This is just an introduction post lol I figured it was easier to make one than stuffing everything in the desc at the top ♡´･ᴗ･`♡
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A little bit about me:
• I go by Cherie
• I am a published poet-I ADORE poetry
•I am a huge classical literature fan and my current hyperfixation is Fyodor Dostoyevsky (we’re literally soulmates)
•I really like tea, and perfumes so any tea and perfume recs would be much appreciated!!
•Apart from writing I also take care of my sister, and I collect vinyls (I’m a huge Lana Del Rey fan)
•My aesthetic is kind of all over the place lol, during the fall I’ll dress in a more dark academia style, but during the spring and summer I wear a lot of blue and white, kind of a Sanrio aesthetic, and I really enjoy color coordinating things
•I also love getting song recommendations for writing b/c usually when I write I’m listening to one song to get the vibe, so feel free to request or recommend songs
Anyways that’s all I can think of right now, but please feel free to use my blog as a safe space, I’m totally okay with asks and reblogs, comments and likes!! Also please be kind ♡´･ᴗ･`♡
do u think yan gojo would hold his bae’s passions against them as a punishment🤔🤔 i remember you mentioning that he’s a more permissible yandere and I actually couldn’t see him feeling the need to physically hurt his partner because of the natural power imbalance so I feel like the only thing he could do is take away hobbies
yandere gojo's most effective punishment is forcing you to spend time with him 😔
he soaks up your attention like a greedy sponge. you can't get anything done when he's around, it's maddening. the worst part is that the more frustrated you get, the more he'll coo and fuss over you like it's the cutest thing ever. it's geniuinely impressive how creative he gets when it comes to inconveniencing you. if you're cooking, he'll put the most essential seasonings up high so you have to ask for his help in getting them down. should you try and play a game, he'll hide your charger and demand an absurd amount of kisses to reveal where it's stashed.
he's succesful in deterring you from doing whatever it was that brought this wave of misfortune your way. despite being a more lenient yandere, he doesn't let you walk over him. instead, you get the sense that he enjoys the challenge, how you plot and scheme regardless of how futile it all is. what chance do you have against a man whose power borders on the divine? gojo can't take your schemes seriously. still, there is an invisible line in the sand that's best not to cross. a noisy, needy gojo might be a pain, but it's when he's silent that you really need to be concerned.
Speaking of canon Gojo, I have a few headcanons about what he'd be like as a yandere!
He wouldn't have a problem killing someone, but it'd be a last resort, like what happened with the higher-ups. He wouldn't do it out of jealousy or on a whim.
I'm pretty sure that if he ever decided to lock reader away, it'd be somewhere in Hokkaido since neither Tengen nor the higher-ups have any control there. Otherwise, he'd probably send her to a nearby country so he wouldn't have to worry about curses, or keep her at a heavily guarded Gojo clan property.
Considering his job and the emotional distance he keeps from almost everyone, I think he'd actually enjoy just being a casual presence in reader's life and watching her from afar until something happened that forced him to change that.
I don't think Satoru would ever be delusional enough to believe what he's doing is right. He'd know it's wrong, but he'd rather live with that guilt than lose reader forever.
Reader would probably end up developing Stockholm syndrome eventually, and while Satoru would feel relieved, I think he'd also hate himself a little because of it.
im so onboard with the 3rd hc actually-
he doesnt have a hobby, so he just randomly decides on people watching. i like the idea that he picks someone based off of a five second interaction with them that felt genuine. maybe quick small talk on an elevator. maybe you said something that made him laugh. something like that-
its not even all that nefarious at first. he kinda likes...living through you. he never wants to be normal, god no, but its nice to pretend he has smaller issues like arriving to work on time or dry cleaning rather then holding the whole world on his shoulders.
but eventually he does start crossing boundaries he knows he shouldnt. he used to stop watching whenever you got home, but then his gaze starts drifting to your bedroom window. its not even in a pervy way. he just loves watching the way you drift around your space when no one's watching.
at least, you think no one's watching.
he doesnt even want to interfere. he just wants to watch. he likes to think of you as his favorite streamer he gets to wind down with after work. even though you aren't. its a terrible parasocial relationship
content: a story in which suguru is sick and fucking tired of you and satoru pretending like you're not disgustingly in love with each other, and offers to help you make him jealous after a messy fight | wc: 8.1k
(post-grad au, fwb to lovers, mutual pinning, fluff, smut, light angst, the final boss of miscommunication tropes, both parties are lw toxic, jealous!gojo, messy!suguru)
notes: quick s/o to @ayeputita for commissioning this fun little story, thank you so much for your patience 🙂↕️❤️
now playing: mac miller - god is fair, sexy nasty
First it was finals, then graduation, and then navigating the beginning of your careers. It’s been over two years and multiple milestones, and you still have yet to officially put a label on your relationship with Satoru Gojo.
It was simple at first. Uncomplicated. You’d show up to his apartment, blow off some steam via getting your brains fucked out, and maybe stay a while afterwards for some takeout.
Now you have your own toothbrush in his bathroom and a small section in his closet dedicated to your clothes because you stay at his apartment multiple nights in a row. Just last week you had to explain to your coworker that he wasn’t your boyfriend. The week before that, you overheard him refer to you as his friend while on the phone with his father.
You’re not exactly complaining about it, you’re just as busy as he is. Though you can’t help but feel like the topic of commitment has only gotten more awkward whenever it threatens to slip its way into conversations. You both shut it down and move on to something else whenever it creeps up, but deep down you knew it was only a matter of time until it blew up in your face.
It started with random disagreements. Ones that you usually would've brushed off, but all of a sudden couldn’t. They were small, like what-show-should-we-watch-tonight small. They still ended with you going back home for the night. Each time, you brought back more of your belongings. Then it became a habit, and you started taking things home on normal days.
Satoru never saw you sneaking your things out, but he watched as that corner in his closet grew smaller and smaller, until it had more hangers than clothes to hold—becoming nothing but a reminder of all the space you once took up. And yet instead of asking why, he did what he always did and just lived with it.
Which didn’t work out very well for him. Later that week, Satoru decided to punch some guy in the face for getting too close to you at a party.
It wasn’t immediate, of course. He gave it an hour before he proceeded to antagonize the man until he had a better reason to punch him in the face, because being a jealous loser wasn’t one of them. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he was already in a mood, given how you turned down going to the event with him. It had already been days since you heard from him when he asked—of course you were going to say no.
Never in your life had you been that embarrassed to be associated with anyone. Embarrassed and disappointed—mostly with yourself. It left you with some hope during a time you questioned whether or not to cut ties with him. It was hard not to, you had hardly seen or spoken to him the weeks leading up to it. He had you convinced he didn’t see a future with you, let alone want one. As problematic as it may sound, his sudden burst of jealousy revived the love you’ve unfortunately grown to have for him. It was inevitable. Satoru has always had the ability to captivate just about anyone he spoke to. One could only imagine how easy it is to fall for someone like him. And for someone as stubborn as you, it was just about impossible not to once he started showing you the sides he usually kept hidden from the world.
So after a week of giving him the silent treatment, and receiving multiple flowers and an ‘accidental’ dick pic in return, you found yourself back in his arms, horny and slightly confused once again.
. . .
There were certain things Satoru won’t talk about with anyone, not even with his best friend.
One of those things was you.
It was rare whenever he did. Suguru had quickly learned not to circle back to it in the future because Satoru would either play dumb or genuinely not know what the hell he was talking about, because he was drunk when he called and rambled about you for an entire hour at the time.
Suguru can’t lie, though—he tries to pry as much information out of him as he can whenever he does get a drunken phone call. He’s nosey, okay? He’s come to accept that part of him a long time ago.
It’s not like he fishes for anything bad. It was always so he could get a better idea of Satoru’s headspace when it came to you.
At first he thought you were just a placeholder in his life until someone better came along. But then you all graduated, and Satoru continued to see you. Then he thought maybe he just felt like he didn’t have the time or energy to hold a serious relationship, and that you two clearly had some good bed chem going on—might as well keep it up.
Then it clicked a year later, when he randomly dropped by his apartment on a Sunday morning, and finally got to see what you two were like together, since Satoru never bothered to mix you in with his friend group, and neither did you with him.
Actually, no. He got to see what he was like with you. You barely spoke that morning, because you were violently hungover.
Satoru was in perfect shape compared to you, which made it clear he decided to play the role of a caring boyfriend and picked you up from wherever you were, then brought you back home. You were surprisingly clean that morning—Suguru wouldn’t have been surprised if his best friend bathed you before putting you in a pair of his pajamas.
Then he saw multiple soup containers on his counters, along with multiple kinds of over the counter medicine that mighthave helped you and an entire case of some fancy hydration solution that he most likely asked his parents to send him the night before, since they were rich and had access to everything.
And Satoru has always tried to hide how much he cared, always tried to hide how much he wanted to help you. But the moment he heard you running to the bathroom, he rushed over and held your hair back as you puked out whatever soup he bought you. Suguru even heard him apologizing for it and promising he’d never buy that shit again, as if it were the restaurant's fault you got sick, not because you overdid it the night before.
…You weren't a placeholder, and Satoru was fucking pathetic for not straight up declaring his feelings for you.
He still is!
It’s an entire year later and Suguru’s just as, if not more, confused. The last drunken rant he was forced to listen to was about how you were slowly packing up your things and planning on leaving him. You two weren’t even official, but now you’re leaving him? Not just breaking up with him, leaving him.
And why do you have an entire section full of clothes in his closet?
He’s always made an effort not to pry because he’ll eventually get it out of him, but the suspense was killing him this time around.
“Sooo…” He tried to act casual about it, but Satoru immediately looked at him with a smidge of suspicion. “How’s everything been?”
Satoru didn’t answer that question right away, as he struggled to hide how stupid he thought it was to ask, given how much they already talked. Suguru’s supposed to be the mysterious one here—it was fucking weird. “Good, I guess,” he shrugs.
“Nice, nice…” his lips thin to a smile. “You been talking to anyone new lately?”
Satoru huffs out a laugh. “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, so you’re still seeing—“
“Yeah.” He says it like it’s obvious, which naturally annoys his friend because it’s fucking not.
But Suguru continues to prod. “How’s she been?”
“Good…” he answers cautiously, before doing a complete 180. “You didn’t hear anything about her, did you?”
He sounded suspicious, maybe even a little worried. Suguru’s left to draw his own conclusions and is convinced that his friend still thinks you’re leaving him. “No,” he chirps out. “Just curious, that's all.”
“Yeah, she’s alright,” he says more confidently. “The usual, I guess.”
You act like you can’t change that, the thought stays in Suguru’s head. It’s not like you’re any better. He’s gotten to know you just enough in the last year to know you’re just as hopeless as he is. You’re just as willing of a participant in the friendzone you two have continued to stay stuck in.
“Well, if it works, it works.” Suguru gives a smile as he shrugs.
“Mhm.” Satoru smiles back, though his look’s a little more pained… and forced.
It works.
…Enough.
You shut down the last attempt he made to move forward with you, though—so it’s a little fucking hard to pretend like he’s happy with how “it’s” working. Probably harder than usual, since he ended up trying to fight some random guy at the party after being told you’d meet him there. It was small, probably didn’t mean that much either, but it was still something that would’ve kept him tethered to you since neither of you would’ve been able to leave without the other.
He considers himself lucky you even decided to come over again after that day. You were pissed enough to leave your read receipts on so he knew you were ignoring him.
It’s a surprise you came around as quickly as you did. Granted, there was some emotional disconnect in those last two months—one week of actual distance seemed to finally make your heart grow fonder.
He just didn’t think it’d grow that fond.
Fuck.
It’s like you’ve been trying to get him pregnant these last three weeks.
There’s begging. There’s talking someone through it. Then there’s whatever you started whispering in his ear the other day that made him cum so hard he started seeing colors that he never knew existed.
And he knows you two really should’ve had a more serious talk by now—probably multiple—but he figured this was a good enough excuse to put it off for a moment. It’s not even about the sex anymore—it’s about how close you’ve been. Half the time you’re pressed up against his chest, holding his jaw, making out with him, biting his lip, kissing his neck, whispering in his ear, asking questions like, did you miss being inside of me?
Yes.
Are you gonna cum again?
Fuck yes.
Then you kiss him again, as if it were a reward.
He had no idea how long it would last, and just decided to savor every last moment of it.
. . .
It’s been four days since you last saw Satoru, and he’s been pestering you to come over throughout the entirety of it.
You really haven’t had the time to do anything for yourself, let alone drive to the other side of the city to see him. The company you work for is in shambles right now thanks to multiple people quitting all at once, and you regret not joining them. You’re tired, overworked, and honestly considering paying someone to knock you out so you can finally get a good night's sleep.
Your phone rings as you step out of the elevator. Instead of fishing through your purse to answer it, you let out a small groan and keep walking.
Satoru can wait.
People usually look forward to arriving back home from work. That was not the case for you. It’s 8:13 PM, and the state of your apartment fills you with nothing but dread. It’s only been 4 days since you cleaned because you’ve barely even been here—it shouldn’t look this bad.
Your phone rings again, and you wish Satoru knew how shitty of a day you were having so he’d feel bad for calling. There’s an obvious struggle to find it as the shuffling in your bag continued, and just your luck, you missed another call.
You didn’t even want to call anyone back right now, but you really didn’t want to hear it ring one more time either. So you force yourself to return the call, all while hoping he wouldn’t keep you on the phone for too long.
“Hey.” He answers after one ring, and you’re already annoyed by the absence of stress in his tone.
“What?” you ask almost defeatedly.
There’s a pause before he reluctantly responds, “You busy tonight?”
You prepare to let out a sigh, but end up feeling bad for even considering it since he’s just trying to talk to you. Looking over your dirty kitchen while answering was not a good idea—your voice slightly cracks. “Nope.”
“You should come over then,” he's oblivious at first, taking a minute to realize how you responded. “I can order takeout and… are you alright?”
“…yeah,” you squeak out.
He pauses, then drops the friendly tone. “No, you’re not. What’s wrong?”
“I’m exhausted,” you sniffle, and then your voice begins to tremble. “I’ve been staying at work late because a bunch of people quit and my place is a fucking mess.” You snap a little at the end, staring at a giant pile of dishes. “Fuck! I forgot to go to the grocery store today, too.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
You hear a soft groan as he gets up from wherever he’s sitting, along with the light jingle of his keys. “I’ll bring you something.”
“Really?” you ask, sounding so hopeful you could actually cry.
“Yes, really.” He suppresses a laugh. “Don’t start cleaning, either. Just go sit down or something.”
“Okay.” You weren’t gonna argue with that—you did not want to do those dishes. “Thank you.”
“Mhm. See you soon.”
Forty minutes later, you were in the middle of eating the dinner plate he picked up from a local Hawaiian place, drowning out the sound of dishes being washed while you watched the show you put on.
You’re usually a better host than this, but you let yourself be a little selfish this time and didn’t try to stop him from cleaning anything else. You didn’t even look at him, honestly. He’s a man—he’s fine. Though you were a little surprised seeing how fast he got everything cleaned and picked up.
There was a proud little look on his face once he plopped down on the couch beside you, and you tried not to laugh.
“Feelin’ any better?”
“Yeah,” you hum. “Thanks for dinner… and doing my chores.”
“You’re welcome,” he warmly says.
“Do you want the rest of my food?”
“No, it’s okay,” he murmurs, waving a hand. “I have some stuff I can eat at home.”
You give him a little glance. “You’re going home?”
“Yeah.” His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “Just came to drop off food and clean.”
“How sweet.” You still don’t look like you believe him. “I have some of your clothes here if you want to spend the night.”
“I can. I kinda figured you’d want your rest, though.”
You shrug. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ll be sleeping in either way.”
He leans in a little closer until he’s face to face with you. “You sure?”
You nod. “Mhm.”
“Alright.” He smiles, then closes the distance between you with a soft kiss, taking his time before pulling back to look over the space with a sly look on his face. He’s been here enough to be familiar enough with the place, but it’s usually you who comes to him.
“What?” you finally ask, though you already have an idea of what’s going through his head.
“You know,” he murmurs, eyes trailing back to you. “I don’t think we’ve ever used this couch before.”
“What are you talking about?” You fight back a smile. “We’re using it right now.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” he grins, settling a hand on your hips, squeezing it as he kisses you again, deeper this time. “Don’t get smart with me.”
“M’not,” you softly laugh. “I just don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”
Right,” he hums.
Riling him up isn’t usually this easy, but you figure your absence for the last four days had left him frustrated enough to strip you of all your clothes and have you on your back in what felt like less than a minute.
He didn’t even give you a moment to process it—just slotted himself in between your thighs and started dragging his tongue through your folds to shut you up. He had your knees pinned to your chest, squirming under his grip as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. And just as you thought you’d reach the moment of sweet release—
“Fuck—what are you—no, no, no wait keep going!”
Satoru pulls away, head still between your thighs as he gives you a puzzled look, blatantly ignoring the spot you needed him the most. “What are you talking about?”
“I was gonna—“
“Cum?” he says it for you like it was some random guess.
“Yes!” you whine out, frustration bubbling as the air begins to cool the mixture of spit and slick his tongue left behind.
He hums, taking a moment to think about it since the distraught look on your face wasn’t enough. “Yeah… no. I don’t think you know what you’re talking about, baby.”
“Are you serious right now?!”
He slaps your clit with one swift motion, earning himself a gasp that settles into a look of absolute disbelief on your face. “What?” he coos, circling his thumb over the spot he just struck, just barely giving you any relief. “Not so innocent now, huh?”
“I was messing with you!”
“And now I’m messing with you,” he muses, satisfied with himself. “Acting like you haven’t been waiting for dick this entire time.” You don’t respond to that. He grins. “Yeah,” he pulls away entirely, taking his shirt off and throwing it in with the pile of clothes he stripped off you earlier. He begins to unbuckle his belt, “probably what you were thinking about the whole time after putting me to work.”
The last to come off are his boxers, cock slapping hard against his torso before gesturing for you to get up with the curl of his finger. “C’mere, it’s my turn to put you to work now.”
You were more than eager to do so while he sat back, gripping your hips firmly as you bounced up and down every last inch of his cock. “Yeahh, that’s it baby—show me how much you missed my cock.”
It was clear how much you missed it with the way he didn’t even need to help you, practically treating him like some toy as you threw your hips back, all of his favorite sounds spilling from your lips each time he hit that sweet spot inside of you.
“Can’t believe you tried to leave earlier,” you say through a soft moan.
He huffs out a laugh, “I was tryna be nice, thought you were too tired.”
“God, no,” you hum in disagreement, and there’s nothing but amusement in his eyes as you complain. “I needed this so bad, work was so awful this week.”
“You poor thing.” He tries not to smile as he grinds you down against him, pulling another moan out of you. “Let me see it then.”
Even when he wasn’t the one taking charge, he was so fucking hot—marveling over your body and the thick creamy ring forming around his base through a pair of heavy lidded eyes, groans rumbling through his chest in between each praise.
“God, you’re so fuckin’ good at this—fuck, that’s it, keep going,” he rasps, fingers digging into your hips until he finally gives in to the urge to push you down, the sounds of skin on skin growing louder as he grew lost in it all.
There was no helping it, your skin was too soft and your pussy squeezed around him just right. Even as your legs began to tremble, you took every inch like you were fucking grateful for it, and once again, without fail, he thought of how he’d never get tired of you. He’d gladly spend the rest of his life listening to all the sweet sounds you make.
His hands snake up your back and pull you in, pressing you against his chest as he starts fucking you back. It’s nothing short of intoxicating once you start kissing him just how he likes. Slowly, yet desperately—starting at that sensitive spot just under his ear that practically brings him to his knees with how weak it makes him.
“Fuuuck,” he shudders, unable to stop the drawn out groan that sends your stomach fluttering.
You keep going, making him slowly lose his mind until he’s grabbing the back of your head and crashing his lips into yours, swallowing all the moans his heavy cock drags out of you.
“Harder,” you pant against him. “Make me cum.”
Without another word, he leans further back into the couch and plants his feet on the ground, then starts drilling into you. The rooms filled with the obscene sounds of him pounding into you before you’re even able to fully process it, and just barely steady yourself before your nails start digging into his chest from the way he works an orgasm out of you as if it were a debt that was owed to him.
You start babbling something about it being too much, only for Satoru to crack his palm over your ass because he disagreed. And there was no convincing him otherwise—the moment he opened his mouth was the moment you realized he was gone.
“So fuckin’ tight—fuuck,” he groans, pushing you down and making you meet every single one of his thrusts. “Just take it, baby. You’re almost there, just keep squeezing me like that. Yeahh, just like that.”
He doesn’t let up, driving himself right into that sweet little spot inside of you, making the pressure build up fast. “Oh my g-god,” you helplessly let out a sob. “I’m gonna—”
“Me too, baby,” he rasps, thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier. “Me fuckin’ too.”
Then after one particularly rough thrust, you're in full blown tears from the orgasm that completely rips through you, with no chance of catching your breath because Satoru started chasing after his own sweet release shortly after, driving you way past the point of overstimulation.
Your memory of the night grew hazy from that point, vision blurring as the week quickly caught up to you, holding on to nothing but the sound of his voice as he started pumping you full of his warm cum while chanting your name over and over again.
...and thankfully missing the pathetic “I love you” that slipped out of him right at the very end.
The morning started slow. Satoru woke up for a moment around 9:00 am, saw that you were facing away from him, flipped you over so you’d lay on his chest, and threw your leg over him. You were in the same spot the next time he woke up, just with your face tucked into the crook of his neck—short, soft breaths grazing over his skin. He knew you’d be waking up soon and waited until you finally stirred to greet you with his palm rubbing over your back.
There’s a small stretch of time between the few sighs you let out, just barely fighting to wake up. It wasn’t until you had your first sip of coffee with him in your kitchen that you finally did.
The air between you was casual at first as you talked about nothing in particular. He was just easy to talk to, so conversations always flowed. It wasn’t until your phone buzzed against the counter when the air suddenly grew stagnant, and you quickly guessed why when you saw who texted you—your coworker. Male coworker.
The text was friendly. All he did was wish you a good weekend after seeing how hard you worked that week—which you explained to Satoru, whose response was a thousand times worse than his initial reaction.
“You’re trying to explain yourself like we’re in a relationship or something,” he huffs out a bitter laugh. “I’m not your fuckin’ boyfriend. I don’t care.”
Your expression falls flat, because it’s either that or show how hurt you were because he had you convinced he actually did.
“What are you being so rude for?” you ask, genuinely.
He shrugs. “I’m not—it’s the truth.”
“I know that, but I never even said you were to begin with.”
“Don’t need to when you’re already acting like it,” he says, and you just continue to look at him with a blank expression.
If his goal was to make you feel fucking pathetic, he succeeded with how cold he said it, how dismissive he was being. There’s not one defensive bone in your body right now, and yet he’s treating you like there is.
He’s barely even acknowledging you right now, casually scrolling through his phone as if his personality didn’t just do a complete 180.
“I’m done.” It wasn’t what you wanted, but it had to be done—which was why you didn’t hesitate to say it. “Get out.”
It was so sudden and casual that it threw him off. Still, he laughed. “Seriously?”
You let out a sigh, along with a subtle smile that makes Satoru think you’re not actually kicking him out, but then you start walking up to the door.
And then you open it.
“I am.” You start gesturing toward the hallway, and it still didn’t click for him as he continued to stare at you. “You’re doing nothing but taking up space right now. Get up, grab your keys, and leave.”
“Whatever,” he scoffs, trying to hide his freshly bruised ego as he got up. Yet it showed with the lack of certainty in his usual stride—he was more than aware of his unwanted presence.
You put on a brave face, despite feeling your stomach slowly sink. But it was better to settle in with the reality you chose now, rather than being struck by it later on.
He lets out a deep sigh as he steps out into the hall, then stops to look at you. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna cut me off because I said something that we both knew?”
“Do you hear yourself right now?” You don’t know why you even asked—of course he does. He just never thinks he’s wrong. “This isn’t a relationship, remember? There is no commitment—I could cut you off for getting a bad haircut, and that’d be fine because I don’t owe you anything. You were being a fucking asshole. What did you think was gonna happen? That we talk it out and overcome it?”
At first his eyes grow distant. Then he barks out a laugh, impressed by how you managed to piss him the fuck off with that one. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t think you’d get triggered by something that dumb, either. But if you wanna be sensitive and cry every time you hear some shit that you don’t like, fine—have a nice fuckin’ life,” he starts walking away, knowing he’ll just say something rude if he stays any longer. “Good luck finding someone that’ll fuck you half as good as I do.”
Whoops.
“Thanks. I’ll send you a tape if I do.”
“Fucking try that and see what happens,” he suddenly snaps.
And just as he’s about to walk back up to you to keep going, your door slams shut.
. . .
Between your photo trail evidence of going out multiple times a week and Satoru training at the gym as if he were going up against god himself, it was safe for Suguru to assume that things ended between you two.
Horribly, might he add, since Satoru doesn’t even want to find a rebound. He literally just drowns himself in work and then tortures himself at the gym after. Suguru tried talking to him about it in between sets.
“Hey, has everything been alright?”
“Everything’s been fuckin’ great.”
Then he brought you up.
“Never heard that name in my life.”
Satoru proceeded to add extra weight plates to the barbell right after, and Suguru didn’t ask any further for his friend's own safety.
It’s been three weeks.
He’s not saying he needs to get over it. Satoru can take however long he needs. It’s just time to start being honest about it, instead of making him pretend like everything he’s been doing has been normal. Feels like he’s being gaslit at this point.
Lucky for him, the torture of not knowing what happened between you two didn’t last too long when he spotted you at the coffee shop just a few days later. Minding his own business was completely out of the question—he didn’t hesitate to approach you once he grabbed his order from the counter.
“Oh, hey! How’ve you been?”
It took you a second to process who had just approached you, but once you did, there was no missing the brief moment of disdain in your eyes from running into your ex-something’s best friend in public. Not that he gave a shit. Your problems were with Satoru, not him. Which was why he continued to give you that warm smile of his in your eyes
“Hey,” you force out a smile. “Good! Yeah, I’ve been… great,” you say, and it doesn't sound very convincing.
It sparks some amusement in Suguru. “Mind if I join you?”
“Yeah, sure,” you gesture at the seat across from you, and he can’t help but think you are so much nicer than your ex-fuck buddy right now.
He takes a seat, then rips the band-aid off like it was nothing. “How’ve you been holding up after everything?”
Your smile falters, the thoughts of what Satoru could’ve possibly said about you running through your mind. “I’ve been alright. It’s not like we were anything serious, anyway.”
“Right,” he pretends to agree, though his tone says otherwise, managing to crank your nerves up a notch.
“Did he—” You hesitate for a second. “Can I ask what he said to you?”
“Nothing,” he looks disappointed with the answer himself. “Granted, he never said much to begin with. But yeah, no, he hasn’t said anything.”
You nod, looking disappointed as well, just for different reasons. “Of course he hasn’t.”
He swishes his coffee inside the cup, trying to gauge what kind of mood you’re in. “Can I ask what happened?”
You were half-expecting the question—he’s always seemed like the gossipy type. The story itself isn’t that bad. You weren’t planning on talking shit about Satoru either, in the case that his friend does relay the message back to him, but it wasn’t considered talking shit if you were telling the truth.
So you tell him, starting with how normal of a morning it was.
You knew you weren’t wrong, but watching his reactions as the story progressed healed something in you. He was dumbfounded by the end of it.
“I can’t believe he said that to you.”
“Yep.”
“No, seriously. I don’t know why he’d say that to you.”
You scoff. “Because he's an ass?”
Shit. You weren’t supposed to say anything bad about him. With Suguru’s reaction, though, you doubt he’ll mention anything.
He shrugs. “I mean… yeah,” Satoru being a bit of an asshole was an obvious truth, but that was seemingly beside the point, “but he really cared about you.”
You stare at him blankly. “I thought he never said that much to begin with.”
“He’s weird with certain things.” He shrugs again, this time out of reluctance. He’d rather not share the drunk, pathetic rants for Satoru’s sake. “But if you think about it, he’s never complained about you or shared any of your business. Never got tired of you, either.”
“What a positive outlook,” you murmur, leaning your head against the palm of your hand, glancing over the busy street.
“Okay, fine—he may have shared how you were starting to bring your stuff back home, and he sounded pretty worried,” Suguru quickly admits, as if he weren’t dying to mention it.
You glance back at him. “He did?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Now he spends his days exhausting himself. Trust me, he cares. A lot.”
You all but hum, then take a sip of your coffee.
“Do you care?” he asks.
“Yeah.” You wince a little, having to admit it. “But not enough to give him the opportunity to say all that stuff to me again.”
“I get it.” He respects it, too. He doesn’t think you’re completely in the right, though. You had the same amount of time that Satoru did to fess up. “Honestly, I just think he needs a little push.”
He has your full attention now.
“Like what?”
He smiles once more, and you quickly realize that he is not the wholesome man he pretends to be with the plan he proposed.
. . .
The music continues to pound against Satoru’s chest, as it has for the last thirty minutes. Not once in all the time he’s been in this club has he not regretted accepting Suguru’s invitation to a boys' night out. Usually he’d be drunk right now, having the time of his life with some girl hanging on him, dragging him to the dance floor.
That “some girl” being you.
Instead, he’s sitting at the bar, tipsy and bored. Some girl came up to him, asking if he wanted to dance. He pretended not to hear her, making her storm off after her third attempt at trying to get his attention. Sure, it was rude, but he can’t find it in himself to sympathize with her right now. Or anyone else for that matter.
Luckily, Mr. Designated Driver’s here, so he had someone to be boring with, and for once Kento doesn’t seem annoyed by his presence. Not that he’d care if he was. If he were in the mood to have fun at the moment, he would’ve rage-baited the blonde by now.
Kento even laughs for once, a rare sight.
Satoru’s lips twitch into a smile as he looks up from his drink. “What are you laughing about?”
“Take a look at who Suguru’s dancing with,” the man says, nodding towards the dance floor, feeling messier than usual despite sticking to a mocktail for the night.
Satoru turns, and the moment his eyes find Suguru, he deadpans. “What the fuck?”
It’s you.
Suguru’s dancing with you, and you look like you’re enjoying yourself with the way he’s holding your hips and whispering in your fucking ear.
The genuine shock in his tone and the way he grips his drink nearly makes Kento burst out into laughter. The only thing keeping him from doing so was the fact that Satoru actually looked like he was ready to blow a fucking gasket. Though his attempt to keep to himself doesn’t do much, because Gojo starts yelling at him like it’s his fault.
“Are they fucking talking?!”
Kento’s face suddenly scrunches up in annoyance. “How would I know?”
“Maybe ‘cause you’re smiling like you do!” He suddenly accuses him, making the blonde hold his hands out in defense. “Has he been fucking her behind my back?!”
“I don’t know?!” Kento yells back at him, “I didn’t even know you two broke up!”
“We didn’t—weren’t dating in the first place!”
“Then what’s the problem with them seeing each other?” the blonde counters.
“Because it’s fucked up,” Satoru immediately responds, and while Kento can agree with that, he can’t help but share the same sentiment as Suguru—he had two years to make things official with you. “You know what? Fuck you.”
“Me?” Kento points at himself with a scoff. “What the fuck did I do?!”
“What didn’t you fucking do?” Satoru mutters bitterly before downing the rest of his drink in one go. It was the only thing he could come up with, knowing deep down he really didn’t do anything wrong. He was just pissed off and taking it out on him.
Kento doesn’t even get the chance to respond to the comment—Satoru was already getting up from his seat the moment his glass hit the counter. His stomach slightly churns as the possibility of Satoru making a scene pops up in his head, but it eventually settles as he watches the man make his way to the bathroom instead.
It takes everything in Satoru not to push past all the sweaty people in his way, reminding himself to calm down the entire time. He finally gets to the bathroom, realizes there’s surprisingly no one else in there, and takes the chance to lock the door. Then he plants his hands down on the side of the worn down sink and takes a good look at himself.
He tells himself lots of things.
Relax.
It’s not that serious.
You were just someone he fucked, it only went on for as long as it did because it was convenient—because it was easy.
He tells himself it doesn’t matter if Suguru had you, because he had you first. They don’t call it sloppy seconds for no reason, and if Suguru wants to fucking settle for that, then he can be his guest.
The bathroom door begins to pound, there’s someone yelling on the other side, but Satoru ignores it.
God. Why the fuck are you dancing with Suguru? Have you been eyeing him the entire time you were together?
The door pounds again.
He continues to spiral as he goes through almost all the stages of grief. He doesn’t get to the acceptance part though, partially because of the banging on the door that ends up annoying him. After taking one last deep breath, he straightens back up at full height, walks over to the door, and is met with some greasy drunkard when he opens it.
“What the hell?! There are multiple stalls." The stranger immediately chastises him, and Satoru has absolutely no interest in defending himself at the moment.
“I’m deaf,” he says in all seriousness, and there’s instant regret on the man’s face as he begins to apologize, but Satoru just walks past him and makes his way down the hall, returning to the sea of sweaty people.
By the time the stranger realized he was lying, he was long gone—off to find you.
You thought it was a horrible idea at first, but Suguru was a persuasive man. You definitely needed a drink or two though to get comfy with him and the plan you two agreed on, which was to make Satoru jealous.
It was petty, but there also wasn’t much to lose at this point. If he reacts, great. If he doesn’t, it’s not like anything changed. Either way, you weren’t going to be the first to break the silence between you.
You were starting to think the plan was a complete failure, though. One moment you get a glimpse of Satoru sitting at the bar, then Suguru turns you around to fully face his direction, and he’s gone.
As time went on, you forced yourself to let it go, telling yourself that he had left and all there was left to do was enjoy yourself. You’d never date Suguru, nor are you likely to sleep with him, but he sure was fun to dance with and talk to. So you let him hold your hips as you swayed to the music and allowed yourself to laugh at his jokes. You’ve moped around enough for a man that didn’t care, and decided to let go and enjoy yourself under all the flashing neon lights.
The big hands at your hips begin to turn your around, there’s a smile on your face as you follow, only for it to be wiped away with complete and utter confusion when you realize the man you’d be dancing with was not Suguru, despite being the same exact height and wearing the same annoying man bun.
“Hey,” he smiles, and the tone of his voice carries the same smoothness as Suguru’s does. “Been wondering when you’d notice me—names Zuko, by the way.”
You wanted to scream. When did Suguru get switched out with him?! That fucking asshole. Why would he just leave you like this?
Then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, you see a familiar head of stark white hair from the corner of your eye, and he sounds so incredibly pathetic as he yells, “What the fuck is your problem?” but you also can’t help but find some comfort in it. At least he’s here to save you from this awkward moment, even if it was just to argue with you.
Zuko wasn’t such a bad guy, though. He tries to pull you aside once he notices an angry man headed straight towards you—not that it makes it any better that Suguru straight up abandoned you after coming up with the plan.
“Oh, fuck off,” Satoru swats the man’s hand away from you, and then he starts lying through his teeth. “We have a baby at home and she’s been gone for three fucking days.”
“Oh shit.” Zuko immediately backs off, but not without looking at you as if you were a deadbeat mother. “Sorry about that.”
And while he’s a stranger, it still hurts being misjudged like that.
“No, we don’t?!”
“Megumi’s gonna hear about this one day and fucking hate you for it,” Satoru yells loud enough for those around you to hear. “You’re not even done breastfeeding yet and you’re going out and grinding on random men?”
“Satoru!” you yelp out and attempt to cover his mouth because everyone around you seems to believe him, only for him to grab your wrist and begin to lead you out of the club, murmuring, “we’re leaving,” through a clenched jaw.
Despite the unserious nature of his tactics to get you out of there, he was still fuming by the time you two stepped outside and proceeded to absolutely lose it.
“I can’t fucking believe you. I–“ He had to physically stop himself from what he was originally going to say by groaning and biting his knuckles. “My best friend and his fucking look-alike. What the fuck? What are you trying to say?!”
You didn’t even think of that, but Satoru would find himself questioning if that was your type, and you almost laughed at the fact. “Nothing!”
“So that was just a coincidence?” He stops to look at you, but doesn’t get an immediate answer because it wasn’t a complete coincidence. “Jesus fucking Christ. You danced with my best friend right in front of me, then moved on to someone that looked just like him. Why would you do that?!”
“I didn’t know I was dancing with the second guy, it was dark!”
“That doesn’t make it any better!” If anything, it pissed him off more that you thought you were with Suguru the entire time. “You kicked me out of your place because you were done with me. I didn’t bother you after that, and now you’re trying to make me jealous? What the fuck is your problem?!”
“I kicked you out because you saw me texting a coworker and started being a dick and said all that shit about how you didn’t care. Do you even remember what you came over for that day?”
“I didn’t mean it like that—“
“And then reminded me we weren’t in a relationship—“
“Oh my god,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why you listen to half the shit I say—I’ve been trying to be in one with you this entire fucking time!”
His pathetic excuse for a confession is met with a scoff, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bruise his ego a little bit—especially with how you continued to look at him like he was a lying piece of shit.
There’s a pause, and you eye him down as you cross your arms. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not—“
“You literally are,” you continue to argue with him, growing more defensive as the seconds pass. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“Fuck—I don’t know,” he says, throwing his arms out in defeat. “Life got busy. I didn’t want to fuck up whatever the hell we had.”
You suppress a laugh. “What a charming way to say fuck buddies.”
“We weren’t just fuck buddies though, and you know that,” he grumbles. If he weren’t so pissed off from having to watch you dance with not one, but two guys, he’d probably be blushing like some little school girl right now. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, and I’ve felt like shit about it ever since.”
“You’re only saying that after seeing me with someone else,” you stubbornly respond.
He almost corrects you, because he saw you two people, not one–not to mention they were the complete opposite of him–but he doesn’t mention that. Not because he didn’t want to add more to the argument, but because the thought made him sick. If there were power in thoughts, they’d both be bald right now. He was going to shave Suguru’s fucking head.
“How would you feel if you saw me grinding up against some girl after being told to fuck off?” he huffs out, running his fingers through his hair. “You told me you were done with me! So yeah, I’m saying that now after weeks of trying to move on—I’m sorry and I fucking love you. I never want to see you with another man again.”
Your cheeks suddenly warmed, stunned by how easy it was for him to admit that. Unfortunately, what could’ve simmered down to a sweet moment, where you told him you loved him back, gets paused because he’s still distraught and starts rambling again.
“Really? Suguru? I’m not fucking Rapunzel, I can’t grow my hair out like that!”
“Satoru–”
He cuts you off and continues to spiral. “You said you liked the undercut! Who lies about something like that?”
“I didn’t lie–”
He barks out a laugh, even though he looks like he’s about to cry. “I know I’m not perfect, but at least I don’t have a support group dedicated to me.”
That doesn’t surprise you one bit, but you quickly move on from that as you try to get a word in. “We did it to make you jealous!”
He stops mid-sentence and looks at you as if you had just shot him.
“I ran into him at the coffee shop and I was really sad because I thought you didn’t care about me and so he offered to help me out with that because he claimed that you did,” you quickly explained as he continued to just stare at you with a blank face. “And that he was probably my best bet since you were less likely to fight him.”
“I’m gonna fucking murder him,” he says a little too calmly.
“Please don’t,” you murmured, growing concerned that he actually might with the way his eyes dart back to the door.
“I care,” he says, though he doesn’t really need to convince you anymore. “I care, a lot.”
“I know,” you smile, but it slowly fades as you hear familiar laughter off in the near distance.
You both slowly turn your heads towards the direction it’s coming from, and Suguru turns the corner shortly after, with some girl in his arms. His shirt is slightly disheveled as if he were in a rush to button it up, hair messier than usual, and there's a big fat hickey on the side of his neck.
Did he seriously disappear to go fuck someone?
He stiffens the moment he sees you two.
“Having fun?” Satoru spitefully asks.
Suguru quickly looks back, then points at himself—acting completely clueless. The girl he’s with is still giggling. “Are those your friends?”
“I have no idea who those people are,” he chuckles like some old rich guy, the epitome of nonchalance.
Satoru looks back at the girl, who’s clearly already wrapped around Suguru’s finger. “If he brought up anything about astrology, just know he doesn’t actually give a shit about it.”
“Just ignore them, Tiffany,” he says as he opens the door, quickly glaring back at you two. “They’re just drunk and looking for a reaction.”
I just know satoru takes naps all the time when you start dating. having someone he loves instantly makes him feel safer and more comfortable.
he likes tossing his shirt off and curling up on the couch. you normally have some sort of throw blanket over the back of it, so he just snatches it off and wraps himself up.
when you get home, he likes to pretend he’s still asleep, hoping you’ll give him another pillow or blanket. his favorite part is when you eventually start gently nudging him awake.
he loooves hearing your soft voice. you’ll act all soft and sweet and, gosh, it just reminds him of how much he loves you.
he’ll stretch his long limbs across the couch, blearily opening his eyes at you, pupils all dilated and lovesick. of course, you love seeing his sleepy expression. satoru looked so peaceful and innocent when he slept. who wouldn’t love him?
“hi baby…”
he murmurs, a small, lopsided smile finding his face, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he looks up at you.
“hey satoru.. how long you been napping?”
you start, gently picking up his head and sitting down on the couch, letting his head gently fall into your lap.
he happily claims his spot, seeming even more comfy now that you’re here and touching him (his two favorite things).
“mm.. an hour? maybe.”
he practically purrs when your hand starts carding through his hair, the other resting on his torso.
“you still tired?”
he shrugs, nuzzling into your thigh, his eye lashes fluttering in pure content.
“you can sleep a bit longer if you want. I’ll stay here with you.”
satoru feels his heart flutter, butterflies in his stomach at your words. he knew it wasn’t anything sexual, but he just adored you so much.
hearing you say you’ll stay with him, even though he already assumed you would, warned his heart. he loves you so much, truly.
it wasn’t even that big a deal. you were only offering him some more sleep, which he got plenty of at night with you.
buuuuttt if you insist. he’ll take your offer. why wouldn’t he want to lay in the lap of the love of his life. you were his soulmate, he’d honestly say yes to anything you asked.
so he lets his eyes close, hand coming up to curl around your knee, wanting to touch you even as he starts drifting again.
and he knew when he woke up, you two would eat dinner, hopefully take a shower together and then go to sleep for even longer, but together this time.
together was always better with you, and he would choose you every time.
-
short, but wtv
yo i just saw a sad gojo fic, HAD to write this up real fast. if you guys read it, here is your comfort✌🏼
꒰ 呪術廻戦 ꒱ › satoru’s not a morning person sfw.
gojō x fem! reader. set in canon!! bittersweet fluff.
satoru is not a morning person. never has been. never will be. he hates waking up for missions at ungodly hours; he hates ijichi for punctually picking him up for them, and he especially hates the higher-ups for scheduling them in the first place. but most of all, he abhors mornings because he has to part from you.
predawn light filters through the blinds, painting stripes across the tangled sheets and the curve of your shoulder. he lies perfectly still, counting the seconds between your soft exhales, despite knowing that it’s time for him to rise like the sun and begin his day.
it takes a great deal of strength for him to commence the agonizing process of pulling himself from your grasp. he eases his arm from beneath your neck — the limb having gone numb ages ago, but he’d let his entire arm fall off if it meant you got to have ten more minutes of uninterrupted sleep. your arm tightens around his waist and a sleepy sound of protest falls from your lips, muffled against his skin. he freezes, entire body coiled with tension, and listens to the rhythm of your breathing. a wave of relief washes over him when you remain sound asleep.
satoru leans down, lips brushing against the baby hairs at your temple, and presses a kiss to your forehead. a silent apology, a promise he knows he can’t keep, a final taste of heaven before he’s dragged back to hell. and then, he resumes the truly arduous process of untangling his body, heart, and soul from yours.
he’s almost free, about to shift further towards his side of the bed, when your hand touches his bicep. your fingers ghost over his skin, sending a shiver through him. at times like these he wishes those fossils would send literally anyone else. he’s not built for this.
“go back to sleep,” you murmur, cadence thick with sleep as you stifle a yawn. and gods, does he want to. he wants to call the higher-ups and tell them to fuck all the way off because the strongest sorcerer of the modern era is taking an ‘i want to stay wrapped up in bed with my girlfriend’ day. he wants to bury his face in the crook of your neck and forget the jujutsu world exists. but he can’t.
“i’d love to but duty calls, sweetheart,” he says softly, catching your hand as you reach for his cheek, and pressing a kiss to your pulse
you hum discontentedly as your eyes flutter open properly. though they’re still hazy with dreams, they still manage to find the outline of him in the gloom, “mmh what time is it ?”
he shifts, trying to block your view of the nightstand with his body. but his efforts are futile. you’re already propping yourself up on your elbow, the sheets pooling around your waist, and glancing over his silhouette. the crimson numbers on your alarm clock blink: 6:34 a.m. it wouldn’t bother you so much if satoru hadn’t stumbled into your bed at half past four. your frown deepens, lines forming between your brows that he so desperately wants to smooth away.
“you only got two hours of sleep, ‘toru,” you sigh. the discontent look on your face makes him want to kill every single one of the higher-ups with his bare hands. slowly. he wants to feel their bones break beneath his fingers, just to see you smile properly again. they already think his technique is limitless, no pun intended, but they truly have no idea. they have no concept of the lengths he’ll go to, the atrocities he’d commit, just to erase that expression from your face.
“aww, look at you worryin’ about me,” he coos, “relax, ijichi drives like a grandma, i’ll take a nap in the car” he tries so, so hard to mask the exhaustion that clings to him like a second skin. but you see right through him. you always do. you see the tell-tale twitch in his jaw, the faint shadows beneath his eyes. the strain in the curve of his smile.
“our bed’s a lot more comfortable than a leather seat,” you frown as you sink back into the mattress “your ‘duties’ can wait for an hour.”
for a moment, he wavers. he imagines settling against his pillow, pulling you back into his arms, and letting the jujutsu world wait for sixty minutes. he can see the desperate hope that he’ll choose you — just this once — flickering in your eyes, and it kills him that he can’t.
“as tempting as that sounds. . .y’know i can’t,” he murmurs, rolling over to lay on his stomach, shoulders bowed with regret he so rarely allows himself to feel. he leans over, resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes. wallowing in your warmth for a while.
“you can actually, tell yaga you’re sick or something,” you plead, your hand coming up to cup the back of his neck, fingers brushing over his undercut. “toru, please.” ( you’re not just asking for an extra hour of sleep. you’re asking for normalcy, a life he can never give you. )
“ahh but i already used that excuse last week” he sighs, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. he finally untangles his body from yours and forces himself to turn his back to you. he doesn’t turn around again. he can’t. because he knows that the moment he looks at you, his heart and soul will tell him to stay and let the jujutsu world fend for itself. heaven knows he’d love to. he might. he’s a very weak man when it comes to you. but he’s also, unfortunately, the strongest
a/n: scheduled this to post at the beginning of my surgery, everyone wish me luck 😭
The silence was deafening.
Satoru was walking at a pace brisker than normal, staying a consistent three full steps ahead of you. He still hadn't said a word to you, despite your nervous attempts at starting a conversation.
You’d given up roughly five minutes ago. You figured it might be better to surrender to the uncomfortable quietness that your husband was insistent on keeping for some reason.
Well, it wasn’t that hard to figure out why.
You’d been all but taken hostage twenty minutes ago, some less than intelligent curse users figuring they could use you as leverage against Satoru.
It had obviously backfired, only resulting in one pissed off sorcerer and three curse users with one less limb than the average person.
He didn’t even ask if you were okay afterwards. He gave you a once over, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you out of the warehouse, starting the beginning of your tension heavy walk back to your shared apartment.
And, maybe there was something you were missing, but there was no reason for him to be angry at you. Hell, shouldn’t he be comforting you?
You were getting more annoyed than what was probably reasonable. His long strides were getting harder to keep up with too, only fueling your irritation.
“Slow down,” you finally called out.
He didn’t.
In fact, you think he might have sped up.
You scoffed, having to do a weird little half-jog-half-walk to catch up to the terror that was dragging you back to your apartment.
He finally spared you a glance, but instead of saying anything, he grabbed your wrist again and tugged you with him.
“Ow!” You yelped, caught off guard by the sudden grip around you. “What the hell, Satoru?!”
“Keep up,” he said coldly, face trained on the apartment building that was now only a block away from you.
You couldn’t see his eyes under the blindfold, so you really had no idea what he was thinking. Actually, you had some idea, but you still couldn’t fathom why he would be upset with you.
“Keep–” You repeated to yourself incredulously. “Slow down, asshat!”
He didn’t respond, literally dragging you into the elevator when you arrived in the building. Some onlookers shot the two of you a variety of looks, most of them on the side of concerned. None of them said anything, too afraid of the monster of a man tugging you through the lobby.
As soon as the elevator doors closed behind you, you shoved him off you.
“What’s your problem?”
“You need to drop your attitude,” he said sharply, finally turning towards you. You could feel his eyes burning into you underneath the blindfold.
“Me? I need to drop my attitude?” You repeated. “You’re being a dick! I was just fucking kidnapped and you’re giving me the silent treatment. You didn’t even ask if I was okay!”
His jaw clenched and you watched his chest rise and fall in a quiet deep breath.
“You’re fine.” He decided for you.
Fuck him and his stupid six eyes, you thought.
“Physically, yeah,” You threw your arms up in frustration. “Did you think about how I might be feeling after getting held hostage and–”
The ding of the elevator arriving on your floor cut you off.
Once again, your husband grabbed you to usher you out of the elevator and into your apartment before you could get another word in.
“Satoru!” You repeated, pulling away once again, backing yourself against your kitchen counter as the click of the lock ran through the room. “I’m serious, what the fuck is your problem? Are you mad?”
“I told you not to leave the apartment today,” he hissed at you.
“Seriously?” You asked, feeling progressively more angry than exasperated. “You tell me that every day. I can’t just not leave the house.”
“You don’t work,” he started listing off. “We go shopping together. We have a gym here. Shoko can treat you when you’re sick. Anything else, you call me.”
“You’re the strongest. I can’t just call you whenever I have a mild inconvenience.”
He shook his head. “No, listen to me.”
You scoffed. “Are you hearing yourself?”
You knew he was a little fucked in the head, but not to this extent. You guessed it just came with being the strongest, always having a target on the backs of you and the people you love.
“Satoru, you can’t just keep me tucked away all day. I have a social life, for fuck’s sake!”
“Is that where you were?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest. “With friends?”
“No. We ran out of paper towels.”
It was his turn to scoff.
“You risked your life for paper towels?”
“The store is literally five minutes away from here,” you were starting to raise your voice. “I go there without you all the time!”
“Yeah? Well, look how that ended!” He slammed his hands down on the counter on either side of you, effectively caging you in.
“Well, what are you gonna do?” You challenged, bravely looking up into where his eyes should be. “You can’t just lock me up here.”
“Maybe I should,” he said, voice dropped down. “It’s not like you need anyone else, yeah?”
“What’s gotten into you?” You hissed. “You can’t do that.”
“But can’t I? I’m the strongest, remember? You said it yourself.”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
Theoretically, you knew he could if he really wanted to. You knew he wouldn’t, but the thought still sent a shiver down your spine.
A shiver of fear or something hotter, you didn’t know.
Satoru did, though.
His head glanced down slightly to see your thighs clenching together involuntarily. A small grin spread across his face.
“You’d like that, huh?” He mocked. “Being tied up here all day, having me at your beck and call?”
“Don’t change the subject,” you hissed. “We’re having a serious conversation.”
“Shut up. We’ll come back to that,” he promised, tugging the blindfold down below his eyes with one finger.
His pupils were blown out, cerulean eyes narrowed and staring right at you. You swallowed nervously, the look he was giving you going straight to your core.
“First, you owe me an apology for disobeying me.”
Curse both his irresistible way with words and your weakness for them, because it wasn’t long before he had you exactly how he wanted you.
Tied up and gagged with his blindfold, every inch of you on display for your vexed husband.
In your defense, it wasn’t totally your fault.
You’d learned over the years that these kinds of petty fights were really just an excuse for angry sex and often ended with scratch marks and hickies.
Regardless, you still wanted to strangle him, but it was quite difficult with your hands tied to the headboard.
“Knew you’d like it, hah– you fucking slut,” he panted out where he was hovered over you, snowy hair sticking to his forehead.
You wanted to snap at him, but the blindfold shoved into your mouth turned your retorts into muffled moans.
With the way he was ruthlessly fucking you, you don’t think you’d be able to get a coherent sentence out, anyways.
“What was that, baby?” He asked smugly. “Can’t hear you.”
You glared at him and he only laughed.
“You know I’m right,” he said. “You like it–oh, fuck–because you know you don’t need anyone else. Nobody could fuck you as good as I do.”
He was fucking you hard enough to keep rocking the headboard against the wall, leaving little scratches and dents in the white paint.
You knew you’d have hand shaped bruises on your hips from where he was grabbing you and you only wished you had something to hold onto.
Satoru rolled his eyes when you tried to speak again, reaching up to tug the blindfold out of your mouth to hang loosely around your neck.
“Got something to say, baby?”
“Fuck you, S-Satoru,” you hissed. “You’re–ah, so fucking full of yourself and–”
“That makes two of us,” he snickered, slamming into you harder as you willed yourself to not moan.
“Mmm, fuck, Satoru–you’re such a dick!”
“And look at you,” he mocked, thick cock dragging in and out of your cunt. “Y’know I can feel you clenching around me? Fuckin’ slut, pretending like you don’t like it when I spread you out and fuck you how you deserve it.”
Your legs were shaking now, eyes rolling back as your cocky husband kept pistoning into you, not letting up his ruthless pace.
“Yeah? Well, you–mmph!”
You were about to retort, but as soon as you opened your mouth, two thick fingers were thrust in between your lips.
“Don’t try to lie to me,” he scolded. “We both know what you’re thinking.”
The moan that escaped your lips could have put a pornstar to shame.
Satoru groaned in response, grip tightening and a string of curses falling from his lips.
“You’re squeezing me so fucking tightly,” he hissed. “You’re close, huh?”
“Mmph!”
That seemed to be the only thing that you could say at the moment. Satoru snickered above you, but the laugh quickly morphed into another groan.
“Alright, fuck, fuck,” he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, a long string of saliva connecting the digits.
You watched in awe as he brought them into his own mouth, sucking them dry without a second thought.
“Y-you–”
“Wanna hear you scream as you come for me,” he interrupted, pace picking up as he neared his own release.
“I– I’m–” You were about to deny it, but you knew that would just be wrong. “Fuck you, Satoru, fuck, fuck..!”
“Yeah, that’s it,” he panted. “C’mon, baby.”
“Fuck, Satoru!” You finally cried out and came hard. Your back arched off the bed as your pussy squeezed his length, moaning in a way that only Satoru was ever able to pull out of you.
Satoru’s pace started to become erratic, thoughts becoming a muddled mess when he moaned your name like a prayer.
“Ah, that’s–fuck!” He groaned, finally filling up your needy pussy with thick ropes of cum.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and breathless as you came down from your high.
You heard him swallow after a minute of silence.
“Sorry,” he offered awkwardly, pushing himself up to untie your wrists.
You shrugged, rolling your wrists out and sitting up.
“It’s fine. We’ll figure something out.”
“Get you a wig or something so no one recognizes you,” he grins slightly, eyes cast on the ropes in his hand.
You shoot him a glare.
“Can’t you put some sort of protection pact on me?”
He laughs, falling forward on you again, arms wrapped around your waist and head falling on your chest. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Dick,” you muttered, running a hand through his hair.
