baby," He yawned, trying to speak softly as he glanced over at the clock. "It's three in the morning. What are you doing?"
"Can't sleep. I want a slushie," You mumbled, blinking a few times, clearly just as exhausted as him. There was a faint shine to your eyes, a few teardrops still clinging to your lashes.
"You should've woken me up," He murmured, gently squeezing your shoulder.
"It's just a stupid craving," You dismissed, rubbing your own eyes as you gave up and threw your shoe back on the ground.
It was the first one you'd told him about. He wasn't even sure you even had any, but maybe you'd just been taking care of them yourself.
"I'll get you one," He stifled another yawn while he talked. "Let me get a coat and my keys."
You grabbed onto the hem of his pajama pants to hold him in place, peeking up at him with a pout.
"You don't have to."
"You think I'm going to let my pregnant girlfriend go out by herself to get one?" Suguru retorted.
Your pout only got deeper at the word girlfriend.
"Forget about it," You murmured, letting go of his pajamas to push off the floor, once again ignoring his outstretched hand to try and stand by yourself. "Let's just go back to bed."
He knew he could ask if you were sure and you'd grumble something sarcastic back before going to sleep upset.
"Hey," He paused, stopping you with a hand on the curve of your waist, pulling you into him, until your baby bump, his daughter, was pressed against the firm muscle of his own stomach. "Let's go together, okay?"
"You really wanna?" You hesitated, clearly wanting to say yes despite the streak of stubbornness that usually won out over your softer side.
Suguru pressed a kiss against your forehead, his hand appreciatively running over your stomach just for the mini-you inside to kick, the flutter under his fingers only reminding him how easily the two of you had him wrapped around your own.
"It's you," He'd remind you however many times you needed. "Course I do."
Step six?
Get you whatever craving or late night treat you wanted - even if he felt like he was sleepwalking.
Still groggy, he threw on his own shoes and grabbed his stuff, helping you over to the couch so he could get down on his knees and help you get your shoes on, tugging one of his sweatshirts over your head, although you didn't drown in it any more, he thought it was cuter now, stretched over your baby bump like this.
Rubbing his eyes with yet another yawn while he insisted on holding open the car door for you and driving you to the nearest gas station/convenience store combo that had a functioning slushie machine, keeping his mouth shut about the terrible food dyes in it while you picked out a cup and pulled the dispenser down on the blue raspberry flavor. It was nice. Your head resting on his shoulder and happily sipping through the straw while he paid the equally tired cashier, your hand in his after he pocketed the receipt while you walked to the car, his thumb rubbing over the bare spot beneath your knuckle where a ring should be.
The one that had been tucked inside a box in his closet, buried under photo albums and souvenirs of a lifetime you'd already spent together. One he'd seen through the window of a jewelry store on the street, the glittering stone and the thin band, the little offset gems, something about it that made him think of what it'd look like on you. He bought it even though Satoru laughed at him the entire drive home.
"You're not even dating her."
Who else would you marry if not him?
He glanced back over at you as he turned the key in the ignition, your sleepy eyes and your pretty smile, the way your other hand was settled over the swell of your stomach.
His girls.
The drive back home was filled with the sort of chatter that used to be casual for you two - your happy giggle ringing in his ears while you talked about some reality show you wanted to watch with him, swearing it was stupid but he'd still like it anyway, your hand drifting over to his leg, pausing on his thigh while you asked what him and Satoru talked about after you went to sleep.
Your slushie was almost empty by the time you made it back, taking the last few sips before tossing it in the trash in the kitchen and giving him a little look like you wanted him to help get your shoes off but didn't want to ask.
He did it for you.
Following behind you to the bedroom, tossing his stuff on the nightstand and flicking the lamp back on to bathe the room in low light.
"Thank you, Sugu," You softly said, yawning as you peeled the sweatshirt off first, shuffling out of your pajama pants until you were just in a thin t-shirt and panties, and all he could fucking think was how could you be thanking him? When you were giving him his dream on the prettiest platter he'd ever seen?
"You're so-" He started, but you weren't finished, shyly avoiding his gaze as your mouth opened again. The mood had shifted again, your face scrunched up like you were sad.
"I just feel bad, you know?" He didn't. "You're just, so, perfect, and so you, and you got stuck with me and a baby you didn't plan on."
"Stuck with you?" He echoed, blinking blankly at you while you kept stumbling over your words.
"I just, uh, I want you to know you don't have to marry me just because you feel obligated to, you know, if, um, you met someone else-" You looked like you were going to be sick just saying it.
Was this what had you so worried?
"There isn't ever going to be anyone else," Suguru bluntly cut you off.
"You don't know that," You argued, struggling to be the better person, not to be greedy when that was exactly what he'd waited years for.
"I'm in love with you."
You froze.
Glossy eyes wide with surprise, your lips parted and stained blue still, shoulders tense.
He turned back to the closet, snagging the box of the shelf and tossing it on the bed, shuffling through loose photos and little gifts you'd given him through the years he couldn't bear to break or lose until he found the velvet box at the bottom.
Getting down on one knee was the second-easiest decision he ever made in his life. The first was choosing you to begin with.
"Sugu," Your voice quivered, breath hitching in your throat.
"I bought this for you three years ago," He admitted, dark eyes piercing through to you, studying the way your face seemed to glow from the light of the lamp. And sure, of all the ways he'd imagined this moment going, he never once pictured it like this. But that didn't matter. Because this was real. Raw. "I love you. I did then, and I do now, and if you ask me again in fifteen years, I'm sure I will then too."
He popped the ring box open, and he didn't think your mouth could drop open any more but it did, your cute little gasp making his pulse thrum louder in his ears while your attention flickered back-and-forth between his sharp stare and the ring he hoped you'd accept.
"Marry me."
It wasn't quite a question, or a plea. An open statement of affection, a quiet promise of a lifetime of it.
You swallowed, barely bobbing your head up and down in a nod at first, a slow smile taking shape on your lips like you still couldn't believe it.
"O-okay," You stammered, an airy laugh slipping out while you tried to blink away the disbelief. "I-"
He grabbed your left hand where it was still hanging by your side, plucking the ring out of the box and slipping it on your finger, swiveling it a little around the knuckle for it to sit snugly at the base.
"You're really serious? No take backs, okay?" You murmured, holding your hand up to admire the way it glittered even in the low light while he laughed. You tugged him up to his feet by his hand, pressing yourself against his chest and glancing up at him, a hint of something unsure still lingering in the lines of your face. "You're mine."
That was supposed to be his line.
Then. Now. Always.
"We can go sign the paperwork Monday if you want, or have a wedding, before or after the baby-"
"I don't care how we do it," You interrupted him this time, reaching up to cup his cheek. The gentle touch, your soft fingertips, the adoration in your eyes when you got up on your tiptoes to plant a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.
"I always kinda wanted to see you in a white dress," He chuckled, grabbing your chin between his fingers to give you a proper kiss back, sucking on your lower lip, the taste of blue raspberry still on your tongue.
"Yeah? Seven months pregnant?" You laughed back when you broke away for a breath.
"You seriously have no idea what you do to me," He breathlessly murmured into your skin.
"You could show me," You tilted your head to the side, but your eyes flickered back to the ring on your finger, the proof of it already there.
"Tease," He muttered as his lips ghosted over your cheek, pulling you back over to the edge of the mattress. He used his free hand to tug the box back down to the floor, nudging it away with his foot.
Half past four in the morning and he was taking his fiancèe to bed instead of his girlfriend.
He made sure you were comfortable first, readjusting you until the pillows were nestled under your head, ignoring your giggles while he moved the blankets aside and climbed up after you, hooking a leg over his shoulder after he peeled your underwear down your thighs.
"I was kidding," You laughed while he licked a long stripe up the inside of your thigh, the sound turning into a pretty gasp when he dipped his tongue inside.
"I wasn't," His voice was muffled into your skin, fingers dipping against the soft flesh on your thigh and hip as he held on tighter, his tongue slipping inside deeper, dragging the muscle along the inside of your walls.
A taste he missed, too long since you last let him try it.
Your fingers tangled into his hair, moaning as he practiced steady patterns, pulling him closer into your heat while he used your hips like handlebars to refuse to let you squirm away from him again.
You still tried, writhing under the weight of his palms, although he knew his clipped nails wouldn't leave a mark.
"Oh," You squeaked, a cute strangled noise escaping when he dragged his tongue out and ran it over your clit, tracing small shapes with the tip of it.
"Better get used to being mine, baby," He hummed, peeking up to watch the way you still shivered at the sound of his voice, how you were finally about to be his in every sense of the word.
"I always was," Your lighthearted laugh cut off by another lewd moan, your hips still trying to arch up.
Planting open-mouthed kisses along your swollen bud while your fingers tugged at his scalp, your gasps of his name cut through the quiet.
Your thigh still up on his shoulder to give him easier access, the muscles pulling tense under his grip and the way your breath had started to stutter let him know you were close before you managed to barely stammer it out.
"Please, please, please."
Your legs were trembling, soft whimpers that were almost incoherent imprinting themselves in his memory while you unraveled underneath him, his tongue cleaning you up like it hadn't caused it. Teasing you before you managed to piece yourself back together, sucking softly on your oversensitive bundle of nerves just for you to let out a whine of his name.
"Tired, baby?" He couldn't help his smirk, leaving a kiss on the inside of your thigh before climbing off the bed to snag you a fresh pair of underwear from the dresser, slipping it up your legs for you so didn't have to do the awkward shuffle of getting it back on.
"Maybe," You admitted, rubbing your eyes as you patted the spot next to you for him to lay. "I am growing your baby."
He smiled.
"We can sleep in, alright?" He could feel his own eyes crinkle, flicking the light off on the lamp, the faint moonlight cutting the dark of the room. He pulled the covers up as he got in his side of the bed, readjusting until your head was resting on his chest.
Suguru usually got up before you, made breakfast and brewed the coffee and started the laundry, but tomorrow (or today, technically)? He would spend the sunrise holding you close and wait for you to wake up to take you out for brunch or lunch or whatever you wanted.
"Hey, Suguru?" You murmured, stifling a yawn as you peeked up at him through heavy lidded eyes.
"Mhm?" He stroked your hair back, admiring his future wife snuggled up in his arms.
"I love you."
want more dilf!Suguru with his post-partum wife? here!
ask and ye shall receive <3
content: MDNI, fwb!Nanami x f!Reader, handcuffs, piv sex, light choking, slight exhibitionism ig
Nanami Kento was a man who knew how to multitask.
He's expected to attend a meeting online he knows is a waste of time? He's finishing that afternoon's paperwork off-screen and still chiming at just the right moment with just the right insight. Lunch breaks? He'd rather eat his sandwich at his desk while he works than take it and be stuck there past five. You once caught him reading in the bathtub, wine glass in one hand while the suds clung to his chest. But this?
This was, uh, new.
"Sweetheart, sorry, I have to take this," His honeyed voice murmured in your ear, soft lips grazing against your neck as his other hand reached for his phone on the nightstand.
"Ken-" You started, about to tell him it was fine despite your disappointment, expecting him to pull out, but no, him readjusting just seemed to force his cock in deeper. Snapping your mouth shut to stifle your own gasp right as his thumb swiped over the screen and brought it to his ear.
"Hello? Yes, this is him," Nanami answered, somehow managing to sound professional while his cock was practically kissing your cervix. The throb of his thick length while you reluctantly unwrapped your legs from around his waist was taunting, blinking up at his collected face, only a few strands of his shiny blonde hair hanging loose even hinting at him being anything other than put-together. You wanted to touch it, brush it out of his face and twirl it around your finger, but you were cuffed, the metal cool around your wrists as they rested above your head.
You could barely understand the voice on the other end, something about an interview before you heard the word now and pieced it together.
"Now works," Nanami replied. He didn't pull out.
You waited, one second, two, but once you hit five in your head, you were mouthing his name, but he just pressed a soft, silent kiss to your forehead before proceeding to pull out just to slide right back in.
There was no fucking way he was-
The second thrust quickly turned into the twentieth though, his free hand pulling your thigh back over his hip so he could angle himself back in just as deep, careful not to smack into your skin hard enough to make a noise loud enough to be heard on the other end. All while he answered every stupid question about statistics and personal accomplishments and his recent projects and sales, even fucking chuckling at something the guy on the other end said like he wasn't bottoming out inside you with every brutal pump.
Your wrists straining against the handcuffs now, squirming under the weight of his frame and studying how handsome he looked like this, his sculpted chest and shoulders, the faint blond happy trail above where his cock was connected with you. He only briefly pulled the phone away from his ear to shake his head and give you one little chiding click of his tongue while nodding towards where your hands were bound, reminding you not to hurt yourself.
Pouting, you stuck your tongue out at him and you could pretty much see him tighten the leash on his own restraint to resist rolling his eyes and flipping you over to deliver a rough smack to your ass.
"I prefer not to work overtime, but if necessary..." Nanami returned his attention back to the man on the phone, who probably would never guess what position his interviewee had you in. Your own gasps and panting were barely contained, biting down on your lip to keep it from falling open while he tried to split you open with his cock.
Losing track of time while you were losing your grip on your slipping sanity, teased closer and closer to a climax as you desperately attempted to stay silent.
A tiny whine escaped, hardly a squeak, when his swollen tip grinded against the soft spot in the back, all your muscles squeezing around him as you struggled to hold in another needy whimper.
The hand holding your thigh disappeared, the heat of his palm lingering before it suddenly wrapped around your throat, applying just enough pressure to keep you quiet. His sturdy fingers flexed and pressing into the tendons, squeezing you back, the heat between your thighs burning brighter at the hold he had on you. Your legs locked back around his waist tighter before he bottomed out in you, burying himself to the hilt again and again and again.
Forcing shallow breaths in-and-out your nose, glossy eyes peering up at his still-stoic expression, his brows pulled together in focus he was splitting between you and the phone.
It was probably one of your favorite faces of his - the way his lips were pushed together and all the sharp lines of his face, all his defined features fit together when he fit so nicely inside you. You were fine receiving half of his attention if it meant his two-track mind thought of you at all. If it felt even half as good as this.
Listening to his soothing voice recite facts and numbers and asking the other guys questions while he fucked you harder, faster. His thumb dragged up higher along the side of your neck to where a hickey he'd accidentally left earlier was, pressing in just enough you were suppressing another whine. Tears were starting to brim at your lashes, batting them up at Nanami to silently beg him to please, please, please let you cum already, squirming and moving until the cuffs accidentally clinked against his bedpost.
Shit.
"Sorry, that was just my pet," He apologized, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a little smirk while your mouth fell open in a wordless protest at his teasing.
You were so going to get him back later.
He balanced the phone between his shoulder and his ear, freeing up his other hand like he'd at least let you finish as an apology, rolling his thumb over your sore and sensitive clit, massaging steady circles that had your back arching up off the bed. Replying with 'mhm's and 'ah's while he released your throat to clamp that hand over your mouth instead, muffling your moans under his calloused palm.
You finished first. Or maybe he did. It was hard to tell, your legs trembling and a too-bright wave of pleasure hitting you right as his abs tensed and something warm started to leak down your thighs.
The interviewer on the other end definitely didn't know, still chattering away faintly in the background as Nanami ran his fingers through his hair, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead as he pulled the phone away enough it wouldn't catch how his dreamy little sigh as he caught his breath and re-composed himself.
"Oh? Yes, thank you very much. I'll keep an eye out for the email," Nanami murmured when he brought it back to his ear, only now pulling out and climbing off the bed, his cock, still pink and pretty springing up with his steps. He disappeared into the attached bathroom for a moment before coming back with a washcloth, cleaning up your thighs first, before himself.
You listened to him say his goodbye, still in a daze while he tossed the cloth into his laundry basket and sat next to you, warm eyes crinkling as he caressed your cheek. He hung up the phone, placing it back on the nightstand.
You and Suguru terrify Satoru in a way that makes his dick hard, especially when you're mad at each other. Resting bitch faces turned up to 1000, sharp words thrown each other's way, fighting each other for his affection.
So, really, it's not his fault when you two come home from a long mission at each other's throats and his cock immediately starts chubbing up in his sweats.
"Fuck off, Suguru, fuck," you curse, stepping through the front door and directly into Satoru's arms, burying your face in his chest, your arms tight around his middle.
Suguru is hot on your heels, rolling his eyes at your dramatics, dropping the bags in his hands heavily on the floor. "I'd love if you'd stop blaming me for things out of my control," he says, sarcasm dripping from each word. He's quick to mimic your actions, wrapping his arms around Satoru from behind so he can continue glaring at you from over his shoulder.
Satoru fights down a smile, hands cupping your cheeks to tilt your face up and press a kiss to your forehead. "How can I make it better, angel?" he asks, lips still close enough to brush your skin.
"I want to shower, eat and sleep. In that order." Your chin bumps against his sternum as you speak, eyes drooping from how exhausted you are because you had to deal with Suguru with no middleman for three days of the mission. "And most importantly, I want your husband to stop pissing me off."
"My husband? Gone for three days and your entire marriage dissolved?" He turns his face toward Suguru, poking his bottom lip out in a sympathetic pout. "What happened?"
"Doesn't matter," Suguru says, face contorted in displeasure, eyes narrowed down at you while he clings to Satoru. "Can you order food while I take a shower?"
"You're joking," you deadpan, disentangling from Satoru to rush to the bathroom before Suguru can beat you to it. "What? Because I said I wanted to shower first? Fucking childish."
"I'm the childish one?" he asks, following directly behind you. "You're the one who's been holding a grudge for the last…"
Your argument disappears up the stairs with you, leaving Satoru standing in the entrance of your home by himself. He takes a deep breath, finally letting that smile stretch his face at the familiar throb of his cock in his pants. So good to have you two home.
Later, after the two of you have showered (together, of course, because you refuse to leave each other alone) and the takeout boxes have been trashed, you lie in bed on either side of Satoru, leaving open mouthed kisses over his chest and neck. His fingers skim your side, over your ribs and hip and then back up. You whine every time he stops short of touching your ass, nipping at his neck in protest.
His other hand is in Suguru's hair, scratching his scalp gently to hear the pleased hums that bubble up from his throat. Satoru uses Suguru's hair to his advantage, tugging at the roots to tilt his head back and slot their mouths together.
"Missed you," he mumbles against his lips, pressing another kiss to them
You sit up on an elbow and lean over Satoru's chest, grabbing his jaw with your free hand to turn his face toward yours. "What about me?" you pout, eyes soft and wide when they meet his in the dim lighting of the bedroom. Your lips trail from his cheek to his lips, pressing them firmly together.
"Missed you, too, gorgeous," he smiles, peppering a series of kisses to your lips, your jaw, down your neck.
Your hand moves down his torso under the comforter, brushing lightly over his warm skin. The gentle contact makes him shudder between you and Suguru, a soft sigh pushing past his lips. Your hand meets Suguru's wrist shoved into the waistband of Satoru's boxers, annoyance radiating into an eye roll.
"Hands off," you snap at Suguru, trying (and failing) to knock his hand away.
"Sorry, I was here first." Suguru makes eye contact with you over Satoru's chest, giving you a sickly sweet faux smile. His fingers tighten around the base of Satoru's cock, earning himself a gasp from his husband that stretches his grin wider.
You open your mouth to protest, only to be cut off by Satoru before you can get a sound out.
"Oh, c'mon. It doesn't have to be like this," he says, starting to sound a little breathless. "Why don't you two kiss and make up for me?"
You'd rather die.
You plant a hand on Satoru's chest, using the leverage to sit up, fixing both of them with your glare properly just to be met by both of the bastards smirking at you.
"[name]," Suguru says, tilting his head, exasperated by this situation at this point. When you don't budge, he sighs and flips the blanket off of himself. He stands and makes his way around the bed to your side, holding out a hand to you. "Up." He curls his fingers up a couple of times, beckoning you to stand with him.
You begrudgingly take his hand for support and stand in front of him, eyebrows raised, eyes wide and expectant. "Well?"
"Baby," it's nearly a whisper with how soft his voice is. He drops your hand to place his on your cheek, brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. "You can't stay mad forever." You can, but a piece of your resolve cracks with how gentle he's being with you, melting directly into the palm of his hand. He tilts your face toward his, slowly bringing his face to yours. "Kiss me."
It's harsh. Biting, teeth clashing, your hands roughly pulling his hair, him pulling you into his body with a little more force than necessary. But only for a moment before it softens out - lips slotting together perfectly, sliding against each other's slowly, sensually, hands softening on the other's body.
"I'm sorry," he mutters against your lips as he pulls away from you. "I don't even remember why we're fighting."
And you have to admit, "I don't either." Your face scrunches up as you say it, pulling a laugh from Suguru. "Sorry, Sugu," you say pressing your lips together again.
You tumble back onto the mattress together, your arms locking around Suguru's neck as he lifts one of your legs, slotting himself between them. His long hair curtains around your faces, blocking what little light there was in the bedroom. Your lips still locked, tongues pushing against each other. His cock is throbbing against your soaked panties, your hips rutting up into his invitingly.
"Hello? I'm still here." Satoru pushes up onto his elbows, confused on how he's suddenly been forgotten. "I didn't mean it, actually. You shouldn't make up." And then, after a moment of being ignored, a whimpered, "Please don't leave me out."
streamer!jo mid-sentence, leaning back in his chair, headset slightly crooked, the soft click of the door barely registers over the sound of his stream when you walk in. he stops, just for a second. his eyes flick over you. your tight, soft pajamas, the way they hug you just right, the faint scent that follows you in. his whole expression shifts into something quieter.
“hey,” you hum softly, walking over like it’s nothing.
the chat explodes and he doesn’t even glance at it.
voidking99: BROOOOO WHO IS THAT
satorusimp420: HE GOT A GIRL??????
angelmilk: she’s so pretty what 😭
gojosleft_toe3: WHY IS SHE IN HIS LAP LIKE THAT IM SICK
“oh my fuck,” he says instantly, voice lower now, already reaching for you.
you don’t question it—you never do. you just step between his legs and sit in his lap like it’s your spot, because it is. his arms wrap around you immediately, pulling you close, one hand settling at your waist, the other resting along your thigh.
“you look so gooooood,” he murmurs, nuzzling lightly into your shoulder for a second before straightening again, like he just remembered he’s live.
his hand doesn’t move though. it drifts. slowly. absentmindedly. down your thigh, fingers brushing soft circles like he’s not even thinking about it. then back up, resting at your waist again.
the twitch chat is going insane.
you notice quickly
you’re already leaning forward slightly, eyes scanning the stream, curious. “what are they saying?”
“nothing important,” he mutters quickly, tightening his hold on you just a little.
too late.
you squint, reading out loud, confused, “I usually skip this part…?” your face still contempt, you tilt your head, genuinely puzzled. “what does that mean?” and then you shift. just a little. trying to get closer to the screen. but it makes you press back into him.
torus breath catches, just barely but enough.
you’re still focused on the chat, completely oblivious, squirming slightly again to get comfortable. “wait, there’s more—”
his arm tightens around your waist. not rough, just firm.
grounding.
his other hand stills on your thigh, fingers pressing in just a little like he’s trying to anchor himself. “hey,” he says suddenly, sharper now—directed at the screen.
the chat floods faster.
softgirlcult: she’s literally clueless this is insane
domainexpansionTHIS: “i usually skip this part” LMAOOOOOO
gojoswifeREAL: GIRL DONT READ THAT OUT LOUD
blueeyeaddickt: HE TENSED UP DID YALL SEE THAT
he exhales through his nose, jaw tightening slightly before he leans forward, voice dropping into something more commanding.
“alright, that’s enough,” he says, tone lazy. “don’t read that stuff,” he murmurs, voice softer now.
you blink, looking back at him. “I was just asking—”
“don’t worry about them,” he murmurs, softer now, eyes locked on yours. way too focused, way too intense. his arms tighten around you again, pulling you flush against him, chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he leans back into his chair.
chat? forgotten.
game? paused.
and satoru? completely, helplessly distracted by you.
megumislostdad: stream is over guys pack it up
sukunaIRL: move chat i’m watching this
KING.naoyazenin: embarrassing. stand up bro
LimitlessGojo banned KING.naoyazenin
it's only been a few days since you fucked the man you're trying to put behind bars. but here he is, showing up with a bouquet and that charming smile. you have to tell him that it was just a one time thing, even if your heart and body couldn't care less about protocol. but. . . he doesn't seem to appreciate your answer. did you think it was just about the sex?
⌗ wc : 5.7k
ᝰ.☆ cws : serial killer au :: violent descriptions ( nothing graphic ) :: obsessive satoru :: blackmail(ish) :: dacryphilia :: creampie :: fingering :: penetrative sex :: rough sex :: messy sex :: multiple orgasms :: cervix fucking :: degradation :: unprotected sex :: recordings :: choking ( hand/bicep ) :: dumbification :: degradation :: overstimulation :: satoru is down bad
ᝰ.☆ sweetheart : i've been waiting for this all of october eek!
There were three forms of justice. Distributive, retributive and restorative.
But what the hell was this?
Your legs ached. Each strained muscle throbbed with a reminder of your sin. You abandoned the counter and disregarded your manners as you dragged yourself from the kitchen to the foyer. Whoever rang the door at 8pm would have to deal with your nightgown. Self respect was hurled out the window a few nights back, and she struggled to creep back in.
Certificates lined the hallways. Your degrees and masters of Law and Prosecution that once peered at you with pride for one of Japan's best. For the woman who put titles like Gaikan Tecchisen and Jihei Endonka behind bars.
Now loomed with disdain dripping from their ink. They mocked you. Had Lady Justice taught you nothing? To turn the blind eye and not take the law into your own hands.
You did more than that. You fell into his hands. The best met the presently most notorious.
They called him The Ripper's Successor.
A prolific serial killer. Accused— no. You refused to give him the benefit. Alleged, accused, any other description that shifted the blame or hinted to even a sliver of possibility that the man was innocent was nonsense.
Twenty five.
Twenty five women, dead. Many would say 'at least it's only twenty five' or 'compared to others?'
Jack the Ripper only murdered five. Not even a quarter of this— so why was he named one of the world's worst? His methods. His manners. The malice alone mounted to malevolence not many could match. His identity was never confirmed, but you imagined his eyes were those same cold flames that stared at you from across the court room.
Gojo Satoru kept the brutality and quintupled the number.
Detective started calling them 'carnage scenes' rather than crime scenes. You stomached a lot in criminal law, but hunched over your desk late night with images of his mangled messes strewn across files had your morning's coffee mixing with bile.
A madman. A mastermind. A monster.
And you frolicked right into his den. With your head held high and pride in your stare. For what? Because your old law school rival was now sitting in the accused's stand? Because the man who once competed with you tooth and nail was now digging his claws into blood?
Did you even care about nostalgia and sentiment? Or was it all about laying that rivalry to rest? Showing him, who dropped out of law school, that you won in the end? That you could win in the end?
Or was this really about your own, hollow justice?
Whatever it was. There were no alibis. You found yourself on your back for a killer. Those hands that smeared in blood and tormented his victims smoothed over your skin and worshipped every inch. He wasn't tearing open your insides, but he was inside you. Carving. Claiming.
You knew better than to answer the door so late yet you twisted the knob anyway. Half-hoping some new happy-go-lucky serial killer waited to put you out of your misery.
You were only half-right. Maybe.
Instead of blades and blood there were. . . blossoms?
Roses, to be precise. Blood red and beautiful. With a pale head of white hair and dark shades poked above. The night air was cold— but it was those eyes that froze you.
Satoru Gojo. Utilising his wealth and reputation privileges that kept him out of custody. At your doorstep. His light blue dress shirt rolled up over his elbows and paired with black slacks. With a bouquet in his hands and that dashing smile that won over the jury.
His gaze traced shivers down your body as he trailed crystal blue eyes from your head to toe. You regretted even choosing this nightgown over your pyjamas in the first place.
"You look good tonight," he winked. Another thing that wooed the jury. Clever as the devil and twice as charming.
He leaned over and kissed your cheek like it was his right. You couldn't react. Torn between hurling back into the safety of your apartment or clawing past him into the dead night.
Maybe it was audacity. Maybe it was curiosity. But you stood still.
He liked that, judging from his grin. "I got you these." He presented the roses, but whether it was a gift or a weapon, you couldn't decide.
"Probably should have started with bouquets before backshots, huh?"
Was he joining your certificates in their mock-fest now? Your heart twisted with your lip and you rose your head with rebuttals turned to daggers on your tongue—
But then you saw his eyes.
Blue. So blue. And soft. So soft it ached. Like bluebells rather than blades. He was genuine.
And that shattered the anger into fear. Cold, cutting fear.
Somewhere in that psychopathic mind, at some point in this blood trail, it clicked for Satoru that he had the right— no, the duty, to stand at your doorstep with flowers.
Like he wasn't a prolific serial killer, but just Satoru.
And you weren't the prosecutor, but simply his.
His long forearm propped on the doorway. His hip followed. A casual charm that only confirmed the dangers of that cocky grin now presenting as a warm smile. He leaned into you like he expected something. Something you'd already bruised his lips with.
"So I was thinking maybe take-out? Unless you wanna go out. I can wait for you to get dressed—"
"Gojo, what do you think you're doing?"
His smile froze.
Crooking his head, he chuckled. "Gojo? What happened to 'toru' baby?"
Baby. Bouquets. Why doesn't he just go ahead and call you beautiful while he's sat it? Like him being here doesn't break half of the laws and protocols you've both already battered.
Your stare chilled the night and his spine, it seemed, by the way he slowly stood straight. The flowers drooped in his hold.
"What? You don't like roses?" A puppy. He was a pouting puppy rather than the next notorious serial killer. "I just thought. Y'know. I'd be a good boyfriend and—"
There went the bile and coffee again. With a touch of venom.
"Boyfriend?"
You hissed and struck him silent.
In what world, in what twisted fantasy and darkest crevice of his mind, did he think you were anything more than a defendant and a prosecutor? Than a pair of hunters and monsters?
In which possible outcome did he see your hand in his stained, sinful, bloodied one?
"Is that what you think we are? Are you listening to yourself?" You didn't dare step over the threshold but your palm burned for his face. His stupid, perfect, handsome face. Instead you shot it to the door.
"What we did wasn't only breaking every protocol in the book, but also—" Every shake morphed into a sneer. Into wider eyes and clenched teeth as you gripped the door. To steady yourself? Or for safety?
"A one time thing."
You swore the door splintered. You swore his gaze shattered. But you stood firm as the night engulfed the moon and the flutter your heart dared. You filled his silence with haste.
"I'm your prosecutor and you're still a killer. I don't know what impression I left on Friday, but it shouldn't have happened."
The flowers wilted.
"So lose this address before I call the cops."
Your ears and heart roared. Blood rushed to your fingertips that curled on the door and swiped quick. Ready to shut out the night and him. Close this chapter of red ink and scarlet threads.
His foot trampled fate.
It stopped the door and your heart. It wasn't the night's chill that stabbed into your nerves and bound your muscles— but his teeth.
When he reared his head around the door and peered down at you over his glasses. Not a grin, not a smirk. . . a smile. Blazed by the blue devils that were his eyes. Sharper than any blade and colder than any corpse.
"Quite the tone for someone with more to lose than me."
Petals spilled to the floor and dragged with the wind. In the midst of your horror you registered the crinkling cellophane.
"What're you—"
His shoulder wedged between the door and you shrunk back. "Oh come on baby, we've got history now. Conflict of interest, remember?"
The bouquet struck the floor as your back hit the door. It was a blur. The night cast out leaving you locked in your apartment. A shout ripped from your throat but muffled when a large hand clamped your mouth.
Like another clamped your wrists. Above your head. Against your door. Helpless. You were helpless to the tower of frost loomed over you.
Satoru zeroed in.
"Sssh. Don't need the neighbours to hear our little lover's quarrel."
Your wide eyes still had the audacity to narrow your brows. Whatever pride was in you, it knew nothing about fight or flight. He tutted, "What?" and impended closer. His lips brushed on his knuckles. Eyes steeled on yours.
"Would you rather me say: don't want the neighbours to know that The Ripper's Successor found his twenty sixth?"
His bladed voice carved a pit in your gut. Your heart plummeted. Your pride finally understood flight. No, fear.
He jerked.
Not forward, but back. Then he laughed. A rumble from the depths of his stomach, and from hell, you're sure.
"Oh, cute. Did I scare you?"
His head crooked in a predatory curve. "I could never hurt you. Not you. Not physically, at least." A hard knee lodged between your legs and pinned your heart back to your ribcage.
"Your reputation though? Probably."
He freed your wrists and slipped his hand into his pocket. Your hands learnt fight quickly and shot for his shoulders. But before you could clamber or claw— they cramped. As a phone pressed to your ear and,
The colour drained from your face. If only to burn into a flush as your loud, needy moans merged with a blatant wet and lewd slapping poured into your ear. Crawling down to your heart and leaking heat into your stomach.
The audio was clear. Crystal. A broken record of slutty keens and gruff, take it's. And oh, you sure as hell took it that night. Your thighs quaked at the memory of his palms fisting them back.
Satoru's voice cut through the haze against your other ear.
"Wouldn't want the judge getting ahold of this, would we, sweet thing?"
At last he withdrew, but you weren't going anywhere. Pinned to the door with nothing but his stare and sharp grin.
When the world stopped spinning and your pounding heart screamed, you finally mustered your words and choked. "What do you want from me?"
He didn't answer. His hand did. Dropped to your thigh and brushed beneath your nightgown. His thumb stroked your skin. As if it could coax away the fact you were being blackmailed by the very man you vowed to put behind bars.
"Well, if it's just about the sex for you, why don't I remind your body why it loves me?"
He didn't voice his other thoughts, but his knee grinding up into your centre did. Since your heart forgot me already.
Somewhere in the haze, you willed your hands to his shoulders. You'd call it a shove, but your strength splintered under the familiar friction sparking over your nighttime, cotton panties.
"We can't," your breath hitched as your body betrayed you. You searched for dignity in the creases of his shirt as your fingers curled in. "This— it's wrong."
"Then why are you so wet?"
Further rebuttals were stolen by his lips. Satoru wasn't just a murderer, but a thief. He snatched your discipline, snatched your body, your heart, and now? Your mouth. A crash of wills and wants, of needs. The want to shove him away, the need to cling to him. It all blurred into the fever of his lips.
How could a cold killer's lips burn so hot?
Teeth and tongue wrested. He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point— or maybe he didn't need to. Maybe the way you throbbed against his knee was enough. Maybe the flutter of your pulse beneath his hand viced on your throat was all he needed.
Your lungs burned for him as his hand squeezed. Not cruel, but a cradle. Angling your head and driving it into the door while his tongue dominated yours.
His thumb stroked your jugular. Skilled. Scourged. One squeeze. All it would take was one squeeze and you would be his forever.
In all the way you couldn't offer.
Another thumb stroked on your stomach. You considered a blade. Brutality. Instead there was a brush. His hand slipped beneath your nightgown and cupped your cunt in a grind. Your hips eagerly followed.
You whined against his mouth, his laughed into yours.
Those chuckles traced down your neck and seared your skin with smooches. Smudging his smugness over your pulse that thrummed for him. A dull sting blotched at the junction of your shoulder and you clawed at his.
"Remember this?" He fanned the fading hickey. "This was when I had you. On my couch. As mine." Two fingers slithered a stroke on your clothed slit. The damp fabric stuck to him as he slotted into it and dragged it on your sensitive folds. You arched into him. So willing. So wanting. Even when your mind wailed with shame.
His lip's heat blossomed the hickey back to life. Ironic, wasn't it? Those same hands that dragged others to death stirred you to life. How you wished sickness pooled in your gut. Sickness, shame— anything but that sizzling warmth.
Fingers slipped up to your clit and circled. He chased your throbs with cruelty and caressed your throat with kisses as a whine gathered on your tongue. You hated how you bucked for him.
The wet fabric stretched to the side as he pushed it. Cold blues met you over his shades. "Hold them to the side for me pretty."
The whine melted into a protest. "I—"
Shnap!
Your cunt and clit quivered at the slick snap-back of cotton. The bastard smiled.
"I said. Hold them to the side."
The trembles in your fingers obeyed as you pulled the fabric aside and displayed to him what was already his. Slick, dripping and so, utterly his.
His fingers swiped through your folds and your chest stuttered at the familiar contact. Fuck. How could someone you hated burst such heat within you? How could only a finger. A single finger. Stir your insides to clench. To weep as another sunk in to the knuckle.
Embarrassing. It was embarrassing how you squeezed around two fingers like a welcoming, wanton hug.
"Still so tight—" his hiss paired with a filthy grind against your gummy walls. Your loud whine encouraged his eager strokes into your silky centre. He angled a curl just right and you shattered at the seams. Bucking, whimpering, all for him.
"— and sensitive."
Oh you're more than sensitive. You're sweltering. Splintering in all your control and slipping into that state that was far from the pretentious prosecutor you were known for. Notorious? More like needy when in the palm of his hand.
Despite yourself, you yearned for more. To see what he did to you. Your head crooked and your eyes glossed at the messy scene of his fingers pumping and juices splattering over your thighs. Droplets strung to your nightgown. More evidence for this crime scene he's turned you into.
Thunk.
Your head pinned back to door. Throat bobbing with messy moans under his cold palm as he shoved you back and squeezed. Gaze ever as sharp with a silent, eyes on me, as his fingers scissored.
Knuckles knocked into your slit with kisses as his hand sped. Bicep strained against the blue of shirt as he put his entire arm into making you squirm and splash the floor. Your arousal dripped down his wrist in nasty heat. Igniting a fire in his obsessive eyes and husked laugh.
"Y'know. I wanted to take you out somewhere nice. Hold your hand. Kiss you over a dinner."
He smooched your ear with a smile and sang sins to it as the pads of his fingers milked that one, stunning spot that burst stars before your eyes. You broke into a mewl.
"Sator— hngh."
His thumb flicked up into your clit. Fondling the nub so it wept along with you.
"Should have known that a prosecutor desperate enough to fuck her case was just a slut."
His grunt cut your lobe. A rumbled growl mimicked claws for nails that bit into your throat. You wheezed, whimpered, yet still wanted. Even when you choked and cowered under the storm of his gaze. It hardly swayed the tempest of his thrusting fingers.
He swarmed your face. Leaving nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to escape the sticky pleasure smearing between your thighs and shooting up your spine as he finger-fucked you.
A grin split his face. "But that's fine. Cause I'm just sooo good at fucking this pretty pussy, aren't I?"
Filthy and fervent, his lips crashed a smooch to yours just as his fingers come-hithered. Grinding into your weakness and humping his calloused palm on your quivering clit.
Hot, sick bliss coiled in your tummy. Knees bucked. Eyes fluttered as a shock tore through your very being. Shaking. You were shaking in his hands all over again as you sobbed into mouth and stained his palm in your sticky sin.
Fuck. Cumming already? For him, a killer?
What a slutty prosector indeed.
"S'toru," you choked and frantically bucked into his unfaltering hand. Loud, wet shlicks joined the crude cacophony spinning your head. Paired with his croon and cruel taunts.
"Huh? What's that baby? Can't hear you over my sweet sweet girl." He moaned into your lips and hunched over your quaking body. Accentuating his sweet, messy girl with nasty strokes and angles.
A third finger shoved and stretched you out. Disregarding your shaky knees and whimpered keens as you scrambled for stability on his shirt ruined by your nails. The pistons didn't stop. Pounding and pummelling into your gooey centre that oozed with your still-trickling cum. Egged on by his firm palm rubbing furiously on your swollen clit.
"I— f-fuck, fuck wait, I'm gonna—" Hot flushes harassed your trembling body as you rode his frantic hand and spluttered into his saliva. "Wait wait wait— mngh! I can't-!"
"Can't?" He huffed, his hand on your throat shoved your jaw back so your neck arched with the rest of your body. He grinned amidst the strings of your messy spit.
"Thought you liked creaming for me? Thought it's what your best at?"
He shoved knuckles deep and bullied your clenching walls until the quivered bliss burst into a second wave. Far more devastating, destructive, as you squeezed your wobbly thighs around his hand and sobbed into his smothered kisses.
"I hate— I hngh— I hate you, I hate you." You choked.
"Liar." He cooed.
As you sprayed his hand and soaked his silver watch. Your body quaking, breaking, as you limped into the door and clawed down his chest with whining hiccups. At last he freed your lips in exchange for your throat.
There was something so stunning. Something so sinful. So shameful. About giving yourself to him again. Shaking, sobbing, but simply his as you crumbled into him just like that night.
Phantoms haunt your mind and pulse your oversensitive cunt. You're broken for a killer. Not once, but twice. Trembling on legs that'll carry you through court tomorrow and staring into haughty eyes that'll mock you from the bench.
You lost. Again.
And the worst part? You didn't care.
Dizziness ebbed as salty musk brushed your lips. Your eyes batted to behold his sticky fingers smearing your parted lips and pushing to your tongue. His free hand squished your face into it. Another reminder of his easy dominance over you.
"Taste what I do to you," he whispered.
You whined, and obeyed. Taking his messy fingers and suckling on the evidence. The gooey testament to how he's ruined you for anyone else.
Satoru angled your head and shoved his fingers further. Until you drooled around his knuckles and choked at his sinister strokes to the back of your tongue.
His cloudy eyes shut as he ground into your thigh with a thick, hot bulge and heavy groan. The image of you shaking, shattered and slobbering all over his hand while you sucked on his fingers and stared up at him all teary, must have struck a depraved chord within him.
God. You weren't just a mess.
You were a fucking masterpiece.
His. Masterpiece. None of those murders came close to this magnum opus.
Cold lips smooched your sweaty temple and his hand clambered on your waist. If you were desperate? He was depraved.
"I could love you so good." His whisper was reverent. Like a shaky prayer as his kisses trailed to your scalp and he breathed in your hair. His bulge throbbed and you sworethat he shuddered.
"But you don't want gentle. Want it hard. Want it rough, huh?"
There was nothing reverent nor holy about the way his hands harassed your hips and whirled you around. Cramming you into the wood and squishing your hard nipples into it. You yelped— then hitched as an agitated hand bunched your nightgown while another jostled behind you.
His buckle smooched the heat of your ass, then slipped away. Zip.
Your eyes gaped with your mouth as a familiar shlap! vibrated your soppy pussy. A throbbing, angry head nudged on your clit like a crude, miss me? then dragged to circle your slit.
His shoes nudged under your heels and his knees cramped into yours. His body trapped you into a claustrophilic cage as his hands roughed down your sides and squeezed on the fat of your ass as his feral breaths heaved on your ear.
Trapped. You're trapped. Perhaps not as his twenty sixth— but as his one and only slut.
"You're only my sweet girl when I'm ball's deep."
Protests died on you tongue. Your pussy agreed with every word in devout clenches and spasms around his cock. Pushing through minimum resistance and lodging into your thrumming walls like it was his second home. Inch, by agonising inch— while you clawed on the door and cursed how your cunt for how much she missed him.
God, he wasn't just big, he was fucking all-consuming. Stretching your poor slit around his girth and bullying into a nasty smooch on your cervix. Stuffing every nerve and crevice so when you squeezed, cum dripped over his balls.
You mewled. He moaned. Braced himself on your hips like they were his salvation as your knees wobbled and throat bobbed with whines. It hardly stopped you from grinding down and bucking back into him.
His breath hitched, then huffed. Did his lungs burn as your soul did?
A muscled arm curled around your neck and wrenched you back into him. Curving your spine and angling your ass into a plush, flushed shove on the last few inches your cunt took in greedily.
"Damn," he gritted and rolled his hips. Meshing into yours and grinding his pre-cum slick tip into your cervix. Giving her a little taste of what's to come. You whined into his arm and limped like a ragdoll. A pretty girl for him to pound. Just like back then.
"Yeah, that's it baby. There's the girl who loves me."
Wet clicks swirled with your needy moans as his hips humped on yours. Thrusts shallow and heavy on that tender spot, yet hurried and filthy. As if the greedy bastard was already starving for another of your shattering orgasms.
As if leftover cum wasn't splashing over his balls as he fucked you senseless in seconds. As if your poor pussy wasn't spasming and sopping with every wet slap and rabid grind.
Satoru's nose dug into the crook of your neck. He groaned into your pulse and suffocated on your scent as he fell into a wild rhythm. The arm around your waist dug his nails on your thigh. Another claim. While the one flexing around your throat choked out your pitiful whines.
The door shook under the weight of your fervent fucking. Thumping the wood on the doorway and surely suspicious to anyone who walked on by. In a moment of clarity, you buried into his elbow tried to muffle your sin.
"Mngh— mff, toru—"
If only to splutter drool as you're jostled back. His muscled arm dug into your throat as a warning and damn-near strangled your keen as he slipped out to the tip then rammed back to your lonely cervix.
He knocked you back into biting teeth and blinding thrusts. Forcing pitiful cries and pleasured sobs through your foyer with lewd, dirty pummels against your ass. Your mouth's not the only thing drooling all over him.
"Uh-uh pretty let 'em hear. Don't piss me off." He sneered, nose nudging into your cheek stained with tears. But you heard his sharp grin. Felt it. It's as if he was begging you to do just that. Give him an excuse to bully your quivering cunt more.
In this moment you weren't prosecutor and killer. Nor two silly law students rivalling over grades. No— you were raw, filthy lovers devoted to this sick pleasure. To his cock reminding you. Wrecking you for all you're worth and your pussy clinging to him like she never wanted him to leave again.
The hand digging crescents on your thigh snapped between them. Knuckles wedged your aching clit and rubbed it into a spasm. Until your tears spilled and spit strung with your cry.
Still, like a slave to pleasure, you ground back into him as heat shot you higher— and higher— so that all you knew was his damn name.
Satoru fucking Gojo. The Ripper's Successor. The man buried balls deep and wrecking Japan's best's brain.
Your pride burst like a dying star as you clawed on his arm and arched into his cock.
"I hate— you, I hate you," you sobbed, like it'd mean something. Like your tears could hide your whines. Hide the insatiable squelch of your convulsing cunt.
And he laughed.
All he did was laugh.
That haughty, hellish rumble as he slumped into your body and mouthed on your hair. Slamming, and slamming, and slamming your heat into a creamy mess.
"Fucking hate me all you want."
He snickered. Delirious. Devilish.
"We both know— fuckk— both know this cock's worth losing your job over."
And the way you sloshed a sticky ring around the base and nursed the vein on his underside? Seemed you agreed. In mind, heart, body, and throbbing, twitching pussy.
He abandoned your clit for your thigh. Fucking you back into him with foul grunts dripping poison and pleasure into your ear canal. His balls slapped harder. Wetter. Full and throbbing until he meshed into you with one final ram— and shattered too.
Thick, white ropes frothed up your insides and left you gasping for air. For dignity. For pride. Instead all you got were his moaning, whining lips as he humped you full of his cum.
His tongue wrested yours. Damp white hair sticking to your forehead as his bicep kept your head wrenched towards him. A damned reminder that no matter how hard you tried, where you ran, wherever you hid— you were his.
The moment you stepped into Criminology, LAW 604.
The minute you strutted into the court room.
The second you stood at his doorstep.
"See that?" He yanked out his still hard, still throbbing cock to give your pussy a wet smack. "Filthy little thing agrees."
Grabbing you by the hair, he scuffled your over shaky and scrambling limbs. You're shoved over a drawer in your foyer. Knocking over a vase so it shattered like your incisive mind. Now a mush of bliss and him. Him, him, him.
Satoru plunged into your cunt that was already gaping and whining for him again. Smooching assurances back to your cervix and battering it in a wild, lewd fuck.
Rhythmic slapping of hips and filthy, moist smacks of his balls against your soppy folds merged with the delirium of pain and pleasure. Overwhelm sparking over your bent body. Tits squished. Ass rippling. Legs dangling and wrenched open by a firm hand while another ensnared your face into the wood.
Your eyes eyes fluttered and rolled, nails digging into polish in a desperate attempt at stability. As your body spiralled and squirmed under his heavy pounds.
"Sat— fuck— t-toru, torruuu," you drooled. "Can't. I can't cum— can't cum again! Please— ah!"
His hips mashed your ass, angling to drag into that devastating spot that slacked your jaw and wretched a sob from the back of your throat.
"Cann'tttt! S'too much, ohgod."
Thwack! Your thigh burned with your eyes as he doubled over you. Fingers pressed into your scalp and a taunting laugh dripping into your ear. "Pussy's telling on ya baby. Says she wants another."
Another smack, this time to your clit. He wrangled the oversensitive nub into cruel circles, and pinched to pitch your pathetic little cry.
What else could your poor, fucked-out self do? Other than arch. Shove your hips back so you suffocated on his cock and sang his name to your certificates. If they were disappointed before? They're disgusted now at the so called 'best prosecutor' getting her guts rearranged by the man she should have locked behind bars months ago.
Every pummel. Ever pound. Ever sick taunt and cruel clit tug numbed your senses to the intense harassment of your nerves' dignity. You crumbled into a mess of sobs and spasms. A stupid slut losing grasp on when one orgasm started and another stopped.
Endless. Limitless. A void of bliss he's dragged you into with his claws and pinned you down with his blades. Until you bled out in a pool of his obsession, and your moral neglect.
Nimble fingers snatched your jaw and whirled your head around. Your breath hitched, cunt clenched as he flattened his tongue on your face and swiped a tear-streak, rumbling a chuckle.
"Sorry 'bout that baby. Just s'fucking pretty 'n slutty," he slurred. As drunk on your pussy as you were dizzy on his dick.
His caught your throat again. Squeezing that warning back into your veins. One second too long. Just one. And you'd be his forever.
He rammed until he stuffed you full again, then shallowed into a deliberate, constant pound on your cervix. Fucking the tender muscle like he loathed its existence and loved it all the same. Your mix of creamy essence oozed and splattered both of your thighs.
Your breath caught. His devolved. Into animalistic pants and low whines merged with yours.
"Tell me you hate me."
"I h-hhh— hate you."
He jerked you back and chewed on your ear as the sloppy slaps crescendoed.
"Tell me you need me!"
"I neeeeeed, angh, need you, need you s'bad toru."
You keen into the musky air like it'll justify your plea. The raw, unadulterated need and yearn for Gojo fucking Satoru whose cock you nursed like a lifeline.
His hand scrambled around and flushed to your tummy, pushing on the bulge he embedded which strangled moans from the both of you. Another hot surge tore through your nerves and forced your body to go limp. Slumped on him as you spasmed and squirted.
His head dropped into your neck. Hulking arms hugging you into his feral pounding as his pace met blistering heights. His voice ripped through. Ragged, wrecked.
"Now— fuckfuck— now. . . say you fucking love me while I cream my pretty prosecutor filthy."
A crumble of wills. A collision of stars. You burst into one another and clawed for each other's heat as the world ruptured.
"I love you! I love you, I love youIloveyouIlove— fuck Satoruu I love youuu."
He stuffed you full through your sobs. Splattering your walls and squirting the remainder from the sheer force of his frothing. Filling, and filling, and filling until your pussy was nothing more than a sloppy mess of him.
"Fuck— fucking, take it," he choked and rutted in desperate staggers. "Take it. Take every drop. 's all yours. All mine. Fucking mine."
You long since fell limp under his blissed-out rambles. Your body and mind exhausted from the assault of love, lust and loathe.
All you could muster were sniffling cries and hiccups as Satoru collapsed into your quiver. Overstimulated and over-fucked, but still pitifully humping back into his twitching cock.
"You're so. . . beautiful when you're broken for me."
He rasped as his trembling fingers nudged your face back to him. The last surge of feralness pressed into your mouth and wrestled with your tongue as you both fragmented through your fading highs.
The kiss was so much more than a show of dominance. It was a claim. A warning. Of tongue and teeth, of morals and obsessions. A filthy testament of the web you're tangled in— and his snare you never wished to flee. Who cared if his hands were drenched in blood? They were still his.
He told you from the start. You were his. He was yours.
Saliva strung as he withdrew. That reverent look pooled in his glossy eyes as he squished your face and dragged his tongue over your tears again.
"Sweet girl," he shuddered. Raw and broken. "Don't you ever fuckin' think those twenty five could keep me away from you. Don't you ever—" his voice shook. "Think anything in this fucking world could keep me away from you. Protocol, prison, to hell with it."
His words were both a promise and a threat. Both an oath and a blood vow. And the worst thing was?
Your heart fluttered.
"I'll always crawl back to you." He strangled. "Always. I'll always baby I fuckin' promise."
His hips rolled into yours. A slow sway stuttered into a grind. You whimpered.
"S-Satoru— please."
"Sssh, shhh, sweetheart." He peppered kisses over your face as his humped you through the excruciating pleasure of being completely his and the shame that came with it.
"Not done with you. Wanna see you limp in court tomorrow."
it's been a year since your ex left the jujutsu society behind to stand beside his new lover, sukuna. together the strongest sorcerers wreck havoc, leaving you desperately trying to fill gojo satoru's shoes as the second best. until a mission goes south and you're suddenly on your knees before a king, with satoru eager to show you just how much he misses you. . . and what you're missing out on.
⌗ wc : 8.8k
ᝰ.☆ cws : canon divergent :: trueform!sukuna :: defected!satoru :: sukugo x reader :: blood :: reader gets hurt :: slight angst :: so much yearning :: humiliation :: power imbalance :: jealousy :: manhandling :: dirty talk :: praise :: slight degradation :: body worship :: f. oral :: orgasm denial :: fingering :: m. oral :: deep-throating :: hair pulling :: choking :: kuna tummy mouth oral :: tongue-fucking :: overstim :: size difference :: penetrative sex :: rough sex :: belly bulge :: creampie :: riding :: sukuna fucks you both :: switch!toru :: kuna & reader competing lol
ᝰ.☆ sweetheart : and thus kinktober comes to a close <3
In order for there to be good, there must be evil. And when there's evil, good will rise up against it. No matter the circumstance. No matter the loss. No matter the cost. Good will always find a way.
But what happened when evil looked like his eyes?
The same murky maroon that stole your blue?
You've stared evil in the face since the day you opened your eyes. Cursed spirits reeked with humanity's most sinister sins and darkest desires. As a sorcerer, you took up the duty to stand face-to-face with some of the greatest evils known to the world.
But his eyes.
His eyes.
Hell reigned supreme. Echoed with the screams of the damned and the promises for desolation. The truest testament to twisted, vile evil.
Yet still. Still. The one who was once called the greatest good, the Honoured One— The Strongest.
Chose. Him.
The shrine's air permeated with miasma. Pungent, fragrant, like a poisonous perfume that flared your nostrils. Your lungs withered and curled around your heart. A feeble attempt to save you from the wicked fate you twisted in.
Those glaring, amused eyes loomed over you. Dilated with several ideas on how to break his 'new toy', you're sure.
Knees dug into wooden floors, dark by nature or perhaps the blood of the jujutsu world stained in the timber. Chains locked around your wrists, but they were a feather compared to the weight of the burden you struggled on your shoulders every day.
The New Strongest.
The title was a bitter fruit on your tongue.
It wasn't earned. It was shirked. Dropped onto your head like a crown of thorns, so that you bled for this shattering world the way he had. Balancing the earth on your shoulders was already a difficult feat— but with the added destruction that swept across every direction? With the crumbling bearings of a once imperfect world now turning to dust under the thumbs of the one who swore to protect it and the one who changed his mind?
You weren't a saviour. You were a doomed martyr.
"So, this is the supposed strongest?"
The damned, the cursed, the fallen— Ryomen Sukuna spoke above you, but you barely flinched. Even as a claw crooked beneath your chin with threats bladed in its sharpness.
You only sneered. As if even on your knees, you were above him. With your technique latched away and your strength a drop in the ocean that was his might.
"The Strongest parades around with you."
It didn't escape you how Sukuna's brow twitched. Not that you cared. If his talons tore through your throat or ripped out your heart, he'd frankly be doing you a favour.
"Where is he?"
You didn't care about that either, you affirmed to yourself. But the catacomb in your heart strummed a different tune. A cacophony of concern. Was Satoru's manic smile on the battlefield only for show? In the confines of this malevolent shrine, was he in fact a prisoner?
"So you really did have a surprise for me."
Seemed not.
The voice calling behind you sounded more like a curse than even a smidge of familiar. It chilled the air and frosted your heart. Haunting, and frustratingly hearty.
You told yourself not to look. You did. But you still caught the flutter of white in your peripheral and your gaze followed with irritable curiosity.
A pale haori hung around from his shoulders. Audacity pressed into every creaseless sway. Hands tucked into the long sleeves as his arms folded. His blindfold nowhere to be seen. He'd traded black and blues for whites and— were those red studs on his ears?
Gojo Satoru. The Honoured One. The Strongest—
Traitor.
Stood at the foot of the hall with his head held high in all his malicious charm and cruel confidence. And the worst thing about it all?
He never looked more at peace.
Your jaw ticked and your gaze fell to the ground with your drooping head. He didn't deserve your stare, even if it was a daggered glare. You'd only be reminded of how he twisted one into your back.
His footsteps synced with your pounding heart. His scent wrapped around you. It was still the same— but now mixed with his. Your eye twitched.
"Sweet girl, you're as beautiful as the day I left you."
And twitched again.
Beautiful wasn't how you'd describe yourself on the day that the sky went red. You were broken. He stomped your fragments under his boot and cared not for how he shattered you into the ground. Soul and heart alike.
You swallowed venom and forced your stare to the floor. He didn't deserve that either. Nor your hate. He deserved nothing from you.
But for some twisted reason, he thought otherwise. Satoru bent over and crooked his head towards you. An almost mocking attempt to look at your face.
You denied him. Snapping your head away to focus on the far end of this cursed hall. To the shoji that taunted you. To the throne that tortured you.
Anywhere but him.
He clicked his tongue and stood straight again. Good. Maybe your silence was all the blade you needed when your hands were bound. Let your stubbornness make him bleed the same way your heart did.
Your lungs blazed.
The chains clanked and your spine curved. The air knocked from your chest which burned with your eyes as a weight clamped tight around your throat.
You were hurled back into that sickening white. A bicep viced around your throat as your head bumped into a strong shoulder. Your gasps surged with curses as you instinctively jerked and squirmed.
"You—!"
Satoru only chuckled. A husked sound in your ear roaring with blood.
"Oh come on baby."
His drawl made you sick.
"Didn't you miss me?"
Amidst the storm of your rage, you caught wind of Sukuna's displeased stare. As if his glare itself could tear into your chest and dice up your heart. A twisted satisfaction coiled in your gut.
Still, you couldn't bring yourself to care. Despite fury festering in your mind and your soul screaming to wretch your hands from the chains and dig your thumbs into Satoru's eyes— you knew.
Knew deep down in that same, soft strum of your heart, that you'd always have a place in his. Even when he acted like this.
Your teeth tore into his arm and you stiffened at the fact that you could. So you were right. He didn't have infinity on.
Did he ever have it on anymore? You wondered.
He didn't yelp. Didn't jerk away. Even as you dug marks into his flesh. You half-expected the bastard to moan, but to your surprise, he frowned. Deeply.
Snagging his arm back, Satoru observed the pink crescents you left behind before he took a step back and dropped you. He circled around you and beelined for Sukuna.
"This isn't the welcome I was expecting, y'know." Was that disappointment?
Your jaw clenched. He had the audacity to pout? As if he had any right to your sentiment?
But it was when he stood at Sukuna's side and a hulking arm reflexively wrapped around him that your teeth ground and wished they had his blood under them.
Hate? You hated many things. Hated the sickening sweetness of the mochi he used to shove into your mouth. Hated that stupid grin of his whenever he'd ask you to show-off a new dress he got you. Hated how his touch still haunted you in the dead of night when you'd awake in your empty bed clinging to the pillow that used to be his.
Now, with a new arm around him. With his head on another shoulder. With his comfort in another's damned, blood-sullen hands. . .
You don't think you've ever hated something more.
No, loathed.
A laugh crept up your throat. Sharp and splintering your tongue that dripped with venom, eager to stain these floors darker. "What? Were you expecting me to welcome you with open arms after you betrayed me?"
He didn't flinch at your spat, but Sukuna narrowed his brows.
"I didn't betray you." Satoru said. Too easily for your poor heart.
"I betrayed the world that hurt us."
"But it was still our world."
Your words cut with finality and bled with anguish. A shrilled whisper in the thickness of miasma.
He faltered. A crease in his brows and a sag in his shoulders. His glare reignited him.
"And it didn't appreciate me."
Fire surged up your spine in blisters and burst into your head. Your fingers twitched and palms cramped under the chains. Venom didn't just drip from your tongue— it whipped.
"So what?"
The chains wretched as your knees lurched up with your body. Weighed, but light against your heavy heart and effort to keep it from shattering all over again. Pupils shrunk. Lips curled. Your voice tore in a ragged scoff.
"You just decided to turn your back on it and frolic along to this bastard!?" Your head lurched to Sukuna. To the damned man who took it all away from you.
"You don't get the easy way out just because the world broke you. Or did you forget our promise?"
His eyes told you that they'd forgotten how they drowned in tears. How his hands clung around your shoulders. The first time that the sky went red— no, voided black. That fateful day that you were both left in the dust.
That day his hands held yours. The day his lips sealed the vow.
We'll never forget each other, won't we? We won't abandon one another.
Not like him.
"Or do you just wanna hurt someone the same way Suguru hurt you?"
Lightning struck.
Down your arm. Torn through your veins. The blood roaring in your ears spilled from a gash sliced down your flesh.
You clambered to hold the wound as your knees struck the ground. A voice shook the shrine and stung your new wound.
"You will not speak to him like that. Do you understand me?"
The ground trembled as Sukuna marched forward. Eyes gaped and pupils thin as a snarl ripped from the depths of his throat. Only then did you realise that it was his technique that was responsible for your injury.
"Sukuna— don't."
And just like that. The storm stilled.
A second patter came, quicker, calmer. You looked up through blurry vision just in time to see Satoru's hand brace on Sukuna's shoulder. The monster quelled. Your heart roared.
You couldn't manage to rip away from him as he crouched in front of you. His cold hand pressed to your wound and you hissed a curse. Hoping it could stab him with even a fraction of the intensity of which you shattered.
He applied pressure to the wound and braced you onto his body. Despite yourself, you dared to look up. Into those deep blues that were once yours.
Conflict swam within them.
You hated him.
Silence weighed heavier than miasma in the air. Your body shook against his, and he held you. Just like he always did.
You hated him.
"You don't have to forgive her," he spoke slowly, curling his head to glance over his shoulder at Sukuna.
You fucking. Hated him.
"But I won't let you hurt her."
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ
The burn in your arm subsided, but not in your soul.
Relief washed over your flesh that slowly mended itself as an azure glow circled it. A pale hand hovered, while another cradled your elbow. The thumb on your joint stroking idly did little to to ease your nerves, as you're sure he intended.
Reverse cursed energy. You remembered how Shoko went on about its flow while Suguru and Satoru scratched their heads. Your heart smiled at the thought— you missed her. Missed Suguru.
Satoru. . .
Seems he understood it now. Specifically how to distribute it to others. A difficult feat that very few could muster, even with his title as the 'The Strongest' slapped behind his name.
Now? He healed you with ease. Not a pinch in his brows nor strain in his fingers. Like some twisted enlightenment.
You lowered your gaze back to the deep maroon sheets. Your stomach twisted. Was everything in this damned compound some fucking shade of red? Its tyrant really wanted to make sure everything from the flooring, to the sheets to even his lover's lobes were marked, huh?
Whatever. Infuriatingly soft silk sheets were better than an icy dungeon floor. Even if the frost crept up your neck instead— Satoru's constant glances weren't subtle. Though you're not sure if he was even trying to make them so.
You refused to meet his eyes, looking anywhere but at those blues that ached something deep within you. Consequently, that meant that every inch of the large, warm chamber mocked you. No matter where you fixated.
The bed was huge. Probably for two. Considering neither Sukuna nor Satoru were necessarily small. The bed itself was tucked in the corner of the room with a circular opening. It rested on a teak platform and extended into an overhang. Something grand that you'd expect from ancient wedding night— which only left you more bitter.
There was a small table with a teapot and a plate of mochi. Five to be exact, with one half-eaten. Probably courtesy of Satoru. Their sweetness stained your tongue sour.
The closet in the corner was left open. Rows of neat robes and the finest of fabrics peeked out. Fit for a King. And his beloved consort.
Royalty. Satoru was treated like royalty. And this damned room was a testament to their. . . no. You still hadn't gotten over that four letter word. Let alone accepted the fact that he said it to someone else.
To a curse, no less.
"This isn't how I wanted our reunion to be."
At last he piped up. How you wished he didn't.
You looked up and saw that his eyes remained focused on your arm. Was there enough strength in it yet to smack him yet? You wondered.
You'd settle for your sharp tongue. "Again, what did you expect? A hug? A kiss? Forgive me for being pissed over how much happier you look here."
Those beautiful blues finally meet you from beneath white lashes. An ache rooted in your chest. When last had he looked at you like that? You hated him for depriving you of it. Hated yourself for missing it.
"I am happier here."
But hated him even more for that.
"I'm treated better. I can finally live."
His touch swept away from your skin, and like a drunken sailor chasing the roaring waves, you almost reach out for him. Almost.
You chose to drown.
In him. In the memories of him. In that sacred time when he was yours. With that big, stupid grin and eager fingers pushing sweet treats to your lips.
All you tasted now was the deep, bitter reality that those memories were just that— memories. Moments lost in time. With one frozen within them and the other far moved on.
You withdrew your arm and observed your bruised wrists as you shifted your legs over the bed's edge. The chains were no more, but you still felt a weight. On your hands that could do nothing, in your stomach that twisted nausea, and in your heart that still beat for him.
You could use your technique and get the hell out of here. With his infinity off? You could probably get pretty far if you made a break for the window.
But this room and its evidence would always hold your mind captive in the sick fact that it was theirs.
"Your infinity isn't on."
"I don't need it anymore."
"I could hurt you, right now."
Your hand flexed and you fixed your gaze on the floor. To the details in the hardwood. Anything but at that piercing stare through your temples. Never a threat, but always a promise. Even a broken one.
The bed sunk beside you as Satoru repositioned himself. His presence crept ice up your spine and warmed your chest all the same.
You hated it. You loved it.
"But you won't." He said.
You scoffed, but smiled. Rolling your shoulders back to stare at the mochi across the room hatefully. Did he remember how he always nagged you to make those? Or did their sweetness bring a new name to his mind?
"Yeah. Because unfortunately, I still love you."
You swore your hearts froze together with your words, then synced with a languished beat.
"So yeah." Your smile wasn't bitter, nor sour. It ached. With the phantom of his sweet kiss. "It fucking hurts that you don't feel the same anymore."
The bed creaked as Satoru's spine shot straight. You caught the gape of his eyes and his fingers curling on his knees.
"Of course I still love you."
"You're a liar."
You wished it would soothe the wounds. His balmed words only stung.
Chills pressed into your chin as his fingers grasped. He tilted your head to him. Not allowing your gaze to run from him any longer. He dragged you closer until his scent wrapped around you. Comforted you. Reminded you.
His eyes begged you. The whisper on his tongue pleaded.
"I do."
It was instinctual to stare at his lips when he was this close. For but a fleeting, yearning moment.
You locked stares again. Yours begged back.
"Prove it."
He did. Softly, tenderly, a secret of his lips on yours. Stars burst in that delicate way that they always did when his mouth found yours. When the kiss that felt so unfamiliar, still carried the taste of the past and all its honey.
You wished to simmer in the moment. To unravel into his gentleness that you craved since the first and last day he left bruises on you. That fateful day. When the sky went red.
But that red ran hot. Sizzled into a sharp scarlet searing through your veins. So when you kissed him back— it's not soft, or tender, and it sure as hell isn't gentle.
Furious, frustrated and fervent. You soured the honey into poison and tore your fingers through his white hair. Yanking him in, reminding him— declaring. That he was still yours.
He moaned at the fruition.
Oh, you'd give him enlightenment.
It was tongue and teeth and a treacherous mix of thorns as you pushed forward. He caught your hips. He always did. Pulled you into his lap like old times and matched your roughness.
Until your lips bruised. Until his were bitten. At last he parted in threads of hot saliva, snapping like your sanity. His eyes were hazed as they awed up at you.
"I missed you." He rasped.
"I don't believe you." You ragged.
But still, your trembling hands brushed his hair back and cupped his face. Your thumbs re-familiarised his cheekbones.
His chest stuttered. You're sure his heart did too. He trailed his eyes over you, then stared up through his lashes with a whisper so forbidden. So yours.
"Then let my tongue prove it."
And then his lips were on you again. Your neck. Mouthed down to your shoulder, over your shirt. You swore that you felt them twitch as they brushed the fabric. Littered over your breasts with an incoherent murmur.
But if you remembered Satoru well enough— he was probably complaining. Cursing out the offensive material.
His nails were far more eager. Nipping on your shirt's hem and peeling it back over your breasts. He groaned at your bra choice. Maybe it really was fate that brought you here. Why else would you be in his old favourite?
Cold lips worshipped atop your breasts, sending sparks down your spine as he pulled one of your tits out and flicked his tongue on your pert nipple.
You shuddered. Grappling for some kind of shame or reason to not fuck your ex on his new lover's bed— while said ex had toppled over the jujutsu world and was now the force of evil you swore against.
Evil or not, damn, you missed that filthy tongue.
Hands shot to his shoulders. A protest crept up your throat as you looked down at his fluttering lashes and smooching lips. "Toru—"
The bed bounced and you yelped as your back hit it fully. He tipped you over and dragged your legs out with large hands locked on your hips. Good luck getting him to stop now. His tongue already drooled with greed as it swiped down your tummy.
Kisses felt like a dance of fire and ice. Embedded into your skin and pulling memories into moans as his blunt nails dragged on your pants and exposed your centre. You're not sure if you're more embarrassed that you didn't stop him— or that you already formed a damp spot.
Habitually, he pressed a kiss to your panties. The only shame you mustered was how naturally you twitched for him.
All ifs, and buts melted into a pool of heat as he drew your panties down next and groaned so deep that it rumbled your core.
"Fuck, hey there sweetheart." He drawled with eyes fixed onto your pussy. His thumb stroked over your folds to punctuate his greeting. Your face flushed as he smooched your clit in a wet, missed me?
His lips trailed down your slit. Dragging your bubbling wetness and pouring moans from your trembled lips. Your spine lifted. Memories be damned. Who needed them when he was back where he belonged? Between your legs.
"Missed you sooo much baby," he rumbled into your slit with pinched brows as he mouthed all hot and bothered along it. You always were his favourite sweet treat.
But oh, he couldn't leave any part of you lonely for long. Not again. His thumb swiped up and rubbed on your clit, prompting a trickles out of your throbbing cunt. You sucked a shaky breath.
He parted to watch the leak, pupils blown wide as he slowed his stroke. "Yeah I know, I know." He cooed, still talking to your cunt.
Shivers rushed up your spine as his tongue flushed to the bottom of your slit and pressed flat as he dragged it up. Slow, and greedy and oh so filthy. You finally whined for him and buried your fingers into his hair.
"Satoru. . . hngh."
His name tasted good on your lips. It's where it belonged. Always.
The sentiment seemed to spur him on as his palms splayed over your thighs to spread you out and snatch you deeper. Shoved into his heated kisses, dirty sucks and lewd licks. He groaned and spat. He always was a messy eater. Always too distracted by your pussy to remember his decency as he feasted on you as if he'd been starving these last two years.
You want to look down. To see him devouring your pussy— but his tongue cut you off. Plunged into your gummy walls as his face flushed forward. His nose nudged your clit and stars burst before your eyes.
"Mhhm— fuck toru. Jus' like that— ah." Your fingers curled on his scalp and leveraged his head so that you could grind your hips into his face. Slopping him up and drawing out his moans as he clung onto your thighs like they were his last shred of sanity.
His tongue pistoned. Stained in your taste and rapidly fucking into you as his lewd, wet noises vibrated through you. Stroking on the heat in your tummy and coiling the knot tighter.
You arched. Whined. "Ohgod— mngh, gonna cum."
How you missed saying that. Missed the sparks dancing over your spine and coursing through your pussy. Missed his glutinous tongue.
"Gonna cum, toru, pleasepleaseplease."
He withdrew and replaced his tongue with his fingers quicker than you could complain. They slipped in with a tempered squelch and curled into that spot he still remembered. Massaging and fucking and tenderising as his lips locked around your clit.
"Yeah baby. Tha's it. C'mon. Show me how much y'missed toru's tongue." He slurred, suckling on the throbbing nub as he plunged his fingers hastily.
His glossy eyes fluttered up to yours. All drunk and hazed. Pleading. How could you ever deny him?
Your muscles locked up. Voice singing a name you swore off years ago. Fingers holding his hair for dear life as you humped into his face with stuttered whines. He took you higher— and higher— and. . .
It snapped into nothingness.
Both of your whines mixed. Loud and pitched as a clawed hand yanked Satoru back by the hair. Snatching him from your grasp once again with webs of saliva and slick strung to your cunt.
You registered the demon that took him from you in the first place and in the haze of your need, you whimpered. As if for some bizarre reason, you could appease him.
"Oh shut up." Sukuna snarled and muffled it into Satoru's lips, who whined and pressed back instinctively.
You blinked back blurs to behold their tongues tangling. Your gut twisted at how eagerly Satoru limped into him, like some lovesick fucking doll.
A frown fixed to your lips as your elbows dug into the bed to push you up. At last they parted. Finally. Those few seconds permanently scarred your soul.
But it blistered into that same, fiery burst as Sukuna cut his glare over. Your eyes sharpened to clash. He sneered.
"What? You think you deserve this?"
"You sound jealous."
"Don't forget that's my bed you're slobbering all over."
Instinctively, your legs jerked together and you straightened your spine like a cobra ready to spit venom in his eyes. He looked all the more willing to gulp it down and claw it around your throat instead.
Satoru interrupted the thundering clouds with a lightning swat! onto Sukuna's chest, who turned to meet his frown.
No words exchanged, but their stares locked. Not a blink. Not a bat. Green nestled in your gut. Were they communicating with their eyes alone?
A loud sigh sagged from Sukuna together with his shoulders. He blinked first and looked away. Triumph shone from Satoru's stupid grin.
Only to shout a complaint as a clawed hand yanked him to the edge of the bed, shoving his pants down in the process, while another nabbed your hair and jerked you to the floor so you joined the protests.
Smack! Your knees clambered as you were positioned between Satoru's.
"You deserve to be worshipped. Not the other way around."
Sukuna leered, not even looking in your direction. As if taking his eyes off of his lover for one second would melt him— or maybe sparing you a glance would turn him to stone.
He steered your head to Satoru's dick, who tensed and waved his hand frantically. "Hey hey hey that's not nece— mn."
Of course your lips naturally wrapped around his pretty tip. Why wouldn't they? It was reflex. Even with the bastard locking you in place.
Your eyes fluttered up to Satoru. Memorising his twitching brows and quivered lips as you languidly sucked down. He rarely let you do this back then. You often had to fight him just to get a lick.
Your reminiscing morphed into splutters as your head was suddenly shoved. Inches plunged into your throat and Satoru strangled with you.
"What're you waiting for?" Sukuna glowered. "I said worship him."
Your throat constricted as you choked around his twitching dick. A thick vein throbbed heavily on the back of your tongue. You vibrated it with whimpers as you tried to catch your breath through your nostrils.
Satoru on the other hand, looked as if he couldn't even breathe. His face burning and hands scrambling as he shot out to grip Sukuna's wrist. His fingers trembled with his voice.
"Go— mn, easy on her."
"She can take it. Or has she only ever taken pleasure from you?"
Who the fuck did this guy think he was?
He strutted into Satoru's life and twisted his morals two years ago— two years. Two. You'd familiarised Satoru's body with your hands long before Sukuna was even reincarnated. Yet somehow he thought he owned every right to it?
Spite sizzled in your gut. It mixed with the jealousy to concoct a flaring urge to prove yourself. To Sukuna?
No, to hell with him.
To Satoru. To remind him why you were his first.
Nimble fingers curled around his base. You thumb spontaneously stroking on a vein while you hollowed your cheeks. Sucking down at the pressure you knew damn well sent his eyes rolling. His stuttered hip bucks were your reward.
"Damn— baby."
Sukuna's hand spurred with competition. Dragging and shoving your head so you maintained a mouthful of cock. Not that you needed it. Despite the weight you bobbed in haste, impatient to take him down your throat and make him lose his mind. For you.
Spit splattered and his precum smeared your tongue. Fuck. You missed the taste. Missed every hefty throb and the way his tip twitched as it glided on the roof of your mouth.
But what you missed the most? The sight of him. His noises. How his head fell back to expose his stuttering throat. How his brows creased at centre and his lips parted to the ceiling. How pretty and pathetic his deep voice pitching sounded as he helplessly humped.
"Fuck baby, yeah, just like that."
He was beautiful.
"See? That's how you pleasure him."
And he was a bitch.
Your glossy eyes swept a glare to Sukuna, who retorted with a fierce tug of your hair. Shoving you deeper. Deeper. Until Satoru's hot tip smooched the back of your throat and you spluttered drool.
A second of reprieve. Your spite rekindled. Constricting your throat, you squeezed on his balls and forced your head to move more ferociously that Sukuna's hand. Utterly crumbling Satoru who clambered for your shoulder and threw his spine in an arch.
"Shit, f-fuck, ohgod— oh fuck, baby, baby please, please please hngh." His slurring babbles struck pride in your core. You rewarded him with vibrating hums.
But of course, the King of Curses— or rather, King of Covet— had to splinter your confidence.
"Did you ever get him like this? Ever made him feel this good?" He bent over to loom in your ear.
You glared. Gurgled. But your gut twisted.
No. You didn't.
Satoru never concerned you with his pleasure.
"When he cums in your mouth," you could hear the bastard's sharp grin, "Know that he's cumming for me."
Your eyes gaped. That fucker—
Unfortunately, you had no more time for spite. Spurts surged the back of your throat while Sukuna shoved you down. So that your nose brushed Satoru's pelvis and his dick spasmed in your throat. Rope after rope of hot cum streamed into your chokes and struggled gulps.
He came with a cry. A pitiful whine that blended Sukuna's name and yours— but all you heard was the former's. God, how you wished your stare really could turn him to stone.
"Swallow everything."
You hated him.
"Don't waste a drop of my lover's cum."
You hated him.
Drool mixed with thick, hot cum as you gulped down whatever you possibly could. Eyes rolled back and lips strained as you committed your mind to imagining just the two of you. No curses. no kings.
Just you and him. Just you finally making him feel good.
Burning lungs washed with relief, but the same couldn't be said for your throbbing heart, as you're jerked away from his sopping dick. Still hard and twitching. You fight a smile— yeah, that's your Satoru.
Instead, a frown tugged with a calloused thumb swiping over your lip. Sukuna's stare smouldered with audacity as he dragged his tongue over your leftovers. "Sweet as ever, my love."
Your jaw ticked. Despite its ache you're already charging several insults— but you only managed a yelp as Satoru's large hands stole your hips and toppled you over shaky thighs. Kisses smoked out your fire as they smothered all over your face.
"Mm, my baby, my sweet girl. Always doing so good."
Satoru's praises were a balm your heart. You fluttered and limped into his touch. His arms secured on you. A cold, comforting palm flat on your spine. His chin crooked on your shoulder to stare back at Sukuna.
"C'mon, let's show her what she's missin' out on." You heard his pout and bit on your smile. "I want my two favourite people to get along."
You crooked your head and observed their eye fucking— ahem, contact, again. You were really beginning to add onto that list of things you hate. Number one? Whatever secret language in the form of stares they had going on.
Sukuna huffed and the bed creaked beneath his weight. You're sure he tried to appear regal but he practically flopped into the sheets and jostled with his robes' belt. Pulling it back to reveal the wide maw on his abdomen that mimicked his frown.
You almost laughed. Almost. It caught as Satoru hoisted you closer to the other. Now there were three frowns.
"What're you doing?"
"Come onnnn, I want you two to bond."
You rolled your eyes as his pouting lips mouthed on your neck. Yes, your blood still ran green and spite continued its fester in your gut but perhaps. . . You could do it for him.
Deep down, some innate, irritating smidge within you still wanted to please him.
"Fine." You huffed and bit your inner cheek as Sukuna locked stares. "Let's see what you see in him so bad."
Satoru's grin sliced through the tension in the air. Who could ever say no to that? With excitement warming his hands, he steered you into a straddle over Sukun's stomach. Massaging your thighs with assuring thumbs.
"Well," he crooned on your ear and laved it with a kiss. "He's reaalll good with his mouth."
Your eyes began to roll.
Just because the fucker had multiple mouths doesn't mean—
Then, they rolled back.
Hot, wet, the massive tongue dragged a sopping lick over your spasming cunt. Filthy and thick. You swallowed a whine, but not your shudder.
You ignored Sukuna's smug smirk and clawed your hands to Satoru's wrists as his hands guided your hips into a sensual roll. Synching you with that swirling tongue already feasting below. You pulsed into its heat and squirmed as pleasure sparked your spine.
"Mngh, oh."
"Theeree we go. Feels good, doesn't it sweet girl?"
Satoru's drawl dripped into your ear like the saliva oozing on your slit. You chewed your lip and shot Sukuna a side eye, who had reverted back to a blank stare. As if pleasuring you was a fucking chore.
Still, for some frustrating reason, your pussy pulsed.
You mustered a huff and humped your hips. Dragging on his mouth fully as if trying to suffocate him. It backfired, of course. You were left twitching and whining— but still mustered a glare.
A pitiful, trembling one. But a glare no less.
"I'll never enjoy a curse."
A pause.
Then a keen.
The mouth started ferally sucking down on your cunt. Creating a suction on both your slit and clit that sent your eyes back.
Simultaneously, Satoru's hands guided you into a faster grind. Smearing your wetness all over Sukuna's tanned skin and spilling you desperate whimpers.
"Yeah, but you're about to cum for one, aren't you?"
Sukuna gruffed. A low grunt that rumbled into your heat-surging core. You stammered in your bucks as two massive, hot hands clawed up and cupped your breasts. Squeezing their jiggles until you flicked your head back from the dual stimulation.
"Y-You— shut u— ah!"
His tongue cut your complaints short again. This time shoved into your slit and wriggling until he found exactly which darling, devastating spot to curl into. Prodding and licking and grinning into it as you spasmed with a sob.
Helpless. You were helpless. White clouding your vision. Sweat prickling your forehead. You squirmed and ground down into his merciless maw as it made of show of messing up your poor pussy.
Seemed Satoru wanted in on the fun. He mouthed on your shoulder and slithered a hand between your wobbling thighs. Stroking your throbbing clit until it shot spasms through through clenching body.
"F-Fuck, fuck I ca— I can't," you croaked.
"Course you can. Cum for a curse." Sukuna crooned.
And fuck. Suddenly you hated yourself more than both of them combined. Your squelching walls clenched on the relentless, thrusting tongue and your head tossed back. Your orgasm rearing into an intense wave of ruin and ragged bliss as you finally— finally came.
Splattering all over a tongue at last. Perhaps not Satoru's— but you didn't care. Not as your vision blurred and you pitifully rocked into the pleasure bursts.
Tears trickled down your face as cum leaked from your throbbing, gooey centre. Your sniffled sob smothered into kisses as you were drawn back into those cold, comforting arms.
"Sssh. Did so good. You did so so good baby." Satoru cooed, hands laving affection all over your heated skin.
He held you as he always did. How your heart yearned for him to all of those lonely nights. Your mind wrecked with heat fractured into reality of how much you missed him.
Your body melted into his. Muscles finally easing into the assurance and promise of his hold. Once broken or not. His hands smoothed over your thighs, squeezed on your waist and cupped your breasts in a tender massage.
Your eyes fluttered. Heart slowed.
"Isn't she sweet?"
Satoru murmured, probably to the huffing Sukuna. You didn't need to see his eye roll to feel it,
"Guess so."
"Mhhm?"
Or Satoru's grin in the air.
You refocused purely to see the look on Sukuna's face. But to your surprise no deadpan awaited. Only a deep, dark desire brooding in his maroon stare.
"Wanna see how she could ever satisfy you."
He drawled. His mockery tethered something else at the end. Could that be mildness? You'd only ever considered him malicious, but his dilated pupils showed otherwise. You followed his trailing gaze down your curves to Satoru's worshipping hands.
And somehow? His stare mimicked those hands.
Satoru paused on your shoulder. Then nodded, his white strands tickling your jaw as he encased you within his caressing chills. Engulfed in his larger body.
Kisses curved up your neck, carrying whispering praises that soaked into your veins and ran your blood hot. Hot like a familiar prodding slotted between your thighs.
Your breath hitched. His thinned.
"Remember this, sweetheart?"
He chuckled when your hips rolled into his dick, like it was their god-given purpose. Your body always danced to his rhythm. Even when he'd long soured the melody.
His tip circled your drooling slit, dragging your slick all over. And for a moment, a devastating moment— you almost stopped him. Almost chickened out and went back to biting his hand.
But then your body caved.
Muscles eased, cunt clenching, crying, as he easily pressed in. Kissing your gummy walls in an overdue welcome home and pushing into you inch by agonising inch.
Your bodies synched a shudder. Satoru's head limped into your shoulder blades, fervently whispering your name like it would save him from your squeezing, suffocatingly sweet pussy.
"Fuck," he clung to your waist. "So she did miss me."
You fluttered around his base. Messing up his balls and clenching around his cervix-kissing tip as he stretched you open. Memories in every vein pulse and inch throb. Reminding. Reclaiming.
He faltered with his breath. Dug his teeth on your shoulder. Stabilised. Then finally mustered a filthy grind deep within your warmth. Sending you scrambling.
"Toru— ah." A hand fell to his wrist while the other shot into his hair. He mewled and forced himself to focus on his languid pumps as he searched for a rhythm.
"God," you heaved. "It's soo— so. . ."
"So what? So big? Awww, you can take it can't you?"
He crooned, a sharp grin smooching your ear while a large, guiding hand dropped to yours. Soon you were palming over the swollen bulge he left at the base of your tummy. Fingers locked with yours as he applied a sickeningly pleasurable pressure that spun your head with heat.
Your already slutty moan surged into a pitched whine as his pumps sped into timed thrusts. Once. Twice. Thrice. Grind— repeat.
Stars burst in your vision. Head tipping back. You missed Sukuna's awed expression. Escaped the rustle of robes. The wet, tempered slaps and sloshes served as the perfect distraction.
Despite your limp form, your hips still tried. Pitifully, struggling, but an attempt nevertheless. They humped back into Satoru's thrusts. Whose grin turned evil as he snatched your waist and shmacked! up into your cervix. Bucking, grinding into the tight ring of muscle until it spasmed with your sobbing cunt.
"Yeah that's it baby. That's it. Fuck me back." He grunted through his shallow rocks.
Well on his course of cruelty and feral care, a hand slithered down. His thumb slotted between your folds and fondled your clit into a twitching mess. Spurring on your need so that you mindlessly rocked into him. Creaking the bed in your search for more. In your surge of greed.
Your cunt squeezed with your throat.
His other hand shot up. Clamped on your neck and choking out the prettiest of noises. Both from your mouth and squelching pussy as his hips rushed ruthlessly. Fucking up in a blur of ragged roughness that threw your spine into an arch and spluttered your drool.
"Hngh! Fuck toru— toru there, right there."
"Thought I forgot how you liked it, pretty?" He laughed on your lobe. Grunted and twisted you to face him. "How you like getting fucked hard? Getting your pretty pussy roughed-up?"
Knuckles trapped your clit and pinched. You keened. Losing all muscle movement and limping into your old position as his pretty little doll. Stretched out and spilling all over his cock that rammed persistently. Like he could fuck out every ounce of grief and loathing thought from your pretty little head.
He sure as hell might've. In your glazed eyes and messy mind there was only one thing— him. Him. Pounding into you again and again and ringing the repeat through your blistering mind— Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru.
He joined your whines. Face falling into your shoulder as you tugged on his hair and held onto his hand for dear life. Completely losing yourselves to the reality that you were being watched by Sukuna's reverent stare. Utterly missing the way he stroked his bulge and shuddered with every mixture of moans.
Satoru slurred and you swore tears dripped onto your shoulder.
"Fuck, I love you so much."
"I love you."
You smushed your sob into his mouth as you jerked him in by the hair. Lips slamming, hands clambering as his thrusts turned sloppy, feral, and your body melted into putty.
The spasms came hot. Terrible and tender. Cum splashing your thighs while his thick seed frothed you full. Shattering you both into a puddle of wanton splutters and reckless abandon.
Your mouths twisted into a mess of tongue and teeth. A wrest of hate and love. Old and rekindled. Your quiet cries induced his tears. Satoru clambered onto you. As if letting go for even a second would be a greater sin than the first time.
When he finally parted, the saliva strung. Tears merged and your lips quivered. But he brushed them away— whispering a gentle apology you're not even sure voiced.
Your heart ached. Healed. And he cradled you close. So devastatingly close until you simmered into the fragile reality that you were finally, finally in one another's arms again.
The dust settled when Satoru pressed a kiss to your temple, tracing it down and chuckling into your cheek. Only then did you remember you had an audience.
Four beady eyes and— were you seeing wrong or were those two bulges?
"Enjoyed the show?" Satoru mused. Sukuna huffed again. You wondered if that's the only way he knew how to communicate. He looked away as Satoru slowly slipped out.
His hands cupped your hips and massaged on your aches, then guided you over before you could blink. "You know. . . she could be good for you too."
"Satoru—"
"Toru—"
Words die on your tongues. Sukuna and you merged in a moan. His deeper, yours pitched, as Satoru dragged your soaking cunt over the— yes, two bulges.
A new set of hands joined your thighs. Dwarfing Satoru's as they squeezed on your plush and firmed you down. To your surprise, you squirmed. Not away, but onto him. Another shared moan.
Murky maroons locked with yours. All spite and jealousy between the both of you faded into a thick, sultry heat. For a moment you blinked, hesitated, until he broke stare and looked back to Satoru.
"Only if I can have you too."
"Ooo, greedy."
Satoru snickered but crawled closer. All you remembered was the contrast of their touch. Icy fire and hot frost seeping into your spasming nerves. Blurs of stripped robes and stinging stretches.
One moment you were staring down Sukuna's double dicks and thinking poor Satoru— the next, you were stuffed full of one of them. With 'poor Satoru' squirming behind you and whining with you as he struggled around the second dick.
How the hell does he take this thing?
You're huffing. Gasping. Your cunt could barely handle Satoru— and if he was big? Sukuna was fucking monstrous. Snug in every nook and cranny, pressed into every nerve and thrumming so many veins into your gummy wetness that you felt like you'd lost your damn mind.
Forget poor Satoru. Poor you and your pussy that clenched for dear life as you gulped down air like you were searching for a miracle.
You whined, then whimpered. Satoru's hands slipped around you with the aim to ease. Rubbing circles on your clit and squeezing your tit.
"Ssshh baby," as if he was doing any better. "It's okay. 's okay. Know he's so. . . fuckin' big," he croaked and limped his head onto your back. You both crumbled as Sukuna rolled his hips in a hefty grind.
You felt him so deep in cunt, in your stomach, everywhere.
Hot hands replaced the cold palm on your breast. Sukuna's upper arms reached to cup your tits and squeezed them into his finger gaps while the lower set circled Satoru's hips. Guiding you both into his slow, sinister rhythm.
You caught his grin and hated how your tummy fluttered at it. "Does she even know how to ride?" He taunted, eyeing your struggling pussy that spluttered and soaked his thighs.
Fucker. Just when you're getting used to him.
With a scoff and surged spite, your hands shot to his wrists and dug your nails into his markings. He grunted. Grinned wider. As you glared and leveraged your hips into a bounce. Clumsy one second, then cruel the next.
"This— hah— good 'nough for you?" It was your turn to grin as he groaned.
His hips bucked up hard. Frantically chasing your confidence with curses and moans spilling from his damned lips. Consequently, this meant Satoru was hurled into the rhythm too. Yelps and whines shattered through him as he clambered on your waist and collapsed onto your back.
His hips meshed into your ass as he desperately attempted to grind down and steady himself. "Wait, wait waaitt— 'm still getting used to it, fuck!"
Your eyes glinted with Sukuna's at the splutters. Your gazes met amidst the heated pleasure and wet shmacks! of skin.
"Pathetic, isn't he?" Sukuna crooned.
You crumbled, but cooed. "But so pretty."
Fingers delved back into Satoru's hair and tugged him in. His chin knocked onto your shoulder and whines spilled as his nails dug.
"When I— hah— said I wanted you to get along I didn't mean bully me."
His retribution came in a clit pinch. You jerked and spluttered with him as the last threads of Sukuna's patience tore. Hips smacking up wildly so that he fucked you both onto pulsing, messy cocks. Eager to send your eyes rolling back as he spurred from the suffocating tightness.
A cacophony of moans, whines and cries brimmed the chamber. A slutty staccato as you both crumbled into the streams of blazing bliss. Collapsed into one another and clinging. Satoru squeezed your waist. You clung to his hair. Pulling him into drooling kisses as your minds puddled into the mess soaking Sukuna through.
"Fuck," Satoru rasped, his cock humping on your ass as a result of the relentless slams. "Gonna— cum, 'm gonna cum again. Please."
"Already? Slut."
Sukuna's sneer paired with his hand dropping from Satoru's hip to his pulsing dick. Smacking it onto your jiggling ass before pumping it into a twitching, spasming mess.
Poor Satoru. He gasped for dear life. Hands shaking on your thighs as he returned the favour to you. Dropping to your clit and rubbing in-time with Sukuna's jerking palm.
Your keens merged in a pathetic plea.
"Torruuu, not— n-not fair, I can't." Your croaks matched your stuttered bounces. Slick and drool webbing all over. Mixing with sweat and smearing over your skins. The relentless hump on your cervix sent your teary eyes rolling back— and you're certain Satoru's mimicking. If those slutty, sloppy moans were anything to go off of.
Still, he managed to laugh in your ear. Breathless. Delirious. "No way in. . . fuck. Hell am I cummin' before you."
Oh you tried to hold on. Tried to cling to whatever bits of your sanity remained. But your vision had went white. Your tummy twisted and your mind reeled as pleasure battered through your squeezing pussy. Sick, sweet, saving pleasure that spilled your spit and sticky cum.
Your orgasm tore through you in a squelching squirt. A muck of brokenly bucking hips and croaking cries. Dizzy. You were dizzy. Hazed, hot and heavy-limbed as the soaking slaps reached a piercing ring through the room. Followed by Sukuna's haughty laughter.
"Yeah, slut up my cock. Said you wouldn't enjoy a curse huh? Now you're cumming on his cock."
"Sh-Shuutt uppp."
You sobbed. And in a last effort of pride collapsed into the King of Curses. Consuming him for a change. With your mouths clashing, teeth clattering and tongues clambering. You swore that he rumbled a moan into your wet lips.
A pitched whine ripped through the air.
Seemed that's all Satoru needed to burst all over your ass. Torrid and trembling as he bucked a few more times for pathetic measure— before he too collapsed.
You whimpers vibrated into each other. Synching and sobbing as Sukuna's dicks abruptly rammed up. Once. Twice. Then twitched and spilled into you both with frothing, bubbling cum. Fuck. It burned so beautifully.
Pants heaved through the air thick with sweat and sex. The musk of cum and mixing perfumes wrapped around the three of you like a blanket. Sukuna's four sets split between the two of you. The first pair hooked on your shoulders while the second cradled Satoru.
The heat faded into a tender, trembled whisper. A stained memory in the confines of this room. Slicked into the bed and smeared into your hearts.
Silence.
"I want a kiss tooo. . . "
Smiles.
Satoru's complaints pressed kisses into your shoulders. Only then did you realise how your lips hadn't quite left Sukuna's lips. You parted. Shared his blinks. Then turned to smooch the pouting Satoru.
He hummed his happiness. Parting only to get Sukuna in on the action as they shared a kiss over your shoulder.
For the first time this entire accursed night, you didn't see green.
Satoru returned to snuggling on your shoulder blades and released a heavy sigh. His weight melted into your back. Another beat of silence.
"Does this mean you'll stay forever?"
His voice was impossibly small. Frighteningly soft. Strumming an aching chord in your soul that whispered, pleaded with you to be selfish. To be happy.
Just this once.
You shifted your stare and noticed Sukuna's looking up at you. No glares nor scowls. But and uncharacteristic patience and— terrifying gentleness. In that devastating moment it clicked for you.
You and Sukuna weren't so different after all.
All you wanted was the best for Satoru.
In the ease of silence, you contemplated. Then chose. Softening a smile as your head rested on a warm shoulder. Those arms and hands that knew only bloodshed held you both in a beautiful surrender. Squeezing.
only days away from being wed to a man you loathe. you accept, this is your duty as a powerful clan's heiress after all. but your lover just has to stake his claim on you one last time. lover? or your clan's worst enemy?
⌗ wc : 2.2k
ᝰ.☆ cws : trueform sukuna :: arranged marriage :: enemies turned lovers :: historical sexism :: somnophilia :: penetrative sex :: cervix fucking :: overstimulation :: multiple orgasms :: breeding :: creampie :: rough sex :: risky sex
ᝰ.☆ sweetheart : clawed this idea from the depths of my soul
Duty and comfort rarely shook hands. As the only female heir to the renowned Fugiwara Clan, you knew this all too well.
Duty was a blade you carried with pride. Your head held high. Your spine straight despite the weight of expectation crowned on your head. Proving yourself had become your livelihood. To other clans, to elders, even to your own parents. Duty was the blood in your veins and woke you from bed every morning.
Comfort? Well, if duty was the blade, comfort is what you should have struck it with.
It wasn't a book, or a warm meal, or even the silk wrapped around you in the dead of night— no, comfort was a contrast to all that you were.
It was a behemoth. A being so dreadful, your clan called it two-faced. Comfort was the warmth of four arms wrapped tight around you. Of a voice deeper than the seventh layer of hell, yet only ever gentle for you. Comfort was lips that kissed and hid sharp canines that wouldn't ever dare to break your flesh.
Tonight, comfort was your lonely futon. If you could even consider it such.
You tossed and turned with the heavy realisation that this would be your last night here. In your blankets, in your futon, in your room. Freedom slipped with the hours, and by daybreak you would be considered not the Fugiwara heir, but a bride.
Duty snared comfort after all.
Against your wishes, you were to be married off for the sake of allyship. Meant to prove your worth to your new husband and in ways that rose bile up your throat.
For now though, you slept. What more could you do? Other than rest through the night for the demonic day awaiting you tomorrow. It was a miracle you managed to fall asleep at all. The night felt colder. Lonelier.
Until comfort crept its claws up your arms. Caressing, encasing, until you were stirring into four sets of squeezing limbs. That same warmth you yearned for when you retired for the night.
Those kisses your heart ached for soothed the back of your neck. Loosening every nerve and sparking consciousness at the base of your skull.
Then, there was that voice you wished would hum you a lullaby in a language you still didn't understand. Instead it groaned. Deep and drawled into your shoulder blade.
You considered dreams. A product of your wistful soul, spun into memories of your back pressed into a soft futon and your skin worshipped as if you were not a princess— but a goddess.
If it was a dream, it was a cruel one.
The way your cunt thrummed and heat clung to the spaces between your ribs told you otherwise.
Reality prickled into your head and your eyes fluttered open. Bleary, sleepy, needy.
Your first instinct was to squirm. A second warmth clamped on your thighs jolted you from the idea that any of this was your mind's eye.
Large, calloused palms cradled your ass like it belonged in them. If that didn't tip you off, then the husked groan dripping magma into your ear would confirm it.
"Don't. Let me hold you. Feel you. One more time."
Ryomen Sukuna himself. King of Curses. The two-faced. The mighty, murderous and mad. Hulking body craned over yours that he pinned to the plush futon. His charcoal scent invaded your senses and his touch seared into your skin. The enemy of your clan. A monster. . .
Buried balls-deep into your weeping cunt that was a bit too accustomed to him. She recognised every vein, every inch and squeezed around him in a wet, welcome home, my love.
Heat pooled in your stomach and you bit back a moan. Fingers coiled tight on your pillow and you used the leverage to dig your elbows into the futon. "Sukuna—" you yelped as the crown of your head jabbed him beneath the jaw. He only grunted.
"You shouldn't be here— Y-You're gonna get. . . mnn." Your panic seeped into the pillow as your face limped back into it. The slow drags of his cock knocked the protest right out of you. Leaving you with soft moans and a squeezing pussy.
His face fell between your shoulder blades. Those kisses brimmed with fire as they laved down your spine. He rumbled as he bottomed out. Tense from your gummy walls clenching around his base. He could already taste that sweet ring of cream that you'd leave behind.
He salivated. "Can't help it." His groan muffled into your skin as he committed to a languid rhythm. Dooming you both to the unbearable heat of love and lust. His hips nudged into the soft ass and rolled a few times. Grinding deep on the spot that had you squirming into the sheets.
"This putrid clan should be grateful that I do not tear them down here and now." His sneer punctuated with another grind into the sensitive bundle. You mewled and bucked back.
Once again he caught your hip and pinned it down. A groan, a grunt, and his thrusts grew heavier. Carving memories into your slick walls and claiming every nerve. Wet clicks brimmed the room. Your stomach flushed into the sheets when a rough grind slotted between your folds.
You squeezed your eyes shut to prevent your head from wrenching down to behold the sinful sight. Of one cock stretching you out, fucking you full, and another gliding messily between your sopping folds. Grazing your clit and smooching slick on your thighs.
Comfort returned. In his arms. Beneath him. Consumed by him. Your hands dug into the pillow and you sunk your face into the softness. Letting it hide your sins and moans as the moist clicks turned into wet, lewd slaps.
Sukun knew you better than each of his tattoos. Knew how to unravel you into his palms. How to melt you into the sheets. It was no surprise that he cultivated the right pressure and precision to hit on that divine spot within you head-on until whines poured from the back of your throat. Your toes and fingers curled.
"They should consider themselves lucky that I am showing them mercy for what they are taking from me."
Your moans seized with a palm that encased your throat. The yank curved your spine and shoved your ass further into him. Drowning him in your heat and suffocating you on his thick cock as he bent over to your slack face.
Cunt clamping, hands shaking, your gasps fanned his face while four, beady eyes honed on you. Focused. Mapping out every detail of your teary gaze and drooling mouth. Committing each to their own sinful scroll tucked away in the depths of his dark mind.
"Do you think your new husband will know your body like I do?"
He ragged and snapped forward so hard, the air knocked from your chest. The piston repeated, forcing out pretty little ah-ah-ah's from your glossy lips.
Warmth became heat. A hot stream coiled in your gut, eager to snap. He caught your need and braced his rhythm. Angling for your spasming sweet spot while demanding an answer with a growl.
"N-No one— no one ever will," you whined. Burning bliss thrummed through you as you unravelled on his unfaltering cock. His name stained your tongue.
"It's yours. I'm yours, Sukuna."
He swallowed your babble with hellfire consuming your lips. His mouth crashed on yours and muffled his groaning, "again", as his thrusts grew wilder. Rougher. As if he came in here with a ribbon of restraint that tore with your wet release. He never could control himself around you.
It was in his ragged thrusts. In his blown out pupils. In the slithered tongue that shoved down your throat and drank your moans and whimpers from the source.
It was in these moments that the king became a devotee. Three hands set to work. One squishing the fat of your ass between his finger gaps, another palming on your breast squished to the futon while the last slipped between your plush thighs and trapped your throbbing clit under his thumb.
"You're supposed to be mine," he growled as he withdrew with strings of spit from your lips to his elongated tongue.
His thumb cruelly circled your twitching bud, as if punishing every nerve for the love he would lose. He hissed.
"Mine. My bride."
Rage bled into his hips and the head of his cock that perfectly pounded into your cervix. Tenderising the sensitive opening until your whimpers stained his lips. Claws curled in your hair and shoved your face back into the pillow.
"You feel that? Feel me in your little cervix?" He hammered harder. Your moans choked and crumbled. "Maybe I should make that mine too? Fill you up with my seed and breed this pretty cunt as mine."
His pace peaked with the fantasy. Staggering to a sinful crescendo as he littered bruises to the backs of your thighs and fisted on your hair.
Your mewls were messy. Bleeding into his name, into pleads for more as he raced to give you just that. Turning into the erratic beast that you called your lover.
He only faltered when you clenched, and a husked laugh rumbled from the back of his throat. Swooping down, his lips smooched your ear the same way his cockhead slathered your insides. "You like that?" His grin was a threat, a promise, and you squeezed in response. "The thought of being bred by Ryomen Sukuna? What would your— fuck— clan think?"
You couldn't answer. Your mouth parted in a soundless scream as he shoved to the hilt and ferally bucked into your suffocating heat. Splattering slick all over your thighs and futon. Evidence of your betrayal to the place you call clan.
Sparks flooded your spine and you clawed on the sheets as two knuckles ensnared your clit. Grinding and rubbing on the sensitive bud to weed out your pathetic little sounds.
"Answer me." He sneered.
And in the depths of your pleasurable despair, you could only creep your hand back. With trembling fingers and your heart in your palm.
Sukuna faltered for the second time that night.
Here he was, fucking you into your futon and spraying your sweet juices everywhere— claiming you as his the night before your wedding. Like a monster stealing away a bride.
And still, all you wanted was to hold his hand.
"Fuck." He shattered. Claws slipping between your fingers as he engulfed your smaller hand and pinned it to the bed. Hunching over you with heated moans pouring into your ear as a bicep hooked around your throat.
His face buried into your shoulder with his sweat-stricken tuffs tickling your neck. "I don't care what they think. Your my bride. My wife."
That dreary rumble tittered on a whine and your tummy looped. Only you could ruin the King of Curses like this.
"And you'll take my seed like a good bride, won't you? Let me breed you as mine," he huffed, broken. "Not some useless human's. But mine. Huh?"
"Please." You wept. "Please I only want you. Only want your cum."
He joined your whimpers. He poured all his strength into the brutal strokes of his cock and the endless pounds of his hips. Wet slaps and splatters echoed through your chambers together with your symphonies of sin. You're certain the guards have already heard. Not that you cared. Let them dare to enter your room while you're keening for the monster they fear.
"What was that?" He grunted. "Say it again. Say it."
As if his hammering could get any heavier. In that moment, you shattered under the pain and pleasure of your bruising cervix and wanton mind.
"Please Sukuna!" Clan be damned. Let them hear your cry. "Please make— hngh— please m-make me yours. Please breed me. Make me your bride," your babbles were incoherent, but he heard loud and clear.
Your wish was his command.
His spine hunched over, his bicep squeezing on your throat and nudging your head to him as his shallow thrusts turned into animalistic ruts. Slamming into you over, and over, until the coil in your tummy snapped and your cunt throbbed— before it squeezed the life out of him.
You didn't cum. You squirted. Sprayed your juices on his barrelling cock until he was belting out a feral groan and spilling hot, thick ropes deep into your milking pussy.
"Fuck," he muffled his whine with his lips shoved onto yours. Teeth knocking and tongues tangling as he rode out your high into pitiful, desperate grinds of both of your hips.
Sukuna toppled over you. His weight squished you into the futon and you whined through your heated pants, but nuzzled into his muscled arm that became your pillow. Heat spilled from your stomach, between your legs and into the haze of relief. Of being his. Of being safe.
The silence weighed like a blanket and you considered sleep under his comfortable weight. Nothing could touch you while you were here. Anything that dared would fall dead before it tried.
"Dirty girl."
His rumble on your shoulder drew a weary smile to your lips. He mouthed up your neck and limped his larger head onto yours. "Your clan would kill you if they saw you now."
You huffed a laugh and nudged your head closer to his, sighing into the caress of his lips on your shoulder. "Would you let them touch your bride?"
He grunted into your temple and squeezed three arms around you. Insulted by your insinuation. Or amused.
"They'll never touch my queen." Warmth slipped to your stomach, cradled and comforted.
your best friend geto looks like he's been accosted. eyes wide, jaw slack, face all but screwed up in surprise at the words that have just come out of your mouth. what was it you said you were reading about? triple penetration? he might pass out.
you can't help but laugh at the look he's giving you. "what? you didn't watch porn when you were still a virgin?"
without warning, he snatches your phone right out of your hand and squints at the screen. "my porn was tasteful," he tsks. "this is... uncouth."
"uncouth?" you try to take back your phone, just for him to roll over in bed and hold it out of reach. you're half on top of him in seconds, clawing at his bulky arm. "give it back!"
"what is dac..." he stifles a laugh at the way you try so desperately for your archive of erotica. "...dacryphilia?"
"you don't know? what, no game? no hoes? bitches?"
"i manage, thank you," he rolls the both of you over and pins you down against the mattress, which has your breath hitching in your throat for some reason. it makes him smirk like a fucking idiot. "what, nervous?"
no... yes? you don't know. suguru has never made you feel nervous... jittery, maybe. you'd use nauseous, in both the good and bad way. sometimes he gives you this look that makes you feel like you have food poisoning. your body seems to react to him at the extreme.
you've always been touchy with each other. your friendship has been physical since day one—if you aren't touching, you're not in the same room. it's just how it's always been, a hand on his arm as you walk together, or his arm around your shoulders when you're seated. it's... normal. familiar.
so this —suguru pinning you down by the wrists, his long black hair falling down to tunnel your vision right onto that pretty face of his—probably shouldn't get you this wet.
or wet at all, really.
"tears," you say, for some fucking reason. "dacryphilia, it's crying, or making someone cry. like being overstimulated, or... humiliated, to the point of tears. or just crying for the sake of it."
geto looks down at you, and you try not to watch the muscles of his arms bulge as he keeps you locked beneath him. "i know."
you frown. "you know?"
"i just wanted to hear you try and explain it," he laughs. "fucking pervert."
"i'm going to kill you slowly," you wriggle beneath him. "get off me, suguru."
"or what? you'll cry? i think you're into that..." he teases, and manages to shift both of your wrists into one hand so that he can reach for your phone again. he thumbs it open and resumes your 'history' tab with a shit-eating grin. "virginity loss... best friends to lovers... size kink... corruption... breeding ? really?"
"shut the fuck up," you hiss. you buck your hips up, not to throw him off—because you can admit he's bigger, heavier and a whole lot stronger than you are—but out of pure frustration. except your movement only presses you tighter against where his thighs cage your hips, and you freeze. you think something pathetic leaves your lips, but you can't quite hear yourself over the mortification bubbling up in your chest.
"oh?" he notices, of course.you want to claw his stupid handsome face off. "don't tell me this is working for you."
"it's not," you snap. "you are so fucking full of yourself, geto."
"suguru," he corrects you. "say it properly. and by the look on your face right now i'd wager that you'd rather be the one full of me."
god you hate him sometimes. "embarrassing me isn't funny."
"it's a little funny."
"fuck you."
"you look like you'd love to," he lowers his hips a little, and for the first time in your life, you feel the weight of a rock-hard cock pressing against you. "tell me to stop and i will. we can go get food or something, forget this happened."
the switch in tone from teasing to gentle makes you smile, which makes keeping up the disgruntled act a lot harder. the thought of verbalising your need right now makes you nauseous, so you opt instead for a shake of your head.
"great," he nods, and slowly releases your wrists. "you can take that back whenever you want, just tell me and i'll back off."
"what are you..." you're cut off when suguru hands you your phone back with a scrunched up nose.
"read it," he says. "out loud. if you stop, i stop."
you're confused only until you check your screen and see that geto has opened up one of your most recently read pieces and scrolled down to a rather graphic scene of the main character being eaten out by her best friend. it's a little ironic, considering the state you're in, but you can't bring yourself to be embarrassed when your own best friend is kissing down your stomach and hooking his fingers under the waistband of your shorts.
he's going to go down on you? but he's hard, and for as much porn as you've read, most of it depicts the guy taking what he wants.
"aren't you going to... you know? fuck me?"
your shorts and panties are pulled down in one swift movement, and suguru buries his face in your thigh to stifle his laugh. his body shakes with the force of it, which makes you frown. your pussy is a few inches from his face, and he's laughing like the prospect of taking your virginity is funny.
"you couldn't take me," he smiles up at you. "now read."
suddenly self-conscious, you try clamp your thighs shut, just to (once again) find yourself pinned down by his strong arms. "this is weird," you whine. "you're my... i mean we... you know? friends. best friends ."
holding eye contact, suguru slowly lowers himself down to press a chaste kiss to your clit. it's not much contact, but it makes you jolt nonetheless. doesn't feel like how you had imagined it when you'd lay in bed late at night with your nose in a book and your hand between your legs. this is... better. feels right.
"still weird?" he asks, to which you nod without really meaning it. "weird like your porn on that phone?"
"suguru i swear to god if you don't—oh my god."
you forgive that man for all of the teasing he'd one as soon as he gets to work on you. flattening out his tongue against your pussy and tasting you for the first time has him already grinding against the mattress, and has you squeezing your eyes shut as you try to process this new realm of pleasure. you're glad he doesn't tease you for being so wet, but that he instead uses it to his advantage and starts making an even bigger mess of you.
his lips latch around your clit for only a few seconds. he hollows out your cheeks and you think you might die with how overwhelming the sensation is, but it's over all too soon. geto pulls back to do two things:
one, tie his hair out of his face, and two, tell you to start reading.
not wanting to miss out on these newfound pleasures of the flesh , you unlock your phone and start on a random spot on the screen, your voice a lot more shaky than you want it to be.
" he, uh... he ducks down and licks a stripe from entrance to clit, collecting... collecting her wetness on his tongue and falling in love with the taste of her enjoyments. "
suguru, suddenly good at following instructions, does as written and leads his tongue upwards. you moan at the contact, but notice suguru starting to pull away at your lack of reading, so you go on.
"she loves the way he feels. he kisses her, uh, sweet center, before continuing to use his tongue to toy with her."
you can feel suguru smiling against you. "sweet center?" he laughs, but continues his ministries nonetheless. you roll your eyes, this has been a lot better of a read when your brain was fogged with unsated need. longing for the man that is now between your legs.
"growing messy, his focus shifts to her clit. his tongue dances with the bud of nerves as he brings two fingers of his left hand, ring and all, and pushes them inside of her. curling upwards until she—"
"is that what you want?" suguru cuts you off.
"yeah, yes. i think. just go slow."
"keep reading."
you clear your throat as suguru starts tracing circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue. he looks a little silly doing that, you note as you glance down to enjoy the view for a moment, but god does it feel good.
"curling upwards until she's an ecstatic mess of fulfilled wants. he completes her, in both soul and now flesh. fills her with his fingers in preparation for his—oh god, suguru, right there."
you hadn't even noticed him pushing into you, you were that eager to feel more of him. his fingers curl up as described in your reading material and suddenly he's brushing over a spot you've never discovered on your own. it blurs your vision, sends your skin hot.
"can't.. can't read anymore," you whine, bucking your hips up in some masochistic need for more. anything bigger than this and you'd keel over, you think, but you'd take anything suguru was willing to give you. "gonna—"
he allows it. encourages it, even. quickens his pace on the fingers plunging in and out of you, and starts making out with your pussy like a drunken virgin would. it's good in a way that shouldn't be: messy and needy and you think perhaps that suguru is just as close to coming as you are.
your orgasm is intense. your back arching off the bed and your body trying hopelessly to get more of sugurus touch. you think you moan his name, though it could be a babbled string of 'i love you's that you'll refuse to acknowledge later on in hopes that giving you head wasn't enough to ruin your friendship.
suguru moans loudly against your pussy as he tastes your release, the vibrations no help for your sensitivity, but his hips are stuttering against the mattress and you can tell even through your haze that you've made the cocky idiot cum in his pants.
serves him right.
and because the two of you are friends before you are... whatever this is, the both of you are falling into a fit of laughter upon your comedowns. suguru's lips glisten and your chest heaves with each breath you take, and he's climbing up the bed to press a kiss to your cheek.
"better than reading about it?" he asks.
"nope," you grin, which earns you a mean look that soon gives way to another laugh from him. "you could do it again some time if you wanted, though."
"please. i want to find out what skills you've picked up reading all of that weird shit." he pulls you into his arms and, despite being a little sweaty, you find yourself melting comfortably into his embrace.
"you couldn't keep up with me," you sing-song.
"yeah? try me."
"ever heard of male sounding? whip it out, sugu."
"ha. shut the fuck up."
this is a repost from my old account. still me tho i did not #steal this
this is a repost from my old account. still me tho i did not #steal this
꒷꒦pairing꒦꒷ serial killer!Gojo x detective fem!reader
꒷꒦cw꒦꒷ NSFW, 18+ MDNI—(oh boy, here we go) modern AU, angst and smut and despair, explicit sexual content, graphic depictions of death and torture, so much blood (it's messy), moral quandaries, mentions of sexual assault, stalking, abduction, drugging, plotting & betrayal, heavy on the dub-con, mind fucking/breaking, choking (out hehe), slapping, knife play, (very) inappropriate use of firearms, dirty talk (threats count as dirty talk right?), 'make it fit' trope (big dick nerd mmm), fingering, face fucking, unprotected piv sex, creampie, sex with a dead body in the room, p0rn with a dose of murderous plot, obsessive and possessive and very yandere nerd gojo, he's a walking red flag and reader is kind of a freak as usual.
꒷꒦summary꒦꒷ the nerd in forensics has always been on your radar. everything about him is too crafted to be genuine. so you've always got your eye on gojo. the same can be said for him, but he’s just watching your back! you have a nasty habit of getting stalked by people who definitely aren't him. but it's mutually beneficial. you don't get murdered by the scorned, ex-con stalkers you've put away, and gojo gets another killer to bleed dry. you really are perfect for each other. but things are going off the rails this time around, and you finally see gojo for what he truly is. maybe you should have stopped looking so hard, but it's too late for maybe now.
꒷꒦a/n꒦꒷ this got out of hand so fast wow, but Dexter and Gojo? i couldn't stop, so now this is fat and absolutely filthy. it's still kinktober tho, right?┃art in the header by @/savoryjump on insta, dividers by @/cafekitsune, @/anitalerina, and @/sister-lucifer ꒷꒦w/c꒦꒷ 17.5k (holy shit, i swear its worth it T_T)
All the usual familiar faces greeted Gojo as he strolled out from the elevator, a box in one hand and a sugary coffee in a to-go cup from the cafe just down the block.
He flashed a smile, crooked and charming and with a few more teeth than typical for him at 8 AM, but he couldn’t help it. Gojo was in a great mood. How could he not be? He not only did the department a huge favor last night, but Tokyo as a whole.
“Good morning, Gojo!” A freshly promoted officer greeted him, wide-eyed and eager. Her uniform pressed, bright blue hair tied back in a neat ponytail, and a folder in hand as she walked through the open glass doors. “The lab had the results ready for that hair sample. I brought it up with me, figured I could save you the trip down!” She held the folder up in one hand with a smile as she kept pace with him.
Gojo glanced her way as he stopped to let a few people grab a pastry from the pastel pink box in his hand. They greeted him with distracted murmurs, eyeing the box for a favorite.
She was a new face around the department, and Gojo was already a little poor at keeping track of names. It’s one of the few things that made him both feel a little more human, and somehow even more removed from normalcy. It was a flaw, one of many, but in a different way than most of his. He should remember names; being remembered makes people feel a personal connection, like they matter. It disarms them.
When Gojo smiled at her, he made sure it reached his eyes, coming off warmer and more genuine that way. “That was very thoughtful of you, thank you. But, uh,” He glanced up towards the desks, a few still empty with officers and detectives off duty or having not arrived yet, and gestured to one with the hand holding his coffee. “I’m not the one to do any favors for. That’s who you should probably be grabbing paperwork for.”
Right on time—no, you'd have been there for at least an hour if he gauged the time by how your desk was littered with folders and a few open boxes. Your head propped up on one hand as your eyes darted up and down from your monitor to a page. Maybe you pulled another all-nighter, you were in different clothes, but they were already rumpled like you’d been in that fitted button-down for a few hours already. Critical and sharp eyes a little tired. But that’s how it always was when you were on the precipice of a break, especially on a case as big as the one he knew you were working on.
“The sergeant?” Officer whats-her-face asked, looking from you to Gojo again. “She didn’t want any help, I already asked.” She said sheepishly, and Gojo’s smile got a little wider.
“Yeah, that sounds like her.”
You grabbed a mug off your desk and took a sip, eyes glued to the screen for a long moment with the ceramic pressed to your lips. After taking in the same two sentences on the witness statement over and over until they blurred, you blinked, broke from the screen, and locked eyes with Gojo.
As if it's a reflex your body made the very moment you registered his presence; your eyes narrowed and your grip tightened on the mug. You looked him up and down fully, not an ounce of shame or hesitation in your sweeping gaze. You weren’t checking him out though; you were putting him under a microscope.
Like you could see the blood still on his hands, spattered on his face, and dripping from his hair if you looked hard enough. Like maybe he’d finally crack under the weight, and a piece of his mask would fall away if you cut through him with piercing eyes.
It happened every day, at the same time, no matter what, Gojo Satoru walked into your department with an effortless air of confidence surrounding him. There was always a smile on his face, sometimes it was small and seemed a little tired, his eyes distant, like his head was stuck somewhere else. Some days, he walked in like he was a fucking god. Wearing a smug grin like he’d won the ultimate prize in life, his unnaturally bright blue eyes satisfied and easy.
Always wearing some lame ass button down, untucked like he couldn’t be bothered. Sometimes—like today—he’d grace the collar with a loosely knotted tie. Looking like a university student showing up to their first job interview, an attempt at professionalism that missed the mark and landed somewhere in nerdy frat boy cosplaying a salaryman. His platinum hair pushed back a little, just a few strands falling back down on his forehead like he didn’t use product to hold it.
He was messy in a way that came off as endearing. Like he was just the nerd in forensics, appearances weren’t important, so he threw whatever on and stopped at the bakery down the block for assorted pastries that definitely were just random, it was chance that he somehow got everyone’s favorite treat every time.
He really was so likable too, maybe that’s what really pissed you off the most. He was generally nice, helpful, and smart—one of the best in his field. He was funny, and thoughtful, a little goofy, but it balanced out because he was infuriatingly good looking on top of it all.
You outranked him, but you were tilting your head back to make eye contact when he gave you a briefing at a crime scene. You’ve had to snap yourself out of it and yank your eyes off him when he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up over forearms roped with a little too much muscle for a nerd and flexed long fingers into blue latex gloves.
It was all a little too effortless for him; he was crafted in a way that seemed literal. Like the pieces of him were put together to disarm, to appease, and fit in, and keep people from pulling back a curtain and looking any deeper.
But you clocked it a long time ago. It seemed like overcompensation, and you started digging, especially when you were promoted to sergeant, and that’s when you saw the first crack.
Gojo had a habit of engaging in extracurricular activities.
A few hair samples here, a blood analysis there, print matching galore, and none of it tied to a case number.
When you confronted him about it, he covered so quickly and perfectly, all you could hear was a hammer cracking down the final nail in his coffin.
"Blah blah blah, data to support the arguments in a collaboration piece for a geeky magazine, it’s probably not your thing but it’ll be out in a few weeks if you really want to read it. You interested? Seems like it.”
It was the perfect mix of authenticity and teasing, a perfect explanation delivered with a smirk at the end that twisted the spotlight back onto you instead. Like you’d only be interested in one thing, and it didn’t involve advancements in DNA testing.
You’d crossed your arms, looked down your nose at him, and told him to notify you before putting lab work through without a case number, and if it happened again, you’d write him up for it.
“Yes, ma’am.” He winked with a mocking salute, like he loved it. Loved the way your nostrils flared at his insubordination and your glare at his smile that feigned innocence on the surface to hide something monstrous and sadistic lurking just beneath.
You could see it, though, and from then on, you had your eye on him.
Gojo nodded your way, smiling like he wanted your eyes on him, like he enjoyed having your sights set on him, the challenge of being in your crosshairs and getting away with it.
He strolled right up to your desk with a, “Morning, sarge!” You leaned back in your chair, your eyes staying trained on his through his thick prescription lenses, the black frames low on the bridge of his nose. “I think they threw your favorite in again, want something glazed to start the day?” He said slyly as he offered out the box, but he knew you’d decline, you always did.
“No, what I really want is the full report on the head hunter vic from yesterday.” You responded flatly, your mouth set in a hard straight line. Your eyes flicked behind him. “Kasumi, you’re coming with Nanami and I to verify the statement from the witness yesterday, something isn’t right here.” You murmured, gesturing vaguely at your screen.
“Yes ma’am! When do you want to leave?” The blue haired girl immediately jumped to action, coming up beside Gojo to address you.
“Help Gojo with his paperwork and then we’ll leave, his hands look a little full.” You looked right at him, the words curt and clipped and he grinned right back.
“Awe, thanks sarge, always so thoughtful.” Gojo's head cocked. Your eyes narrowed.
“Mm.”
“Good luck with your witness.” His smile grew by a fraction and your eyes flitted over his frame quickly once, cataloguing every bit of him before he nodded again, and turned to head to his lab. The new officer followed behind, file in hand.
The witness wouldn’t lead anywhere. None of your efforts would ever lead anywhere, not after last night.
The latest victim's head was the last trophy that sick freak would be taking. In a twist of something that Satoru likes to quantify as justice or maybe karmic retribution, but was really just Satoru making things a little more personal for the guy, a cleaver glinted as he pulled it from his kit, and hacked the killers own stuttering head off.
Who’s a fucking trophy now?
But his work is hardly over, it never is. The satisfaction only lasts for so long before hunger comes creeping back in. It all works out though because once again, and all thanks to you and your pretty face that can never keep out of trouble, tonight's the night.
A long moment passed within which you burned holes into Gojo’s back as he wound around the other desks, in absolutely no rush as he chatted around with others setting up for the day. Offering out the box of confections like he was fucking Santa Claus or some shit.
He could feel your eyes glued to him, and it just made him drag it all out more. He couldn’t help but like that you paid so much attention to him, because it just proved that he really was the best at what he did. Having you watching his every move and still getting away with it?
God damn, Gojo was good.
“You’re staring,” Nanami’s murmur yanked your attention off of Gojo as he and Kasumi moved on and headed to the lab set to the rear of the department floor. You glanced sidelong at your partner, his arms crossed, biceps straining at the blue cotton weave of his dress shirt. “It’s not polite.”
You scoffed, “Just keeping tabs on the department. Are you ready to go? Kasumi is coming with once she’s done in the geek hole.”
“Mhm, do you really think it’s worth it to redo the witness statement?” Nanami cocked his head, and you swiveled your chair a little to face him. “She seemed quite frazzled yesterday. I doubt it’ll be much different now.”
“We have to try,” You sighed, “But even if we just clean it up and get a consistent statement out of her, it’s worth it. Everything has to be perfect to nail this guy, you know that.” The chair squeaked as you leaned forward. “I’m not letting that L’Oréal ad of a defense lawyer fuck this up because of an inconsistency if that hair sample doesn’t pan out.”
“You’re right, but don’t let this consume you. You won’t be any help running on shitty coffee and konbini food instead of sleep.” Nanami raised a brow, his soft hazel eyes studying your face, the rings under your eyes that you know have deepened after an almost full 24 hours at the precinct. “You sacrifice too much on cases like this.”
“We’re so close. DNA and a witness? The perp is getting sloppy; this is our shot to catch up and finally nail the sick fuck.” Nanami visibly tensed, a slight grimace passing over his features. It’s been almost a full year of finding body after body, once beautiful young women violated and left posed with their hands splayed out where their heads used to be, a polaroid of their sleeping faces where the real thing once was. The heads of each never recovered.
“It can’t happen again. I can’t see another one like that, Kento, it’s just… you know.” You swallowed hard, and your shoulders slumped. Not defeat, you’d never accept that, just… tired. Tired of the same scene and little to nothing to show for it.
“I know.” Nanami said softly. His hands dropped, one went to a pocket of his grey slacks, the other thumbing the edge of a file on your desk. He cleared his throat, and changed the topic. “Are you thinking she lied? The witness.”
“It’s more likely that she wasn’t thinking straight, but it’s not out of the question. Why though?” You hummed, taking a breath. “I’m not sure.”
“Coercion?”
“From the perp?” Your brow furrowed, and you hummed low again. “Why would he have even left her alive? If she saw identifying features, it’d make more sense to kill her, and he’s definitely not the type to show mercy.”
“Maybe it’s to throw us off,” Nanami countered, pushing your gears to start turning harder. “Lead us on some goose chase with a mismatched description.”
“Like… maybe he’s trying to set someone up?” Your jaw worked, and you stole a glance at the window to the lab. “We’ve never found DNA, and now we find a hair? Shit.”
“You think it’s all just for a setup?”
Your chair screeched back, and you practically leaped from your seat. “What if he’s trying to make a getaway? It’s all way too coincidental.”
“Kasumi!” You called, storming off towards the lab, gaining a few turned heads. “Hustle up, we’re leaving!” Nanami groaned, slinging his jacket over an arm and following towards the lab. You threw a look over your shoulder at him. “Oh, what? She’s just doddling now, we have shit to do.”
“You need some sleep, you’re doing that thing again.”
“What are you talking about? What thing?”
“The one where volume control goes out the window.”
The second statement from your witness turned up nothing new, as you had kind of expected, but you noticed something off about her this time around. She was nervous. Her story was straighter this time around, and she cleaned up details about the events, rescinding contradictory bits and pieces until the statement was airtight.
She was treating it almost like an alibi. Like there was something to prove. It just didn’t sit right with you, but she was a witness, not a suspect. Sure, you could have brought her back to the station and set her in an interrogation room and grilled her with Nanami until something came of it, but you had a feeling that nothing would come of it besides a burst of tears and a firm reminder about proper witness treatment from the inspector.
It was the last thing you needed, so you gave a slight bow, and left. Going around in circles with Nanami in the car, Kasumi surprised you a little by chiming in nervously every so often from the back. She was new, inexperienced, but getting fresh and eager eyes on tired information never hurts.
But again, as expected, nothing new really came of it. Just that the shift from uncertainty about the features on the figure she saw to absolution, seemed suspicious. But then again, the shock of seeing a dead body—a headless one at that—makes much aside from that difficult to remember. Maybe she was just recalling things more clearly now with time given to get thoughts together.
Maybe you were looking for loose threads to pull where none had come free. But then again, that’s what made you good at your job. And maybe sometimes a little much.
Fuck, you hated this shit sometimes. There really was no winning.
Back at the precinct, Nanami told you he’d deal with the inspector, and to go home. You didn’t have the energy to argue, not much at least. So, you tidied up your desk a little and told him you’d be back after a shower and a catnap, and to make sure the geeks had a match on the hair sample by the time you got back.
As you grabbed a couple folders to take home for some light reading, your eyes gravitated towards the lab. Window unobscured with the blinds up, you saw Gojo working away at something involving the high-powered microscope. The lights dimmed slightly, and the bluish glow from his monitor cast a hue over his pale, defined features. Platinum hair shone silver, pushed back and held up by his glasses.
He frowned at whatever he was observing, slim pale brows upturned. He pulled back, biting his lip a little and studying the slide under the microscope like it would give him more information if he scrutinized it with eyes whose blue you swore could only be found on butterflies or flowers or tropical ocean waters.
Even his appearance was an enigma to you. But the perplexed look made him look kind of normal. Like even the perfect boy-wonder Gojo Satoru could be mystified by something.
You're hard on him. Maybe, just maybe, sometimes a little too hard. Sure, he was a weirdo, and he set off the feeling in your gut that only screamed at you when you were in the vicinity of something dangerous. But he'd never done anything solidly wrong. Just gave you glimpses of things that could glint at something more sinister, but you never saw that.
You've been looking for something, chasing something, that you had no hard proof existed. Maybe all that darkness you felt emanating from him, hanging around him like a cloud, maybe it was all just like… depression, or something. You’d been there before, hiding behind a mask to keep up appearances. Hell, you were feeling something similar now.
The bodies lately, the sobbing families, mothers who had to be told they'd outlive their daughters. Daughters who had whole, beautiful lives ahead of them, stolen by some psychopath who collected pretty faces framed by dark hair.
You'd been doing that a lot lately. Second-guessing yourself and your instincts. There had been too many cases like this one, where it just went on for too long. Some of them solved, the killers brought down and served up on a silver scale to the judicial system to lay down proper punishment. Something you felt could be harsher based on the horrors you've witnessed, but didn't contest because what else could you do? You'd done your job.
Some of them though, they haunted you. The killing stopped, the MO never picked up again, and it was like the killers just… vanished. You were grateful for that at least, but it meant they moved on. Got away with it, and were maybe even in another prefecture to play boogeyman there.
Your gut was usually bang on, but you've been wrong before. Maybe, just maybe, could you be wrong about Gojo?
The man in the lab rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, pinching the bridge of his nose before pulling his glasses back down to sit there, and looking up through the window.
You didn't look away; you met his immense blue gaze head-on just as you always did.
He smiled with a few too many teeth, waved once, and winked at you. Long pale lashes brushing a high cheekbone in a single flick that set your teeth on edge. It screamed, ‘I know something you don't.’
Nah.
There was something seriously wrong with this motherfucker.
The files dropped to your desk with a soft thud, and you marched toward the lab.
Gojo traded out the scrap of fabric under his microscope for a clear, flat slide with a print, and tucked the scrap in a drawer. He hit two keys on his computer, the monitor switched quickly to the DLC database, the page set to a window waiting for scanned print information to be input. Just in time for you to fling the door open without knocking.
“Hey, sarge. How'd it go with that witness?” Gojo asked as you stood in the doorway, crossing your arms under your chest. Practically squishing your tits together and shoving them in his face. Cleavage peeked from the buttons undone on your shirt, but Gojo was a perfect gentleman and kept his eyes on yours.
You ignored his question and asked your own instead. Your eyes narrowed and already unimpressed as you looked him over, sitting hands in his lap. “Did you pull any matches from that hair sample?”
“It'll be hard, I know, but try to contain yourself.” Gojo grinned, turning slightly to snatch up a folder off a pile beside his monitor. “I not only got a match, but the guy is a real piece of work too.” You swiped it right out of his hand as he turned back to you, frowning as you flipped the front open to look for yourself. “Got sentenced to fifteen years on two counts of aggravated assault, rape, and abduction. The girls survived, but they matched the descriptions for the head hunter victims. Guess he escalated things once he got out of prison.”
“Served seven years and out on good behavior, my fucking ass.” You murmured, eyes darting around as you flipped through. Gojo hummed in agreement. “Fuck me, he matches the witness description too.”
“Oh? Well, let's hope he's still in town.” Gojo chirped, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forward a little. Reading through the file, you were distracted and Gojo let his eyes glide over you fully once. Slow, appreciative.
God, you looked fucking great. Smart and sharp as a tack. That shirt hugged your tits perfectly, and he knew the moment you turned to walk out the door, he'd get a great view of your ass. Lips pushed together in concentration as you studied the pages, he wondered not for the first time what they'd look like in an ‘o’ with a moan spilling out. Your service weapon holstered at your hip made you deadly on top of it all.
Truly the perfect little package. Gojo almost felt guilty for deceiving you so much. But he didn’t.
What you didn't need to know, was that the piece of shit rapist he just handed to you, had absolutely nothing to do with all those headless girls.
But he was going to take the fall for it regardless. It all just kind of fell into his lap. Why not get attention off the real killer currently in nine pieces at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, get another scumbag thrown back in jail, and land you win with a huge case finally closed?
The witness was easy to convince, planting the DNA was a joke, he had early and backstage access to the scene, and bam! The perfect crime committed once again.
He was practically a fucking hero.
Well, maybe that's a stretch. Vigilante? Lame.
He was fucking good at this. That's what he was.
“How long have you had this ready?” You set a hard look on Gojo and he hummed.
“Maybe… an hour?”
“Why am I just now seeing it?” You snapped, shutting the file and crossing your arms once again. “I've been right there for fifteen minutes.”
Gojo’s jaw set, barely a clench.
That was one thing you were. You were so fucking ungrateful. But you were oblivious to all he did for you, so he couldn't be upset.
Maybe one day you'd see, but that day wasn't here yet. You weren't quite ready to accept whatever Gojo was.
Definitely not, actually.
“Sorry, sarge. I've been kinda busy in here.” Gojo shrugged, and you outright glared.
“With what? What could possibly be more important than a suspect on this case?”
“Um… the five other homicides on my plate?” Gojo said slowly, as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet. Knowing full well he was just pushing buttons now.
You scoffed. “Check your priorities, because you're wrong about that, Gojo.” Your arms dropped, and you put a hand on his desk, leaning into his space and boring your eyes into his. “If we're too late and this fucker gets away because of your time management skills, I'll make sure that goes in the report, got it?”
You wouldn’t be too late. He wasn’t going to get away because he wan’t even running. He had no idea what was coming for him. But Gojo feigned being sheepish and apologetic because he guessed that in your eyes, he fucked up.
“Sorry, sarge, it won't happen again.”
Your eyes took a slow trip down and back up over him, looking for something but not finding it, so you removed yourself from his personal space. Not that he minded you there. “Better not.”
“I'll just give you a call next time.” He drawled, a lazy smirk on his lips as he slung an arm over the back of his chair.
“Mm, please do.” It looked like it killed you to say those words, so you added a light, "That's what the damn thing is for after all.”
“You’re so right.” Gojo crossed a leg over the other, and cocked his head. “I’ll be sure it gets put to good use.”
You didn’t say anything else, just took the folder, turned on a heel, and gave Gojo a great view of your ass as you marched out, leaving the door open. He sighed, pulling out the fabric from the drawer he’d stuffed it in to resume his side work.
God damn, you were so much work. But he always lived for a challenge. And he could take the backtalk and the pressure you loved to put him under when you served him up guys like Zenin Naoya almost like a sacrifice, he’d take anything you threw at him.
It was absolutely perfect. You put the Zenin guy away for a few years on some assault charges, and a grudge was born. No, something deeper than a grudge, like a personal vendetta. Something strong enough that he’d want to make you pay for ‘ruining his life.’
Fucking unacceptable. That the piece of shit would ever think he had the right or even could come close to you, take you for himself, hurt you. Gojo already had some… mildly violent tendencies, and something about the thought of another person, another man putting his hands on you just made the red he saw even bloodier.
He’d never get the opportunity to get close to you. Not with Gojo around, he would always make sure of that. The Zenin worm would be in bags at the bottom of the Pacific before the sun rose.
Gojo glanced up through the window. You were talking with Nanami, flipping through the file as he looked from you to the turning pages.
Nanami was… fine. He was a good guy, he looked out for you—not that you’d ever need anyone but Gojo for that. He wasn’t a cop, he couldn’t be your partner out in the field or anything, so Nanami was probably the best of all the options you had. He just didn’t like the way Nanami looked at you sometimes. A little too lingering. A little more than just friendly affection in his eyes.
It was fine though. Nanami could be your partner in the field; he could help you with cases in the traditional sense—he was definitely that kind of guy anyway—but he could never do everything that Gojo did for you.
Nobody could ever do what Gojo did for you.
The neighborhood was near empty, typical for—Gojo pulled the sleeve on his shirt back enough to check his watch—10 PM. Cars lined the sides of the street, all your neighbors were home and settling in for the night, but not you, though. You’d likely be out at the precinct all night again thanks to the suspect you picked up earlier.
How perfect was that timing? Almost like someone planned it all.
A familiar car pulled up, and Gojo watched as it parked a few spots up from him. Gojo had everything ready for tonight. He had all he needed confirmed to finally act, and you’d be gone all night.
It was perfect. A nice night for this, too. Cool enough that it wasn't too hot with a beanie covering his distinct and immediately recognizable hair. Left his glasses at home in favor of contacts in case of a brawl because he could never be too prepared.
Naoya would wait around for a bit, but being the impatient little fuck he was, he’d get bored once he realized you wouldn't be home and head to his usual spot; an izakaya a few minutes away, and get obliterated.
Tonight was the night, and everything was perfect.
Gojo couldn't help but smile a little as he took a long sip of an iced matcha latte, letting the sweetness of extra vanilla syrup roll over his tongue, savoring it. He usually would save a sweet treat for afterwards, but he just had to get a little something for the stakeout.
The driver door on the Zenin creeps car opened, and out stepped the worm himself, glancing around as he tucked something in the waistband of his pants behind him. Gojo’s smile dropped instantly.
What the fuck was he doing?
The door shut, and Naoya made his way up the street towards your house. A scowl pulled Gojo’s mouth down, and he jammed the drink back in a cupholder. He gripped the wheel to keep his hands occupied and off the door handle. The creep was about to break in. He was going to wait for you inside your house.
The thought made Gojo’s skin crawl; it made him yearn and itch to go knock the ugly fucker out right then and there before he had a chance to get into your space, to touch your belongings. But Gojo reminded himself with a breath that you’d be gone tonight. That it would be fine, and Naoya would get bored of waiting quickly and give up once he realized it was pointless to hang around. He would just come back another night.
Too bad he wouldn’t get another night.
It was fine. Seeing Naoya stalk around the side of your house and disappear from view, it kind of made him want to grab the hunting knife from his kit and slit the wormy fuck groin to sternum and gut him like the animal he was, but Gojo took another long and cooling sip from the iced sugary drink and reminded himself that it was fine.
It was the perfect night. He had it all planned down to a tee; one little setback wouldn't put the whole thing off course.
Gojo sat for an hour in his car, and Naoya stayed put in your house. He was more annoyed than seething at that point; he really wanted to hurry this up. It was the second night in a row he’d been out hunting, and he was running on fumes and sucrose and the warm, metallic stain he could still feel as it spattered his lips.
As he was about to check his watch again, headlights beamed in his side mirror. His eyes went to them immediately, knowing it was likely just a passerby using the residential area as a shortcut or—
He jerked upright in his seat.
What the fuck were you doing here?
This was wrong. You weren’t supposed to be here. Why the fuck weren’t you still at the precinct? It was barely past 11 PM. If you were going home to change, he knew that wouldn’t happen until the early hours of the morning. So what the hell were you doing?
He didn't have time to analyze the why. You pulled into the spot right in front of your gate, and your car shut off. You were about to step right into the trap Naoya had set in your house. He had to do something, and fast. You couldn’t see him here, though, how the fuck was he supposed to do this?
God, you were so much fucking work. And of course, you couldn’t just make things a little easier by doing what you always did and just stay at the precinct all night. Tonight of all the fucking nights.
Did you want to die or something? Sometimes he wondered.
Gojo reached back and grabbed the small zippered case from under the backseat, and watched you walk up to your front door. He waited until you shut it behind you before you threw his own door open.
It had taken a lot of convincing, but with the suspect in an interrogation room and holding fast on total innocence and refusing to budge despite having him practically dead to rights, Nanami finally told you to leave. You could come back and join the action again after a brief rest and a shower. He assured you that he’d call if anything happened, but that you’d likely be walking into the exact same situation after a few hours away.
Nothing would happen while you were gone. It would be fine. You kept repeating it as you kicked off your shoes and flicked on the light in your hall, dropping your keys on the small table by the door.
The kitchen light flicked on and cast the area in a warm glow. You’d get a bite to eat, shower, try your best to sleep for a few hours, then head back. Your fridge didn’t offer much aside from a box of takeout from a couple of nights ago, so you grabbed it and threw it in the microwave.
While it was heating, you made your way down the hall to your bedroom. A few photos of your family lined the walls, your academy graduation photo, the one with—
You halted midstep. The photo with Nanami, the both of you in uniform, his hand on your shoulder as you wore the sergeant's shield for the first time with a small, proud smile, was crooked.
Maybe there was a minor earthquake in the area?
None of the other photos were off, but you drew it up to the hook potentially being loose, and straightened it, continuing down the hall and unbuttoning your shirt.
In your room, you placed your service weapon on your dresser and changed out of your work attire quickly. Slipping on a black and white Tokyo Metro Police Department shirt, a few sizes too big and softened from years of washing and wearing.
Your pants were off and around your ankles when you heard a creak in the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, and you kicked off your pants, creeping out to check the dim hall.
Tip-toeing along the hardwood in an oversized t-shirt and panties, you felt almost like a horror movie damsel. It felt strangely eerie, and you thought for a moment about running back to your room to grab your service weapon, but before you could—
A figure stepped out. Dressed all in black, hair covered by a hood pulled up, face obscured by shadow, the person stood in your way at the end of the hall. Their hand moved, and you noticed the glint of light reflecting off metal. A gun.
Sure, you were a cop, a detective, but you weren’t impervious to fear. And that was exactly what ripped through you as the intruder took a quick step forward. Then another.
“What the f—stop!” You stepped back, almost stumbling over your own feet as you backed towards your room, towards where your gun was, and away from the intruder moving towards you. “I said stop! Right where you—”
Your words halted completely as your eyes found another figure behind the first. This one was moving faster though.
Fuck. There were two of them in your house. You had to get your gun, and fast. You started to turn around as the second intruder caught up to the first and—
In an instant, the second person brought a hand up to the first's neck, and they both came to a halt.
“Gotcha,”
The first intruder crumpled to the ground like a doll, and you stood in shock for a moment, staring at the man on the floor with your mouth hanging open.
What the fuck just happened?
Your head snapped up, back to the intruder still left standing. It all happened so fast, but as you looked a little harder at the second intruder, you felt your brain short-circuiting. You… recognized him. Well, you recognized the bit of hair that was uncovered by his hat.
Pure, abject horror crept in as he held his hands up, and stepped towards you.
“Oh my fucking god.” You took a step back. You didn’t have your phone, you didn't have your gun. All you had was the short distance between you and Gojo, who was in your fucking house for some reason.
“Okay, okay, I know this looks kind of bad, but that—”
“What are you doing here?!” You cut him off, still moving backward as he kept taking tentative, almost delicate steps toward you. Like he was approaching a wounded animal with its teeth bared.
He scoffed, shoulders dropping a little. “You could say thank you. That guy was gonna kill you, you know that, right?” The light from behind reflected off of something in his hand. The same hand he’d brought the intruder down with.
It was a fucking needle.
“Thank you? For what, breaking into my house? What are you even doing… here?” A realization settled in, and you barely breathed the word out. You almost couldn’t believe it. He said nothing, just cocked his head at you, like you were finally catching up to him.
Your eyes darted back and to the side. You could make a dash for it. Your room was right there, along with your gun and your phone. Gojo followed your eyes, and you both stood in silence, neither making the first move.
“Sarge, let's just—”
You lurched for your room. Launching into a sprint and pushing off the door frame to dart inside. Heavy, fast footsteps ran after you. Your fingers grazed the dresser, your gun was in reach, but a hand twisted into your shirt, and yanked you back.
You swung around, hand flattened to hit him in the throat, but he ducked out of the way. Catching your arm and pulling you around so your back was to his chest.
You made a fist with your free hand and slammed him in the balls with it.
“Ngh, fuck,” He gasped and groaned and hunched behind you, grip softening on your arm, and you tried to wrench free. But Gojo was bigger than you, and apparently, he was stronger too because his hand tightened fast and a thick bicep came up around your neck, pressing hard into your windpipe.
You fought for air, and got none as he squeezed tight and pulled you up, leaving your toes barely brushing the ground.
“Always so fucking difficult,” He rasped into your ear, breath hot as his lips brushed the shell. You clawed at his arms, scratching the fabric of his shirt, and he hissed, his arm around your neck was near crushing. “I could kill you right now, so stop fighting or I will.”
Oxygen was running out, your head was getting light and airy, but that sent a hard shiver through you.
You were right. You had been right the whole time.
Gojo was a fucking psycho.
And now he was going to kill you.
What you didn’t know was that Gojo was bluffing. He definitely could kill you, but he wouldn’t. And definitely not like that, with your face turned away from his.
This was unreal, though. He knew it was bad, that he’d fucked up by letting you see his face, letting you see him at all. But you hadn’t really given him a choice; it was all because you’d come home early, so he may as well live in the moment and revel in feeling your body flush against his. His arms wrapped tight around you in a moment he’d only imagined for a long time, and here it finally was.
“Sorry, Sarge, I didn’t want to do this.” It was a half-truth murmured in your ear as he felt you struggle and fight against him. Kicking and punching and scratching weakly until the last bit of air ran out, and your body slowly went limp as you lost consciousness in his arms.
Gojo loosened his arm around your neck and turned your face to him. The blood vessels around your eyes had burst, and little purple specks, almost like freckles decorated the skin. It was kind of cute. You even had a little furrow to your brow, he figured that was kind of a permanent thing for you.
“What the fuck am I gonna do with you?” He shifted an arm under your knees, and lifted you fully into his arms. Your head fell back, lips parting, and he looked over your sleeping, half-naked form as he strode back into the hall. Zenin Naoya was still in a pathetic pile on the floor.
“What a fucking mess.” Gojo grumbled, stepping over the creep in his way.
He was right. This was a fucking mess.
The ground beneath your feet was cold, like stone or cement. Your head throbbed, and as you pried your eyes open, the vision they took in was blurred.
You shifted, and found your arms were bound when you tried to pull them up to rub your face. It woke you the fuck up instantly, and you jerked upright. Blinking furiously to clear your eyes, your breaths started to come in shorter as you looked around yourself. You were sitting in a chair, hands tied behind the back of it. Your feet were unbound, still bare from the waist down.
Where the fuck were you?
What the fuck was going on?
“Good morning.” A familiar voice sing songed from across whatever room you were in, and your head snapped up to Gojo. You opened your mouth to speak, but barely rasped out what before you choked on it and coughed instead.
“Ah, yeah,” He chuckled, looking almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his head. “I was kind of hoping to use the M-99, but you didn’t give me much of a choice. Sorry.”
You lurched forward, and your wrists stung as hard plastic bit into the skin. The room around you was sterile, plastic covered every inch of the floor and walls, and soft yellowish light shone from behind the sheeting. There was a table between you and Gojo, and something was atop it.
A man.
You cleared your throat and swallowed a few times. The movement was difficult, like an impossible lump was there to block your esophagus, but you forced it down and looked Gojo in the eye again.
His hands splayed out, palms flat on the table between you and leaning over the figure with a coy smirk.
“What… the fuck… have you done?” You rasped out, almost choking on the words again.
“What have I done?” He echoed, cocking his head at you. “Well, for one, I saved you from this guy.” He gestured to the man on the table. He seemed to be asleep still, not moving as Gojo waved a massive hunting knife over his laid out body. “The least you could do is say thanks.”
“Thank you?” You cried incredulously, pulling hard at the restraint around your wrists. You wrenched and fought as panic started to creep in. “You fucking psycho! You choked me out! HELP! HELP ME!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, as loud and as hard as you could with your windpipe still suffering the aftereffects of being closed off.
“Go ahead, scream your head off!” Gojo yelled back, “Nobody can hear you.”
“Oh my god, I fucking knew it, fuck I knew it. You’re insane,” Your head hung, pulling at the ties around your wrists as you murmured more to yourself, “fuck he’s crazy.”
It's not like you wanted to be right, but you did feel a slight twinge of satisfaction being validated. You weren’t crazy, you saw it, and you were right.
“Why did you come ba—”
“Are you going to kill me?” You cut Gojo off, and he stared open-mouthed for a long moment, contemplating. Hesitating. “Oh my god! Fuckfuckfuck, okay, you don’t have to do this, we can—”
“Just relax, I'm not going to kill you.” He waved the knife in his hand around, dismissing your panic with an annoyed eye roll. “I don’t kill innocent people, but I can't really say the same for this guy.”
“What?”
“Do you recognize him? You should.” Gojo took the man's head in his hand and turned his face to you. Dyed blond hair and dark brows, upturned eyes shut, sharp features and a few piercings on his left ear.
“Is that… Zenin Naoya?”
Gojo smiled and let Naoya’s head drop back to the table. He was covered in a layer of plastic just like the room around you. Gojo strode around the table towards you, and you slumped back in the chair as he approached you, hunting knife still in hand. He crouched beside you and gestured to the wall of plastic to your right by Naoya’s feet.
“See those?” You followed the tip of his knife; there were a few photos of women, their faces bright and smiling. They all looked familiar; you’d definitely seen all of them at some point. “They were found in ditches on the outskirts of Tokyo, their heads all bashed in. Same murder weapon used in all three unsolved cases.”
Of course, they looked familiar; their faces had been up on the board in the briefing room for months. Their cases eventually grew cold, and the precinct had moved on with no leads.
“The only physical evidence we ever had was a fabric scrap found a few meters from the last body, barely even a few threads, and it never led anywhere. But,” Gojo whipped the knife back around, pointing it directly at Naoya with a wicked and satisfied grin on his face. “I found a shirt that matched it in a safe, in his apartment.”
“Why… why not hand over the evidence?” You felt you already knew the answer to the question, but you asked it anyway.
Gojo gave you a flat look in return. “There's a few reasons for that, a couple of which you definitely already know.” He straightened up, standing tall over you. He put a hand on the back of the chair and leaned in close. “First, I didn’t obtain the shirt… legally, as you’d say. The evidence would be thrown out immediately, but you know that.”
The tip of the huge knife pointed in your direction, Gojo dropped his head closer to yours, and your breath caught in your sore throat. “Second, Naoya has held a bit of contempt for you for a while now, guess he didn’t appreciate you putting him away on rape charges a few years ago. He’s been following you, and he was gonna act tonight if I didn’t stop him first—so you’re welcome for that.”
“And third,” Gojo sucked his teeth, pulling the knife away and backing out of your space, towards the table behind him. “If I handed him over to the department, I wouldn’t get to kill him. Duh.” His icy blue eyes rolled like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
With a hard swallow, your mouth opened and out poured years of hostage negotiation training. “You-you’re right, but you don’t have to do this, Gojo. It’s not too late, if you just let-let me go, I’ll take Zenin in and I’ll make sure he goes away for a long time. We can do this the right way.”
“Come on, Sarge,” Gojo tipped his head to the side, amusement playing on his handsome features, glasses nowhere to be found and hair falling across his forehead. He looked so different than usual, almost sympathetic.
“We both know that's a lie. Even if Naoya went away, it wouldn’t be for near long enough.” He twirled the knife in his hand, still looking at you as it spun in his fingers. “Sometimes, the world just needs to be cleansed of its filth.”
You opened your mouth to try again, but Gojo cut you off. “Just stop, the cop talk-down doesn’t work when the subject knows all the tricks.”
Fuck.
You took Gojo in in full. He had on a butcher's apron over a black, long-sleeved compression shirt. Black latex gloves covered his hands. There was another table covered in plastic with a black mat atop it, and an assortment of blades gleamed, tucked neatly in each slot.
He was going to kill Naoya. With you right there.
“This isn't the first time, is it?” You asked on a breath, almost a whisper, but Gojo heard, and he shook his head with a smile.
“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out, but I didn’t have much of a choice.” He sighed, walking back in your direction. A gloved hand came up, and your breath caught as he brushed your cheek. You jerked your head away, but he caught your chin and forced you to face him again. So close you could see each pale eyelash as his gaze flitted around your face.
“You shouldn’t have come home. If you’d just stayed at the precinct like you were supposed to, none of this would’ve happened. Too late for woulda, coulda, shoulda now though, right?”
A shiver shook through you. Incredulity twisted your features, and Gojo pouted. “Oh come on, don’t look at me like that.”
You swallowed hard. “Like what?”
“Like I'm some kind of monster or something.” His head tilted, lip jutting out still. “I’m just doing what you and the rest of the department can’t. I’m on your side here, really.”
“Are you looking for acknowledgement? A thank you or something?”
He shrugged, “I wouldn’t say no to that.”
“You broke into my house and choked me out, you’re a fucking psychopath.” You spat out, glaring.
“After you punched me in the dick,” Gojo scoffed, “and I didn’t really have a choice there because you were definitely going to shoot me.”
“No shit! You broke into my house!”
“I’m not going in circles with you on this. I was there for a reason, and it’s because you can’t watch your own back for shit.” He let you go and walked back to the table where Naoya was somehow still passed out cold.
Your head was swimming, still fuzzy from the oxygen deprivation and the impossible scene you found yourself tied up in, literally.
There was no exit you could see, and Gojo had said no one would hear you scream.
You were kind of fucked. All you could do was watch as Gojo pinched something close to Naoya’s face, and the man strapped to the table jolted awake with a gasp.
“What the f—”
“Shut up,” Gojo cut Naoya off, gripping his cheeks hard and bringing his face close. “You’ve been very bad, haven’t you?” Gojo practically purred in Naoya’s face. He took up the knife again and pointed it at the three photos on the wall, forcing Naoya to follow the tip of the blade. “Emiri Saito, Chieko Yamada, and Narume Kojima, look at them. You had the balls to take something from all of those girls, so have some fucking respect and look at them.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you?” Naoya managed to get out with his face squished in Gojo's hand. “You’ve got it wrong, I-I’ve never seen any of them before!”
Gojo snorted, “You’re such a bullshitter, Naoya. I think I speak for everyone here when I say that nobody is buying that.”
Naoya seemed to register the words, and he looked around frantically, his eyes finding you quickly.
“You,” He hissed, “You fucking bitch, you did this, didn’t you? Set me up again, you fucking cunt!”
Before you could refute or object, Gojo slapped Naoya hard. He grabbed him by the throat, squeezing tight enough to cut off air, and snarled in his face. “Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t even talk to her you fucking scum.”
Your already hammering heart kind of… skipped?
Gojo tore his eyes off Naoya and met your gaze. The blue in his irises was brighter somehow, wide and wild and almost crazed, and your thighs squeezed together under the weight of it all. He chuckled, bearing a smile that flashed a few pearly teeth and fit with the look in his eye.
He was kind of right; what he was about to do wasn’t right, but he was doing what you couldn’t. If Naoya really was what Gojo said—a killer, taking the lives of innocent young girls after he’d violated them, maybe he kind of deserved whatever Gojo was about to do.
You should have been more scared than you were. But you weren’t.
What the fuck was wrong with you?
“Did you like that?” Gojo asked, his voice low and rough.
Maybe.
“You’re fucking crazy.”
It wasn’t a no, and Gojo took note of that. He saw the shift in your posture, your knees as they pressed together.
Such a bad liar.
He clapped his hands, looking almost giddy as he took a breath. “How exciting, I've never had an audience before. I’ll be sure to make this entertaining.”
Entertaining was one way to put it; Gojo put on a fucking show alright.
Gojo had spent a few years in med school before joining the forensics unit at TMPD, and he was sure to flex the skills he learned on Naoya.
He went through a few packets of smelling salts, pushing Naoya practically to the brink of death, passing out a few times before bringing him back to consciousness.
It was messier than usual. Naoya was missing a few fingers; the few he still had were mangled. Shallow stab wounds littered his torso, only where the knife would miss vital organs. Deeper cuts severed tendons and ligaments, rendering Naoya immobile even without the plastic strapping him to the table.
The eyeball just popped right out with the optic nerve still intact; he pulled until it snapped. Naoya screamed and screamed like a little bitch and passed out again. He was still out cold, and Gojo had yet to wake him up again.
The blood was glorious. They were both covered; it dripped from Gojo’s hair, down his face, and back onto Naoya in a cycle of sorts, then to the floor to pool with the rest.
Naoya wouldn’t last much longer; it was time to finish this. Gojo tore his eyes off Naoya to look at you.
He thought you might have been sickened by it all, and you definitely looked like you might literally be sick a couple of times, but you held out. You looked away a few times and winced when you heard a bone crunch and a pathetic cry choke out.
“How should I do it? Stab to the heart, slit his throat, sever the carotid artery and let him bleed out slowly? Ooh, I could cut his head off, but I did that with that last one.”
“Why would you do all of this?” You asked, your voice sounded weak and small. It didn’t even sound like you, and his smile fell.
“Because Naoya deserves to suffer. You know what happened to those girls,” He gestured to the photos with the bloodied knife, and his expression went cold. “He would’ve done the same to you, and I couldn’t let that happen.” Just the thought of it made him want to drive the knife home right then, but he held out. He’d need to wake Naoya up first.
“Don’t you see? All of this,” He gestured around himself, down at Naoya still out cold. “It’s all because of you, to keep you safe from scum like him.”
“What happened to this being about your fucked up sense of justice for those girls? Don’t pin this on me.” You snapped, and Gojo’s smile returned.
That's more like it.
“I’m not blaming you. Naoya would’ve ended up here regardless of whether he went after you or not. But he did, and I’m feeling quite passionate because of it.”
Your eyes widened a fraction, like you were just now realizing the extent of things. The things he would do for you, like you hadn’t just witnessed it all.
Gojo cracked a fresh pack of salts and held it to Naoya’s face. “Wake up, asshole, we’re not done yet.” The man startled and whimpered as consciousness returned, and he felt the full extent of his wounds all over again.
“What do you think, sweetheart? Should I put him out of his misery?” Gojo cocked his head, and Naoya glanced at you with one remaining eye.
He started to gurgle, “Fuck y—” The words cut off abruptly as the blade in Gojo’s hand carved through his throat with a roar.
“I told you not to fucking talk to her!” Fresh crimson spattered his face from the slit gaping wide on Naoya’s neck.
Gojo looked like a fallen angel, something horrifically biblical and cast from heaven as he heaved ragged breaths. Rage twisted his face, his eyes wide and the whites and blues burned bright against the deep, bloody red that splattered the rest of his face.
He groaned a low, “Fuck.” And ran a hand through his hair, streaking the stark white strands a bright red. He looked up from Naoya’s lifeless body to you, and your breath caught.
Still holding the knife and covered in Zenin Naoya's warm blood, Gojo stepped around the table and walked to you. You shook from the cold and something deep in your gut, like fear, swallowing hard as your head tilted back to look at Gojo.
He grabbed the back of the chair and tipped you backward. Your bare feet left the ground as Gojo loomed over you, his face close enough that you felt the heat of his breath on your lips, saw the individual specks of blood that decorated his face like freckles.
“I’d do anything, fucking anything for you. You understand that now, right?”
Your mouth opened to respond, but no words could make it up and out of your throat because warm lips wet with fresh blood pressed hard to yours.
You didn’t move. You couldn't move.
You had been trained to deal with hostage situations and knew what to do in theory if you were ever in one yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for something like this.
What the fuck were you supposed to do when your captor kissed you?
Probably not kiss them back. Right?
Blame it on adrenaline, the numbness of watching someone be tortured and killed, and maybe a few brain cells dying thanks to the headlock Gojo himself had you in a few hours ago, but his mouth on yours didn’t feel terrible.
It felt kind of… good?
Gojo was a psychopath. A confirmed killer. As a cop, you should have been thinking of any way to get out and get him detained, bring him to justice.
But as a captive, and the object of his twisted, fucked up affection…
I’d do anything for you.
Your lips parted, and you kissed him back.
What the fuck else could you do here, really? You really hated it, but you’d always found him attractive. Even being covered in blood and holding a knife didn’t detract from that.
In a perverse way, it was kind of flattering. Horrifying, of course, but maybe you’d been desensitized to all this shit from so many years of investigating brutal murders, seeing the bodies yourself, because what Gojo had done right before your eyes didn’t make you as sick as it should have.
He was right. Naoya was scum. And now he was gone, and Gojo did it for you. It was wrong and illegal, so fucking illegal, but he’d done what you and the law couldn’t. Served up justice with a blade, and now Zenin Naoya would never hurt another girl again, and that was certain.
Fuck. You should really stretch before doing mental gymnastics. Maybe you could blame it on Stockholm syndrome, too.
The taste of pennies and something sweet like vanilla hit your tongue as it met Gojo’s. A slick, gloved hand gripped your thigh, the knife pressed flat to your skin under his wide palm. It was still warm, too.
Gojo almost couldn't believe it. It was impulsive, the high of a fresh kill left him up in the clouds, and there you were, tied up and half naked and wide-eyed, and he just did it. Kissed you without expecting anything in return because he couldn’t stop himself.
But you were kissing him back.
He’d shown you the deepest, darkest part of him and expected disgust in return. Not… this.
Maybe you were more fucked up than he thought.
You still trembled a little, but you didn’t pull away as his hand glided up on your thigh, streaking blood on your skin. Blood he spilled for you.
Gojo pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, to see the blood smeared on your lips. “You liked it, didn’t you, sweetheart?” You shook your head, but you were squirming in your seat. “Don’t even try to fucking lie to me.”
“What are you going to do to me, Gojo?” It came out breathless, pitched, and almost desperate, like you were thinking of all the things he could do to you, that you couldn’t stop him from doing.
He laughed and tilted his head a little, “What do you want me to do to you, sergeant?”
“I-I don’t…” You trailed off, your eyes flitting away for a moment. Gojo dropped his head, and your nose brushed his. He pulled his hand from your leg, and the tip of the knife caught the hem of your shirt.
“Tell me when to stop, I might.” He smirked, and slowly lifted the blade in hand, pulling your shirt up with it. You looked panicked as your shirt went up over your panties, cute and black with a pretty lace trim. But you said nothing, just breathing hard and fast with eyes impossibly wide as he exposed more of your stomach.
What were you doing? You should say it, say stop and hope to god that Gojo would. But you didn’t. You said nothing as the tip of that huge knife dragged lightly over your sternum, up between your breasts, staring silently at Gojo as his eyes lowered.
Cold air hit your breasts, your nipples pebbled with the cotton barrier removed, and you finally spoke.
“Let me go.” You whispered, but it wasn’t stop, and Gojo looked you in the eye again.
“You know I can’t do that.” The knife halted close to your neck, the blade pressed to your skin just under the collar of your shirt. “Tell me what you really want, and don’t lie this time.”
You stayed silent, lips pressed together almost as hard as your thighs were.
What the fuck was wrong with you? Your body was committing the ultimate betrayal; heat was pooling low in your gut despite how you shivered against the cold. It had been a while since you’d had time for a relationship or even just a hookup, and Gojo had just lit up something that demanded satisfaction after being long ignored.
Why now?
Was your own sex drive going to be the thing that got you killed?
Gojo let the back of the chair go, and the feet slammed to the floor with a bang that made your teeth clack. He flipped the knife around fast, and the blade tore through your shirt with a loud rip.
You inhaled a sharp gasp, and Gojo chucked quietly. “Oops, I slipped.”
He was always like that. A teasing little shit, and it always irked you, and the irritation broke you from the silence you’d been holding. “Are you a fucking animal? Why not just take it off?!”
Gojo seemed a little taken aback by the outburst; you were too actually. But he recovered quickly and scoffed, lifting a pale brow. “Well, you didn’t tell me to take it off. Don’t get pissy because you’re too chicken shit to say what you want.”
The knife dragged down your stomach, leaving a thin red trail in its wake. Stopping only once he reached the waistband of your panties, the tip hooked in and caught the lace.
“Should I cut these off too? Or will you use words like a big girl?”
“Fuck you.”
Gojo gripped your face with his free hand, and he sneered. “Watch it. I like you, but don’t push your luck here.” He was close enough again that his lips brushed yours as he whispered the next words that sent a fresh jolt of lightning up your spine. “You’ve seen what I do when I’m pissed off, so be careful, sweetheart.”
He kissed you again, still holding your face in place as his tongue pushed into your mouth. It must have stolen rational thinking from you, because you kissed him back again instead of biting his tongue like you probably should have.
Gojo’s hand left your face, but you didn’t take the opportunity to turn away. No, for some reason, you angled your head, leaning into it more and more. It felt too good for the situation you were in, but maybe that was what made it impossible to pull away from. The electricity that sparked with each flick of his tongue against yours, the danger that lurked in his lips, so pretty and warm and nice sliding against yours with little chu’s.
Something cold and hard pressed to your temple, and clicked. Gojo smiled against your mouth. You knew the sound well, and your eyes flew open with a gasp, breaking the kiss.
“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you, or I’ll pull the trigger and do it anyway.”
“Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You whimpered, and only received the cold steel of the barrel of your own gun pushing into your temple harder, and a manic grin in return.
“A lot, you should’ve realized that by now. Say what you want, don’t think I won't do it.”
He was still covered in the blood of a man he’d brutally killed right in front of you; you had no doubt he’d pull the trigger.
Fear filled your wide eyes, glassy with unspilled tears you were holding back. It looked so good on you. He wanted you to shake and cry and beg almost as much as he wanted you to admit the truth.
Gojo usually just dealt with the body and grabbed a sweet treat after dispatching a killer, but he had the feeling you’d taste better than any dessert.
Your eyes darted from his, to the gun in your periphery, wide and panicked. Your chest rose and fell fast. You were struggling, trembling, and overwhelmed by the shift and thinking your life hung by a thread, easily severed by one little twitch of his finger.
He wouldn’t do it like that, though. Not with a bullet to your head, that was so impersonal, and not his style.
You hated this feeling. Fearing for your life and for some reason still not pulling away from the person threatening it. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before; your skin burned hot despite the cold with your shirt bisected and hanging open. The gusset of your panties was slick and sticky, and you kept your legs squeezed shut to keep it hidden.
Had you ever thought about Gojo like that before? Maybe …yes.
Were you thinking about his hands on your body, what his cock was like, and what it would feel like if he fucked you right now? That was a shameful maybe.
Would you ever admit that without your life on the line? Probably not.
But it was. Gojo literally had a gun to your head. You had to say it, right?
You took a deep, shaky breath and swallowed. “You’re fucking crazy, Gojo. But I-I want you.”
Something like surprise flickered in his eyes, almost like he hadn’t expected you to actually say it. But you didn’t get a moment to analyze it. Gojo slammed his lips to yours. It was bruising and desperate, and the barrel dropped from your temple, dragging cool steel down the side of your face, down your neck to press up under your jaw.
You probably would have done it anyway, but he forced your chin up and your head to tilt, deepening the kiss you could already barely breathe around.
The knife at your hip moved, and you heard another rip.
You groaned into Gojo’s mouth and pulled back a little. “What the fuck, I said—”
“I felt like it.” He murmured, cutting you off and putting his lips back on yours. The knife clattered on the ground, and Gojo’s fingers curled into the waistband of your panties and yanked. They tore like fucking paper and left you exposed.
He pulled the gun away from your jaw and used both hands to pull your legs apart. You didn’t fight it. Your mind was melted and spinning, and you didn’t even try to close your legs when two fingers glided along your slit. Gojo swallowed the moan that spilled from your lips, then pulled his tongue from your mouth and broke the kiss. A lewd, pinkish string of saliva still connected your wet lips to his.
“Were you this wet when you denied liking getting to watch me kill Naoya? Bet you were, a liar and a slut.” He tsk’d and slid two thick fingers still wrapped in slickened latex, into your cunt, watching closely as your face contorted.
Your brows turned up, lips parting a little as a quiet “Ohh,” escaped.
Fear looked good on you, but that was the face Gojo had been dying to see. The one you made as he fucked you nice and slow on his hand. Savoring the sounds that spilled from your lips every time he pushed in deep and the way you gripped around him when he curled his fingers.
Gojo kept going until he finally hit a spot and pressed up, and you gasped, legs trying to clamp shut around his hand. He didn’t bother forcing them back open; he just put the muzzle of the gun under your chin again, and your eyes went wide. He didn’t miss the way your cunt twitched and pulsed with your own gun put to your head.
“Ah, keep them open.” You obeyed, legs falling open again. You bit your lip and let your chin be pushed up when he nudged with the muzzle. Gojo pressed his cheek to yours, letting his lips brush your ear as he spoke. “I've never seen you like this, so obedient. I didn't even think you could go thirty seconds without barking at me like a bitch.”
Your vision unfocused, and your eyes almost rolled as Gojo pulled his hand back, and pushed back inside with a third thick digit. The muzzle pushed your head up again, and you felt Gojo’s teeth on the side of your face as he smiled.
“You like this though, don't you? Like being held on the firing end of your own loaded service weapon with the safety off?”
A whimper left your mouth, and you barely registered the feeling of steel dragging down your chest over Gojo nipping at your ear. Your mind was splintering a little more with every thrust of three fingers into your cunt that seemed to get faster.
So suddenly, you almost choked on the spit pooling in your mouth. Gojo's hand pulled away, and cold metal pushed into you instead. Your legs closed on instinct, and Gojo’s now free hand pulled them open again.
“Tch, if I want to fuck you with this thing, I will.” His tongue traced the shell of your ear. The cold muzzle glided through your folds easily with the slick still drooling from your hole. “Would you like that? Would you scream and cry and shake and come all over it like a slut?”
The cold, thick barrel barely pushed inside. It felt perverse. The metal felt wrong, unforgiving and alien, and so fucking wrong.
Dehumanizing, you felt like something was being stripped from you with each centimeter of your own service weapon that your cunt was forced to stretch around. Tears that had been held back up until that point broke free and spilled over.
Your own body was betraying you again. Your rational mind knew you should object, knew that you should have tried to stop all of this before it got out of hand.
But you didn’t. And now you were getting fucked with your own gun by a killer still coated in the blood of his latest kill, the one he did for you, and it felt wrong but not bad, and that fact splintered the rest of your mind.
You were supposed to be able to deal with situations like this, ones where your life was on the line and it was you and your experienced mind versus whatever crazy had decided to take you on.
But Gojo was different. He wasn't just another crazy. He was smart and calculating and psychotic. He'd planned for this, all while you should have seen it coming, but didn't.
You knew there was something wrong with him, but you never saw him coming. And now, you were trembling, biting your lip hard to keep a pathetic noise in your throat as the last few centimeters of cold steel were shoved inside you.
The tears streamed down your flushed cheeks, burning from shame at the way your hips shifted around with the barrel stilled inside you.
“I've never seen you cry before,” Gojo marveled as he looked you over. “You're even prettier than I had imagined.” You hated the way you leaned into his palm as he cupped your face and brushed a thumb through the wet tracks.
His voice was sweet like saccharine honey and at complete odds with how he pulled the barrel out halfway and pushed back in. “Be good and make lots of noise when I make you come, sweetheart. I've been dying to hear what you sound like.”
You could feel every cold ridge and edge of the barrel as it dragged slowly in and out, so deep that the trigger guard pushed into your clit and made you jolt. It felt purposeful, like Gojo wanted you to feel every little bit of it, wanted you to sit and squirm and take it as he fucked you with the most deadly inanimate object a person could encounter.
Your face was something Gojo had never even imagined. Better than anything his own mind could've created. Contorted in pleasure and fighting it hard. Cheeks flushed a deep red, lashes wet and clumped together as more tears spilled. Like you hated that you liked it, maybe even loved the way it felt.
He was torn. Watching you twitch and jerk and fight your own body from doing what it really wanted was beautiful, and he didn't want to stop until you couldn't hold it back any longer. He didn't want to stop until you broke by his hand and gushed around the cold steel barrel.
But on the other hand, he wanted to feel it himself. He doubted you'd object, you'd probably welcome the replacement of cold metal—that was probably still shockingly cold compared to how hot your cunt was—with his dick.
But the desire to watch you fall apart and shatter first outweighed the need to stick his dick in you. Just barely.
Your lip trembled, your eyes were far off somewhere else and glassy, darting around the room behind Gojo. They landed on something and went round, your breath caught, and you hiccuped. You looked at Gojo again, fear and pleading in your blown pupils.
“P-please,” Your voice cracked on the word. He had never seen or heard you like that, never thought you even could beg or whine like that.
He brushed your cheek again with a thumb, wiping the fresh wetness that fell. “Please what, sweetheart?” He never stopped the movement of his hand, still savoring the way he could feel your cunt gripping the barrel.
You whimpered, “Please, fuck, I-I can't—I can't… fuck,” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, biting down on your quivering lip. You were writhing, chest heaving, and he finally realized that…
You were about to come, and you hated it.
“You can, just stop fighting it.” He pulled your lip from between your teeth with his thumb.
He tore his eyes off your mouth, still stained red, looking like you’d been wearing lipstick before he came and fucked it up.
“Give in to me, I promise you'll feel so fucking good. I'll make sure of it.” Gojo’s lips brushed yours, not a kiss, not yet. He had to hear you say it. Say yes and let go, let him make you see stars and forget how fucking wrong what you were doing was, and just give in to how right it felt.
You were right there, dangling on the precipice of breaking. Your eyes glazed, lashed fluttering as you held his gaze and whispered his name.
“Gojo, please.” The sound of you begging, pleading him. Uttering his name like some kind of broken prayer that could save you from what was happening, what was about to happen.
It was so unbelievably easy, you made it so easy. Just dripping slick arousal and the barrel slid through your cunt. It was a mess. You were a mess, and the sounds of your pussy squelching and sucking the barrel back inside were obscene.
Your jaw dropped a little more but no sound came out, and Gojo sent the command into your open mouth. “Do it,”
Your body tensed, he felt it. Your eyes started to roll, losing focus and your legs shook. You were still fighting it.
“I’d do anything for you, I'd fucking kill for you, so come for me.” Gojo gripped the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair. Your glassy eyes were on his, the look that bore through him was there but it was like you were finally seeing behind the curtain. His lips were on yours as he poured the words he’d held back for years right into your mouth.
“Just give in, let me break you. I’ll be yours forever."
Legs shaking, your hips lifted. Spine arching into a bow, chest pushed up and your head dropped back into his hand. Looking like a fucking angel in a tattered black t-shirt as you finally let go. A pretty moan spilled right into Gojo’s mouth as the tether holding restraint snapped, and you broke.
Wrong. It was wrong how disgustingly good it felt. The heat that coiled and tightened and wrapped through your entire body finally freed, you heard the sounds that came from your own mouth and almost couldn’t believe it. Guttural and unrestrained, your wrists stinging as sharp plastic bit into your skin and drew blood with every shift and pull.
Gojo kissed you again and you let him in without a fight. Still tasting of warm metal, like sucking on coins after being held in hand. It was filthy. Tasting the blood of one man while you were kissing another. Your walls pulsed and gripped around the barrel as Gojo fucked you through the mind melting orgasm, pulling your hair and holding your head back to him as you saw stars and felt them bursting through you.
The last waves shuddered through and you twitched as he pulled the barrel out and left you empty. Breaking from your mouth with another filthy string of saliva tying you together.
He bought the slick coated barrel up to his face, holding it upside down, pinky resting on the trigger. Safety off, hammer cocked. One slip of that finger, and you’d have been bleeding out.
It shouldn't have been so hot. You shouldn’t have shivered at the sight of Gojo, blood streaked in his hair and spattered on his face, sticking his tongue out to lick the full length of the barrel. Pale lashes fluttered, moaning as he tasted you on the steel.
“I’d love to let you hold it while I suck this thing clean,” Gojo waved your gun and winked, “But I get the feeling you’d pull the trigger if I did.” His tongue glided up the barrel again and flicked over the muzzle.
You swallowed hard, and countered with, “Take the bullets out then.”
He seemed to contemplate it, head tipping to the side as he tapped the muzzle to his lips. “Hmm, but I’d have to cut those straps.”
“Is that a bad thing? I could touch you, don’t you want me to?” You bit your lip, angling your head a little with the doe-iest eyes you could summon. Gojo’s jaw clenched, gaze growing heavy under thick, pale lashes. It only lasted a moment before he licked his teeth and a wicked smile spread in its stead.
“Think you’re smart? Sorry, sweetheart, that won’t work.”
“I want to touch you, Gojo.” You pouted, it wasn't a complete lie.
“Satoru,” He corrected, gently but firmly. “We’re past formalities now, don’t you think?”
You pulled forward, as far as you could with your arms behind the chair, bringing your face closer to him. “Let me touch you, Satoru.”
Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.
So pretty, and catching onto the fact that you could ask just about anything of him and he’d do it. You looked like a trap, like the moment he took the bait, steel would clamp around his hand.
Gojo knew restraint, he could wait and be patient and bide time. But he had limits. That bait was you, squirming around barely covered by that bisected shirt, thighs glistening and slick. Eyes wide and pleading and fucking needy. Looking at him like you needed him.
“You’re not getting the gun, loaded or not.” Gojo straightened, stepping around the chair to stand behind you. He grabbed your chin, tilting your head back to look up at him. “Try anything, and my finger might slip.”
Acknowledgement came in a slow nod, lip caught between your teeth. Gojo lowered his face to yours, pulling your lip free with his thumb. “Very good, remember that, sweetheart. I’d hate to do it, but I won't hesitate to snuff you out.”
Gojo kept the gun in hand as he snapped the bloodied zip tie around your wrists, breaking the plastic at its weak point and your shoulders sagged as your arms were freed. He straightened again and watched you closely as you rubbed your wrists.
You were free, you could run right now. Instinct made you itch to leap to your feet and dash for the closest exit.
Too bad you had no idea where that was, and Gojo would catch you before you could figure that out for yourself.
Looking around, you saw the knife near your feet. If you lunged for it, you’d get a bullet to the head.
Gojo could see the gears turning in your head. But you were fucked here. Even if you got out you'd be running into practically the middle of nowhere being on the far outskirts of Tokyo.
He pulled the tie on the butchers apron free and tossed it aside, moving to stand in front of you again. You lifted your eyes to his, hands in your lap and idle.
“Stand up,”
You definitely weren’t running anywhere, your legs still trembled a little as you rose to your feet. You took a tentative step forward, bringing yourself close enough to feel the heat of Gojo's body through the clingy black shirt. Eyes trained on his, you reached out with one hand to glide over his wide chest, and down.
A sigh left his pretty, full lips as your fingers curled into the waistband of his dark pants. His shirt had ridden up a little and you could see the lines that curved along his hips and dove down, your fingers brushed through a trail of soft hair, bright white just like the mess of it on his head. He tensed when you touched him, biceps flexing, but he didn’t stop you.
Silently, you lowered to the ground. Your knees hit the hard ground and plastic crinkled quietly. The only other sound was heavy breathing as both hands moved to pop the button on his pants open.
Gojo took your chin in his gloved hand and lifted your face up to him. “Is this what you want?”
Your lip caught again and you hummed. “Mhm,”
Gojo pulled it free again, and slipped his thumb past your teeth, into your mouth to press down on your tongue. “No biting.” He winked. You nodded, opening the closure on his pants. The knife was just to the left of your leg, it was in reach, but the second you moved you’d get a bullet to the head.
Distract him.
That’s all it was. The saliva pooling in your mouth, the slick dripping down your thighs. You ignored that. Ignored how wet you were getting and how heat coursed through you as you pulled his boxers low and freed his cock.
Of course it was pretty too. Pale with a little curve, blushing tip beading pre-cum from the slit. Long and thick enough that you could just wrap your hand around the base because of course he’d have a big dick too.
It was always the fucking nerds.
Gojo jolted a little and a pitched noise like a whine caught in his throat as your hand twisted up the length of his cock, and your thumb brushed his tip. Spreading the pre-cum that just kept leaking.
His thumb left your mouth, gliding over your lips, wetting them with your own spit.
“Want me to be gentle, sweetheart? Or should I fuck your face?” He asked, breathless and cheeks already flushing pink under the spatters of crimson.
You shook your head, pumping his cock slowly. “I don’t want gentle, Satoru.”
He slapped you. Hard. Your head snapped to the side and you choked on a gasp as your cheek started to sting.
You said it. So he was going to deliver.
His hand tingled from the impact and his cock throbbed as he watched you recover from shock. Taking your chin in hand again, he gripped hard and turned you back to face him.
Your body was as masochistic as Gojo was sadistic and your cunt drooled, the heat on your cheek from the slap was everywhere else too.
He did it again, palm flat as it connected to the same cheek just as hard and your head snapped to the side with a little less force. Like you’d prepared for it that time. Your jaw clenched but it didn’t stop the whimper from coming out. Your thighs shook and rubbed together, sliding easily with the slick that smeared.
Gojo almost did it again when you lifted your face to him all on your own. But the look you gave him made him falter a little. Brows turned up, lips glossy and parted, bright red deepening on your cheek, and your eyes. Fuck. The need in your eyes almost brought him to his knees. Tears gathered and ready to spill, about to fucking cry all over again.
He wanted those tears to fall when you choked on his cock.
“What a slut.” He crooned as your lip trembled, “Remember, sweetheart. Bite me, and I’ll put one between your eyes and keep going till I come.”
Looking horribly angelic with a smile that was pure and sweet, Gojo spewed vile filth that made your heart kick at your ribcage, and your core flood with heat.
Wrong. There was something seriously wrong with you. Because you nodded and, and opened your mouth wide.
His fingers thread into your hair, holding tight but he didn't pull or guide you, just held as you licked the drip of pre-cum off the tip of his cock. Tasting salt and sweetness on your tongue. He sucked a sharp breath in through clenched teeth as your lips closed around him.
The sounds he made were pretty and pornographic and matched the look on his face as your lips stretched around the thickness and he hit the back of your throat. Pulling back, your tongue traced a prominent vein along the underside and he moaned again. Pale brows knit together, the baby blue of his irises rendered to a thin ring with the wide black of blown out pupils.
You couldn’t help but think he looked so pretty like that. With his lip caught in his teeth, blood streaked his brilliantly white hair pink, pieces of it fell into his face, across his eyes and framing his face.
I’d do anything for you.
I’ll put one between your eyes and keep going till I come.
It was a shame he was such a nut.
Your eyes went wide and you choked as he tightened the hand in your hair and thrust into your mouth, shoving almost all the way in. He groaned deep in his throat and his cock pulsed in yours. Tears pricked your eyes and fell as you blinked.
The hand in your hair held your head in place as he started to fuck your throat. Your eyes rolled, hand dropping away to your side as control was taken from you. “Like that, huh? Fuck, you’re so filthy. Such a—mnnh—such a slut.”
It went right to your aching cunt, pulsing around nothing. Throbbing with Gojo’s cock hitting deep in your throat, forcing you wide open to him as he held your head and fucked your face. Drool dripped down your chin, so much it trailed down your neck in lewd streaks.
Your mind was splintering again as your nose buried in the soft, fluffy hair. Lashes fluttering as your eyes rolled and you gagged.
“Ohh my fucking god,” Gojo moaned loud, his head flew back and your objective snapped back into place. You moved, reaching to your left and your fingers closed around the handle of the huge hunting knife.
Gojo’s grip tightened, your scalp stung.
The tip of the knife barely pushed into his side before steel pressed to your temple again.
“Gotcha,”
Fuck.
The blade pricked and cut into his side, the tip of it broke skin and was pushing in between his ribs. You gave him a weak glare, throat tight and still choking on his cock with the muzzle of your gun to your temple.
He was close already, balls tight and abs clenched to hold himself back. But that sight alone pushed him right over the edge.
He grunted a “Fuck,” and his hips stuttered. Your eyes went wide and you blinked furiously as his cock kicked in your mouth, and he spilled hot cum down your throat. “Don’t—ngh—don’t fucking look at me like—ugh—like that,” He muttered through clenched teeth, shoulders drooping and panting.
“Think you’re sneaky, huh?” He asked, catching his breath as he pulled your face away. You gasped for air and coughed when his cock pulled from your throat. Holding the knife that cut into his ribs. He held the gun to your head as you recovered. “Saw that one coming the second you got on your knees, sweetheart.”
“Fuck… you,” You choked out with a glare.
Gojo gripped your arm and hauled you up to your feet. The knife pulled from its spot between his ribs and moved to his throat quickly, blade pressed to a critical vein. The muzzle of the gun went under your chin.
He held your naked body to his, his face amused as he asked, “So, what now?”
You searched his face, lips puffy and glossed with spit. Your cheek still bright red from the slaps.
You lurched forward, and kissed Gojo, lips pressing to his hard.
It caught him a bit off guard, but he got his shit together quick and wrapped an arm around your waist. Your head tipped and your arm went over his shoulder, fingers threading up through his hair. The other still holding the blade to his neck.
The muzzle of your gun stayed pressed to your temple as Gojo walked you backwards until you hit a wall covered in plastic. Your mouths clashed, short breaths hot and mingling together as your tongues tangled and slid together.
He pinned you to the wall with his body, hard chest pressed to yours.
Gojo lifted his face away and pulled the latex glove off his free hand with his teeth, tossing it to the floor. His mouth found yours again and he gripped and squeezed along your body. Your spine arched, pushing your breast into his bare hand as he pinched and rolled your nipple.
You moaned into his mouth. His hips pushed forward, to you. Cock already hard again and pressed to your stomach.
Wrong. So, so wrong. How badly you wanted it. How twisted and dangerous and fucking hot it was with a gun to your head and a blade to his throat.
Maybe you were a nut too.
Gojo slid his hand down to your thigh, lifting your leg to the side. You pushed up on your toes to get yourself a little closer to his height.
“Say it,” He murmured to you.
You were aching, doing everything but begging for it at that point.
“Fuck me,” It was a whisper of a plea into Gojo’s mouth and it made him smile. That you’d finally admit it, admit that you wanted him. For real this time. The cards were all out in the open, no sneaky blade was about to stab into his vitals because it was already at his throat.
“Anything you want,” He glanced between you, “Give me a hand, sweetheart. Mine are a little full,” He tapped the muzzle to your temple lightly with a smirk.
The hand in his hair dropped, gliding over his broad shoulder. Down his chest, you felt every line and dip and defined muscle of his abs. Your eyes lowered to follow to trail down, and you gripped his cock. He took a sharp breath, eyes trained on your face as you bit your lip and slid the tip of his cock through your folds.
Long fingers dug into your thigh, gripping hard as you lined him up to your drooling hole. The heat of your cunt was driving him fucking crazy, and he wasn’t even inside you yet.
You looked up again, lip in your teeth, and he drove his hips up.
Your face contorted, nose scrunching as your pussy struggled to take the thick intrusion. The blade at his throat trembled as you cried out, clenching around Gojo’s cock as he pushed halfway in and stilled.
Fuck. You were so fucking tight.
He’d imagined something like this before, but nothing, not the vision his head fed him to pump his cock to, no other person, nothing could ever come close to being buried in you.
Gasping for air, gripping his shoulder and bunching the fabric of his shirt in your fist as you trembled on his cock. Stilled halfway in, every little twitch and pulse of your cunt made his breath come short.
“Fuck…” You whimpered as his lips touched yours again. “Gojo, I can’t—”
“Satoru,” He reminded, “I’m literally inside you, sweetheart.” He groaned and pushed into you deeper, “You can take it all, right? Make it fit like a good girl, yeah?”
You whined, shaking on tip toes. “Don’t fucking call me that,”
“Want me to call you a slut instead?” He grinned, breathing hard and pulling out to shove back in deeper. “What if I called you mine?”
You shut him up with another kiss. He licked into your mouth like a claim, branding you with his hot tongue and his cock buried so deep it felt like he was in your guts already. The stretch burned and took your breath, pain and adrenaline made it melt into pleasure that you craved more of.
Fucking into you steadily, you felt every vein that dragged through your walls. The angle had him push into a sweet spot on every thrust into you.
Moans and heavy breathing and obscene squelching echoed off the plastic as he fucked you up against the wall, holding you open to him with the muzzle still pressed to your head.
“You’re mine, you understand that now, right?” Gojo murmured to you, “You’ve always belonged to me, now I'm just taking what’s mine.”
He nipped your lip, dragging his mouth over yours as he pinned you to the wall and bottomed out with one hard thrust. “Say it.”
Fucked. That’s what you were. So unbelievably fucked.
You looked him in the eye as you breathed the words out.
“I’m yours,”
It didn’t feel like a lie. It felt like you belonged to him. Gojo killed for you, why didn’t that scare you more? Make you want to run from him and the claim he’d seemed to set on you long before this.
The gun dropped from your head and clattered to the ground. You had leverage now, he was giving up control and power and you could do it, tell him to stop and use this to get out.
But you didn’t.
You dropped the knife, threw your arms around his neck, let him pick you up with both hands, and kissed him.
Gojo carried you across the room and set you down on the table that held Zenin Naoya’s lifeless body. He broke the kiss, still buried inside you, and turned your head to face the corpse. You shut your eyes against the sight of it.
Gojo’s lips brushed your jaw as he spoke, his voice was raw and low. “Look. He’ll never hurt another girl again, and it’s because of you. Because I’d do anything for you.” Gojo turned you to look at him again. “I belong to you, too. Every fucked up part of me is yours.”
He looked as raw as he sounded. Eyes wide and vulnerable like he was bearing his soul to you, and you nodded. You didn’t agree with the method, but you understood.
Too many times you’d felt you weren’t enough, like you were failing the people you swore to serve and protect. Gojo had done the same, and he was doing it in a way that made certain the monsters that roamed free would never harm again.
You were always into the vigilante thing, you guessed. It was pretty hot. Maybe Gojo would wear spandex and a mask too.
The thought made you laugh a little and you cupped his face with both hands. “You’re a fucking psycho. Take your shirt off, this feels unfair.”
Gojo grinned, wide and wicked and so pretty it wasn’t fair. “I’m crazy for you, sweetheart. Anything you want.” He pulled the tight black shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor.
That wasn’t fair.
You always thought it weird that a nerd holed up in a lab all day would be so jacked, and now you understood why. You eyed him without shame, just as you always did. Lingering on his broad chest, gaze sliding down the ripples of his abs. There was a bloody cut on his oblique from where the knife had dug in.
Oops.
“Fuck me,” He was still buried inside you, but you said it anyways. And Gojo obliged.
He spread your legs open with both hands, and held tight as he thrust hard into you. He split you open on his cock, panting into your mouth and staring with lidded eyes into yours as he slammed in balls deep.
Your head flew back and a guttural sound came from deep in your chest. The pace he set was brutal, like he’d held something back before and it was snapped free now. A sound like a growl rumbled in his throat, teeth raking down your jaw, over your throat and he latched on to the skin.
He sucked and bit and bullied into you. Pushing your legs wider as he angled his hips up to push into a spot that made your head spin. Stars glittered across your vision and your nails dug into skin as you gripped his shoulders.
The pain didn’t bother him one bit. He reveled in it, savoring the sting of your nails breaking skin. He bit harder and moaned against your throat. The table rocked with every hard thrust.
He never wanted it to end, your cunt gripped and pulsed around his cock, greedy as fuck and sucking him in. Wet and loud and hot, what heaven might feel like. Your pussy was better, and he’d never even get to see the gates to compare.
Gojo rocked into you, sliding in deep and whining around your throat as the tip of his cock ground against your cervix. You cried out, cunt fluttering around him. Your legs shaking in his grip, spine bowing to push your chest up to him.
It was perfect. You were perfect.
He wanted to ruin you, break you just to put you back together and do it all over again.
Heat coiled through you, wrapping through your insides like a white hot wire that burned anything it touched. Every drag of his thick cock through your walls sparked more and you clawed at Gojo’s shoulders, keening as you clung to him.
You were so lost in everything you didn’t even notice his hand move until his thumb pressed to your clit and your eyes rolled.
“Oh my god, f-fuck!” Your body locked up, shuddering as he toyed your clit, pressing mean circles on the sensitive bud.
Your cunt gripped tight, like you were trying to slow him, but Gojo was relentless, never slowing even as his abs clenched. He pressed his forehead to yours, both slick with sweat.
“Let go, come for me sweetheart, I want to feel it.”
Another shudder wracked through you, and the wire snapped free. Your jaw dropped in a silent cry, your cunt pulsed and gushed around Gojo’s cock. Warm slick flooded and dripped as he hammered into you. Thumb wet and slipping as you twitched with every messy circle he kept rubbing, drawing out your orgasm until his balls tightened.
“Gonna come in you. You’re mine so I’m fuckin’ fill you up.” It wasn’t even a question, you wanted it just as bad as he did. As if you’d go through all of that just for him to fucking pull out.
He threw his head back and moaned. A pretty sound, almost as pretty as the sight, the column of his throat exposed. He gripped the plush of your thigh hard, buried to hilt in your still twitching cunt, and the ache in his cock finally released.
You felt the kick deep as he shuddered, hips stuttering as he spilled. Spurts of hot cum coated your walls. He didn’t stop, head falling forward again and whining as he fucked it all deeper into you. You keened and jerked on every short, sloppy thrust. Sweat dripped down your neck and your body felt beyond spent.
Finally Gojo stilled, both of you caught your breath a little before he kissed you again. Softer, less urgent with the tension released. He pulled back and murmured against your mouth, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t be mad when you wake up.”
Something pricked your neck and you jerked back, eyes going wide. “What the fu…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before the syringe of M-99 he pulled from his back pocket worked its magic and you passed out. He caught you with an arm around your waist and lowered you to the table. He pulled out of your cunt and watched as his cum poured from your pussy. Pretty and used and dripping milky cum.
What a fucking sight. Everything about you was so pretty. But he didn't quite trust you not to stab him in the back and run the moment you got the chance, not yet.
You’d be just as pretty when you woke up again tied up, even if you were in a blind rage when you did.
He always did kind of like when you yelled at him.
꒷꒦a/n꒦꒷ if you made it thru all of this and haven't already, please go check out TMD by Innka on ao3, her work is incredible and seared into my brain and got me through this one (TMD is unfinished but still brilliant and worth the read). huge ty to my soulmate and beta reader @sadtrash69 for making this legible omg T_T
୨୧ postpartum. the baby’s asleep. gojo misses you — all of you. mlist
i wanted this to feel like healing and hunger at the same time — soft praise, quiet obsession, and the kind of love that worships stretch marks and leaking skin.
to anyone who’s ever felt unseen after giving everything: this one’s for you ♡
gojo satoru x reader
minors do not interact. this piece is intended for 18+ audiences.
contains the following: postpartum body discussion, lactation kink, oral (fem receiving), soft obsession/yandere undertones, extreme tenderness, possessive praise, emotional vulnerability, and light breeding talk.
The baby is finally asleep.
Swaddled tight in his bassinet, little sighs puffing from his nose. One hand peeking out, tiny fingers twitching in dreamland.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, you sit down. A soft blanket draped over your lap. Shirt still unbuttoned from the last feed. Your body aches — warm and sore, stretched and softened in places you’re still learning to accept.
The apartment is quiet.
Until you hear the soft pad of bare feet and the quiet click of the bathroom door opening. Gojo steps out, shirtless, damp towel slung around his neck, hair dripping in soft silver waves. He smells like soap and warmth and everything safe. But the look in his eyes?
Starving.
He sees you — shirt rumpled, breast slightly exposed, stretch marks tracing your hips, belly still swollen and tender — and stops cold in the doorway. His expression shifts, like something in his chest just cracked open.
“...You’re fucking stunning.”
You scoff under your breath, self-conscious. “I haven’t even showered. I smell like spit-up and milk. My hair—”
“Stop.”
His voice cuts through, low and rough — like it hurts him to hear you speak that way about yourself.
He walks over slow. Like you’re sacred. Like he’s afraid to touch something so breakable.
Then he kneels in front of you, both hands coming to rest gently on your thighs, warm and grounding. His thumbs rub slow, reverent circles into your skin.
“Do you even know what you’ve done?” he whispers, looking up at you like you hung the damn stars. “You made our son. With your body. You carried him, fed him, loved him. Every single part of you right now—” his palm smooths over your belly, still soft, still healing “—is the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
Your throat tightens. You blink hard, trying not to cry.
“You’re gonna make me cry,” you whisper.
He smiles. Kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.
“I already did,” he murmurs. “You should’ve seen me holding him in the hospital. I was a wreck.”
You laugh softly, burying your face in his damp hair as he leans in.
But when his lips trail lower—down your neck, across your collarbone, brushing the swell of your breast—you feel it. That familiar ache. That low, pulsing need you’ve ignored for weeks.
His hand slides under the blanket, up your belly. His thumb grazes under the curve of your breast, then stills.
“You’re leaking,” he whispers, gaze fixed on the tiny droplet forming at your nipple.
Your breath catches.
“I should go pump—”
“No,” he says, voice husky. “Don’t move.”
“Toru—what are you—”
“Let me.”
Before you can argue, his lips wrap around your nipple. Tongue warm, mouth soft and full. He licks the droplet away, then sucks — gentle, slow, reverent.
A gasp escapes you.
The stimulation is instant — not just physical, but deep, like something in you that’s been aching finally gives way. You whimper, thighs twitching beneath the blanket as he nurses with slow, deliberate care. Not for milk — but for you.
“Still so sensitive,” he murmurs, switching sides. “You were made for this. Look at you. Feeding our baby… and still tasting so sweet.”
Your fingers thread into his hair, the other hand gripping the edge of the blanket. Your whole body trembles, not from exhaustion this time — from the low burn of pleasure spreading under your skin.
“I’ve missed you,” you whisper.
He looks up, lips wet, pupils dark.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he replies. “Every night you held him, every time you fell asleep in that rocking chair—I wanted you so bad I couldn’t fucking breathe.”
He rises slowly and lifts you like you weigh nothing.
“Toru—wait—”
“I know,” he murmurs. “You’re healing. I’m not gonna rush you.”
He lays you down gently, blanket falling away. Presses soft, patient kisses to your thighs. His mouth trails lower, until his tongue grazes your skin with aching tenderness.
“I just wanna love you,” he breathes. “Every inch. Every part. Nothing rough. Just this.”
Then he devours you — slow, deep, worshipful.
His hands grip your hips but never hold tight. His tongue moves with precision and reverence, drawing soft cries from your lips and tremors from your thighs. You try to stay quiet — the baby — but it’s no use. He’s too good. He always is.
When you come, it’s with a sobbed-out breath, your fingers curled into his hair, your chest shaking with relief.
He kisses your inner thigh, then crawls up beside you and gathers you into his arms.
One hand finds your breast again. His thumb gently strokes another tiny stream of milk.
“You’re gonna hate me for saying this,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth.
“What now?”
He grins.
“…I already wanna knock you up again.”
You swat his shoulder. “Satoru—”
“I’m serious,” he hums against your neck. “I wanna fill you again. Watch you grow. Glow. Leak. Carry.”
“You’re absolutely insane.”
“Nah. I’m just in love,” he says. “Obsessed. And never getting over this body.”
He glances at the bassinet, where your son sighs in his sleep.
“We made him. With this.” His hand slides down to stroke your belly. “So yeah… I want more. As many as you’ll give me.”
You sigh, still catching your breath, still glowing from his touch.
pairing: aerion targaryen x wife!oc , daeron targaryen x oc
Clarice cleared her throat. “I can’t reach my feet,” she said simply.
Aerion stared at her. He looked at her feet, then at her face. His expression flickered between irritation, disgust, and then something else. Something swift and sharp and much too vulnerable that he buried before it could settle into his features.
Aerion let out a short, humorless breath. “Pathetic,”
He dropped to one knee.
Chapter I: The dynamics of love
Chapter II: The colour of spilled blood
Chapter III: A stage for the Seven
Chapter 3.5 : I've had some tricks up my sleeve
Chapter IV: I kneel and I feel nothing but stone
Chapter V: And despite myself I am going to miss you
Chapter 5.5: I've dreamed of you, Clarice of the Eyrie (Part I)
Chapter 5.5: I've dreamed of you, Clarice of the Eyrie (Part II)
Chapter VI: The river always finds its way
Chapter VII: The Lord of the Vale
Chapter VIII: We could share a kiss under the weeping willow
Chapter IX: If I blink you might disappear again
Chapter 9.5: I like you best with a blade against my throat