❥ quick facts! mira | 20+ | chinese | pisces | isfj-t | 4w5 | slytherin | chaotic neutral
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(m) = mature content | bold = dark content
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setting: university!au, hockey player/figure skater!au
genre: angst, fluff, smut
contains: hockey player gojo, fratboy gojo, lovesick gojo (more in the future part(s), figure skater reader, childhood friends to lovers to exes to frenemies to lovers again (a bit chaotic here!), eventual smut (not in this part sorry), a lot of plot (especially this part, future part(s) won't have as much now that we've established the setting)
summary: you've fallen in love twice in your life. first, with the ice. second, with satoru gojo. you were forced to leave both behind once, but perhaps the things meant to be yours will always find their way back.
6:55 AM.
Five minutes til the practice session is over and ice will be resurfaced by the Zamboni, which you can already hear roaring to life behind the boards. You have just enough time to complete a full run of your program.
“Can you get the music for me, Shoko?” you call over to your teammate, Shoko Ieiri, who sends you a thumbs up before skating over to the music box. The rest of your teammates move to stand near the boards to give you ample space, which makes you groan in mock frustration.
“Guys, I don’t need an audience,” you joke as you make your way to your starting spot.
“Just making sure we don’t get in your way, Miss President,” Utahime Iori, another one of your teammates and Shoko’s girlfriend, giggles. You roll your eyes playfully, raising your arms above your head into your beginning pose.
As soon as your music, a medley from The Nutcracker, starts playing, you immediately empty your brain of all distractions to concentrate solely on getting through your program. The team is traveling to a competition in just two weeks, so you know there’s no room for losing focus now.
Thanks to the past few weeks of the highest intensity training you could muster in tandem with your university classes, your runthrough goes as smoothly as it possibly could. Six jumps and three spins later, you’ve still somehow got energy in your body as you set up your final jump of the program—a single axel. You’re smiling as you prepare to step up into the jump, proud of your efforts and thinking about the junk food you’ll definitely be treating yourself to after such a successful practice—
Then it hits you.
The pungent, terrible downright disgusting stench of sweat, feet, and dirt. Loud, obnoxious, male voices suddenly echo through the arena, followed by the loud thumping and clanging of sticks and gear. Fuck. The hockey players are here.
That split second of distraction makes you completely pop your axel, instead only managing a mere half rotation to stay on your feet. You hear one of your teammates groan in sympathetic frustration. You feel similarly—dammit, you were so close to a perfect program.
Annoyed, you hit your ending pose with a sour look on your face. Then a whole round of applause and shouts from the bleachers fills your ears, causing you to snap your gaze to where the entirety of the Tokyo University D1 hockey team has decided to park their smelly asses.
“Fuckers,” you curse under your breath as you skate back towards your teammates waiting at the boards, who look equally peeved.
“What is their damn problem? It’s too early for this,” Utahime complains.
“Shouldn’t they be warming up or getting their skates on? They’ve only got ten minutes til it’s their turn on the ice,” Shoko gripes.
You just sigh, looking down at the time on your phone. 7:00 AM on the dot. “Time to clear out, girls. Let’s go before we get poisoned by the fumes of their stench.” One of the freshmen and new members of the team, Miwa, pats you on the shoulder.
“You’ll get it next time, Miss President.”
“Thanks.” You smile, stepping off the ice and putting on your protective guards over your blades. “Honestly, I shouldn’t get thrown off like that, even if they smell and sound like shit.” All of your teammates laugh.
The Tokyo University Collegiate Figure Skating Club has three main rules. One, don’t be late to practice. Two, always show support to your teammates. Three, school is a priority over skating—this is just a club, after all. But there’s a fourth rule, unspoken, though either way some would struggle to follow it—do not be romantically or sexually involved with anyone on the D1 hockey team. No dating, hooking up, hell, even makeouts were banned. Hey, you didn’t make the rules, you’re just enforcing them as part of your job as president of the club. It’s a duty passed onto you and following nearly ten years of tradition.
And although the figure skating club has been around for ten years, the hockey team has been around for infinitely longer. Everyone knows this, and you all feel it too. Being D1 means school funding, public support, and general privileges that the figure skating club could only dream of having. While the hockey team doesn’t have to pay a single cent out of their pockets for competition travel, coaching fees, or even ice time, you and your teammates are stuck organizing monthly fundraisers in valiant efforts to scrounge enough money for all the club activities. And in the end, you often still have tol shell out tons of money for limited practice time, no coach, and three whole competitions each year.
Worst of all, the hockey team is absolutely well aware of how much better they have it, and don’t hesitate to be absolute assholes about it. They’ve been purposely coming in to mock figure skating practices for as long as you’ve been in the club. You’ve really thought about doing something about it, especially since you’re now president, but you can’t exactly stand up to the prized jewel of Tokyo University’s ice sports. You’re pretty sure 99% of the student body is wholly unaware that Tokyo University even has a figure skating club.
As unglamorous as the life of a club-tier athlete is, you’re determined to make your final year in university as calm and enjoyable as possible. You’re not going to let your disgust (and envy) of the hockey team get in the way of anything. Inner peace. Inner peace. Inner peace—
“Hey, Prez.” Fuck. You stiffen and still in place, watching as your teammates, who you were trailing behind, disappear into the locker room ahead. Slowly, you turn to meet the sapphire gaze of your literal worst nightmare.
Satoru Gojo, captain of Tokyo University’s D1 hockey team. Star player, prodigy, the Golden Boy, the best thing since sliced bread. You’ve heard it all, truly.
With fluffy white hair, a charming grin, and piercing blue eyes, he’s the very vision of beauty. Unfortunately, his utterly insufferable personality cancels out everything that you might find appealing about him. Absolutely arrogant to a fault, but at least he has the skills to back it up—if he didn’t you’d probably dislike him just a bit more.
“Gojo,” you say curtly, looking up with distaste. You would’ve loved to ignore him, but you recently got scolded—scolded—for being rude to the hockey players by some rink staff, so you know you have to at least try and be cordial, lest you somehow lose even more practice time. There’s a reason why you’re finishing practice at 7 AM this morning; all the reasonably timed sessions are thoroughly booked for hockey or the public.
You note, idly and involuntarily, that he does not, in fact, stink like shit. He never has.
“We were all cheering for ya, didn’t you hear?” he cocks his head to the side with an irritatingly attractive grin. “And also, why not ‘Satoru’?”
“No,” you grit out, ignoring his second question. You’d recently made the mistake of calling him by his first name; old habits die hard, you suppose.
“Aw.” He snickers. “Come on, I’ve seen you do that last jump a million times. You’ve had it since we were like te—” You hush him with a sharp glare, eyes darting around to make sure no one’s listening.
“Four whole years into university,” you hiss. “And you still don’t know how to act subtle—”
“Whoops,” Satoru says breezily. “My bad.” he lowers his voice. “Still don’t get it though, why—”
“It doesn’t matter why.” You feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment; it’s true, you’ve never told him why. Why you have to act like you don’t know each other, like you’ve never met. To Satoru’s minimum credit, at least he’s humored you all this time. He doesn’t know about rule four, nor does he need to.
And honestly, he probably couldn’t care less, for Satoru just shrugs and takes a few steps away. “Don’t miss me too much, I’ll be at your little bake sale later!” Your jaw clenches, and you don’t respond verbally. But when he turns his back to you, you flip him off with intense vigor.
You don’t know why he won’t just leave you alone. Sure, you’ve known each other for well over a decade, having grown up skating at the same rink. But you thought you’ve made it crystal clear that you have no intentions to reignite the same friendship you once had, not at all. Getting any closer to him again would be entirely unwise, for many reasons.
Especially since deep down, you know he’s always going to be your first love.
-
You were five years old when you fell for your true first love — a freshly resurfaced sheet of ice, smooth and shiny and sparkling under the bright lights hanging overhead.
Though you hadn’t tried figure skating before, after you’d watched the most recent Winter Olympics, you’d begged your mother let you try it out. After weeks of pestering, you finally convinced her to drive you two hours to the nearest ice rink. You were determined to show her that she wouldn’t regret this, that you were here to follow your destiny, that you’d be a champion in no time—
With excitement racing through your veins, you’d run to the entrance of the ice with your clunky blue plastic rental skates, blowing right past a skate guard that barely had time to notice you and react, only to take two giant, clumsy steps on the surface before promptly faceplanting.
As any reasonable five year old would do, you immediately burst into tears.
“Oh my f — kid, you can’t just — don’t just — ugh!” The skate guard, a tall, built teenager with pink hair and far too many tattoos racing along his arms, slapped an irritated hand against his forehead, groaning. He had pushed out onto the ice, stopping in front of you to offer you help. “Hey. You okay? You gotta get up.”
“I — I don’t — “ you had blubbered pathetically, barely even able to make out the skate guard’s presence thanks to the tears blurring your vision.
Then a small figure, not much bigger than your own, whizzed by at breakneck speed. The skate guard groaned again, crossing his arms. “Yo! Gojo! Slow the hell down!”
The unknown kid stopped abruptly, spraying you and the skate guard with snow.
“Hey!” you exclaimed, while the skate guard’s face simply darkened. He cracked his knuckles menacingly, seeming to forget all about you.
“Gojo,” he had gritted out.
“Nah nah! Boo boo!” White hair. Sapphire blue eyes. Shit-eating grin. You barely registered his face before he took off again. “Catch me if you can, old man Kuna!”
“I’m sixteen!” ‘Kuna’ yelled, chasing right after him in an angry flurry. You had sat on the ice in a daze, watching the two boys fly around the rink.
“Woah,” you had muttered to yourself. “I wanna go that fast.”
-
You swipe some sweat off your forehead as you arrange the homemade pastries prepared by you and your teammates into neat rows. Five folding tables full of baked goods are now strategically placed along the edge of the student plaza, hopefully enticing enough that people would stop by on their way to and from class.
Two hours and fifty minutes into the three hour bake sale, you’re doing your best to not have a public meltdown. For some odd reason, the student body was being incredibly health conscious today. There’s only so many more glares and dismissive waves from calling out to passing students that you can take before you go crazy.
There’s still a solid half of pastries that hadn’t been claimed, and you’re already envisioning the utter lack of weight your pockets would hold after they’ve been completely emptied for club activities.
“Nice buns, prez.”
You immediately tense up upon hearing the awfully familiar, terribly smug drawl of the person you’d least like to see in this moment.
Whirling around abruptly with a toss of your perfectly tied ponytail, you nail the offender right in the face with the sharp swish of your hair, smiling inwardly at the surprised noise that cuts through the air.
“Oh, Gojo!” your lips stretch into the widest, fakest smile you can muster. “How kind of you to drop by!” You cock your head, glancing at the band of buffoons suddenly crowding around the tables of freshly baked goods. “And you brought your whole team too. Lovely.”
“Least I could do for ya, Prez.” Satoru’s smirk resurfaces, leaning down to look you right in the face with his piercing blue gaze. “Gotta help the needy.” Your smile turns faker, if possible.
“Aren’t you sweet to empathize with the less fortunate.” You tap the sign listing all of the available baked goods, along with their prices, a little too aggressively. “Please, tell me, what can I get for you?” Before Satoru can respond, someone gently takes your arm and moves you out of the way.
“Jeez, you guys are like oil and water, it’s insane,” Shoko mutters, before acknowledging Satoru. “You gonna buy something or are you just here to bother our president?”
“He’s never here for anything else,” you scoff under your breath, kicking up your nose and stalking away.
“You really do have nice buns here!” Satoru calls after you, causing every last hair on your arm to stand on edge out of pure irritation.
-
Anyone and everyone that trains at the Jujutsu Ice Center knows of Gojo Satoru. A true talent, already in skates by the time he was one, and playing in the little leagues at two. After he’d just finished elementary school, he already had high schools looking to scout him for their varsity teams.
You’ve known from the day you saw him that no one can be Gojo Satoru, no matter how hard they try. The way he moved on the ice was as if he was born on skates, hell, maybe he’d been in the womb with blades already strapped to the soles of his feet. Months and years passed of watching him play around with his friends on public sessions while you continued to struggle with solidifying your basic skating skills.
About five years into coming to the rink once a week to fall till your behind was sore, your mother, against your father’s wishes, started paying for private lessons with a coach. Your progress finally started picking up, and quickly.
Then on the day you landed your single axel—the first major hurdle in every young skater’s journey—Gojo Satoru finally noticed you.
“Hey!” You had jumped at the sound of his rambunctious voice right at your ear. You slowly turned around, your heart rate suddenly quickening. “You don’t suck as much now!”
“U-Uh—“ you stammered.
“Who are you?” Satoru demanded. You had stuttered out your name. “What, you don’t like talking?” You took a deep breath, straightening up.
“I never said that,” you replied solemnly. “And yeah, I don’t suck anymore. Soon I’ll be better than you even.” At this, Satoru paused, blue eyes widening just a fraction.
Then, he threw his head back and laughed long and hard.
“Sure,” he had sneered. “I’d like to see you try.”
-
“He just—ugh, he pisses me off so badly,” you lament to Shoko over lunch. “Nice buns—let’s see how he’d like two buns with a knuckle between them—I don’t think he’s organized a fundraiser in his damn life—“
“Chill, girl. He just wants your attention.” Shoko rolls her eyes as she takes a bite of her rice bowl. “He’s an asshole, but at least he bought three dozen of the cinnamon rolls you made.”
“What?” your eyes nearly bug out of your head. “Three dozen? That’s half of what I brought!” Shoko sends you an exasperated look.
“Yeah. And he was encouraging all his teammates to pick something up too.” At this, you frown, suspicion all over your face.
“What the hell is he playing at… he’s definitely trying to psych me out, that jerk, and after taking another two hours of our ice time too— “
“They’re the D1 athletes,” Shoko says plainly.
“Well, we’re really left with nothing at this point!” you retort hotly. “Practice hours cut, absolutely no funding—“
“What’s new?” Shoko muses. You sigh, leaning back in your seat.
“God, what are we gonna do about the competition coming up?” you grumble. “I already had to take Aya and Mari off the roster because Utahime heard they hooked up with hockey guys at a party last week.”
“Ew,” Shoko supplies.
“Didn’t anyone tell them?” you exhale deeply through your nose. “I’m just trying to have peace in our club this year. The last thing we need is for anyone else to be shimmying out of their panties for those—those—”
“Imbeciles?”
“Yes, thank you.” You aggressively stab a piece of chicken with your fork. “We can’t let them have any other sort of power or connection over us. It’s already hard enough as it is.”
“Have you thought about anything besides skating since the school year began a month ago?” At her question, you pause, pondering her words for a moment.
“...No.”
“Well, you should damn well start.” Shoko crosses her arms. “Didn’t you get asked out last week?” You straighten up, cheeks heating.
“Right, yeah, that guy in my Chemistry class, Kaito. I did say yes…”
-
You’d considered Satoru Gojo a friend at some point. Maybe even your best friend, by the time you were both finishing middle school, after you’d spent several summer training camps at the rink practically joined at the hip in spite of your separate sports. By now, he’d been recruited by the top high school in the prefecture to join their varsity team and you’d qualified for your first National Championships.
Your and Satoru’s names were now tied together in the conversation of prodigies, two young teens with the potential to do amazing things in figure skating and hockey respectively. And although no one had yet dared to comment, anyone who looked at the two of you could tell there was a special connection brewing. Light brushes of hands, reddened ears, shy glances, nervous laughs — all the makings of the first stages of teenage love.
On your fifteenth birthday, Satoru Gojo asked you to be his girlfriend.
Bouquet of fresh pink roses in one hand, a white teddy bear in the other, and a box of your favorite cupcakes already set up on a picnic blanket.
Satoru had asked you to come to the park with him after practice, and you’d gladly obliged, not thinking much of what he might have had in mind. Him standing before you with all his gifts in tow with a nervous, shy, yet hopeful look on his face was definitely not on your bingo card.
“‘Toru, I—” you had paused mid-sentence to hold back an elated giggle, because heaven knows you’d been waiting so patiently for this moment. You’ve had what you thought was a one-sided crush on this boy since you discovered what it even meant to have a crush. “I would—I would love to be your girlfriend.”
The next year was pure bliss. You were able to see him every day, despite not going to the same school, thanks to the figure skating and hockey practices being scheduled relatively close to one another. On weekends, you’d go and do everything that an innocent first love entailed—shared milkshakes, walks on the beach, picnics in the park.
At a moment in time, you had thought to yourself that you were absolutely sure that you could never be happier with anyone else.
-
Satoru weaves through the crowd in the dining hall with his tray of food in hand, looking for a place to sit. He opts for a quieter corner; damn he is exhausted after practice. The coach had pushed the team extra hard today thanks to their next tournament being only a short while away.
As any college student does when they don’t want to be bothered, he shoves his headphones over his ears, listening idly to the most recent professional hockey league news as he works on housing down a burger.
“Right, yeah, that guy in my Chemistry class, Kaito. I did say yes…” A familiar voice somehow filters into his hearing within the few seconds of silence between segments. Satoru could recognize your voice anywhere, in all its various forms, though it’s been a while since he’d heard such fondness in your tone. Frowning to himself, he removes his headphones. You and a friend are sitting a few tables away with your backs to him, but still within his earshot.
“And? When’s the date?” Shoko—he thinks that’s her name—presses you for details. Date? Satoru’s blood runs cold.
“We agreed to meet after the competition, since I don’t want any distractions. So two Saturdays from now.”
“Seriously? Can’t you take your mind off skating for just one second and just go on a date?”
“Absolutely not.” You laugh, the sound making Satoru’s chest constrict strangely. “I’m not that desperate, Sho. I don’t mind waiting for another two weeks.” Satoru stares down at his half-eaten meal, suddenly losing his appetite.
Seven years since he asked you to be his girlfriend. Six since you broke up with him. Yet he still finds himself lying awake at night, sometimes even beside another woman, your face always haunting his every thought.
Satoru knows why you’re not the biggest fan of his; he deserves your distaste. But Satoru still can’t help but be selfish, and miss when you looked at him with wide eyes and shy smiles, rather than narrowed glares and curled lips. Even though you’ve shown that you no longer want anything to do with him and never will again, he still can’t help but try, just try for a bit of your attention every time he sees you. How can he not, when you’re so damn adorable even when you’re fuming mad?
Some days, he has half a mind to kiss the scowl right off your face, but he has a strong feeling that it won't end too well.
But the way you look right now, starry-eyed and excited as you tell your friend about the man who’d asked you out, Satoru almost can’t understand the feeling that wells up in him. Knowing that you’re talking about someone else, and that you’re moving on—
“Fuck.” Satoru sits back in his chair, unable to take his eyes off of you. He’s tried, tried so damn hard to give you space, to respect that you’d never want to be his again, to accept that it’s truly over. But as you giggle nervously, sharing more about your date, he can only think about one thing.
I need to get her back.
-
Shortly after you turn sixteen, disaster strikes.
Your coach had been pushing you to train the incredibly difficult triple axel, putting immense strain on your entire body that you never had much time to recover from. Eventually, your injuries culminate in a disastrous fall that sent you straight to the hospital. You had fractured your spine and hip, and needed a minimum of a year off the ice to recover. But everyone in figure skating knows that there’s always someone younger, wealthier, and more talented. A year off the ice means your career is essentially over.
Satoru was always by your side the best he could be. He visited you in the hospital while you were recovering, sneaking in your favorite treats and doing his very best to cheer you up. Though despite his best efforts, not much can heal a teenager whose dreams had just been brutally crushed.
Your father had never approved of you dedicating your life to skating. He’d only allowed you to use copious amounts of family money on ice time and coaching because of your mother’s convincing. Your family had even picked up and moved closer to the rink so a two hour commute was no longer necessary. But now that you’re injured, all of it had been for nothing, and your father had no intention of wasting any more time or resources.
Your parents told you only a week in advance about the plan to move back to your home prefecture. You’d just gotten out of the hospital and were on crutches, and the news nearly made you collapse against the nearest wall. Because suddenly, everything felt too real—your body is broken, your skating career is over, and… and, you’re going to have to say goodbye to Satoru.
You’re almost grateful that the breakup was ugly. That way, you’d had an easier time holding him at arm’s length and forgetting what you used to feel for him. Satoru did not react well to the news of the move at all, especially when you told him you don’t plan on staying in your relationship once you move away.
“Why not?” he’d asked, voice a wounded whisper. “You don’t want to see me again?”
“That’s not it. We just won’t work—”
“I don’t understand.” Satoru’s voice started rising in panic. “Even if we see each other less, I wouldn’t mind. I’ll just—I’ll just take the train to see you on the weekends.”
“No…” you trailed off, not even sure how to properly express your thoughts. The truth is, the thought of being so close to Satoru Gojo, a hockey superstar in the making, beloved by all, and watching him achieve everything he’s worked for, everything he deserves, somehow outweighs the love you have for him. You know it’s terrible and abhorrent, but you just can’t. You don’t want to even be reminded of the ice rink for a long, long time.
“I expected more from you,” Satoru had said rather bitterly. And that was the wrong thing to say in the moment, because you’d expected more from yourself too. You felt your heart splintering into pieces, but all you could do was stiffen your lip.
“Well, you shouldn’t have.”
A few more hurtful words were exchanged, til the point of no return. The two of you parted ways that evening with anger burning in your hearts. But after getting back to the safety of your own bedrooms, all either of you could do was cry, tears streaming freely down your cheeks.
-
“Shoko, Utahime, you both fucking owe me one,” you mutter angrily under your breath as you storm down frat row to the infamous Alpha Phi Alpha. You know it’s the fraternity that most of the hockey team, including your dreaded ex, is associated with, but you give Shoko and Utahime a pass because one, they’re dating each other, and two, they’re high school friends with the Vice Captain, Suguru Geto. Should you catch any other member of the figure skating club in that godforsaken frat house, they’d immediately be off the competition roster.
Both girls had gotten pretty plastered and Utahime had called you slurring your name, so you decided to be the amazing friend you are and walk them back from the party. You didn’t even bother to change out of your pajamas, wearing an oversized sweatshirt with the university’s logo on it, some basketball shorts, and slides—you were just going to collect your friends and get the hell out of there. You couldn’t give two shits about what some smelly ass hockey players thought about how you look at 2 AM on a Friday night.
As you march into the frat house, your ears are immediately assaulted by the loud bass of music and the vibrations from people chatting, singing, and yelling. You groan, covering your ears and turning each direction to try and locate your friends.
You spot Suguru on one of the couches, and approach him with a grim look on your face. “Where are they?” You have to practically yell to be heard over the noise. Suguru shrugs unhelpfully.
“Maybe upstairs? They were taking shots in the bathroom.”
“Who’s this?” a feminine voice speaks up, and you suddenly notice there’s a girl on Suguru’s lap. You arch a brow at her.
“No one you need to worry about,” you reassure her with an eyeroll, before hurrying off to find your friends.
You rush upstairs, knocking on the first closed door you see—a bathroom? You can’t even tell anymore, with the lights all dim and the noise nearly completely clouding your senses.
You immediately regret your choice when you hear a groan—a male groan—from behind the door. Oh, fuck. You immediately try to hurry away, but the door swings open, stopping you in your tracks.
“What?” Satoru Gojo stands there, only in his boxers, which are hanging haphazardly off his hop bone, bite marks littered across his chest, annoyed scowl etched across his face—you wish the Earth would swallow you whole. You’d managed to knock on his bedroom door, and worse, you’d clearly interrupted something.
“S-Sorry,” you stammer, humiliated. “I—” Satoru’s eyes widen, then… soften? He says your name like a question, brows furrowing a little.
“What are you doing here?” He sounds almost concerned. You squint at him, trying to decide if he’s drunk.
“I’m looking for Shoko and Utahime. Have you seen them?”
“Oh, they’re on the couch right over there. They fell asleep.” He gestures vaguely to his right. Before you can say anything, a pair of manicured hands snake around Satoru’s waist, pulling him back into the bedroom.
“‘Toru, who’s there?” an unknown woman purrs, peeking at you from behind his shoulder. ‘Toru. Your chest suddenly feels as if it’s been stabbed.
“I told you not to call me that,” Satoru addresses her, sounding frustrated. “Get back in the bed and wait.”
“Oh? You’re so bossy. How cute.” The girl giggles poking at his chest before disappearing back into the room. Satoru glances back at you.
“Sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.”
An awkward beat.
For some reason, you feel like Satoru’s gaze is even more piercing than usual, as his eyes sweep over your frame.
“Forgot you still had them.”
“...What?”
“Your shorts.” Satoru pauses, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, my shorts.” Startled, you look down at your shorts—and shit, he’s right, you’d borrowed these from him years ago and never returned them. You’d honestly completely forgotten they were even his…
“Well, want them back?” You don’t know why your words come out defensive.
“Not at all.” Satoru crosses his arms, still smirking, and leans against the doorframe. You try not to admire the lean muscles that line every inch of his chest and torso, instead clearing your throat and choosing to focus on the chipping plaster on the wall behind him.
“Don’t you have something to get back to?” You hate how your voice comes out a little more agitated than you’d like.
“Nothing more important than what I’ve got in front of me right now.”
“Are you—are you drunk?”
“Nope.” He suddenly leans down, only a few inches away from your face. “Perfectly sound of mind.” You can feel your heart roaring in your ears, for some cursed, unknown reason. You feel crazy; you have a date with someone else coming up, the first person that you’ve taken a chance on in six whole years, something that you’re looking forward to, but you have this horrifying ache in your chest.
You know that Satoru has no problem sleeping with whoever he wants, whenever he wants. How could he ever? Girls throw themselves at him, and he’s more than happy to entertain them. In the time you were dating him, the two of you had sex only a few times, both unsure and confused with what you were doing. The times were quick, clumsy, under the sheets and with lights off, hardly anything to write home about. But at the time, it was more than enough for you, because you desperately wanted to feel closer to him.
Looking at him now, nearly bare, evidence of his sexual escapades marred along his body, you want nothing more than to just—
“You’re so full of shit, Satoru Gojo.” You don’t even know what you mean by that. You’re just angry, so angry with the fact that all you can think about is how you’d never been the one to leave marks on him—hell, you didn’t even know how at the time—and you never will be.
You don’t give him a chance to answer you before you rush off to find your friends, ignoring the call of your name after you.
Somehow, facing the truth of something you’ve already known feels like torture. You knew for a fact that he’s been sleeping around, even if you yourself haven’t so much as gone on a date in six years. What Satoru chooses to do is truly none of your business, and you shouldn’t hold any expectations of him. It’s no longer your right, after all.
But you’ve taken measures, conscious or otherwise, to keep yourself away from the parties or bars you know he frequents, not wanting to know how you’d feel if you actually saw him with another woman.
Now you know, and you hate yourself for the way your eyes burn with unshed tears.
-
A full recovery from your injuries was slow and painful, but you finally felt normal again a year after the incident. Since then, you’d moved back to your hometown and reunited with your childhood friends, and shifted your focus purely to academics. Your new dream is to get into a good university, and that means working on your grades.
Despite doing your best to distract yourself with schoolwork, two topics consistently plagued your mind: figure skating and Satoru Gojo. The past decade of your life had shattered into a million tiny pieces and you couldn’t even properly fathom a life without either.
Many nights were spent curled up in bed crying, wishing for what you had a lifetime ago.
When you received the news that you’d been admitted to Tokyo University, you were relieved that you finally might be able to start anew. During your first week of school, you decided to attend the Club Fair to hopefully pick up a new hobby. You were looking over flyers for the Archery, Water Polo, and Golf, when something familiar catches your eye. A pair of figure skates sitting atop one of the tables, with the banner “Figure Skating Club” hung up in front. Your heart leaps at even seeing the skates.
That’s how you ended up at the on-campus rink just a few hours later, lacing up your old, beat-up skates that hadn’t seen the light of day in six whole years. You didn’t even know why you’d decided to bring them along with you to college, but you suppose you’re grateful that you have them, or else you’d need to wear plastic rentals for the first time since you were five.
The first step on the ice almost sends you flying.
The feeling of gliding across fresh ice, once so familiar, now felt strangely terrifying.
“Careful, newbie!” Yuki, the president of the club at the time, called. “Have you done much skating before?” You laughed, wobbling a little in place before skating over to where she stands by the boards.
“...Yeah. I’m just rusty,” you confessed.
For the next hour, you wipe out a few times, fail at the easy skills you used to do without blinking an eye, chat with your new teammates—you hadn’t felt so carefree on the ice in a long, long time. Years of grueling training with tough coaches and competitive fellow students had molded you into someone who couldn’t walk into an ice rink without feeling their pulse quicken with stress.
Yuki had explained to you how figure skating at Tokyo University is purely a recreational sport, and that the friendly competitions occasionally held at other schools were not anything stressful. The idea of skating “just for fun” had boggled your mind, but everyone in the club seemed to be perfectly content, so you thought to yourself that perhaps, you’d give this a try too.
After the session is over, you’re walking towards the bathroom alone when you suddenly hear someone call your name, shaky and uncertain.
“Is that really you?” You don’t even need to look to know who it is.
“‘...Toru,” you murmur, more to yourself, as you turn to face the voice, gaze downcast. You haven’t even fully looked at him yet, but you can tell that Satoru’s gotten taller, and that his frame is broader. The outline of his jaw in the corner of your vision is sharp and defined; his baby fat is all but gone.
You feel like you should say something to him, but you’re not sure what. You’ve had so many dreams of meeting him again, and in all of them, you’d reconnected so sweetly and naturally, like no time had been spent apart. But now that you’re face-to-face with him, you can hardly muster a thought.
You truly thought you’d never see him again. You didn’t plan on ever returning to Jujutsu Ice Center, or even trying to skate. That was the only true mutual space you shared with him, so it hadn’t even crossed your mind that you’d end up in the same university. Even so, Tokyo University had thousands of students—truly, the only reason why you’d even have a sliver of a chance the see him, is if you’d decided to go to an ice rink. And that’s exactly what you had done.
You feel his eyes trail down to where you’re still wearing the skates on your feet, and you hear his breath hitch. Perhaps he remembers that night when you’d screamed at him that you would never step foot on ice ever again.
“...Welcome back.”
-
A/N
I haven't written something in literal ages I'm sorry if this was terrible/boring/weird etc. Please ask for taglist if interested - I may or may not delete/discontinue this because I literally can't tell if it's good or not LOL! And if anyone has any questions about figure skating terms/logistics please do ask because I am a competitive figure skater of 10+ years and I did my very best to make this as simple as possible, but if it's hard to understand, pleaseeeee let me know!
as an actual competitive figure skater of 10+ years i feel the need to write a proper and accurate ice sports au. thats why my next will be just that :) stay tuned
I hope that requests are still open and I didn’t miss a post that said they weren’t. I just re-read your crybaby fanfic again and I love it so much.
I re-found this fanfic going though old dms lol and I was like “what do you mean it will take away the hurt” AND IT MADE ME SMILE SO MUCH READING IT LIKE AHHH
But yeah the question is if request are open and or you want some ideas. Because…. I have a lot of them.
Anyway! XOXO LOVE YOUR WORK
hii anon sorry for my late answer and i’m so happy you enjoy my work — YES, requests are absolutely open, everyone feel free to send any asks and ideas :)
contains: yandere, estranged childhood friends to enemies to lovers, mentions of self-identity issues, dubious consent, obsessive behavior, loss of virginity, mutual(ish) pining, gojo is bad at expressing his feelings so he’s kinda a jerk, lovesick!gojo
summary: you just want to lose your virginity, no strings attached. how could you have known that gojo satoru is in love with you?
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
release date: tbd | ask for taglist if interested
-
“I want you to take my virginity.”
Satoru’s cocky grin wipes clean off his face. His stare goes blank and his jaw drops open comically wide. For the first time in the twenty-one years you’ve known him, Gojo Satoru is at a loss for words.
“We never have to talk again afterwards,” you add quickly, your cheeks starting to heat up in embarrassment. “This is just gonna be a one-time thing.”
Satoru is silent, expression tense as he observes you carefully. His crystal blue eyes seem to darken a few shades as he takes your hand in his. His thumb strokes once, slowly over the back of your knuckles.
“Just a one-time thing,” he repeats languidly, lips stretching into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Perhaps if you weren’t so focused on the rapid, frantic beating of your own heart, you would’ve noticed Satoru’s gaze wander—only to lock right on the clear patch stubbornly covering your neck’s scent gland. You would’ve seen the way his pupils dilate and his tongue swipes over his lips, with hunger written all over his face.
“Well then,” he all but rasps out, voice thick with desire. Without warning, he pulls your body against his with ease, trapping you in the warmth of his arms. Satoru rests his forehead against yours, letting out a groan that is too soft, too vulnerable, too intimate.
He’s so big, you realize. You can hardly believe that you once stood a whole head taller than him. Satoru towers over you, his lean frame completely dwarfing you. His large hands squeeze at your waist as he presses a barely-there, tender peck to your forehead.
You feel like you can’t breathe.
“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, sweetheart.”
You’ve heard stories about what he’s like in bed; it’s inevitable that as the most desired alpha on campus, he’s gotten around. You don’t expect tenderness or care; if you did, Gojo Satoru is the dead last person to approach. You’re waiting for him to start man-handling you, tearing your clothes off, chasing after the carnal pleasure that only sex can bring. You’ve prepared yourself for that.
Instead, Satoru cups your pretty face between his large hands, running his thumb along your cheekbone. His blue eyes are a swirling pool of emotions, burning with not only lust but something deeper. “Been waitin’ so long for this.” His hushed whisper falls on deaf ears as he leans in to kiss you.
You let out a surprised squeak as his lips press against yours; this isn’t how things are supposed to go. You’re not here to play romance with Satoru—yet, the slow gentle kisses he’s giving you and the gentleness with which he’s holding you are cutting it too close.
“W-Wait,” you gasp out, pulling away to catch your breath. Satoru is panting too, cheeks flushed pink as he stares at you like a man dying of thirst discovering an oasis. His hand trails down your side to rest on your waist, pulling himself forward so he can drop his head against your shoulder. “What are y—“ your words die in your throat as you feel his nose nudge against the most vulnerable part of you.
“You smell so fuckin’ good…” His groan against your neck reverberates through your entire body, shaking you to your very core. Your internal alarm flares to life, blaring loudly in warning. You can’t even pay much attention to that, though, not when—
“Y-You do, too…” The words leave you before you can even process them. You knees feel like jelly as his scent washes over you, deep, musky and addicting. Satoru stiffens against you, huffing out a short breath of frustration.
“You’re gonna kill me.” You feel it. You feel his teeth scrape against the spot your mating bond would be. Satoru knows just as well as you do that you don’t have one, and that if you had things your way, that would never change. He teases the edge of the bandage covering your scent gland, rolling it between his teeth. Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging nervously.
“N-Not there,” you protest, stumbling over your words in panic. Satoru pauses, and for three very long seconds, neither of you move. The only thing you can hear the is the pounding of your own heartbeat, his shallow pants against your neck, and the hum of the air conditioning.
He’s close, too close—you’re terrified of what he’s capable of, only because you don’t know if you can count on your own willpower to stop him. You’re slowly going limp in his arms, becoming nothing but putty in between his fingers—you’ve never felt so weak.
You hate how he makes you feel. You’ve always hated how he makes you feel. Weak. The world has always told you that you are. You’re nothing but a little omega whose only fate is to be a strong alpha’s obedient mate. You’ve fought back, resisted, protested—yet, Gojo Satoru has always managed to put you right back in your place.
This time is no different. Once again, you find yourself at his mercy. Your stomach boils with bitterness, with anger, with hatred… with longing.
Too slowly, he pulls away from your neck, only to lock eyes with you. “Right.” Satoru’s lips quirk into a crooked grin. “This is just a one-time thing, huh?”
You recognize that smile.
It’s the one that Satoru gave when he broke his mama’s favorite vase and blamed the cat. It’s the one that Satoru gave when he stole a candy bar from the store and got caught by the cashier. It’s the one that Satoru gave when he claimed you were no more than a stranger and left you to fend for yourself through high school.
He’s lying.
Far too late, you realize you’d made a big mistake.
-
author’s note: i can’t even lie this little word vomit was just a way to get some gojo thirst off my chest. i’m not even sure if i’ll ever get around to writing a full fic because i’ve been planning this in my head for weeks and there’s so much i want to include. yet i have too little time because of uni :(
if you are interested in being part of a taglist just in case i ever actually get around to writing the full fic, just let me know in the replies.
do not interact/read if the following triggers you!
MENTIONS OF / IMPLIED STALKING, IMPLIED MURDER, MENTIONS OF BLOOD, USE OF APHRODISIACS, ODAXELAGNIA, NON-CONSENSUAL DISPLAY OF AFFECTION, IMPLIED MASTURBATION, UNPROTECTED SEX, BREEDING KINK, ORAL SEX [RECEIVING], AND FINGERING IMPLIED / DESCRIBED.
OVERPROTECTIVE AND TOXIC / OBSESSIVE / POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR.
•,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,••,¸,.·' '·.,¸,•
You should've known better than to blindly follow an order to enter Wriothesley's office that day.
Your morning had started off rather normal, with the exception of Sigewinne visiting you to leave you a letter written by none other than the Duke. At first, you thought it was just a notice for you, one related to business matters, or one about ordeals within the Fortress.
The letter resulted to be nothing at all what you expected it to be.
It was merely a note. "Please pass by my quarters when you have time today. Preferably during evening hours. I'd like to have a chat with you."
That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Simple, direct, and straight to the point. Just like the man himself.
The little Melusine who handed you the letter wore a bright yet small smile on her face as she stood up straight. "It seems you've caught the eye of His Grace," she says, almost teasingly, though you shook your head.
"I wouldn't go as far as to say I've caught the attention of someone like him," you reply with a wry smile, though a part of you silently wishes it were otherwise.
But you had caught his eye, and from far early on too. The Lord of the Fortress of Meropide rarely traveled to the surface. It wasn't every once in a million years, naturally, but, it wasn't a common sight. Most cases, he was there strictly on business and other important matters rather than on vacation.
That, however, changed the moment he saw you. You were breathtaking, and better yet, you were not intimidated by his presence alone. Most people would keep their distance, look away, unable to meet his gaze, and lack the ability to keep their composure around him. But you?
You were perfectly fine being near him, wearing small smiles that gave him absolute butterflies, as much as he hated to admit. You were honest and though maybe partly reserved, still willing to share a proper chat when he approached you. He liked that.
Sigewinne noticed.
And he wasn't sure whether he liked the little Melusine nosing around whenever he met you, because for all he knew, she could start getting ideas, and that... wouldn't have been ideal, put it lightly.
Nevertheless, it's easy to say that his visits to the surface became more frequent. He made your acquaintance and quickly enough became friends with you. It was smooth riding so far, and he was finding that the situation was going well for him.
Occasionally, the two of you would talk over a cup of tea and you'd chat about how things had been in your lives, whether maybe you'd lost a pendant you liked, or how there was a coffee you tried somewhere that was rather bitter, or how he had less work than usual, so he decided to spare some time to relax on the surface.
It was fine.
That is until he found out you had fallen in love the past days. But oh no, you were not in love with him. You were in love with someone else. That was the issue. So he began to inquire. How did this person act? How did you meet them? Do you think they'd make a great partner?
Simple questions just to see what was your view of them.
Don't get him wrong — he's glad that you've found someone you love. He's just upset that the person you've fallen for isn't him. So he then decides to find the person for whom you fell for. It doesn't take long for him to find them, and it's not much effort to convince them that he's only visiting on behalf of business matters.
He returns every so often back to the surface to meet with you and to keep eyes on your interest, making sure there are no "unwanted" advances between the two of you, and when he's at the Fortress, he simply has to hope that nothing occurs. Having someone work for this type of thing would be rather inefficient and would raise unnecessary suspicions.
Sure, people don't really need to understand what the Duke's motives are, but that doesn't refrain them from filing a report to the Chief Justice about unusual behavior. The two are acquainted, after all, and Neuvillette is more than adept at reading the behavior of humans.
So with that in mind, he decided it was best to do things himself. After all, if you want a job done right, you have to do it yourself. One day, whilst you conversed with Wriothesley, you spoke of how you planned to finally confess. He was immediately interested, and he, of course, listened, even if deep in his mind the person whom you treasured was a pool of blood.
If your confession proved to be successful, he'd have to find a way to slowly seed problems into the relationship. He isn't fond of what he'd have to do, but unfortunately enough, the small feeling of jealousy that has wrapped itself around his heart is eating away at him.
He'd find the little details that bring you and your significant other apart and slowly begin to rip those traits up to the surface. He'd at times advise you that there were things you should watch out for, given this would be your first time in a relationship (or he'd assume so), and most likely, he'll find a way to tear down the relationship bit by bit and make it seem like it wasn't even his fault. It will appear as if it was just that you were mistaken, that this relationship wouldn't really work out.
That being said, if your confession resulted in a rejection, he'd comfort you. He knows how much it'd hurt having your feelings being rejected like that, and he especially doesn't want you crying for someone else who isn't deserving of causing your sorrow. He wouldn't want you tearing up to the one who had the audacity of even making you cry. He'd probably be mad at the person, but not enough to walk back at them and talk to them about it, as much as he'd wish to rip them into two. He exercises self-control, and somehow manages to control himself.
Depending how the person reacted to your confession, would Wriothesley's anger be gauged. Unfortunately enough for you, and much to Wriothesley's pleasure, you were rejected. Now, don't get him wrong; he wants you to have a successful relationship, but he also doesn't want you being with someone that doesn't deserve you.
So the moment that you come to him, your expression more solemn and down than usual, he already knows what's happened. He invites you over to the Fortress inside to cheer you up and for a change in atmosphere. While taking you to a place meant for imprisonment isn't exactly one's definition of "fun," you were rather curious to see what was the place this man called home.
To your surprise, it was well kept, and didn't look like it was rotting as you thought it would be. He also showed you around his quarters, to let you know where he'd be, and of course he introduced you to Sigewinne, who was more than happy to meet you.
You could've sworn that you saw a small smirk on the Melusine's face because she knew that His Grace was head over heels for you. Of course, you didn't know that, but... she did. You were later on dismissed, and for the next weeks, you stayed at the Fortress, given you met several new people in there and wished to get to know them better.
Wriothesley being the busy man he is, doesn't always have time to get out of his quarters, but god, with you around he can't help but give a few more rounds to the Fortress just to watch you as you go about your day.
How he remembers your smiles, when you mentioned to some your hobbies, your interests, and so on so forth...
His gaze often falls on your small frame and his mind will wander to how perfectly it will fit against his larger figure when he's deep inside of you and—
Wriothesley thinks this is wrong. He thinks this is twisted in more ways than one, but he can't bring himself to stop it. He's helpless to the thought of you running your hands through the soft tufts of his hair whilst he holds you to himself, the way your lips would feel when matches them with his own, or how beautiful you'd sound when he inserts his digits into you as you struggle to not moan out his name.
He hates that he can't feel you.
It's driving him mad.
Sometimes he's filling in and signing the mountain of paperwork he has on his desk and his mind trails off to you, and archons it's not even a minute before he has to stand up and drink some tea to clear his head.
On some occasions, he'll feel so utterly pent up that there's nothing left for him to do than to lock his doors and let his hand soothe his frustrations and urges while he wishes his hand were your own or your mouth instead.
His mind is clouded with thoughts he wouldn't speak of in front of the rest and a part of him feels guilty about feeling in such a way towards you, yet he knows he wouldn't have it any other way. He's completely enthralled by you and obsessed by the thought of being able to claim you as his own.
It grows to the point that every day he sees you becomes unbearable. He can't stand how your sweet voice falls on those who don't deserve to hear it, how you smile at the prisoners whenever you get to speak with them and help them out during their shifts, how your hands sometimes barely brush together when you walk amidst crowds and he swears that a single touch of yours is enough to make him want to pick you up right then and there and fuck you raw away from prying eyes.
He is desperate.
And he needs you.
So he decides that today is that day. After a few days of spending time with Sigewinne in order to mix in certain herbs with tea, he ends up with a particularly sweet tea. He reserves it for you. He's pacing in his office before he sits down in a relaxed manner, waiting for you to enter.
And the moment he hears the gentle knocking on his door accompanied by your voice asking for permission to enter, he can already feel his heart hammering. Allowing you to enter, you close the doors behind you, and for a man who's obsessed in every sense of the word, he's certainly composed.
He gestures for you to take a seat, to which you comply, and then he goes off to get the tea. After all, what better way to host a small meeting like this than to talk over a cup of tea? You're able to take in its sweet aroma and taste, and to say you liked it may have been an understatement.
"So how have you been finding the Fortress?" he muses, one leg crossed comfortably over the other. You only smile softly as you respond, taking a quick sip of your tea before answering. "Certainly different than what I expected it to be, but it seems to be managed well."
His Grace only smiles in return, and he then clicks tongue. "Say, have you enjoyed your stay here?" he asks, taking a sip as he waits. "It's been great. While some have a sharp tongue, there are a couple of people who have been good company, even if most of the time I'm around Sigewinne," you answer.
"Speaking of, where has she been?" you state, because now that you thought about it, you hadn't seen the little Melusine around the Fortress recently. Wriothesley just blinks as he then slightly mouths an 'oh.' "She's been off gathering herbs for medicine and treatment," he replies, before finishing the rest of the tea in his cup.
You hum in understanding as you stay still, having finished your own cup as well. "I see. Anyways, thank you for the tea," you reply in gratitude. The Duke only nods, as he remains there, seemingly observing you for any changes.
The two of you keep conversing, but throughout the conversation, you start to take note of something. You feel a little... moist. Perhaps you were exerting yourself too much recently?.. No, that couldn't be it — you felt as if you were getting warm all of a sudden. You couldn't exactly place your finger on what the sensation was.
Additionally, you couldn't exactly shake off the feeling no matter how hard you tried to focus on the man in front of you, and as time passed, you began to lose focus on the conversation you held with Wriothesley and your attention shifted to yourself, your gaze falling in between your thighs, the space feeling rather wet, for a lack of better words, the only thing in your mind being how unusually much you wished to be—
"Y/N?"
Wriothesley's voice snapped you back to the present as you felt blood rush to your face. No, that wasn't right, why were you feeling like this...? This was wrong... The man in front of you could only pretend for so long that he didn't know what was happening, but he wasn't in a far too different situation. The seemingly faint bulge in his pants grew ever slightly, and he was already starting to feel a little trapped and tight in his coat. He knew that you were starting to receive the effects already, so it was only a matter of time.
"Are you feeling well?"
He murmurs, placing a hand on your shoulder before giving it a light squeeze, and you can swear that for a split moment you almost shiver. "... I.. it's.. sorry," you manage to murmur as you sigh quietly as you shook your head.
"Is it just me, or.. is it getting rather hot in here..?"
Oh, how he wants to laugh.
You almost feel stupid having asked something of the like, and Wriothesley's barely holding himself together as he breathes quietly and calmly. He's on the verge of taking you right here and then, but he decides against it just to see what you'll do. "I feel it too," he replies relaxed, and your eyes seem to slightly light up.
"Oh, so it's not just me..? That's at least a bit reassuring..."
He's so fucking desperate.
Can't you tell?
And then he asks the magical question.
"Why do you think I asked you to come in here?"
You blink, thinking through the question, before answering, a bit perplexed. "Because you wanted to talk...?" you reply. The man chuckles softly, though he shakes his head. "More than that, there was... something else."
Confusion begins to run through your mind as you try to inquire as to what he means but before you can say another word, he picks you up, and carries you away as if you were nothing but a feather.
He locks the door to his office, and he walks up the stairs with you in his arms. "Wriothesley, what're you doing?—" you can barely say, your face pressed up against his clothed chest, but he silences you as he lays you flat on his desk.
His firm hands are quick to undo your clothing in your lower body, as he he carefully but easily slides off your undergarments. You can only feel the heat rush through you as your heart pounds. "Wriothesley, what are you—"
And your voice leaves you as you feel him spread apart your legs with his cold fingers, a bitter chill running through your spine as his tongue only starts to tease you by dampening furthermore your already wet folds. You can only bite your tongue to hold in a moan, though it proves futile when he begins to work on your clit, teasing and tracing faint circles with his tongue, causing a few whines to escape your mouth.
You can't tell whether to feel pleasured or scared.
Wriothesley gives you no time to think.
He makes no effort to stop whilst you can only grasp and tug his hair, while you nervously and shakily run your hands down his smooth, black locks that glisten beneath the amber lights of his office. It doesn't take much longer for him to reach your entrance, and you clasp your mouth with your hand as you inevitably moan involuntarily. You feel your eyes practically roll back as you try to maintain your gaze focused on the raven-haired male, feeling the wet muscle continuously slipping in and out of your tightened entrance and you're certainly grateful the walls of his office are soundproof.
"Wriothesley, I can't— f-fuck!"
You can't help but squirm, your heart racing as your chest heaves up and down. Your vision is somewhat hazed, your attempts to shift comfortably failing as a new wave of pleasure surges through you as your entrance and clit are endlessly teased and caressed, a pressure building up inside you.
He's eating you out, and you're not even exactly sure if your mind would agree that you enjoy it, but your body sure as hell is, because your senses are getting stimulated beyond possibility. Your breathing is definitely evident and no longer quiet, and you can barely muffle how vocal you're growing until at a moment, you feel him retract at last.
Yet before you're able to question it, he repositions himself above you, and he's pinning your wrists above your head, his knees at either side of you as his imposing figure looms over your body, casting a slight shadow on you. "You sure are — hah — quite loud," he whispers with a teasing smirk edging on his face, his tone of voice growing a bit rasped as he reaches for an item that dangles on his hips — one you're quite familiar with.
Handcuffs.
And before you know it he's clipped them onto you and bound your wrists to his desk above your head, not allowing you to move them, their silver hue glister, glimmering in the dark shadows. "You're fucking mine," he snarls before he kisses you on the lips with fervor, almost as if he might just devour you on the spot if you don't do anything about it.
He's rough and passionate, not giving you a chance to breathe. The sudden ferocity and intensity in his act is more than enough to leave you breathless whilst you try to get used to it, to which he responds with a low growl. It's as if he's been starved for ages and his hunger is to never be sated. He bites down softly on your lower lip, effectively causing you to part your lips, giving him a chance to slide his tongue within.
The rush it gave you was almost feverish, even if it was wrong at its core. He tastes sweet, you think, as your tongues mingle together, the sweetness flooding your palates. Your train of thought was interrupted once more when he finally separated, and you breathed heavily. He was catching his breath, his mouth slightly hung open, giving you a view of the sharp canines he possesses.
A small, barely noticeable trail of saliva connected your lips to his own, and he stared down at you, licking his lips to rid the saliva before his gaze landed on your neck. His hands, even with wraps and binds, were cold to the touch as he caressed your soft skin.
You're still catching your breath, blood rushing to your face when you feel him bite into your flesh, a quiet cry akin to a whine leaving you, only fueling his desire. He quietly growls, and he almost seems feral as he licks over the wound, moving quickly to other uncovered areas in your neck as he litters kisses around it.
He bites hard and deep, sucking on the skin just enough to leave a couple of hickeys on you.
"You're all mine."
No words are required to be exchanged as he pauses, just leaning back. Seeing your taken-aback expression, he just chuckles softly, his icy gaze combined with the ever earnest smirk he wears already enough to keep you still beneath his iron grip. "I could just eat you up and you'd beg for more, wouldn't you, huh?"
He states, his voice sounding like music to your ears.
"Bet you'd want me to fuck you dumb too."
He tugs on his tie, letting it fall loose untied with ease as his coat soon follows, allowing you to gain an exposed view of his scarred body. There's nothing more you'd like than to run your hands through his chest but the handcuffs don't allow you to move your arms in the slightest.
He's depriving you of one pleasure, and he relishes in that.
"My eyes are up here, sweetheart."
And god does he love it when you try to avert your gaze in embarrassment, knowing that your eyes had solely been focused on his body. He takes his hand and tilts your chin so you're forced to meet his gaze, and he delights in the way you shudder at his mere touch — he has you at the mercy of his fingertips, he'd bet.
You're being driven mad, something he enjoys — he's no sadist, but he definitely likes seeing you having to put up with the building pressure and urges he held back on this entire time. He decides to toy furthermore with you, as he slowly begins to unclasp the belt around his waist as his pants come off loose.
You know what the man wants.
It doesn't take much time for the rest to come off, and it's very clear to you where this is going. The back of your mind is screaming at you to run, to move, anything, but your body just lies and stays still without making a sound. His hips are pressed into yours, and he has zero hesitation as he begins to slide himself inside you, positioning himself as you whimper, tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes as you feel your walls stretching to accommodate to the sudden, large length that was pushed inside of you.
It's too much for you, but he hushes you, caressing your face softly and wiping your tears.
"You're going to take all of it in for me, aren't you? Hah, so fuckin' tight..."
It hurts, and his gentle caresses are a sharp contrast to how he continuously pushes inside you until he finally reaches that place that would make you scream out in pleasure. And he knows it. He's impatient, and won't waste another second, and in just a few more seconds, he's already ramming his hips against yours, bulging cock sliding in and out at a pace you can no longer register.
"God — you're so good for me — no one else is allowed to see you like this, understood?"
The both of you are lost in lust, and your heart hammers in you whilst fear and pleasure courses right through your veins. You get the feeling he's not just pleasuring you — he's marking you, through and through, making sure that by the time you're walking out, people will only perceive his scent on you wherever you go.
He wants you and you alone.
Anyone who wishes to debate his posture is more than welcome to have a word with him in the ring.
You're barely able to choke out his name as he fucks you senseless, giving you no space to plead or speak at all, for that matter. The only noise you get out are your helpless moans as you shudder from each thrust. He's feral, hungry and starved for your love, and he wants to consume every bit of it.
"Wriothesley — fuck — I-"
If it weren't for the fact he's fucking you to oblivion on his desk, he'd probably find it amusing how helpless you've become in the span of a few minutes. He loves it. Your eyes are half-lidded and brimming with tears, your moans resounding through the entirety of his office, to which thankfully, there is no one else within except the two of you. You might've not registered it but you're sure he's already torn through all the clothes covering your chest too, leaving you now entirely exposed and vulnerable to his touch.
You start to feel the building pressure you had before, and your breathing is labored, heavy. You don't think you can take this for much longer, your folds wet and walls tightening around his cock. You really weren't sure how in hell you were going to fit all of it in, but you seemed to be taking it rather well.
Your synchronized moans and his groans paired together combine, slowing into a perfectioned, rhythmic catharsis as you finally reach your climax, your fluids coating him and staining the firm material beneath you, to which you can't help but wonder how exactly does he plan to clean.
Yet as you finally release, he still doesn't stop. He's not stopping, not yet, not when he's finally got you fucked over and whimpering, helplessly begging him to cum inside of you. All of your senses and inhibitions have been tossed aside, leaving you a forlorn, flustered mess. He craves you, he might just devour you, he's unable to contain himself.
"You look so adorable when you beg, yeah? So wet and tight for me, 'M just gonna have to keep going for you..."
He is relentless. By the time he cums, you're already left breathless, voice broken and unable to say a thing other than a quiet whine. He's breathing heavily, letting his seed settle within you as his residual flows leak through your thighs, painting you as his own.
"Hah... that look in your eyes.. you wanna be rewarded, don't you? 'M just gonna have to stuff you full, hm?"
He nuzzles his head in your neck, letting the soft tufts of his hair caress your skin softly. He's still inside you, his cum still leaking through your thighs and out of your worn-out, throbbing pussy. Slowly, he slides out of you, earning a faint, muffled hum akin to that of a moan as you catch your breath. "Wrio..." you mumble out, and he presses a light kiss to your neck, right on a mark he left by earlier.
"'M gonna fill you up and make you cum 'till you can't think..." he murmured, one of his hands soothingly caressing your neck as he runs his hand through your back, his other, free hand reaching down towards your wet folds, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on your clit as he teases you gently, causing a few moans and whimpers to escape you. "'M gonna breed you.. make you all mine, darlin'."
He inserts two of his digits inside you fervently, fingering you, keeping you wet and tight as you squirm from his touch. He pulls in and out, unending and denying your pleads to stop. "P-please, Wrio — fuck — I can't-"
He ignores your cries. Instead, he presses kisses across your jawline until meeting your lips, keeping you encased, trapped in a passionate kiss whilst being pleasured to no end.
"You can take it. Easy there, love."
You only respond with a whine as you feel yourself slowly reach your climax again, fluids seeping through your body and covering his digits, that slowly pull out with a wet sound. Your mouth is slightly hung open, your face with faint tints of red hidden by your disheveled hair, your body numb and almost limp.
The black-haired man simply held you tight, holding you close, never letting go, his voice whispering to you sweet nothings. His grip was tight, and unbeknownst to you, tears slowly smeared, falling across your face. You felt filthy. You felt violated. Anything but loved.
And you knew more than ever, that from this day forth, you'd only ever be his.
His to love.
His to hold.
For a night and forevermore, you were solely his to behold.
A/N - I am utterly in love with this man. This prompt was also meant for yesterday bc Halloween n all, but I didn't make it- so- here you are- a little belated but still here! Same applies to the Imbibitor Lunae prompt that is soon to come! Love you all, remember to stay safe.
Thinking about when the playboy finally falls in love…
It’s so silly, soft as it may sound, untrue even given his record of sleeping around, but sometimes all he wants is pure unadulterated love. A hug once in a while would be nice – maybe a chaste kiss on his cheek – or cuddles.
You hadn’t believed a lick of it. You’d only laughed in his face with a shake of your head, telling him that must have been the worst pick-up play you’d ever been the victim of.
It’s cliché, but he’s been obsessed with you ever since.
He feels like such a loser thinking about it – for real now – rolling his eyes with a hidden smile while looking at the candid picture he’d snapped of you.
Chewing on this tongue while fantasizing such ridiculous things – virginal nothings such as handholding or resting his head in your lap and feeling you play with his hair. Sleeping together with your clothes on – spooning each other all clingy and soft...
Whispering sweet little nothings against the shell of his ear – teasing him. Playfighting – making you squeal and giggle as he grabs you and pins you beneath him in the bed. Tickling – making you laugh. Or kissing your nose and head and hand.
Oh, and making breakfast together, eating lunch, and sharing dinner.
Don't get him started on showering – helping each other wash – backrubs and headscrubs. How good your hands would feel carding through his hair as you rub in soap and rinse it out. Or just face masks. A whole evening in the bubble bath.
Watching some stupid romcom in fluffy bath robes afterward with your dopey tired head falling to rest on his shoulder. Snoring and mumbling small sweet little nothings to each other.
Saying good morning. Saying goodnight. Have a nice day. Good luck. I love you. I love you more. I love you most.
And there’s more.
Baby-names.
You haven't even gotten his dick wet once – he hasn’t even scored a kiss yet, and he’s already thinking about knocking you up and putting a ring on it.
You would look too good with his brat on your knee…
Bouncing them, breastfeeding, playing peek-a-boo games, zerbert, and doing the Simba from The Lion King – all with a great big beaming smile on your face. A smile that even the sun would envy.
Not to mention the kid itself.
He would love the ever-living life out of a little baby version of you – pouty plump lips and mochi cheeks – spluttering and hiccupping on earth-shattering sobs when scuffing her dainty little knees on the pavement – asking for piggyback rides and candy before dinner.
Or a little miniature of him. Seeing you lull little devil-faced Junior to sleep.
Fuck it, you should get both. A truckload.
He’s shaken from his thoughts when his friend snaps his fingers.
“You’ve been staring at your phone forever. What’re you looking at that’s so important?”
He can’t believe how far down the rabbit hole he’d just spiraled. Thinking about a girl without picturing her naked. He must be losing it.
tw - non/con, manipulation, mentions of breeding, and unbalanced power dynamics.
Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's ecstatic the day his owner, Suguru, brings you home. He's the pinnacle of a spoiled pet, constantly showered in toys and treats and affection, but his owner's a busy man, and he tends to sulk when left home alone. He's had other companions before, another leopard hybrid who nearly killed him before being released back into the wild and a black panther who somehow proved to be a worse influence on Satoru than Satoru was on her, but you're supposed to be more permanent solution, another hosuepet to keep him company when Suguru can't. You're a sweet little housecat, all wide-eyes and raised ears, but still, Suguru wouldn't be surprised if you're begging to go back to the shelter less than an hour after meeting your new roommate.
Snow Leopard!Satoru, who falls in love with you immediately. Suguru practically has to keep him in a chokehold while you explore your new home, eventually curling up on your new bed. Satoru's on top of you as soon as he gets loose, purring obnoxiously while he runs his bristled tongue over your cheek. Suguru's half-convinced that your first day's going to end with bloody claws and bandages, but you only nuzzle into his chest and knead at the blankets underneath you. Satoru's a difficult cat to put up with, and Suguru's relieved that you, at least, find him tolerable.
Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's absolutely massive compared to you. The tips of your pointed ears barely reach his collarbones, and your wrist is only as thick as his fluffy tail. His favorite hobby quickly becomes carrying you from room to room despite your softly mewled protests, and he's not happy unless he's pressed against you as closely as possible. He used to force himself into Suguru's lap whenever possible, but now, he's unbearable unless you're sitting pretty in his. He doesn't even complain when you lose your temper and dig your little fangs (barely half the size of his - a poor imitation of a real predator's) into his arm, just grinning as he tugs at your ears and pinches your cheeks. He's not exactly a wild animal, but he's still at the top of his food chain. You're not quite a mouse, but you might as well be, compared to him.
Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's calling you his mate after less than a full month. You don't know what it means, often parroting it back as more of a question than a term of endearment, and Suguru just brushes it off as Satoru being deliberately irritating. He keeps it up, though. even after you start refusing to respond to it.
Snow Leopard!Satoru, who starts introducing you to new "games". You know you don't stand a chance against him, but somehow, he always manages to goad you into roughhousing, into squirming as he pins you under his full weight. He likes to dangle things above your head, to see how long it takes your instincts to get the best of you before your chest is pressed against his and you're pouting so adorably as you jump and bat at his hand. Sometimes, when you fall asleep mid-grooming session, he'll let his mouth wander lower than it should, and you'll wake up to his tongue lapping over your chest, his face buried between your thighs in a way that leaves you teary-eyed and warm. You've tried to tell Suguru, but you always get embarrassed and end up mumbling something as vague as 'Satoru's being mean to me, again.' In the end, Satoru only ever gets a slap on the wrist and a new reason to tease you, next time Suguru turns his back.
Snow Leopard!Satoru, who fucks you whenever Suguru isn't home. He planned on waiting for your first heat (delayed by your shelter suppressants and the stress of a new home), and he knows he's not supposed to, but he just can't get enough of having your smaller body curled up underneath his, your tail thrashing from side to side as he lazily rolls his hips against yours. You tend to whine, at first, to go on and on about how weird it feels and how much it hurts, but as soon he gets his cock inside of you, all those complaints tend to go away. It's almost funny, how easily your stupid little kitty mind gets all hazy and cockdrunk. He always loves you, but he loves you most when you're drooling and purring for his cum, begging him to breed you properly between hitched moans.
Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's not even mad when Suguru catches him bouncing your half-conscious, fucked-out body on his cock. He wants to be the best possible mate for you, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't willing to show you off <3
A/N: Been obsessed with the Brother's Best Friend trope recently, specifically regarding Satoru, and I really wanted to share my favorite fics created by the amazing writers listed below. ALSO I wanted to do this because I haven't made one of these recommendation lists in awhile, and I love to do them number one to help promote the writers I love, and number two because when I find a trope I love with a character I wish I had a list like this to just find fics instantly LMAOOO. PLEASE feel free to recommend me your favorite brother's best friend fics if you know anymore and FEEL FREE to send me an ask at anytime if you're searching for fics of a certain trope I'd be happy to make more lists. Now enough of my yapping, I got ahead of myself and I'm posting this now but I'll update as I find more fics.
WARNING: I WON’T BE MORE CLEAR ON THIS! If you proceed to these accounts make sure to look at the rules and warnings. please respect the account owner, as most of them don’t want people under 18 on them. ALWAYS READ WARNINGS ON FICS TO INSURE YOU ARE RESPECTING THE WRITERS GUIDELINES!!!
One more thing! IF YOU LIKE A FIC PLEASE REBLOG NO MATTER THE ACCOUNT! The easiest way to show a creator you care and that their work is being appreciated is to reblog reblog reblog! They spend hours of their time creating work FOR US. The least we can do is REBLOG!
accounts under the cut. (last updated January 4th, 2024.)
IF IT’S ONLY A TOUCH…AITA? by @tteokdoroki This one is so good and the most recent one I read. It's the perfect amount of angst and smut. It does have some descriptions of the reader having braids, darker skin, and brown eyes so if you don't like when it's not vague about how the reader looks then this is probably not for you. However, those descriptions do not match me at all and I didn't have a problem while reading at all. I think you should definitely give it a read if you like the brother best friend trope!
BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND by @cptnleviackerman This one was so good for it only having so few notes. definitely go hype this one up because it deserves it. Read the tags before you continue on though because some of the themes could be triggering! Other then that this one was super good.
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO FUCK YOUR BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND? (FOUR WHOLE DAYS) by @saetoru SOOO GOOD. I love this fic so please go check this one out!
CRYBABY. by @ieirism AHHHH I FORGOT ABOUT THIS ONE. This one was soooooo goood. It is really fluffy and has so much sweet satoru. love love love.
TELL ME YOU DON'T WANT ME by @awearywritersworld I completely forgot about this one but from what I can remember it was really sweet. All angst and fluff and omg their dynamic after sugurus death is just so sweet.
YOUNGER BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND GOJO by @satocidal this is just a little drabble but the smut>>>>> that's all I have to say. go read!!
okay i promise im writing. i have 4 group projects going on rn and im so unbelievably stressed 😭 i cant believe that UNIVERSITY students still dont know how to take basic responsibilities it’s actually insane
contains: yandere, estranged childhood friends to enemies to lovers, mentions of self-identity issues, dubious consent, obsessive behavior, loss of virginity, mutual(ish) pining, gojo is bad at expressing his feelings so he’s kinda a jerk, lovesick!gojo
summary: you just want to lose your virginity, no strings attached. how could you have known that gojo satoru is in love with you?
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
release date: tbd | ask for taglist if interested
-
“I want you to take my virginity.”
Satoru’s cocky grin wipes clean off his face. His stare goes blank and his jaw drops open comically wide. For the first time in the twenty-one years you’ve known him, Gojo Satoru is at a loss for words.
“We never have to talk again afterwards,” you add quickly, your cheeks starting to heat up in embarrassment. “This is just gonna be a one-time thing.”
Satoru is silent, expression tense as he observes you carefully. His crystal blue eyes seem to darken a few shades as he takes your hand in his. His thumb strokes once, slowly over the back of your knuckles.
“Just a one-time thing,” he repeats languidly, lips stretching into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Perhaps if you weren’t so focused on the rapid, frantic beating of your own heart, you would’ve noticed Satoru’s gaze wander—only to lock right on the clear patch stubbornly covering your neck’s scent gland. You would’ve seen the way his pupils dilate and his tongue swipes over his lips, with hunger written all over his face.
“Well then,” he all but rasps out, voice thick with desire. Without warning, he pulls your body against his with ease, trapping you in the warmth of his arms. Satoru rests his forehead against yours, letting out a groan that is too soft, too vulnerable, too intimate.
He’s so big, you realize. You can hardly believe that you once stood a whole head taller than him. Satoru towers over you, his lean frame completely dwarfing you. His large hands squeeze at your waist as he presses a barely-there, tender peck to your forehead.
You feel like you can’t breathe.
“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, sweetheart.”
You’ve heard stories about what he’s like in bed; it’s inevitable that as the most desired alpha on campus, he’s gotten around. You don’t expect tenderness or care; if you did, Gojo Satoru is the dead last person to approach. You’re waiting for him to start man-handling you, tearing your clothes off, chasing after the carnal pleasure that only sex can bring. You’ve prepared yourself for that.
Instead, Satoru cups your pretty face between his large hands, running his thumb along your cheekbone. His blue eyes are a swirling pool of emotions, burning with not only lust but something deeper. “Been waitin’ so long for this.” His hushed whisper falls on deaf ears as he leans in to kiss you.
You let out a surprised squeak as his lips press against yours; this isn’t how things are supposed to go. You’re not here to play romance with Satoru—yet, the slow gentle kisses he’s giving you and the gentleness with which he’s holding you are cutting it too close.
“W-Wait,” you gasp out, pulling away to catch your breath. Satoru is panting too, cheeks flushed pink as he stares at you like a man dying of thirst discovering an oasis. His hand trails down your side to rest on your waist, pulling himself forward so he can drop his head against your shoulder. “What are y—“ your words die in your throat as you feel his nose nudge against the most vulnerable part of you.
“You smell so fuckin’ good…” His groan against your neck reverberates through your entire body, shaking you to your very core. Your internal alarm flares to life, blaring loudly in warning. You can’t even pay much attention to that, though, not when—
“Y-You do, too…” The words leave you before you can even process them. You knees feel like jelly as his scent washes over you, deep, musky and addicting. Satoru stiffens against you, huffing out a short breath of frustration.
“You’re gonna kill me.” You feel it. You feel his teeth scrape against the spot your mating bond would be. Satoru knows just as well as you do that you don’t have one, and that if you had things your way, that would never change. He teases the edge of the bandage covering your scent gland, rolling it between his teeth. Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging nervously.
“N-Not there,” you protest, stumbling over your words in panic. Satoru pauses, and for three very long seconds, neither of you move. The only thing you can hear the is the pounding of your own heartbeat, his shallow pants against your neck, and the hum of the air conditioning.
He’s close, too close—you’re terrified of what he’s capable of, only because you don’t know if you can count on your own willpower to stop him. You’re slowly going limp in his arms, becoming nothing but putty in between his fingers—you’ve never felt so weak.
You hate how he makes you feel. You’ve always hated how he makes you feel. Weak. The world has always told you that you are. You’re nothing but a little omega whose only fate is to be a strong alpha’s obedient mate. You’ve fought back, resisted, protested—yet, Gojo Satoru has always managed to put you right back in your place.
This time is no different. Once again, you find yourself at his mercy. Your stomach boils with bitterness, with anger, with hatred… with longing.
Too slowly, he pulls away from your neck, only to lock eyes with you. “Right.” Satoru’s lips quirk into a crooked grin. “This is just a one-time thing, huh?”
You recognize that smile.
It’s the one that Satoru gave when he broke his mama’s favorite vase and blamed the cat. It’s the one that Satoru gave when he stole a candy bar from the store and got caught by the cashier. It’s the one that Satoru gave when he claimed you were no more than a stranger and left you to fend for yourself through high school.
He’s lying.
Far too late, you realize you’d made a big mistake.
-
author’s note: i can’t even lie this little word vomit was just a way to get some gojo thirst off my chest. i’m not even sure if i’ll ever get around to writing a full fic because i’ve been planning this in my head for weeks and there’s so much i want to include. yet i have too little time because of uni :(
if you are interested in being part of a taglist just in case i ever actually get around to writing the full fic, just let me know in the replies.
Can’t stop thinking about all the little vulnerable curse ! darlings that exist and how easily they fall prey to the merciless Jujutsu Sorcerers that go hunting them down for pleasure.
Geto Suguru x The Curse of Virginity
Doe-eyed, chubby-cheeked and makeup-free. She's always chewing her lip nervously. Spawned from all the sweet, silly virgins out there who're afraid of having their virginity robbed but who’re always so fucking wet for it at the same time that it’s embarrassing.
Geto got lucky and swallowed her up before anyone else could get a taste. Keeping her in his bedroom. He kisses her cheeks while fucking her into a moaning, squealing little mess every night. Making sure all her sweet little virgin fantasies are met and satisfied.
Gojo Satoru x The Curse of Beauty
A defiant little brat who thinks her beauty will enslave any and all men who dare look at her. Cold and dismissive, she never lets anyone touch her – because, in her mind, she’s a goddess no one’s worthy of having or holding.
But Gojo scoops her up and keeps her locked up in his place like a pet cat. Smiling at her awfully condescendingly when she warns him not to lay his filthy hands on her. She'll hiss at him, backing up with eyes going wide under the crushing realization that a pretty face stands little chance paralleled with a real force of strength. Understanding with a hitch in her throat how she better start using her looks to please rather than upset him.
Fushiguro Toji x The curse of insecurity
The cutest little crybaby who thinks every aspect of her is unappealing and gross. She’s always trying to hide her tear-streaked face, making herself as small as she can by curling herself into a ball, hoping no one’s able to notice her.
Toji just grins his devil-grin with her doughy thighs spread around his hips – keeping her wrists pinned above her head so she can’t do anything but whimper out small denials when he gruffs out how fucking adorable she is, thinking she can keep herself away from him.
Nanami Kento x The curse of shame
Born from the guilt of every shameful nympho who can’t help but feel so awfully filthy after indulging in their dark desires. She's always naked and needy – quaking with heat and dewy from the fever of it – rubbing her thighs closed with such a sorry expression it would make any man rush to comfort her.
Nanami takes good care of her, though. The poor thing. She can’t go a single day without getting her wet little pussy pounded – always coming to him with her coy eyes and sultry whines, riding the thick muscles on his thigh with such a terribly needy pout on her lips. Begging him to make it okay, to sanction her so she needn’t feel so awfully sinful as she cums while still whimpering for his cock like a needy wonton little slut.
Zenin Naoya x The curse of misogyny
Born from all the chauvinistic self-indulgent thoughts men have of what a perfect woman should be – having resulted in the most plaint sweetest little thing – one who only feels comfortable when she's either welcoming her man home, cock-warming him during dinner or when he's rearranging her guts into the late night.
She's the happiest little bride with Naoya. Smiling nicely and humming while he lists all his troubles after coming home in a foul mood like always – she'll play with his hair until he leans into the touch with a moan, possessively tugging her closer – palming her soft skin with a pouty scowl on his face. She'll kiss his chin and tell him how grateful she is for everything he goes through, and it's exactly what he needs to hear – beginning to brush his lips over her skin, undressing her while she continues soothing him with her devotion – telling him she'd be lost without him, that he should take whatever he wants from her as a reward for working so hard, that he deserves it for being so good to her, that he's the strongest and smartest and greatest man in the whole world, and that she'll never ever want to be or do anything but serve him until the day she dies.
summary: even with gojo's short temper, when he's with you he's putty in your hands.
pairing: clanleader!gojo satoru x fem!reader
cw: slightly suggestive but nothing serious really happens. sub!gojo vibes. he's just a simp for his wife leave him alone okay?
word count: 1k
satoru lets out an exasperated sigh as he runs his fingers through his already tousled white hair in frustration. another useless meeting with even more useless elders, wasting his time that could be spent with his precious wife instead. the meeting ran an hour later than expected, which aggravated him even more.
he slides the shoji door to the front of his house, only to be met with the sight of his home bustling with servants. they all immediately halt their tasks and bow in unison, acknowledging his presence. he brushes past them, not even sparing them a glance because right now he’s only in the mood to see one person.
he walks throughout the house in search of you but to no avail, the little patience he has left is starting to wear thin. satoru is about to turn the house upside down when he finds a group of servants in the hallway, trying to diligently clean the floor. they immediately stiffen at the sight of him, bowing out of respect as he approaches them, too frightened to look him in the eyes. they could tell that his usual cold sapphire eyes were now burning with fury.
“where is my wife?” his voice now booming throughout the house.
for a moment it is completely silent, they are too terrified to open their mouth, afraid that at any moment anything could set him off even more.
“t-the gardens…gojo-sama” one mumbles softly.
without a second thought, satoru starts walking towards his wife’s said destination. as he makes it to the garden, he notices you almost immediately, all the anger built up is suddenly gone.
you’re kneeling in the middle of a patch of dirt surrounded by more than a dozen different species of flowers that you had diligently taken care of over the years. and from the looks of it, you're planting a new bundle of white lilies that satoru vaguely remembers you mentioning the week prior.
“you’re late,” you call out indifferently, your back still facing him.
“so this is how you punish me?”
“it’s called gardening, satoru,” you bite back, making him grumble in dissatisfaction as he takes a few steps closer to your kneeling form.
“we have servants for that.”
“must you be so hard on them?” you ask, referring to his previous interactions with them before finding her. how you knew about everything that happened in their home was beyond him.
“i can’t help it when it comes to you.”
“oh? not so strong after all, hm?” you tease.
“not with you,” he confesses comfortably.
everything comes easy with you. he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not. when he’s with you, he’s not the head of the gojo clan or the strongest sorcerer in the world, he’s simply just gojo satoru. which is one of the many reasons why he cherishes you so much. you make him feel like he doesn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore. he can finally be himself.
“well they are very important to me,” purposely ignoring his previous confession.
“are you trying to make me jealous?”
“depends. is it working?” he can practically hear the smile in your voice, making his heart melt instantly.
“come here, i want my wife. i haven’t seen her all day,” he commands, which you obey without a fight.
he watches you stand up from the ground, wiping your hands against the expensive silk fabric of your kimono, trying to brush off the remaining dirt that clung onto you. your hair is no longer in a perfectly slicked-back bun, instead, it's a disheveled mess with tiny hairs poking out in every direction.
but none of that matters. to him, you look perfect. he could care less about your dirty kimono, messy hair, or even the dirt that sticks to your skin.
“so demanding today,” you say, continuing to poke fun as you step closer to your husband.
“would you rather I beg?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, suddenly feeling bold.
“only if you get on your knees doing it", you purr in response, shattering all the confidence he had built up.
you reach out for him, your hand slipping past the neck of his kimono, letting it wander over his chest. you effortlessly loosen the tight fabric, slightly pulling it open to place gentle kisses on the countless scars scattered on him. his breath gets caught in his throat at the feeling of your soft lips against his skin. he feels like a teenager again, you always make him feel like his self-control is dangling by a thread.
“don’t tease,” he lets out a shaky breath, grabbing your waist for support.
“who said anything about teasing?”
“my love..” he lets out a strained whine.
“it’s nothing you can’t handle, gojo-sama” you whispered with feigned innocence, looking up at him through your lashes, your hand slowly trailing lower and lower already passing the obi of his kimono.
he moves his hands to your face, cradling your cheeks and hovering his mouth dangerously close to yours. he wants to tease you, make you break. he wants to so desperately make you understand how you make him feel. he wants to make you lose control.
standing up on your tippy toes, you close the distance and bring him into a kiss. he almost moans immediately at the feeling of how perfect your lips feel against his. he’s about to give in entirely as he feels your tongue teasingly lick his bottom lip when he hears a tiny voice behind him.
“papa? mama?”
you’re the first one to pull away, leaving your husband in a lovesick daze. it takes him a moment to fully recover and come back to reality. but it’s easy once he turns around and sees you swiftly move past him to pick up your daughter, resting her on your hip with ease.
“hi my sweet girl,” satoru greets lovingly as he brings her hand to his lips, their daughter’s giggles getting louder with every kiss.
“papa, I missed you,” she whines with an adorable pout, something she definitely learned from you.
although she inherited every single prominent physical trait from him, including his white hair and bright blue eyes. he always tells you he's convinced that she got her charm from you, because there is no other logical reason why he's as smitten with her as he is with you.
“i’m sorry to keep you waiting little one,” he apologizes profusely as he leans forward to blow raspberries on her chubby cheeks, earning another loud giggle on her end as well as yours. the sound of your combined laughter is music to his ears.
he smiles, completely enamored at the sight of the two of you, praying that this moment will never end.
author's note: this was really fun to write! tbh, i saw that fanart and was immediately inspired. i think i'm just obsessed with clan head gojo...
anyway, i hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think!
