Famous hockey player Satoru Gojo tries to mess with his closest teammates sister who wants nothing to do with him.
pls do not feed any of my work into ai! i dont support the use of ai, if any of the pictures i use are ai pls lmk so i can edit it because at the end of the day i get the photos from pinterest and sometimes cant tell😓 ALL FANART BELONGS TO ORIGINAL ARTISTS
characters are all aged up! (yuji group early 20s, gojo group 22-24)
itachi fills you w his load after an akatsuki meeting ₊˚⊹
it started a few months ago — sexual tension on missions, intense eye contact during meetings, the occasional brush of your thigh against his…
it was you who caved first, obviously. you ended up admitting you wanted itachi, touch starved and weak when it came to him.
ever since then, you’re unable to stay away from him, self restraint completely out the window.
akatsuki meetings now almost always ended with itachi finding you after, bending you over the nearest surface once everyone else had left.
he needed you just as much as you needed him — yet he’d never admit it.
itachi fucks you with deep, precise strokes that have your eyes rolling back, hips snapping forwards in a perfect, steady rhythm. "there’s no need to be quiet. let me hear you,” he purrs, voice stoic as always with a twinge of desperation.
you moan louder, pussy fluttering and clenching around itachi’s dick, obscene, wet sounds echoing around the room. "itachi — you make me feel so — mnnn — good," you mewl.
his grip on your hips was usually firm, bruising, almost — holding you where he wants you, silently letting out everything he keeps inside.
but tonight? he was gentler, like after all these months, he can finally let his guard down around you, just a little.
with no warning, he flips your position, encouraging your legs around his waist and carrying you effortlessly over to the nearest wall.
you gasp softly as he pins you there, the cold stone biting your back as he lines himself up again, pushing in slowly.
for the first time, you hear him groan without holding back, only making you needier. you swear those eyes have you hypnotised, gazing into yours as he starts to rock his hips again, this position allowing him to go deeper.
he reaches all the spots you can’t, thick tip brushing your cervix with every thrust. "r-right there—" you moan, mouth gaped open from pleasure.
"feels good there, hm?" he rasps, a slight strain in his voice.
your fingernails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines as he fucks you closer to orgasm — your enthusiasm only seeming to spur him on.
"don’t — ahnnn! — stop," you beg pathetically, teetering on the edge. "you’re demanding tonight," he groans, lips inches from yours.
just as you’re about to cum, he kisses you, swallowing your sweet moans, pulling away only a centimetre to pant against your mouth. “you’re beautiful like this," he says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself.
creamy white rings form at the base of his cock, producing more lewd sounds as he fucks you through your orgasm, his own release creeping up on him.
you almost smile at the fact he kissed you — something he very rarely does, seeing it as ‘too intimate.’
yet this was the most intimate moment you’ve shared so far, foreheads pressed together as he continues to snap his hips forward. "you have no idea," he grunts, "…what you do to me."
before you can even think about responding, his hips stutter, a warm, thick load of cum filling you. itachi grips your thighs tighter as he cums, painted fingernails leaving indents in your skin.
his thrusts slow gradually, becoming more controlled again, drops of cum seeping out from your used hole.
your knees buckle as he lowers you back to the floor, pulling out as he does, strong hands holding you steady — almost like he cared.
summary: sukuna has loved you since you were in high school, and when he finally gets his chance with you, four years after graduation, he's the perfect boyfriend.
he treats you like you're worth more than the entire world, devoted solely to you, committed to keeping you healthy and happy in his arms for all eternity.
if only he wasn't killing people behind your back.
content: 18+ mdni, smut, dub-con in the later chapters, rough sex, yandere sukuna, obsession, stalking, murder, blood, gore, manipulation, deception, unhealthy dynamics, jealousy, cheating (reader cheats on her bf with sukuna), sukuna is awful in this but he's LOVELY to reader exclusively, more tags to be added on a chapter by chapter basis!
ѕυммαяу： ♡ having a sex dream about your best friend is incredibly embarrassing but when he drags the information out of you and delivers something better than your dreams, it's hard to remember why you were feeling that way. . .
Having a sex dream about your best friend—Gojo Satoru—was not on your bingo card for this year but it happened and the result of it is you avoiding any and all eye contact with him. This would be significantly easier if he wasn’t always hanging around you, it would also be easier if his favourite pastime wasn’t invading your personal space.
Your odd behaviour must’ve reached a breaking point for him because he’s sat next to you on your couch, pouting out, “Why are you being so weird?”
“I’m not,” you deny despite your very obvious weird behaviour, still not properly looking at him.
Suddenly, his head is on your lap, eyes analysing your reaction to him, “You’re a bad liar.”
“Wha– What are you doing?” He has you fumbling and it only embarrasses you further. “Get off me.”
“Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me or I’ll literally never get off you, in fact… I will only get closer,” one of his hands moves to grab at your waist but you slap him away.
His head weighted on your thighs has you remembering your explicit dream of him and you can’t help but grow a few degrees warmer in temperature. “I can’t tell you.”
Gojo frowns at that and you hate how you’re noticing just how attractive he is even though he’s growing annoyed, “It involves me directly, but you can’t tell me?”
“That’s right,” you cement, like it shouldn’t even be an issue.
He sits up again and stares at you dead on, “Tell me or I’ll tell all our friends about… the incident.”
A small breath of disbelief leaving you, “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” his eyes stern, he’s completely serious.
You try bargaining, “It’s not that deep, Satoru… give me another week or two and I’ll be completely over it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“So, you’re blackmailing me?!”
“I wouldn’t call it that, that’s such an ugly word,” he shakes his head.
Your brow raises at him, “What would you call it then?”
“I don’t know but not that,” he shrugs easily.
“You’re so annoying, I can’t believe I even—” you cut yourself off, realising you were about to freely give away that you couldn’t believe you had a sex dream about him. It’s frustrating that it was such a good dream too because he’s so annoying in real life.
Despite you stopping yourself, he clings to your words, “‘You can’t believe you even’ what?”
Playing dumb is your only defence but to be fair, you aren’t entirely convinced you’re playing anymore, “I don’t know.”
He stares at you for a moment before speaking again, “Okay, well, I’m calling it blackmail now, I’m officially blackmailing you.”
“Evil, evil man,” you accuse.
He motions at himself with his hands, dismissing your words, “Mhm, now tell ‘Toru all your problems.”
“Ew,” you grimace at him, “that was almost as bad as when you referred to yourself as ‘daddy’.”
Smirk on his face at your response, “Would you prefer that? I didn’t know you were into—”
“—I said almost as bad!”
“Sure, whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “now tell me what’s going on, I won’t let you wiggle your way out of the main issue at hand.”
“Fine,” you groan, giving in, “but you have to promise to not be weird or make it a big deal.”
His head tilts at you, “What? Like you mean how you’ve been doing?”
“Just promise, stupid,” you grumble at him.
“I promise,” he pauses, “sort of.”
“Seriously?”
“I said I promise, now come on,” he leans in, ready to listen, “lay it on me.”
Ignoring his giddy attitude, you take in a deep breath before carefully letting it out, “Well… the other night, I was sleeping—”
“—Truly groundbreaking stuff.”
“Don’t interrupt me or I will never tell you,” you glare at him.
“My bad,” he raises his hands in surrender.
“Anyways,” your heart is hammering in your chest because it’s so embarrassing to be looking at him as you try to confess. It feels like you’re being crushed under his intense gaze, it’s making you even more nervous.
He must be able to tell you’re working yourself up, “Geez, calm down, sweetheart, whatever it is it’s not that big of a deal.” He moves to pat your head as a means to comfort you, but you flinch away.
And before you can control it, you’re suddenly blurting out, “I had a sex dream about you the other night and now I feel really funny around you.”
The reaction from him isn’t immediate, only blinking back at you for a moment before suddenly turning his head to the side as he tries to hide his laugh but the snort he lets out gives it away. Your lips are downturned as you suffer through the agonising moments of mostly silence, the embarrassment you’d already been feeling growing tenfold at his reaction.
Wordlessly, you rise from the couch and go to walk away, to go away to anywhere but here in this moment. Gojo stops you though, his hand on your wrist pulling you back to the sofa. Now closer to him than you had been before, something you’re overly conscious over. Keeping your head turned from him, annoyed at his reaction and also your lack of tact.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologises, “I’m not laughing at you, I swear.”
“You need to get out of my apartment.”
“Don’t be so harsh,” he whines, “I have follow up questions.”
You pull your wrist from his grasp, still refusing to look at him, “I don’t wanna answer them, you only want to torture me.”
“Not true!”
He tries to get back in your line of sight, but you keep turning your head away. Your arms cross over your chest, almost like you’re trying to shrink in on yourself.
“I’m curious about a few things now though,” he hums at you, “since your reaction to having sex with me has been so cute.”
His phrasing is so poor that it has your head whipping to look at him and his overly pleased expression, “I did not have sex with you.”
“Right, right,” he waves off, “you dreamt about having sex with me.”
“I dislike you so deeply right now.”
“If you agree to answer my questions, I will literally never bring up the fact that you had a wet dream about me ever again.”
You point at him angrily, “It was not a wet dream! What the hell is wrong with your phrasing of things?!”
He smiles sweetly as he grabs your finger, using the hold he has on you to unfurl your hand and loop your fingers together to hold hands, “Are you gonna answer my questions or not?”
“If I do… you’ll never speak about this again, right?” You try pulling your hand from his but his hold on you is firm.
“Sure,” he agrees all too easily.
You glance down and away from him, “Fine.”
“Perfect!”
And at his incredibly joyful tone, you can’t help but feel like you’ve made a misstep somewhere along the way. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him… or maybe you should’ve concealed your reactions more effectively… or better yet, your stupid brain shouldn’t have conjured the image of you and him having sex to begin with.
Glancing at your interlocked fingers, you ask, “Can you let go of my hand now?”
“Why? Is it making you uncomfortable?” His tone isn’t upset or accusatory, only curious.
Sighing at him in response, “I’m embarrassed to even look at you right now, of course it’s making me uncomfortable.”
He, thankfully, releases his grip on you. Choosing not to taunt you any further but you have a feeling it’s only a small reprieve. Just as your heartrate is finally calming, he asks, “Was I good?”
You’re completely taken aback, knowing what he’s asking but still confused by his bluntness, “What?”
“Was I good?” He repeats shamelessly. “I’d be a little offended if I weren’t.”
If you have to answer his ridiculous questions then you’re going to be purposefully vague, “You were… fine.”
He hums thoughtfully, “You won’t even look me in my eyes, and you said you’re feeling funny around me so I was either horrendously bad or really great, which is it?”
“I don’t like your questions,” you grumble at him.
“I wanna know though,” he whines, “It’s your fault for being so weird about it.”
Your body droops into the couch, head resting against the back of it, “A normal person and good friend would take this information at face value and let me live quietly with my shame.”
“I disagree,” you can feel his eyes on you, but you still won’t look at him, your own eyes closed. He continues on, “I’ll let you live quietly after you tell me everything I want to know… probably.”
You squint your eyes open at him, “There is literally nothing in this for me, you’re blackmailing this information out of me.”
He grins at you, “Are you saying you’d respond better to positive reinforcement?”
“I’m saying I’m still reluctant to answer your embarrassing questions and it’s starting to feel like if I do, I’m only giving you future blackmail material.”
“This is untrue, I’m blackmailing you, yes but I also agreed to never bring it up again if you answer my questions.”
“Oh my god!” this is getting annoying, steeling your nerves, you decide you’re just going to answer everything so you can end this quickly, “You were good, it was a good dream.”
A stupid and happy smile takes over his face, you don’t bother reading too far into it. “You said you were feeling ‘funny’, what do you mean by that?”
“Huh?”
“Funny could mean any number of things, I’m asking for specifics here,” he’s still too happy and it’s annoying you because you don’t really understand why.
“Hmm, like…” you look at him intently to better think about how you feel, your heart fluttering as you do, causing you to close your eyes as if you’re in thought, “…I feel embarrassed to have had a dream like that about you.”
He pushes back on your answer, “That’s all?”
Cracking an eye open at him as you chirp, “Yep.”
His gaze is already trained on you, apparently never having stopped looking at you, “You’re such a bad liar.”
You deflate at your failed deception, “I think we’ve just known each other too long…”
“You’ve always been a bad liar though?” He claps his hands together suddenly and it makes your heart skip a beat, “Now, out with it.”
Quiet as you start your explanation, “Every time I look at you…” he nods his head as if to encourage you, “…I think about the dream and it makes me feel funny, that’s all, can you leave me alone now?”
His lips purse as he mulls over what you’ve just said, “You sure you’re not just horny?”
“Satoru!” you chastise him, shocked and also frustrated that he’s pretty much hit the nail on the head. Ever since your dream you can’t help but look at him differently. Mind feeding you images of what having sex with him might be like—what having sex with him was like.
“I’m being genuine.”
“That makes it worse,” kicking your legs a little about it all.
He starts giggling, “You had a dream about getting fucked by me so good that just being around me turns you on.”
“Stop!” you move to sit in front of him properly, face clearly unhappy, “I did not say that.”
“You basically did,” he dismisses, “So… what did I do to you?”
It’s a bit ridiculous that he’s going in this direction, but you should’ve known he was going to do this. You need to shut him down because just his words alone are affecting you more than you care to admit, “I’m done answering your questions.”
It’s his turn to groan and grumble, “Aww, but it was just getting good.”
Rolling your eyes at him, you say with the intention of ending this interaction, “Satoru… It doesn’t matter what you did in my dream because there’s no way you’d be that good in real life.”
The smile on his face drops, “I can’t help but take that personally.”
“Take it how you will,” you shrug, “there’s no way you could live up to the dream version of you, it’s not logical.”
“Wanna find out?”
“Don’t be childish,” you brush him off, overlooking the way those words send a shock through you.
He pushes, “Treat it like an experiment, I wanna know what’s better.”
Blinking back at him, “You’re so weird.”
Quickly pointing out, “Maybe, but you’re the one who dreamt about fucking this weirdo.”
“Yeah, dreamt, it was a dream.” You shake your head in disbelief at him, “Why are you acting like you’re jealous of dream you?”
“Maybe I am jealous of dream me.”
“That’d be stupid.”
“You’re always telling me I’m stupid.”
Gojo’s eyes keep flitting to your lips every time you speak, the look in them suddenly much darker than the glee that was held in them when he was teasing you earlier. Trying to be stern but not entirely convincing when you state, “I’m not going to have sex with you for a reason as stupid as that, grow up.”
“But you’ll have sex with me for a good reason?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth,” you tilt your head at him in exasperation, “why are you even acting like this?”
Ignoring your question and instead posing his own, “You sure you’re not curious, not even a little bit?” His hand cups the side of your face, his thumb pulling down on your lower lip, “I know I am.”
That simple touch has your heart leaping bounds, suddenly so hyper aware of how deep the effect he has on you is. It scares you, how much you want him, how much you want to say yes. You shouldn’t get carried away, he’s being ridiculous, this is all so ridiculous. Your years long and best friendship could be ruined because of this moment.
All things you’re worried about, all valid concerns, all thoughts that slip from you so quickly when he leans in and licks teasingly at your lower lip. The gasp you let out is his entrance into your mouth, his lips plush and demanding against yours. Eyes falling shut as you let yourself get lost in his kiss, full and delightful and something you’ve never felt before.
It’s messy and uncoordinated, like he’s not really focusing on how to kiss you and more on the fact that he gets to kiss you. You’re getting dizzy, body buzzing pleasantly at how he sucks on your tongue. String of saliva keeping your lips connected when he pulls back, snapping as he wipes his lower lip with his thumb, only to then push it into your mouth. Your immediate response to suck, feeling depraved but enjoying the look on his face you get when you do.
He speaks under his breath, eyes a little dazed, “Fuck.”
As soon as your tongue licks against the tip of his thumb, he’s pulling it from your mouth and hurriedly slotting his mouth over yours again. Barely giving you a moment to think before he’s kissing you so completely, consumed by his need and the delicious way he partakes in your lips.
It’s so overwhelming, to be desired like this is foreign and has your thighs clenching together. Gaining confidence when you finally wrap your arms around his neck, a move he appreciates if his groan and grabby hands are anything to go off of.
The way he parts from you is full of huffed and short breaths that only ends in him kissing you again, like he’s fighting with himself to say something, to do something more but ending up not strong enough to move on from your lips.
A pathetic moan that you don’t even recognise as your own leaving you, the sound only spurring Gojo on. Using his body to push against yours until your back is on the couch, not bothering to explain what he’s doing, far too busy and far too fixated on how you taste.
Filled to the brim with thoughts about how good his kiss is, how kissing can’t possibly be this good, how you’d let him do more. Fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that pulls a shudder from him.
What feels like far too soon he’s properly pulling back, quickly putting distance between you both so he’s not immediately gravitating back. Arms holding himself up, hovering over you, taking his sweet time to appreciate the look on your face. Pride exuding from him at what he’s reduced you to with a few kisses.
“Stop staring, Satoru,” your voice comes out more whinged and unfortunate than you were hoping.
“No.”
It’s a simple response, one that’s weighted with meaning and intention. Maybe if you weren’t only concerned with how good of a kisser he is, of how you want more, of how he looks indescribably good over you, you’d ask him why he’s acting this way. Maybe you’d even ask what this means for your friendship but when you’re in this deep and enjoying it this much, thinking that deep slips from you all too easily.
“I’m gonna touch you,” his gaze wanders over your body before looking back to you, “okay?”
Already nodding back at him, “Okay.”
And only when you verbally affirm him does he let his greedy hands travel your body, sitting back on his knees so he can grope at your thighs and hips. You can tell he’s enjoying your squirming immensely, eyes simultaneously lidded low and lit up.
Quickly glancing to meet your eyes when he asks, “What did I do to you?”
It takes your brain a second to catch up to his words, stuck on his big hands resting against your hips, his fingers digging into your plush skin. “You mean…”
“In your dream,” he slips into your waistband and starts to slowly pull your pants off, “what did I do to you in your dream, sweetheart?”
You feel your skin heat, his fingers tickling against your thighs. “I’m not answering that.”
A low hum sounds from him as your pants are finally removed and tossed to the side, “Why not?”
Keeping your legs together, self-conscious of the fact you’re in your underwear below him. Though he’s not bothered at all, groping and massaging at your thighs, “What happened in that dream is private.”
“That hardly seems fair,” his eyes bore into your own, “since I was there and all.” Paying no mind to your small protests as he manoeuvres one of your legs to rest against his side, feeling much more exposed now that he’s spread your legs.
“Satoru, you can’t just!– mmph—”
Further protesting cut off abruptly when he places his palm on your lower stomach, thumb drawing over your covered slit. His touch there was unexpected but not unwelcome, small shocks of pleasure thrumming through you.
“Did I use my fingers?” he keeps stroking your cunt, touch light and nowhere near enough to satisfy. “How about my mouth?” pausing to blatantly stare at your pussy, not even really addressing you when he adds, “please tell me I used my mouth,” his last words come out pitchy, almost like he’s begging for it to be true.
“I don’t know why you keep bothering to lie to me,” he murmurs low, using both thumbs to pull apart your folds, pressing into your hole only to be stopped by the material of your panties.
His action has you shooting up, face to his chest, your hands grab onto his shirt and all he does is chuckle at you. “Stop playing with me,” you huff at him.
Leaning down, he drags his lips over your skin gently. Leaving behind soft kisses all over your neck and chest, blowing air by your ear just to make you twitch. Voice almost a whisper when he asks again, “What did I do to you?”
“You’re embarrassing me,” you look through your lashes at him.
His smile is pleased, “Yeah, well, you’re turning me on.” Grabbing you by your hips and pulling you into his lap, your cunt pressing right into his erection, “Feel that?” He can’t help the way he gives small grinds into you, your warmth too enticing, “All your fault, so tell me what I did to you.”
The grinds he’s giving you feel too good, he’s big and so hard and couldn’t he just, “Can’t you just put it in?”
He laughs airily, surprised by your need and shifted focus, “I think you can feel enough to know that I can’t.”
“You were nicer to me in my dream,” you pout at him.
“Somehow, I doubt that—” his head drops back and a soft groan leaves him, getting lost in how you’ve started to rut down into him.
Thinking back to your dream, you decide to mention, “You did.”
Distracted reply coming from him, “Hmm?”
“Use your mouth, I mean—”
Just as you’d gotten the words out, he’s pushing you flat on your back again, not even pausing to think as he pulls your panties off in one movement. Settling between your thighs impatiently, eyeing up your cunt, “You been holding out on me.”
Your legs thrown haphazardly over his broad shoulders, “Wait just a sec—”
“—Why?” Tongue already hanging from his mouth and hovering over your pussy, just about drooling onto it.
The sight of him has your brain rebooting, “No– nothing.”
Keeping his eyes intently on you when he licks your whole pussy, smiling at how your mouth drops opens and hips squirm, “You’re cute.”
“You– you’re– hnn—” you don’t get to retort properly, his tongue flicking at your clit each time you try to say something.
“Mhm,” he’s enjoying this, you can tell, his tone too amused. “You’re so wet, practically begging for me to put my mouth on you.”
And then he shoves his tongue inside you, holding your hips down so he can fuck you with it. Delighting in the moans tumbling from your lips, cunt syrupy sweet and begging for him to stuff it full. Swallowing down all you have to give him, shudders running down his spine as his cock jerks in his pants. He’s been horny ever since you admitted to having had a sex dream about him. And if he’s being completely honest, maybe since he had his head in your lap.
It feels a little cruel that you kept it from him for so long, he would’ve gotten on his knees for you the second you asked him to. Groaning into your pussy when your hole tightens around his tongue, pressing his face closer to you. Nose stimulating your clit with how desperate he is to taste your cunt.
He’s messy in how he’s devouring you, sloppily making out with your pussy. Small groans leaving him as he relishes in it, like he’s getting just as much out of this as you are. It’s too good, back arching and thighs fighting to close, held open by his wide frame between your legs. This is the first time someone has gotten you so close so quickly, it’s almost embarrassing how easily he’s about to make you cum.
Gojo knows you’re close, it excites him, he wants your cum in his mouth, he wants to feel how you shake underneath him. But there’s something wicked inside him that wants to tease you a little more. Choosing instead to wait until you’re just about to finish before suddenly pulling back.
You whine at him, eyes wet when you look at him in confusion. He only smiles back at you, tongue licking his lower lip before he asks innocently, “I forgot to ask, did you cum like this?”
Brain taking a moment to catch up before realising he’s still asking about that damn dream, “I don’t– I think so?”
Pressing open mouthed and wet kisses over your inner thighs, remarking, “Not very memorable, was it?”
Somehow, it feels like he’s trying to compete with his dream counterpart, and the thought is just ridiculous. “It was very memorable,” you’re only hoping to be a little teasing but by the look in his eyes he takes it personally. Opening his mouth wide and chomping down onto your thigh, biting you enough to nearly break skin. You jump at the shock, “Hey!”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin, licking over the impression of his teeth before pressing a kiss to it, “try remembering this instead, yeah?”
It’s a little bit cute of him to be so jealous of your dream, “You’re stupid.”
He knows he’s stupid, he’s all too aware of it but that changes nothing to him, “I’d be more careful with your words if you wanna cum,” blowing air onto your clit, reminding you of how close you were.
“Satoru…” you don’t really like how he’s got you backed into a corner right now.
He hums in acknowledgement at you, “Need something?” Head leaning against your thigh as he smiles smugly up at you.
How frustrating of him, to know exactly what you want but choosing not to give it to you for his own enjoyment. “You’re a tease,” you huff at him.
“Hmm… not usually,” his hand slides up your inner thigh, single digit slipping inside your hole, “I think that’s something you bring out of me,” pleased with the small sounds you let out at his finger stuffing you.
Gasped moan leaving your lungs, trying to tell him how unbearable he is, “You’re– hnn!—”
A sound of awe leaving him as he drags his finger out, “How obscene, you really are so fucking wet.” He says it like you should be ashamed of yourself but he’s smiling too big, eyes full of loving obsession. Clearly incredibly happy with how dripping and soaked your cunt is, “Basically drooling for it, sweetie. How embarrassing~”
You might have to kill him because he really is embarrassing you. Hell, it was already embarrassing doing this with your best friend and now he’s teasing you for his own sick pleasure, “Stop…” not able to help the completely pathetic look on your face, “…stop being so mean to me.”
Gojo feels his heart drop and then start beating a million miles an hour, you’re so cute that he can’t help but breathlessly laugh, “My bad, will making you cum make up for it?”
“Yes,” you assert.
Ah, his head is spinning, you might be too much for his poor heart to handle. He can’t bear having you upset with him though, pressing soft kisses to your pussy lovingly. It’s as if he’s apologising for being so cruel to you, deepening his kiss to your cunt by stuffing you full of his tongue again.
The way you twitch and moan under him really does drive him wild, how he’s going to stay sane while fucking you is beyond him. Lapping at your sopping cunt so devotedly, eyes dazed and pussy drunk as he watches how your eyes roll and brows pinch. Giggling to himself at how surreal it is to be tongue deep inside you, to have you this needy for him.
When he suddenly pushes your legs back, you squeak. Damn near folded in half and bent for him, “Satoru, you can’t just– mmph!—”
He doesn’t grace you with the kindess of listening properly, simply going back to eating your pussy like it’s his last meal. The way he’s holding you is pornographic in nature, a position you’ve never even thought to be in, and he’s easily manhandled you into it. Lower back no longer even touching the couch, held up by Gojo.
With how he’s positioned you now, all your dewy slick and his saliva slides from your cunt and drips crudely onto your poor couch. Head dizzied as he gets you closer and closer to finishing, building you up so much faster after the loss of your last orgasm.
“I– ah!– so close– mmph—” you don’t want him to stop, hand holding onto one of his on your hip tightly, begging that he doesn’t pull away again.
Lucky for you, he desperately wants you cumming for him. He barely brought himself to deny you the first time, there’s no way he could do it a second. Completely and whole heartedly dedicated to making your pussy cream for him, salivating at the thought alone.
Moans you don’t even register pulling from your lungs as he finally pushes you over the edge, hips shaking as you try to ride out your own high with little success. The position you’re folded in keeping you at his mercy. Orgasm feeling oh so sweet after he denied you, lashes fluttering as it washes over you.
Gojo hums happily into your pussy, drinking down all your creamy slick and then still not parting from you. Too addicted to your scent, to your taste, ignoring all rationality as he keeps licking and sucking at your cunt. Whining when your weak fingers dig into his hair and pull him back by force, shaking underneath him from how he’s nearly forced you into overstimulation.
“Too much,” your voice trembles with your words.
His lower face is a complete mess of you and you’d feel bad but the stupid smile and dazed look he’s wearing tells you that you don’t have to. “You got a great pussy,” he compliments, moving his thumbs so he can lewdly pull your cunt wider for his greedy eyes.
“Ah!– stop staring, have you no shame?”
Eyes flicking to yours when he states seriously, “None.”
You’re feeling far too exposed in this position, “Can you let me move—”
Ignoring you and instead musing aloud, “—How many fingers do you think you could take?”
“What?”
“Your hole was tight around my tongue so maybe only one?” Slipping a single finger inside you and stroking against your walls. Your back fights to arch and a soft mewl sounds from you, “ahh, that’s a nice reaction. Let’s stretch you out yeah?”
“You’re so– hnn!—” barely biting out, “You’re such a pervert.”
His head tilts at you, “Did you expect anything else?”
Managing to babble out, “Weren’t so– hah– perverted– hnn– in my dream– mmph—”
“I take pride in that,” his chest vibrates with his words. Of course he takes pride in it, why wouldn’t he? Stuffing another finger inside your snug cunt and scissoring them, trying to open you up enough to be able take him, “This sweet pussy might fucking kill me, I don’t know how you’re gonna take me.”
Could he have a bigger ego? “Don’t be ridiculous– hah!—”
“I’m not just being cocky, sweetie.” Fingers brushing up against so many spots you can never quite reach on your own, “You might actually struggle to take it all.”
Eventually giving you a third finger, spread wide around his digits and leaking into the palm of his hand. He’s got you a squirming and moaning mess under him, mind melting from the mouth-wateringly sinful way he’s playing with you.
“Satoru– hnn!—”
“Something wrong?”
Now he knows damn well… “Please, just– hah—”
He laughs at your whimpered neediness, completely aware of how bad you want him inside of you. “Being real cute right now.”
“Don’t—”
“—Don’t what?” Using his fingers to tease your most intimate spots.
“‘Toru– hnn– please,” lower lip wobbling as you pout at him, “I want you…”
That’s not fair, you’re not playing fair at all. “You’re evil,” he mumbles at you, cheeks and tips of his ears flushing red with how turned on he is, “but I’ll give you what you want, since you’re so adorable.”
Thick fingers drawing from your cunt, the loss of him pulling a whine from you; it makes him smile. You’re genuinely so pathetic right now and aside from how horny it’s got him; it’s also got his heart stuttering in his chest.
“Take your shirt off,” he points at you, letting you finally lower your bottom half to the couch.
Grumpily following his instruction, feeling especially docile right now, “You’re being too bossy.”
His words come out a little muffled as he pulls his own shirt off, “Your pouting would have more effect if you weren’t also listening so well.”
“Maybe I’ll stop listening then.”
He stands from the couch to tug down his pants and boxers, brows drawn together and head tilting, “When you’re this close to finally taking it all?” Holding the base of his hard cock, tone smug.
Embarrassed for yourself at how your cunt throbs for him, desperate in a pitiful way that you’ve never imagined yourself being over him or anyone. “Are you in any position to be this big of a tease?”
“For you? Always,” he taps your thigh and leans onto the couch again, “now spread your legs for me.”
Already opening up to give him room before really thinking twice on it, hating that you’re this willing to follow his instruction. His hands on you are gentle, almost reverent in how they trail along your inner thighs.
Gojo can’t help himself, touching you as much as he can, wanting to prolong this whole experience. Your skin so soft and delicate under his touch, fingers digging into your flesh just to see proof of him touching you. Completely bare and willing under him, heart hammering in his chest at this fact.
Dragging his cock through your sopping wet pussy, shivering at just how gooey your cunt is. Not intentionally trying to torture you but doing so anyways, squirming and impatient under him the more he plays with you.
“Satoru,” voice pitchy, “please.”
Not moving immediately, only cursing as he gazes at you all lost.
You wrap a single leg around his waist and pull him forward, encouraging, “C’mon.”
Smug expression suddenly back on his face, “Alright, here we go,” tapping at your entrance a few times first. “Ohh, biiig stretch,” word drawn out and provocative as his cock head slowly slips inside you.
Big stretch is fucking right, chest squeezing as you struggle to adjust. Hands gripping onto his biceps for dear life, needing to be grounded.
One of his hands reach out and strokes against your head, you keen into his touch and he chuckles. Leaning down to whisper, “You need to breathe, sweetheart.”
His hips have stopped moving forward but it hardly seems like it, already feeling obscenely full. “H–how much– hnn– more?”
Gojo dips his head down to look at where your cunt is bulging around him, teeth digging into his lower lip as he stifles a strained laugh, “Not much at all.”
“Are you lying?” Unable to help the way your lip wobbles a bit with your question.
“Yeah,” he thrusts just a little bit more into you, “but you’re doing so well, feel fffucking fantastic.”
You’re clawing at his shoulders, feeling like you’re being stretched to your limits, “Why– ah!– why is it so big?” Somehow, you feel annoyed at him for it.
“I’m God’s favourite,” is how he chooses to reply, ego growing tenfold at how you’re falling apart just from the shallow thrusts he’s delivering.
How the hell are you meant to take all of him, “How– hah– how much?”
He can’t take his eyes off how you’re sucking him in, hands gripping your hips and thumbs drawing circles into your skin soothingly, “Why don’t you just watch for yourself?”
You shake your head at him, eyes scrunched shut, “No.”
“And why not?” Still, he’s feeding you more of his cock, your pussy pulsing around him making him dizzy, “It’s a good fuckin view.”
“Don’t– hnn– don’t torment me.”
Blinking your eyes open to give your best glare, it only comes across half hearted. Completely taken with the look on Gojo’s face, flushed pink with his pupils blown wide, teeth digging into his lower lip again to stop from whining. Eyes flicking to yours and he’s completely melting when seeing just how pathetic you are under him, moan stumbling from his lips so suddenly that it takes him by surprise.
He's just as big of a mess as you and it has your cunt positively creaming around him, turned on by the fucked out horny look on your best friends’ face. Gojo shudders at your pussy getting slicker around him, his dick jerking inside you.
“Getting this– hah– wet over your best friend…” fucking his hips quickly, pelvis now flush to yours, “…how shameless of you.”
You’re quivering around him and writhing under him, the feeling of being completely stuffed full overwhelming on its own. His taunting cruel and mocking and unfortunately turning you on that much more, upset that you’re letting him get away with it.
Lips downturned when you fire back, “You’re more shameless– hnn– pervert.”
Gojo can only be charmed by your weak insult, especially since he’s pretty sure you’re unaware of how your hips are twitching under the weight of his hold. Fighting upwards for the hope of getting fucked but kept frustratingly still by him. Your neediness has piqued his interest, now wondering how long he can stay still until you’re shedding tears out of pure frustration. Quickly growing addicted to the idea of teasing you like this.
He's so still it’s driving you crazy, able to feel his dick twitching inside you, veins throbbing against your sensitive walls. Obviously wanting it just as bad as you but still not moving, shifting one of your hands to tap at his on your hip, gaining his attention.
Eyes on his, “What are you waiting– mmph– for?”
God, the look on your face is killing him, so sweet under him. It’s almost like you’re coming apart already, his hands dig into your thighs and it has you keening under him. Pitiful whine leaving you as your hips start grinding into him quickly, trying to alleviate some of the desire you’re feeling.
“Now why on earth…” he straightens his back up more, pulling your lower half up with him, not giving the chance for his cock to slip from you, “…are you this touch starved?”
“Huh?” it’s the only response you’re capable of giving, having finally seen just how he’s shoved inside you. Cunt stretched obscene around his fat dick, dripping happily and syrupy sweet around him. Chest fluttering at the shock and excitement.
“I’m so sorry for not noticing, sweetie,” he coos at you, “I would’ve helped you if you’d told me.”
Complaining back at him, “I am not touch starved.”
“You definitely are,” he trails his hand from your hip, up your side, just to show you how you twitch into it, “it’s okay though, I’ll take good care of you.”
Pussy shivering involuntarily around him, giving away that you’re lying. How he managed to know you were deprived, you have no idea but the fact he did is embarrassing to you. He doesn’t need to be aware of how long it’s been since you were last touched so intimately.
“I—”
“—Don’t bother lying again,” he keeps caressing you where he can reach, “I’d much rather hear about how much you like when I touch you.”
Maybe he’ll start moving if you’re honest, “I like when– hah– you touch me,” pouting slightly and barely fighting off the shudder running down your spine at his touch.
“Good,” he smiles at you, all glib, “‘Cause I’m gonna touch you. Lots.”
Eyes sparkling at him, hoping, “Does that mean you’re– ah– hnn– actually going to fuck me now?”
“Why?” his head tilts at you, “Do you want it?”
Giving your best glare back at him, he’s proven to you sufficiently by now that he can read you incredibly well, much to your dismay. Muttering out, “Dream you was– hah– much more indulgent of me.”
“Ouch,” though he says that, he doesn’t seem hurt at all, “Dream me was a fool then ‘cause you’re much more fun to play with like this.”
He’s being so evil, “Can’t you just give me what I want?”
“I might,” his gaze is lecherous as his eyes rake over your body, “if you ask for it properly.”
“Satoru…” you try to call out to him as sweetly as possible, “…please fuck me?” lip quivering slightly as your neediness bleeds through your façade of togetherness, “please?”
Gojo’s heart squeezes in his chest, he’d planned on tormenting you a little more but he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep his sanity any longer. Already he feels like he’s a second away from cumming, caught between wanting to give you everything you want and teasing you until you cry. He guesses he’ll just have to settle for fucking you until you cry this time, next time, he promises himself he’ll tease you properly next time.
“Satoru?”
Your voice breaks him out of his reverie, grin back on his face, “I heard you, pretty. I’ll give you what you want.”
Dragging his cock from you slowly, so slowly, the heavy weight of him pulling out driving you up a wall, insides shuddering. Broken and gasped moans leaving you, rushing out quick, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, oh—”
The laugh that leaves him is too attractive, amused by your gratitude for something like this. It’s cute how the thank-yous just keep tumbling from your lips over and over as he keeps pulling back to the tip of him.
“Don’t thank me for that…” his hands dig into your hips more, “…thank me for this,” slamming into you all at once with his last word.
The wind is completely knocked from your lungs, shocked whine louder than you’d want it to be. Desperately clawing at any part of him you can reach, struggling to take it and keep it together. Feeling like you’re completely melting, head spinning as pleasure thumps through your veins.
“Mmph– I– ahh—” barely coherent as your eyes fight to not roll to the back of your head, “thank hnn– you.”
Small giggle leaving him at just how adorable you’re being, heart hammering in his chest as he sets a consistently mind ruining pace. He can’t wipe the fucked out smile off his face as he keeps pounding into you, giddy with how he gets to have you under him like this.
Babbling varied compliments, “You’re so adorable,” he huffs out a whimper, “hnn– and you’re so fucking tight around me,” less coherent as he carries on, “God, and so fffucking wet– hah– what the– so hot– I—”
He feels insane, how you’re this warm and perfect around him has him at a loss. Almost like you were made just for his cock, something he’ll let himself believe because the idea of you being with anyone but him breaks his heart a little bit.
Hypnotised by how you’re sucking him back in, clinging onto his dick desperately. It’s almost like every time he pulls out, you’re begging him to fuck right back in, and of course he’ll comply. The idea of pulling out before he’s finished with you a painful thought, not willing to give up this moment even if someone walked in on the two of you.
Such a genuine thought, he’s completely certain that someone could walk in on you both and his thrusts wouldn’t even slow down. If anything, they’d speed up, finally he’d get to show off how you’re his. Possessiveness tumbling around restlessly in his head, his dick only getting harder.
All you can do is take it, take all of the jaw slacking and toe-curling pleasure he’s delivering you. Your pussy making obscene sounds as he fucks into you, skin hot from how depraved it all feels. Gojo looks so completely wrecked, eyes glazed over, lips still moving as he continues to mutter out sweet praise. Praise that would probably have your insides flipping and body growing hotter, but you can’t hear anything but your heart thumping in your own ears.
Delirious grin making its way onto his face as he’s struck with a wicked realisation, large hand sliding its way from your thigh to your stomach. Pressing down the littlest bit and watching how you squirm and shudder under him, gasping for breath and hands slapping at him, trying to speak.
“Don’t– hnn– don’t do that– ah!– too much– it feels too—”
“What? Good?” He hisses out, still managing to be taunting.
“It’s too much– hah– mmph– I’m too sensitive,” your eyelashes feel wet, like you might’ve started crying but you can’t even be sure of that right now.
His hand presses down more into your tummy, “I know you are~” he giggles a little, “it’s turning me on.”
“Seriously– hnn– don’t– I’m gonna– ah!—”
He’d completely ignored your pleas causing you to cut yourself off with a moan, orgasm suddenly washing over you. Spasming hot and snug around him, so sinful that he’s shocked by his own high, cumming deep inside you as you shake and shiver around him.
“Ohh, you’re– haah– you’re killing me sweetly,” Gojo’s head feels like it’s spinning, swimming in so much euphoria as he grinds into you.
You’ve slumped under him, trusting him to keep a hold of you, not even thinking to chew him out for making a mess of both your cunt and sofa. Brain feeling all fuzzy and melted in your skull, blissed out from how good you’re currently feeling.
Busy basking in the afterglow when your world is suddenly spinning, Gojo’s taken advantage of your rag-dolled state and flipped you over onto your stomach. Quickly realising that he’s still hard when your hips are being pulled up and his cock is sliding through your folds.
“You gotta stay with me, pretty,” he groans, positioning his tip at your hole, “we’re– hnn– not done yet.”
“Satoru– ah!—”
Both your moans are debauched and loud as he stuffs you so fucking full all at once, lungs seizing in your chest. If he weren’t holding your hips so tight, you would’ve collapsed to the couch. Your fingers dig into the cushions below you, biting back pitiful sounds that so desperately want to leave you.
“Don’t– don’t do that,” he shoves inside you somehow that little bit more, “let me hear you, sweetie.”
Sulking back, “Noo– hah– it’s embarrassing—”
“—It’s arousing,” he counters, skin on fire with how badly he wants to hear you moan for him.
He supposes it’s fine though, he’ll just have to drag those sweet sounds from you himself. Giving sharp and angled thrusts, purposefully driving right into all those delicious spots he found earlier while playing with you. Grinning wide, overly pleased with himself when you squeak out the cutest moan he’s ever heard.
He’s falling apart inside you, wrapped around your little finger and you don’t even realise it. He didn’t even intend to cum earlier, you just felt too good. All sticky cum and clingy walls, he couldn’t help himself.
Able to feel how his cum leaks out around his shaft, hear how your pussy gushes with his cock inside you. He feels borderline feral, something deeply possessive dancing around in his heart at how your cunt squelches around him, stuffed full of his hot semen.
The desire to see his face hits you, remembering just how good he looked as he got lost in how pleasurable everything felt. Whining pitifully below him into the couch, feeling far too shy to tell him how much you enjoy looking at him while he fucks you stupid.
“Satoru– hnn– it’s—” drooling onto the couch as you moan out to him, “it’s good– hah– it’s too good– it’s good~” nearly sobbing with just how damn good it feels.
“I bet,” he chuckles, loving your reaction.
Biting at him, “Hnn– shuddup—”
Easily ignoring you, “Now be honest… what’s better?”
Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head; you can’t focus on whatever the hell he’s saying when he’s fucking your gooey sweet spot so perfectly that you’re in bliss.
“Focus,” he fills you completely and stills his hips, refusing to move, “what’s better? This or your dream.”
Cunt so creamy and cock drunk for him, throbbing and pulsing so lovingly on him. He’s a little bit annoyed that he has to stop but he needs your answer. Hips twitching back into him, small noises of frustrated and deprived pleasure slipping from your lips.
He purrs low at you, “If you want me to move then you gotta answer me,” hand smoothing down your back, “you know I will torment you until you do.”
If you weren’t so turned on and delirious you’d recognise it as the bluff it is, he may have been able to torment you earlier, but his patience is barely hanging on by a fucking thread at this point. But you are that turned on and delirious, so instead you answer earnestly, “This, this is better. It’s lots better, now please. Move.”
“There ya go,” he pats your ass a couple times, “such a sweet little thing when you’re fucked full of my fat dick.”
Words meant as a warning but failing to hold any weight, “‘Toru– don’t—”
“—Don’t stress, pretty,” giving you a single thrust, “I’ll give you what you and your pussy are begging me for.”
Your response is smothered into the couch cushions, “Please.”
Groaning a giggle at how you reply, finding it cute that you’re displaying manners you don’t usually bother to with him. You must have it bad for him right now because otherwise you would not be so docile under him.
Fucking into you so you can feel it, really feel it. Intending to pull you apart so perfectly, wanting you to feel this just as much he is. Pelvis smacking into your ass obscenely, admiring the way your back arches for him, damn near presenting yourself to him.
“More– hah—” you stutter out at him, trying to explain what you need, “I want– hnn– I want you to touch me more.”
His eyes close and he intakes a deep breath, controlling himself as he registers your words. Arm reaching around you to pull you up, his chest to your back. He’s pressed so close to you, warm and comforting. You’re keening into him again, relishing how close he is to you, how much of him you can feel. Butterflies dancing in your stomach at how intimate it is and how it’s so much better because of it.
His hands grope at you, your hips, stomach, tits, anywhere he can grab, “Someone’s being greedy.”
Huffing back at him, “Hah– I am not.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” amused with himself as he breathes into your ear, thrusting desperately into your dripping cunt.
You grab hold of his hands and tug, encouraging him to wrap his arms around you properly. All too easily, he gives into your will, holding you tight. His face tucked into your neck and breathing in your scent, lips delicate as they trace your skin.
Brain hazy and muddled as you babble out your feelings to him, “It’s good– I like your dick– hnn– I like– hah– I like you.” Head turning to the side to press a small kiss to his head.
He’s quick to move so he can capture your lips with his, groaning into it. His dick grows impossibly larger inside you at your small confession, throbbing and leaking inside your tight heat.
Pulling back with a last suck to your lower lip, “Don’t say such sweet things to me, pretty,” tongue licking your ear, teeth nipping you, “or I’ll never leave you alone.”
“You– hah– you– hnn– do that anyways– ah!—”
“I’m about to become much worse,” it’s more of a promise than anything else, you thought of him as clingy before but he’s about to become so so much more worse.
The idea of that alone should probably be less appealing but while stuffed full of his aching cock, you can’t find it in yourself to feel anything other than pathetically whipped for him. Pussy weeping around him, begging for more, for it to never stop.
His dick so deep it feels like he’s in your lungs, spasming around him as your high gets closer and closer. Pleasure climbing up your spine as you melt around him, loving his touch on your body, his breath by your ear.
Gojo moans, head tipping back before he leans forwards again, “You’ve got me obsessed with you, sweetheart,” voice cracking with a whine, “both you– hnn– and this sopping wet pussy of yours.”
Sobbing out your warning, “‘Toru– hah– ah!– I’m gonna cum—”
“Hmm?” his chest vibrates against your back, “Gonna cum because I told you I’m obsessed with you? That’s pretty lewd of you.”
Cheeks wet with your shed tears, “Don’t– hng– don’t tease.”
“Just let yourself enjoy it,” hand pressing into your stomach like he had earlier, “your cunt sure does.”
Long and pitchy moan leaving you, orgasm knocking into you like a tonne of bricks. Trying to curl forward but unable to, Gojo’s arms are firm around you, not letting you go anywhere as he keeps fucking into you. His pace suddenly much quicker as he doubles his efforts from behind, chasing his own high.
It doesn’t take him long at all to follow behind you, face burying into your neck, teeth biting into you as he shudders. Muffled whimpers vibrating against your skin, his hips jerking shallowly, he can’t bring himself to stop fucking into you. You’re too stupid to think about telling him off, not even sure you’re able to process thoughts let alone talk coherently.
Eventually he stills to a complete stop, planting kisses over his bite mark. He doesn’t want to let you go, content to hold you up like this but you’re on the verge of passing out. Gentle in how he lowers you down onto the couch, the pair of you groaning when his cock slips from you. Shared cum connecting his dick to your stuffed hole obscenely, he has to bite his lip to stifle the most pathetic sound at the sight.
While you gather yourself, he kneads your back, his large hands digging into the knots there. The massage nice and calming, helping to soothe your aching muscles after the way he manhandled you to his hearts content. Almost feeling like you could fall asleep like this, feeling so safe and warm under his ministrations.
He leans over to check you, “Stay awake,” fingers brushing against your cheek, “you’re gonna need a shower.”
“No moving,” you protest.
“Yes moving, I know if you fall asleep like this you will be pissed when you wake up,” he brushes down your spine delicately, “and you’ll be pissed at me… which I’d personally like to prevent.”
“Can’t do it.”
“I’ll help you,” he hops off the couch, “Come on.”
Groaning dramatically the whole time as you sit up, standing in front of him with the help of his hands on you. Legs wobbling under you, balance precarious. As soon as you’re on your feet, his cum leaks from your cunt and down your inner thighs. It catches Gojo’s attention who crouches down to get a better look.
“Wooow,” he comments.
Shy at his reaction, “Wh– what?”
He glances up at you and looks deep into your eyes, “I came a lot inside you,” eyes dropping to stare at your pussy obviously, “sorry but this is really turning me on…”
Barely finishing his sentence before his tongue is lolling out of his mouth, head tipping forward to lick up the mess. Mouth swapping sides to travel up each of your thighs, eyes locked onto yours as he does. It’s overwhelming you, feeling beyond embarrassed at the lewd display. His grip the only thing keeping your wobbly legs from completely giving out from under you.
Gojo’s actions are ravenous and simultaneously dazed, somehow both feral and on autopilot. Moaning into your pussy as he licks and sucks your cunt clean, tongue hitting so many over-sensitive places. Your hands dig into his hair to pull him back only to see the completely pussy drunk look in his eyes. If it had been possible, he’d probably have hearts in his eyes, so far gone.
“Stop– hnn– you need to stop,” legs shaking much more now, “too sensitive,” grip more forceful with your last tug.
He pouts back at you, “But you’re so cute when you’re overstimulated.”
Pulling back from you to stand to his full height, smirking down at you. All self-satisfied and also blissed out on the taste of your shared cum. Your tummy is full of butterflies from how he’s been treating you today, legs still weak under you as your knees cave. Thankfully, he’s quick and catches you, effortlessly picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to wash the both of you up.
Letting yourself be wiped down by him in the bathroom, sitting on the sink as he uses a warm cloth to clean you up better than his tongue could. “I was serious you know,” he says unprompted.
Head fuzzy and a little lost on what he means, “About?”
“I’m obsessed with you.”
α.η. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
a-knee-wayssss .. i hope you liked it ! i didn't change much about this one since it was basically just pure smut and also i still fucked with it teehee (๑•̀ <๑) ✧
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar
part 1 here! . part 2 here! . part 3 here! . part 4 here!
cr: 3vangel1ne_ on X
If you like listening to music while reading, I recommend this!
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You woke up the next morning with a dull pounding in your skull and your mouth painfully dry. For one merciful second, your mind was blissfully blank. Then the memories crashed over you all at once.
The dimly lit hallway.
Satoru’s tall frame pressed back against the wall.
The broken whimper that escaped his lips when your mouth found his neck.
Your own lips still felt faintly swollen, as if you could still taste the warmth of his skin—sweet, soft, and addictive. Between your thighs, a traitorous heat lingered at the mere recollection of his hardness pressing against you.
The memory refused to leave you. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his flushed face—lips swollen, eyes wide with shock and something dangerously close to desperate want.
But it was the scent that haunted you the most. He smelled so good—deliciously masculine, soft, and unmistakably him. And now, as you lay in bed, the faint trace of his cologne still clung to your skin, inextricably entwined with your favorite vanilla fragrance.
By the time you dragged yourself to the small breakfast counter in your dorm, guilt twisted sharply in your stomach making it impossible to eat. The jealousy that had fueled your drunken courage the night before now felt pathetic and ugly in the daylight.
The chat with Satoru had been open for nearly thirty minutes. The cursor blinked mockingly at the end of another half-written message you’d already deleted twice.
Hey, about last night…
Delete.
I’m really sorry. I’ll finish the project, you won’t have to see me anymore.
Delete.
Satoru, I need to tell you something important. I know about your channel. I’m not going to tell anyone, I swear. I just—
You stopped.
How the hell were you supposed to explain this without sounding like a complete stalker? Hey! I’ve been getting off to your videos while pretending I didn’t know it was you and then I basically attacked your neck cause the real thing was too much to resist?
You groaned, burying your face in your arms on the counter. He hadn’t texted you either. But what were you expecting him to do anyway? After what you’d done, he was probably avoiding you cause he thought you were insane.
“Fuck” you muttered.
By the afternoon, the guilt had become unbearable. You still hadn’t texted him, instead, you forced yourself to open the shared document for the chemistry project. You tried to work for a while, adding a few clumsy notes and sources, but every sentence felt forced and meaningless.
Shoko texted asking how you were feeling. You replied with a vague “hungover af, but alive” and quickly ignored her follow-up asking if you’d talked to “pretty eyes” yet.
Eventually you gave up on the document, flopping onto your bed, grabbing your phone to try and write an apology one last time.
Hey. About last night… I’m really sorry. I was way too drunk and I shouldn’t have done that. Can we still work on the project? I promise I’ll keep things professional.
You didn’t send that one either. Professional. As if you hadn’t left hickeys on his neck and felt him hard against your stomach while he whimpered into your mouth.
You realized then that you were terrified of the silence between you. If you sent that message, you would be forcing him to acknowledge what happened, and you weren’t sure you could handle his rejection—or worse, his pity. You just couldn’t do it.
You were just about to lock your phone when a notification banner slid down from the top of the screen.
⤷ blues.g uploaded a new video! 2 min ago
You knew you were a hypocrite. A massive one. You’d spent the entire day feeling guilty, writing fifty different apologies, and yet, here you were—thumb pressing on the notification before your brain could talk you out of it
There was no title. Just a short description: from last night.
The video started abruptly.
The camera was propped up on the sink, slightly crooked, as if he had thrown it there in a rush. Steam already filled the bathroom. Satoru stepped straight into the shower, fully naked, and the water crashed down on him immediately. His face was out of frame, but the water ran down his abs and over his impossibly hard cock.
He didn’t tease. There was none of his usual slow, shy build-up.
This was pure desperation.
His large hand wrapped around his throbbing cock and he started stroking immediately — fast, rough, almost punishing. The wet, obscene sounds of his fist flying over slick skin were loud even over the running water.
“Fuck…” he groaned, voice already wrecked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
His hand moved frantically, squeezing tight, thumb pressing hard against the sensitive head every time he stroked upward. Precum mixed with the water, making everything look deliciously slippery.
“I accepted that—fuck—invitation cause I knew you were going to be there…” he panted as hips jerking forward into his fist. “I hate these things but I just wanted to see you.”
His strokes became even faster, almost angry.
“I was trying to make up my mind to send you a text….something I would never do anyway —ahh—fuck—but then you show up in front of me looking like the prettiest fucking angel I’ve ever seen in my life and I completely forgot how to function”
His voice cracked beautifully as he twisted his wrist on the upstroke. A broken whimper escaped him, high and needy.
“I know you were drunk… I know it didn’t mean anything to you. You weren’t thinking straight, but I… fuck—”
He was breathing hard now, almost sobbing between words. He fucked his fist harder, hips snapping forward desperately. Water ran down his toned abs and over his throbbing length as he squeezed tighter.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. That vanilla is like a fucking drug. I can still smell it on my skin. You smelled so fucking good.” he whispered the last word as he leaned his forearm against the tiled wall for support “Your lips were so soft and wet… you tasted like alcohol and sweetness and I— ahh— I got so fucking hard it hurt. I came in my pants like a desperate loser. I couldn’t even move. Just sat there on the floor with your lipstick on my neck and my pants ruined like a pathetic puppy.”
A particularly filthy moan tore out of him. The camera caught everything: the way his heavy cock throbbed in his hand, the way his abs clenched, the way his knees almost buckled.
“I’m so fucking pathetic for you…” he whimpered, voice hoarse and trembling. “And I know it was nothing to you, but to me— fuck, to me it was everything. I wanted to beg you to keep going. I wanted you to push me down, sit on my face, use my cock however you wanted. I would’ve let you ride me right there in that hallway”
He let out a ragged, shuddering breath, his head dropping.
“I wanted to cry after you left. I sat on the floor with cum in my pants and still got hard again ten minutes later just thinking about your tits pressed against me” He let out another filthy, desperate moan “—fuck—I wanted to grab them so fucking bad, wanted to bury my face between them and suck on them—ahh— please… even if you regret it, even if I’m just a mistake, use me. I don’t care how pathetic I sound. I’ll whimper and beg and cum all over myself every time you want. Just— fuck— just let me have something.”
He was stroking so fast now the motion was almost blurry. His balls were drawn up tight, cock swollen and dark.
“I’m gonna— I’m gonna cum— fuck—!”
A loud, broken cry ripped out of him as thick, powerful ropes of cum shot against the shower wall. He kept stroking through it, moaning shamelessly, body jerking with every spurt. There was so much that even with the water running, it dripped down the tiles in messy streaks.
He stayed there for a long moment afterward, breathing hard, forehead pressed against the tile, water cascading over his trembling figure.
Then, almost like he suddenly remembered the camera existed, he reached out with a wet, shaky hand and stopped the recording.
You sat there in silence for a second, heart hammering against your ribs.
The screen went black, leaving you staring at your own reflection. Your breath was shallow, your heart still racing, and the air around you felt thick with the heavy, lingering presence of Satoru’s confession.
He’s talking about me.
The realization slammed into you with dizzying force.
You’d spent the whole day torturing yourself, convinced you’d crossed an unforgivable line by watching his content and then kissing him. Meanwhile, Satoru had an entire secret porn channel dedicated to jerking off and whimpering for you.
And last night, after what happened at the party, he had run straight home and broken down in the shower once again because of you.
The irony hit so hard you almost laughed, except the sound came out as a shaky exhale. For a long moment you just sat there, chest heaving, panties soaked and thighs pressed together.
Suddenly, all the guilt transformed into something hot and sharp in your chest.
Power.
This shy, sweet boy who blushed when you looked at him had been secretly obsessed with you. Filming himself falling apart for you. Begging the camera for you.
And now you knew.
A part of you wanted to close the app, to preserve the sanctity of what you’d just witnessed, but the need to see how the world reacted to your boy was too strong to ignore. You tapped it.
You read through them, a wave of possessiveness washing over you, layering itself onto that newfound sense of power.
You didn’t need to watch any more. You had seen enough. The adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin had shifted into something else entirely, no longer fueled by the video itself, but by the idea already taking shape in your mind.
Without another thought, you opened your messages and typed:
Cho. I need a favor.
—
The hallway outside room 127 smelled faintly of instant ramen and laundry detergent. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you stood outside Satoru's door, your fist hovering in the air for a split second before you finally knocked.
The lock clicked.
Satoru looked exhausted. His white hair was a mess, as though he'd been dragging his hands through it for hours. Dark shadows sat beneath his eyes, and an oversized black hoodie swallowed his frame. His blue eyes widened when they landed on you.
“Can I come in?” you asked.
He swallowed, then stepped aside without a word.
The apartment was quiet. The small living room was neat enough to look recently cleaned, yet something about it still felt lived in—a mug abandoned on the table, the white hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch, the faint scent of coffee still hanging in the air.
Satoru hovered awkwardly by the kitchen counter.
“You can... sit.”
You lowered yourself onto one end of the couch.
He remained standing for another second before sitting on the chair opposite you, hands resting on his knees, unable to meet your eyes for more than a moment.
“Do you want anything? Water? Tea...?”
You shook your head.
“No.”
Silence settled between you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was suffocating.
Satoru’s knee bounced almost imperceptibly. His fingers twisted together before he forced them apart again.
Every few seconds, he'd glance at you, only to look away the instant your eyes met.
You reached into your pocket without saying a word.
Unlocked your phone.
Opened the video.
Then, leaning forward, you placed it face-up on the coffee table between you and gently slid it across until it stopped in front of him.
He frowned, then looked down. The moment he recognized what was on the screen, every trace of color vanished from his face.
The video replayed from where you’d left it paused.
The shower. His voice. His hand.
Slowly—almost fearfully—his gaze lifted to yours. His expression was pure panic.
You held his eyes for a long moment before finally speaking.
“Were you filming yourself while thinking about me, Satoru?”
the song that started playing in my head after the ending
1- I'm sorry
2- bro is so famous he got 248 likes in like 10 minutes
3- that ""smau"" took SO long to make. I hated every second of it. it doesn't make ANY SENSE but I needed to do it.
4- actually I'm not sorry
Reblogs are sooo appreciated
part 6 coming soon !
masterlist
Famous hockey player Satoru Gojo tries to mess with his closest teammates sister who wants nothing to do with him.
pls do not feed any of my work into ai! i dont support the use of ai, if any of the pictures i use are ai pls lmk so i can edit it because at the end of the day i get the photos from pinterest and sometimes cant tell😓 ALL FANART BELONGS TO ORIGINAL ARTISTS
characters are all aged up! (yuji group early 20s, gojo group 22-24)
the new ballet season is upcoming and you've been selected to play both the pure white swan and the lustful black swan. you were the perfect white swan. pristine, pure, perfect. but when your strict ballet instructor guides you down a tainted path to fulfill your dual role as the black swan— just how far are you willing to go to gain his approval? how deep are you willing to let him drag you into hell for the sake of perfection? and most of all: how desperate are you to keep his attention on only you?
♡ ₊˚‧ cw. ballet au :: angst :: smut :: toxic dynamics :: age gap ( 40s / 20s ) :: violence :: blood :: murder :: corruption :: purity fixation :: unhealthy beauty standards :: obsession :: manipulation :: jealousy :: f.masturbation :: semi-public sex :: fingering :: rough sex :: degradation :: choking :: sukuna is very touchy & creepy :: rival!yorozu :: inspired by 2010's black swan
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. this series was commissioned by @delicatedahlias <3 thank you cutie!
Nerdjo x fem!reader >>mean popular girl!reader is secretly an obsessive cozy gamer. nerd!gojo is weird, blunt, chronically online, and unfortunately exactly her type behind a screen.
setting: college au, no curses au, popular girl! reader, mean girl!reader, nerd!gojo, online friendship, slow burn-ish, flirting, eventual mature themes, author tries writing mean girl!reader but kinda fails, emotional constipation, toxic family mentions, no smut, author goes crash out
Word Count: 5.8k
Masterlist⏸️ next⏭️
Gojo Art by @albdgreen on insta, Images used from digimon, heavy inspiration and images used from stardew valley, collage made by @vogujojo
Chapter one: GAME START?
By the time your bedroom door clicks shut, the version of you that belongs to campus starts coming off piece by piece.
The earrings go first, dropped into the little ceramic dish by your mirror with a soft clink. Then the rings one after another, leaving faint little marks around your fingers. After that comes the blazer Reina insisted you wear over your skirt because, according to her, it made you look "expensive but approachable," which was probably the most Reina way of saying she had approved your outfit before you even asked.
Your phone buzzes on the bed while you're removing your makeup.
mika: are we still going to that party friday?
reina: depends who's there
mika: depends if that guy from media studies is there
reina: you mean the one with the bad haircut?
mika: tragically hot
reina: seek help
You watch the messages pop up in the group chat and don't answer. Usually, you'd send something mean enough to make Mika scream and Reina respond with a tiny "don't be mean," even though Reina was always meaner when it counted. Tonight though, your attention keeps slipping toward your desk, where your laptop is already open and waiting.
Moonvale Crossing glows softly from the screen.
The loading menu washes your room in blue light, all floating islands, silver trees, and tiny animated stars drifting around the title. It is a ridiculous game, honestly. Cozy enough to look harmless, but addictive in the way harmless things always become once they give you daily tasks, a little house to decorate, and a mining system that rewards actual obsession.
Mika and Reina probably think you're doing skincare, texting someone, or watching some messy dating show in bed. They do not know that the first thing you do after washing off your mascara is log into a multiplayer farming-survival game where you own a moon cottage, grow glowberries, and have spent three real-life hours arranging pixel lanterns along a digital riverbank.
They are not going to know either.
Not now, not ever.
You settle into your chair, pull on your headset, and enter the public server.
Your avatar spawns inside a house, standing between a bookshelf and a kitchen. Outside, the lunar farm glows under a pale artificial night. Tiny star-moths drift around the garden beds, crystal goats sleep in their enclosure, and the meteor bell near the town square is silent.
everything looks peaceful. Then a notification flashes across the top of your screen.
>>A rare meteor shower has been spotted near the Hollow Crater. Moonsteel fragments may appear for the next 20 minutes<<
You sit up straighter before you even realize you've moved.
Moonsteel, finally!
You've been trying to craft the Crescent Glass Greenhouse for a week, and the game has been acting like giving you three pieces of moonsteel would collapse the entire server economy. The greenhouse isn't even necessary. It won't unlock some secret questline or make your farm stronger in any meaningful way.
It’s just pretty.
And you want it.
You open your inventory, grab your upgraded pickaxe, eat a stamina tart, and teleport to the Hollow Crater before anyone else can get there.
The game drops you near a field of black stone and glowing purple cracks, the sky above streaked with slow-falling stars. A few little crater sprites bounce around the edges, harmless until you mine too close to their nests. You ignore them and sprint toward the impact site, already scanning the terrain for the silver-blue glow.
There, half-buried in the crater floor, is a huge chunk of meteor rock, steaming faintly as tiny sparks drift off its surface.
Your fingers move fast over the keyboard.
Then another avatar runs onto your screen from the opposite side.
He has white hair, a purple jacket, and a little floating pet bobbing beside him like some accessory. His username appears above his head.
DigivolveThis
For maybe two seconds, neither of you moves. Then he takes one step toward the meteor.
Absolutely not.
You swing your pickaxe first. The meteor makes a satisfying crack sound, and a chat bubble pops up above his avatar almost immediately.
DigivolveThis: wow
DigivolveThis: okay
DigivolveThis: theft
You keep mining.
CerryHex: public spawn
DigivolveThis: i was here first mentally
CerryHex: tragic that the game doesn't reward delusion
DigivolveThis: it rewards speed and route planning
CerryHex: apparently not yours
His avatar circles the meteor like he's trying to find the best angle, which is insane because it is a game rock, not a real excavation site. You keep mining from your side, watching the health bar go down with every hit.
DigivolveThis: your positioning is bad
CerryHex: your username is a cry for help
DigivolveThis: your username is misspelled
CerryHex: it's stylized
DigivolveThis: sure
CerryHex: mine faster or cry quieter
For a moment, he doesn't move. Then his avatar steps in and starts mining too.
You hate that he has an upgraded pickaxe. You hate even more that he clearly knows what he's doing. Most random players are either too slow, too confused, or too busy jumping around to farm rare materials efficiently. This one moves like someone who has studied spawn patterns and probably has strong opinions about them.
The meteor's health drops fast. You're already calculating how the drops might split when three crater sprites wake up from the nest behind him and bounce toward both of you with angry little squeaks.
CerryHex: mobs
DigivolveThis: i see them
CerryHex: then do something
DigivolveThis: i'm mining
CerryHex: multitask
DigivolveThis: hostile work environment
One sprite launches itself at you. You dodge, switch from pickaxe to moonblade, and hit it mid-bounce. Another goes for him, and he moves at the last second with clean, annoying timing before striking it with a staff that sends out a purple spark.
The third sprite heads for the meteor, and both of you turn on it immediately. It dies in two hits.
DigivolveThis: acceptable combat response
CerryHex: don't compliment me like a loading screen tip
DigivolveThis: it wasn't a compliment
CerryHex: good because it was ugly
The meteor cracks again. This time, it breaks.
Moonsteel fragments scatter across the crater floor, and you lunge for the nearest pile at the exact same time he does. The game gives you four fragments, two starstones, and one meteor seed.
Not enough for the greenhouse.
You glare at the screen like that might intimidate the loot table into apologizing.
CerryHex: how many did you get
DigivolveThis: define how honest you want me to be
CerryHex: if you got more than me i hope your crops wither
DigivolveThis: six
CerryHex: die
DigivolveThis: you asked
CerryHex: i regret promoting honesty
His avatar stands there with the little pet floating beside him while the meteor shower continues overhead. More fragments might spawn nearby, but the main rock is gone.
You should leave. You got something out of it, and staying near this guy will probably only make you mad.
Instead, you open the chat again.
CerryHex: are you using a meteor tracker
DigivolveThis: obviously
CerryHex: share
DigivolveThis: no
CerryHex: ugly behavior
DigivolveThis: says the person who tried to solo a public meteor
CerryHex: i didn't try
CerryHex: i almost succeeded
DigivolveThis: almost is where people live when they don't understand spawn cycles
You stare at the message.
Then despite yourself you laugh laud enough that the sound feels strange in your quiet room. This person is irritating, definitely, but at least he is not boring.
Your phone buzzes again.
mika: helloooo
mika: party friday yes or no
reina: she's ignoring us
mika: rude
reina: probably doing a face mask
mika: without us? fake
You glance at the messages, then turn your phone face-down.
On screen, DigivolveThis has started moving toward the north side of the crater.
You follow without thinking.
CerryHex: where are you going
DigivolveThis: second impact zone
CerryHex: there's another one?
DigivolveThis: yes
CerryHex: and you were just going to leave?
DigivolveThis: yes
CerryHex: you're literally evil
DigivolveThis: efficient
He stops walking, and for one second his avatar just stands there under the falling stars.
Then another message appears.
DigivolveThis: keep up then
You smile before you can stop yourself.
The second impact zone is farther out, past the crater bridge and through a patch of silver mushrooms that drain stamina if you step on them. He knows exactly how to avoid them. You hate that this is useful. You hate even more that he slows down once when you get stuck behind a cluster of crater sprites.
The second meteor is smaller and guarded by more sprites and one lunar mole that keeps burrowing under the ground and popping up at the worst possible moments.
Somehow you end up fighting together in the loose and chaotic way the game allows. Not back to back, obviously. Pixel avatars don't have that kind of drama unless someone mods it in. He mines while you clear mobs, then you mine while he covers, and the rhythm works so well that it becomes annoying. At one point, a sprite jumps at your avatar while your health is low, and he hits it before it lands.
By the time the second meteor breaks, you have enough moonsteel for the greenhouse.
Barely.
He gets the rare drop this time: a Celestial Core, glowing gold in the pickup notification. You see it appear in the chat log and immediately feel betrayed by the universe.
CerryHex: no
DigivolveThis: yes
CerryHex: i did most of the work
DigivolveThis: bold lie
CerryHex: give it to me
DigivolveThis: no
CerryHex: i need it aesthetically
DigivolveThis: that is not a need
CerryHex: spoken like someone with an ugly base
DigivolveThis: my base is functional
CerryHex: that's what ugly people say about ugly bases
There's a pause. Then he sends a trade request.
You blink at the screen. The trade window opens and he places the Celestial Core in his slot.
For a few seconds you only stare at it, suspicious enough to feel like the game should let you squint.
CerryHex: what do you want
DigivolveThis: greenhouse access
CerryHex: excuse me
DigivolveThis: you're crafting the Crescent Glass Greenhouse
CerryHex: how do you know that
DigivolveThis: you were hoarding moonsteel and complained aesthetically
CerryHex: creepy
DigivolveThis: observant
CerryHex: annoying
DigivolveThis: also true
You should decline.
You don't.
CerryHex: fine
CerryHex: but if you put one ugly machine in my greenhouse i'm banning you
DigivolveThis: your design priorities are hostile to progress
CerryHex: your progress is hostile to eyesight
You accept the trade.
The Celestial Core drops into your inventory, glowing like a tiny captured sun. His avatar jumps once, and it looks accidental, which somehow makes it funnier.
DigivolveThis: server?
CerryHex: you're inviting yourself now?
DigivolveThis: i paid rent in celestial core
CerryHex: one-time visitor pass
DigivolveThis: exploitative landlord
CerryHex: thank you
You invite him.
Five minutes later he appears at the edge of your farm.
Your farm is not the biggest on the server but it is yours, and it looks fucking good. The paths curve around the glowberry beds in neat little arcs. The lanterns are placed by color and height. The river has moon lilies along the bank. Your house has a dark roof, violet windows, and a little reading nook visible through the front glass.
You spent hours making it look effortless.
He pauses at the automated sprinklers hidden behind flower boxes. Then at the storage shed tucked behind the trees. Then at the decorative crystal columns you placed to block monster spawns without ruining the view.
For some reason you actually wait for his opinion, which is stupid. He is a random online guy with an stupid username and suspiciously efficient meteor routes. His opinion does not matter.
DigivolveThis: huh
CerryHex: eloquent
DigivolveThis: it's not as useless as it looks
CerryHex: wow
CerryHex: frame that review
DigivolveThis: the hidden sprinklers are good
CerryHex: they're also cute
DigivolveThis: tragic priority but acceptable execution
You lean back in your chair, smiling like an idiot.
Then you catch your reflection in the dark part of the laptop screen and immediately stop.
You are not smiling over a stranger calling your sprinkler placement acceptable. That is not a thing you are doing.
The greenhouse takes most of your remaining resources to craft. When you place it, the whole structure builds itself in a soft animation of silver beams and crescent-shaped glass panels.
For a moment, both avatars stand in front of it.
It is really pretty actually.Worth the grind, unfortunately.
CerryHex: okay maybe i'm a genius
DigivolveThis: architecturally dramatic
CerryHex: say thank you for being allowed here
DigivolveThis: thank you for the greenhouse i partially funded
CerryHex: disgusting phrasing
DigivolveThis: accurate phrasing
Your phone lights up again.
This time, Mika is calling.
You let it ring twice, panic flickering through your chest even though she cannot see your screen. You mute your laptop automatically as if that would somehow hide the evidence from a phone call.
Then you decline.
A message follows almost instantly.
mika: RUDE
mika: are you with someone 👀
reina: she would've told us
mika: unless it's embarrassing
reina: then definitely
You stare at the messages a little too long.
On screen, DigivolveThis moves toward your newly built greenhouse and opens the door.
CerryHex: don't touch anything
DigivolveThis: i'm looking
CerryHex: you better be
DigivolveThis: with scientific curiosity
You type before you can overthink it.
CerryHex: i have to go soon
DigivolveThis: tragedy
CerryHex: try to sound less devastated
DigivolveThis: i'm in mourning
CerryHex: obviously
DigivolveThis: same time tomorrow?
CerryHex: for moonsteel?
DigivolveThis: for preventing you from wasting rare materials
CerryHex: i hate you
DigivolveThis: same time tomorrow then
You sit there for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
CerryHex: maybe
You log off before he can type anything back. Your room feels too quiet afterward.
You take off your headset, check your phone, and finally reply to the group chat.
you: friday depends who's going
mika: THERE SHE IS
reina: face mask done?
you: obviously
mika: liar you ignored my call
you: i was busy
mika: with what
you: becoming hotter
reina: acceptable excuse
You drop your phone onto your bed and look back at your laptop, where the Moonvale Crossing menu still glows softly.
A stranger named DigivolveThis now has access to your farm. That should bother you.
It kind of does.
Just not enough to cancel tomorrow.
The next morning, you walk into campus like you did not stay up until nearly two farming moonsteel with some random gamer whose entire personality seems to be efficiency, sarcasm, and being weirdly good at not dying.
No one would know.
That is the whole point.
Your hair is done, your outfit is clean and intentional, your lip gloss is exactly the shade Mika once called "aesthetic hoe" and your expression is the kind that makes people in crowded hallways move aside before they even realize they are doing it.
Reina is waiting outside the literature building when you get there, leaning against the wall with two coffees in hand. "You look like shit," she says as you reach her.
You take the coffee from her. "Good morning to you too."
"I said it with love."
"You said it with judgment, bitch."
Reina hums, eyes moving over your face in that quick, irritating way of hers. She always notices too much. A smudge in your eyeliner, a tired blink, the way you hold your coffee like it's the only thing keeping you upright. "Late night?"
"Not really."
"That means yes."
"That means shut up."
She smiles like she expected that and turns toward the entrance with you. The two of you barely make it three steps before Mika appears from behind one of the pillars, sunglasses in her hair, tote bag sliding off her shoulder, looking pretty in the very specific way someone can look pretty after definitely losing a fight with her alarm clock.
"Don't start without me," Mika says, squeezing herself between you and Reina like there was an assigned spot waiting for her. "Are we gossiping or being academic? Because I only have energy for one."
Reina gives her a look. "You never have energy for being academic."
"I have academic energy."
"You called symbolism 'author Easter eggs' last week."
"And everyone knew what I meant."
You take a sip of your coffee, trying not to smile into the lid. "Sadly, she's right."
Mika points at you immediately. "See? This is why you're my favorite."
"I'm not defending you. I'm saying you're understandable in the worst way."
"That still counts."
Reina mutters something under her breath about being surrounded by idiots, but she's smiling when she says it, so Mika lets it go. The three of you head inside together, falling into step without thinking about it. Mika starts complaining about the seminar before you've even reached the stairs, Reina corrects her on something from the reading, and you let their voices fill the space around you while you focus on drinking enough coffee to feel like a person again.
Literature seminar is already half-full when you enter. Suguru Geto sits near the middle with one book open in front of him and one earbud in, his dark hair tied back loosely. He looks up when your group passes, his eyes moving from Reina to Mika, then to you with that calm, unreadable look of his.
You know Suguru in the way people know each other when they share a major, half the same seminars, and too many mutual acquaintances. He is popular, Football captain, literature major, pretty in a way that makes people embarrass themselves, and somehow still the type to actually do the reading.
Mika once called him "hot in a tragic poem way."
Reina had said, "Unfortunately, yes."
You had pretended not to agree.
"Morning," Suguru says.
"Is it?" Mika asks, dropping into the row behind him.
Suguru smiles faintly. "Apparently."
You sit two seats away from him because sitting right beside him would feel too friendly and you are not in the mood to donate warmth for free.
Reina takes the chair beside you. Mika leans over the back of yours and immediately starts whispering about the guy in the front row who brought three highlighters and a tote bag with a quote from a dead Russian author on it.
"Do you think he knows women are real?" Mika whispers.
You glance over. "His tote bag knows. He doesn't."
Reina presses her lips together, trying not to laugh.
The lecture starts, and for the next hour, you are exactly who you are supposed to be.
Sharp, prepared enough, pretty enough. Bored in the right places and engaged in the ones that make you look clever. When the professor asks about narrative voice, you answer smoothly, and Reina nudges your shoe under the desk like silent approval. When Mika tries to online shop during a discussion about unreliable narrators, you lower your voice and tell her that if she buys that skirt, you'll pretend you don't know her. "You already pretend that," she whispers.
"Only when you deserve it."
"So daily?"
"Hourly."
By the time class ends, you have almost forgotten about Moonvale Crossing.
You are slipping your notebook into your bag when your phone lights up on the desk. It is not the group chat this time, or a campus notification, or some useless email you will pretend to read later.
It is the Moonvale Crossing mobile app.
You only have it because the game sends server pings through it when someone messages you, and last night, in a moment of absolute stupidity, you turned them on.
DigivolveThis: walked past your greenhouse again
DigivolveThis: it's pretty, but the layout is doing violence to efficiency
DigivolveThis: confusing experience. emotionally and structurally
You stare at the messages for a second too long.
A smile tries to happen.
You stop it before it can fully reach your face, but not fast enough.
Mika, who had been shoving her laptop into her bag with zero care for its survival, pauses beside you. Her eyes flick from your mouth to your phone, then back again. "Why did you just make that face?"
You lock your phone and slide it off the desk. "What face?"
"That one."
"I didn't make a face."
"You looked pleased. It was disturbing."
Reina glances over while zipping up her bag, calm in that annoying way that always makes her seem like she knows more than she does. "Who texted you?"
"No one."
Mika's eyebrows lift. "No one made you smile?"
"I didn't smile."
"You almost did, which is honestly worse. Very off-brand."
You shove your phone into your bag and give her a look. "Can you not hover? You're dressed like you slept in a dryer."
Mika looks offended for half a second before smoothing a hand over her hair. "Okay, first of all, this is intentional."
Reina gives her a quick once-over. "It isn't."
"Whose side are you on?"
"The side with eyes," Reina says, then looks back at you, her mouth curving just slightly. "But she's right. You were being weird."
"I got a notification. People get those."
"People don't usually hide them like they owe money," Mika says, leaning closer like proximity will magically give her answers.
„You guys are just so bored and brain dead that you imagine stuff“
Mika grabs her tote and follows immediately. "I'm not bored. I'm invested."
"In what?"
"In whatever made you look less dead for two seconds."
Reina falls into step beside you, coffee in hand, eyes forward but clearly still listening. "It's probably nothing."
"Thank you," you say.
Then she adds, "But she's acting like it's something."
You turn your head slowly and look at her.
Reina only smiles into her cup.
Mika points between you two as the three of you move toward the door. "See? Even Reina thinks you're lying, and she lies recreationally."
"I do not," Reina says.
"You once told a guy you were allergic to his cologne so he'd leave."
"That was community service."
You adjust your bag on your shoulder, keeping your face bored because that is safer than letting either of them see anything else. "Are we done?"
Mika hums, still looking way too pleased with herself. "For now."
"Great."
"But just so you know," she adds, stepping around someone's chair as you leave the row, "whatever this is, your face is not helping your case."
The hallway outside the seminar room is crowded, everyone spilling out at once with books, laptops, coffees, and the particular post-class energy of people pretending they understood more than they did. Suguru steps out behind you, sliding his book into his bag, when someone near the staircase calls his name.
"Suguru."
The voice is male, light, a little too loud for the hallway, and somehow already irritated by something.
Suguru looks up, and his expression changes just enough to suggest familiarity "There you are" he says.
You glance over because Reina does first, and Mika follows anything Reina notices like it is a campus sport.
A guy is standing near the staircase with a backpack hanging off one shoulder, a strawberry milk carton in one hand, and the kind of posture that says he has been waiting for exactly three minutes and considered that a personal betrayal.
He has white hair, black rectangular glasses, a NASA shirt, black jeans, and a tiny Digimon keychain clipped to his backpack. He is tall in a slightly unfair way, built more solidly than the rest of him suggests, and he looks like he either lost a fight with the wind or never agreed to participate in hair maintenance as a concept.
Mika leans closer to you. "Who is that?"
„How should i know?" the irritation in your voice still precent from the earlier conversation.
You have seen him before, maybe. Around campus. In the library once, possibly. He has the unmistakable energy of someone who belongs to the science building, the kind of guy people mention in passing because he got a perfect score in something horrible or corrected a professor and somehow didn't get smited on the spot.
But this is the first time you really look.
And he is weird.
Not ugly, which would be simpler. The outfit is weird. The milk is weird. The keychain is weird. Even the way he squints at the literature hallway, like the building has personally wronged him, is weird.
He looks directly at Suguru,"There you are. I swear this building has no signs anywhere."
Suguru adjusts the strap of his bag. "It's one hallway."
"It's a hallway with doors that all look the same."
"That means you got lost."
"I took the wrong turn once."
"You texted me three times."
Satoru takes a sip from the carton, completely unbothered. "Because your directions were bad."
Mika snorts under her breath.
The white-haired guy looks at her. He does not say anything to her, just glances once and then looks back at Suguru like he has already moved on.
Suguru looks between him and your little group. "Satoru, this is—"
Satoru cuts him off by pointing his strawberry milk carton toward the stairs. "Can we do introductions later? Shoko said if we're late again, she's starting lunch without us."
"She always starts lunch without us," Suguru says, but he is already shifting his bag higher on his shoulder.
"Yeah, but this time she said she'd eat my dessert too."
Suguru pauses for a second, then sighs. "Fine. That actually sounds like her."
Satoru gives him a pleased look then steps aside for Suguru to lead the way. "Thank you. Finally, someone understands urgency."
"You're friends with Suguru?" Reina asks, still looking at Satoru like the answer might be embarrassing for everyone involved.
Suguru opens his mouth, but Satoru gets there first.
"Don't say it like he lost a bet."
Mika lets out a small laugh, surprised more than amused, while Reina's smile sharpens.
"I didn't," Reina says sweetly.
"You kind of did," Satoru says, taking a sip from his strawberry milk like this conversation is already wasting to much energy. "It had that tone. The one people use when they find something in the back of their fridge."
Suguru sighs under his breath, but he looks more used to it than actually annoyed. "This is Satoru."
Satoru lifts the milk carton in a lazy half-greeting. "Hi."
Mika looks him up and down, less subtle than Reina and clearly not trying very hard to be. Her eyes catch on the keychain, then the shirt, then the milk. "Wow. That's... a lot going on."
Satoru glances down at himself, then back at her. "And yet I managed to leave the house without asking."
Reina's brows lift.
You almost laugh.
You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek and look away before it shows, because Mika is still staring at him like she cannot decide if he is funny or if he should be studied in a controlled environment.
Reina, unfortunately, is quicker to decide.
"You're kind of rude," she says, soft enough that it could pass as casual to someone who doesn't know her.
Satoru looks at her properly then, eyes moving over her face for half a second before he answers. "You opened with judgment. I'm just matching the room."
Mika's mouth parts a little, offended on Reina's behalf and entertained despite herself. Suguru makes a low sound, almost a warning.
"Satoru."
"What?" Satoru says, turning toward him with the kind of innocence that is clearly fake. "Am I wrong?"
Reina lets out a quiet laugh, but there is nothing warm in it. "You always talk like this to people you just met?"
"Only when they start shit first."
For a second, even Mika shuts up. Then she huffs out a laugh and adjusts the strap of her bag. "Okay. Weird little guy has teeth."
Satoru gives her a flat look. "Tall little guy. Accuracy matters."
You hate that it almost gets you again.
The laugh sits right there in your throat, stupid and inconvenient, because he is strange and badly dressed and holding strawberry milk like a twelve-year-old, but he answers fast. Faster than most people do when Reina and Mika start circling.
Reina tilts her head, still smiling like she has never been insulted in her life. "Suguru, where did you even find him?"
"Physics building," Suguru says dryly.
"That explains so much," Mika mutters.
Satoru's gaze slides to her. "And yet you still look confused."
Mika's eyes widen. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Suguru puts a hand briefly over his face. "Can we not do this in the hallway?"
"I'm being extremely polite," Satoru says.
"No, you're not."
"I haven't called anyone stupid yet."
Reina's smile turns colder. "Should we clap?"
"If you need the encouragement, sure."
You have to look down at your coffee.
Because fuck, that was funny.
And that annoys you, because he is exactly the type of guy you would normally write off in three seconds. This guy is clearly just another weird STEM boy with no filter.
But people do not usually talk back to Reina like that.
Suguru says his name again in the way someone does when they know the damage is already done but still feels responsible for trying. "Satoru."
Satoru looks at him. "What? I was answering questions."
"You were making it worse."
"They asked bad questions.“ he say while his eyes wonder towards you now.
You are used to being looked at. You know the difference between admiration, interest, jealousy, judgment, and all the little versions in between. His look is none of the fun ones. It is quick, assessing, and unimpressed in a way that makes your spine straighten before you decide to do it.
He sees the outfit. The coffee. Reina and Mika. The gloss on your mouth. The way the hallway shifts around your group without anyone saying it out loud. Whatever conclusion he reaches, you can tell it is not flattering.
So you give him one right back.
Weird.
Definitely weird.
Probably thinks owning a NASA shirt counts as foreplay for the universe.
You let your eyes drop to the little Digimon keychain clipped to his backpack, then lift them back to his face with the kind of smile Reina usually called bitchy.
"Cute keychain," you say.
Mika makes a tiny sound beside you, barely held back, because she knows that tone. Reina's mouth twitches too, not enough to count as a smile, but enough to make it clear she caught exactly what you were doing.
Suguru glances at you, then at Satoru, like he is already tired on everyone's behalf.
Satoru looks down at the keychain. For a second, you expect something. A defensive little laugh, maybe. Some awkward attempt to explain it away. At the very least, a flicker of embarrassment.
Instead, he just lifts it slightly with two fingers, like he is showing off proof of purchase.
"Thanks," he says. "It's my favorite."
The answer is so plain that it throws you off more than a reaction would have. He does not shrink from it. Does not pretend it is ironic. Does not give you anything useful to work with.
Somehow, that is worse.
Mika tilts her head, eyes narrowing at the little figure. "Is that from one of those kid shows?"
"Digimon," Satoru says, without missing a beat.
Mika nods slowly, lips pursing like she is trying very hard to be polite and wants everyone to know she is trying. "Right. That makes sense."
"It does," he says, looking at her. "That's usually what happens when people recognize things."
Reina lets out the softest breath of a laugh, more entertained by the audacity than by him. Mika blinks, clearly unsure if she has just been insulted.
You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek.
Do not laugh.
Absolutely do not laugh.
Satoru adjusts the strap of his backpack and turns slightly toward Suguru, already done with the conversation in a way that is somehow ruder than if he had actually said something mean. "We're leaving."
Suguru gives him a look. "Subtle."
"I'm being efficient." He starts walking, then stops after two steps and looks back at Suguru with visible irritation. "Wrong direction. You lead."
Mika laughs before she can stop herself.
This time, you do too, quietly, because the timing is too stupid not to.
Satoru looks at you when he hears it.
For a second, your smile is still there.
Then you remember yourself and let it fade.
His gaze lingers for a second, its the type of gaze were you already know they have decided not to spend energy on you.
Then he turns away.
Suguru passes by your group with a small nod. "See you on Friday."
Then he follows Satoru down the hall.
Mika watches them go before leaning close to you. "That guy is so fucking strange."
Reina hums. "Painfully."
You glance after them once.
Satoru is walking beside Suguru now, talking with one hand while still holding the strawberry milk in the other. Suguru looks amused. Satoru looks irritated. The Digimon keychain bounces against his bag with every step.
౨ৎ experienced!sukuna x virgin f!reader
[adult boutique au] - ongoing series
❝ chasing your dreams isn't all it's cracked up to be. your apartment shakes when the train passes and eating a scoop of peanut butter and calling it girl dinner is getting depressing. when you finally manage to land a job at a store that sells sex toys, it's possibly the biggest relief of your life. there's just one issue:
you're a virgin.
you don't know the first thing about toys and you don't want your cute and flirty white-haired co-worker to know. against your better judgement, you find yourself turning to your other co-worker for lessons and learn the hard way he's just as much of an asshole in bed as he is at work. ❞
౨ৎ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. smut. fwb but you aren't friends. slow burn romance/fast burn smut. sukuna is 23ish, reader is24/25ish. reader is sexually reserved but confident, nerdy, and a band geek. arrogant!sukuna. dom!sukuna. mild corruption. size difference. piv (protected & unprotected). sex toys. dildos. vibrators. sybians. shibari & bondage. restraint. gags. butt plugs. fingering. cock rings. clit stimulants. g-spot stimulants. nipple clamps. remote controlled vibrator. lubes. sex games. blindfolds. aphrodisiacs. biting. marking. possession. dick piercings & tattoos. established safe word. used safe word. loss of virginity. oral (f! and m!). handjob. dacryphilia. mating press. overstimulation. cum play. manhandling. edging. sensory deprivation. (mutual) masturbation (f! and m!). choking. mild love triangle with gojo.
i aim to spread sex positivity, explore the effects of the stigma around virginity, and educate on safety in exploring kinks :)
౨ৎ wc ; estimated 100k.
౨ৎ a/n ; art by ackshuallyvalerie <3 shoutout to @/yenayaps for sukuna dick piercing brain worms <33
ao3 || wattpad || main masterlist
1 ⊹ ࣪ untouched - coming soon!
2 ⊹ ࣪ coming soon
౨ৎ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. permatags will be tagged in chapters. @yenayaps @gojosoups
SUMMARY ★ he believes you don't matter to him. just one more annoying fangirl. showing up to his races, being obnoxiously chatty and your flirting—god, does it end? sukuna dreads you. however, he starts reciprocating, as a joke, of course! until it doesn't feel like a joke anymore and he wants nothing but you on his side.
PAIRING ★ streetracer!sukuna x fem!reader
CONTENT WARNINGS / GENRES / TAGS ★ smau w/ written chapters, smut, angst, sukuna is a lot older than reader, older brother to choso and yuji, he was in jail for getting caught racing LOL, nsfw/vulgar jokes like allll the time, inumaki talks (UNFORTUNATELY), sukuna playing w her feelings, he is toxic!
NOTE ★ i don't know too much about street racing, so if i make mistakes pls lmk!!
PROFILES:
YOU THE BIRTHDAY CAKE | FUTURE COUGARS & MILFS
01: WHAT SHALL I RENDER?
02: LET'S ALL MOAN
03: 15 UNFORTUNATE SIGNS YOUR HUSBAND DOESN'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE
You don’t do parties. You don’t drink. And you definitely don’t get involved with guys like Choso Kamo. But one night changes everything. What starts as a stupid party turns into something harder to ignore—lingering looks, unfinished moments, and a tension that follows you far beyond that night, making your realize something: Choso Kamo isn’t just dangerous at parties. He’s worse when he’s sober.
✧˖° cw: college au :: mentions of drugs and drinking :: choso is freaked out :: suggestive content :: smut :: parties :: use of weed :: good girl/bad boy trope :: slight angst
✧˖° episode 01
✧˖° episode 02
✧˖° episode 03
✧˖° episode 04
✧˖° episode 05
✧˖° episode 06
✧˖° episode 07
✧˖° episode 08
✧˖° episode 09
✧˖° episode 10
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ—comment to be added to taglist ໒‧₊˚
CONTENT: a story in which the bond you share with your boss is as exciting as it is confusing. [tw: MDNI, explicit smùt, mild crack, rom-com vibes with a smidge of angst, satoru being a little shit, office șex, breedıng kınk, piv şex, squırting, creampıe, backșhots] word count: 6.2k
notes: little comm for ms. @madamechrissy 🤭 i hope u enjoyed it bby
When you’re as rich and attractive as Satoru Gojo, the world is basically your playground. It was clear on your first day of working as his personal assistant that the man did whatever the hell he wanted and gave no fucks while doing so.
“. . . So with all that being said, I’m sure you can understand why I need you to start dressing in a way that’s more. . . fitting for your stature.”
“Yeah,” you nodded and lightly smiled, feeling a sense of warmth start to creep up your neck. “I understand, Mr. Gojo.”
The thing about Mr. Gojo? He had to be one of the most charming individuals you’ve ever come across. He knows how to make you feel special, even when he’s calling you an outfit repeater with no sense of style at the moment.
He’ll soften his gaze, speak with words coated in a thick layer of honey, flash that million dollar smile of his— every demand that came from him sounded so sweet, it was sickening.
He let out a pleased hum. “I knew you would.”
“It’s just– I don’t,” you cut yourself off with a nervous laugh, the sense of warmth you originally felt quickly morphed into embarrassment, “I don’t have anything else to wear.”
“No?”
For a split second, his voice drops. Even if it’s just for a moment, it doesn't fail to leave you a bit unsettled given his history of losing his mind whenever things didn’t go his way.
“N-no, Sir,” you shrink in your seat, “I’ll have to wait until my next payday to go shopping.”
“I see.” His lips curl back into a smile after realizing he’s going to scare you off, as that wasn’t his intention here. He looks at the door real quick, then back at you. “How about this, then— you remember that department store I had you pick up a suit from once, Damian’s?”
Your eyes widen once you realize where he’s going with this. “Oh! I don’t think that’s n—”
He plants his elbows on top of the desk, leaning forward and cutting you off with the simple, yet powerful act of clearing his throat.
“Why don’t you give them a visit this weekend, yeah?” He pauses for a moment, as if he were daring you to interrupt him again. You don’t. He laughs. “Yeah— why don’t you give them a visit. I’ll reach out before the day ends so they know to expect you. Better yet, I’ll tell them exactly what I’m looking for and have them pull whatever pieces fit the idea I have in mind, that way you won’t have to think too much into it.”
“But Mr. Gojo, I can’t afford that,” your voice nearly breaks telling him that.
Satoru doesn’t even know why you bothered telling him— he already knows. If you haven’t already forgotten, he’s the one that pays you. How hard is it to get you to stop dressing like a fucking nun? He’s had it with the god damn turtlenecks.
He lets out a sigh, fighting to keep his cool demeanor despite his dwindling patience. “Which is why I’m sending you to Damian’s, they have my card ready to go on file.”
The wheels in your head continue to turn, wondering why he’d even offer you this much. Wondering if this is even appropriate. It’s been over three months since you started working for him and not once have you heard of an allowance meant for office attire. Now he’s sending you to some high-end department store to pick out new clothes, on his dime, since your clothes don’t ‘fit your stature’. Whatever the hell that means.
“I don’t think I can accept this…” you look down at your feet and murmur, and Satoru nearly rolls his eyes.
You can and you will.
Satoru watches you freeze and realizes he just said that outloud, making him let out a laugh in an attempt to make himself sound less crazy.
“Ahem— sorry, what I meant was…” he stalls, leg lightly bouncing as he thinks of what to say, then decides to make this a company thing, rather than a him thing, “if the company’s requiring it, then the company should pay for it, right?”
His words disarm you enough to nod. “...Right.”
“Perfect,” he chirps out. “That’ll be your assignment for the weekend then.” He leans back in his seat, looking quite pleased with himself. Looking at the clock, he notices it’s a quarter to five, and takes the opportunity to kick you out of his office before the air between you grows awkward again. “Well, now that it’s settled, why don’t you wrap up for the day?”
You glance at the clock. “Uhhh… yeah, sure! Was there anything else you needed before I clock out?”
There was a lot that Satoru needed, like for you to stop sounding so eager when asking if he needed anything else from you. You have no idea how painfully hard that makes him.
“No, thanks,” he responds in a strained tone. “Enjoy your weekend.”
“Thanks! You as well, Mr. Gojo.”
You give him one last smile as you rise from your seat and begin to walk back to your desk that’s just outside his office. It’s not until your hands on the doorknob, ready to turn it, when he stops you one last time.
You brace yourself the moment you meet an unfamiliar pair of eyes, just glimmering with amusement. Satoru then proceeds to throw you off in a way that almost feels ceremonious with how he never quite gave you the chance to get back up.
“I know it’s just a little favor, but you know how people can be sometimes. So for both of our sakes, let’s just keep this between us to avoid any confusion, yeah? It can be our little secret.”
Something in that low, velvety voice of his told you it was just the beginning of many secrets you’d be sharing, but it still managed to lure you in.
And so, you said yes— marking the very beginning of something that was just as confusing as it was thrilling.
. . . . . .
Being a man of his stature, Satoru has to really watch himself in public— watch what he says, who he says it to, what he does, and where he does it. Which is why he frequents places the public didn’t have knowledge of, let alone have access too. Places that allowed him to let loose.
Though, in your honest opinion, just because someone can let loose, doesn’t mean they should. Especially someone like Satoru, who does a shit ton of coke and treats it like a fucking free for all.
His idea of a good time is often a violent one. You wish you were kidding, there’s nothing that gets him going more than being in the middle of an all out brawl— just grinning from ear to ear while drinks and punches get thrown in every which direction as music continues to blast in the background.
The first to call you is his driver Ijichi, who’s aware that your job consists of tasks that went way beyond the professional scope.
The next is the county jail, because you are Satoru’s emergency contact.
An hour later, you’re patching your boss up in the middle of his penthouse at 3:00 A.M, when you should be asleep like most people are on this side of the world.
“Sorry you got ripped out of your sleep for this,” he boyishly mutters as you dab the corner of his mouth with antiseptic. Lucky for him, the cut’s small, and should be gone by Monday morning. It’s his knuckles that are all scraped up. But then again, he doesn’t interact with many people at the office to begin with, and the ones that do get paid enough not to ask.
“Are you actually sorry, or are you just saying that?” you murmur back.
“Let’s just say I’m grateful that it's you that’s cleaning me up right now.”
“As opposed to who?”
“I dunno,” he chuckles, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes that you refuse to meet. “Don’t even wanna think about anybody else’s fingers on me.”
“How sweet,” you boredly say, dabbing a bit of ointment on the small cut. “Maybe you can extend that kindness to everyone else for the rest of this weekend? So I don’t have to, you know— pick you up from jail… again.”
“What if I only like being sweet to you?” he murmurs.
He doesn’t make you feel special anymore.
For how close of a proximity you have to the man’s personal life, you already are special, and it’s something he constantly reminds you of, even during times it’s not necessary. In the midst of all the confusion it leaves you with, you’re reminded of a line that’s been completely blurred, and you’re not quite sure who’s at fault here.
Satoru may be pervasive by nature, but you’re still here. Somehow there’s still a part of you that wants to please him despite all your irritation.
“Well then everyone’s out of luck and I’m out of sleep.” You sigh as you close the first-aid kit.
He watches as you get up from the couch to put it back in the cabinet, eyes tracing over your body throughout the entirety of it. You may not be in the tight skirts and high heels he has you in during the day, but he found himself enjoying off-duty sweats and slippers just as much. Shamelessly, he doesn’t take his eyes off you when you start walking back towards him, but you’re used to it at this point.
“Y’know you can spend the night here if you’re so tired, right?” he teasingly asks, but you know there’s a part of him that’s more than serious about it.
“No thank you.” You throw your purse over your shoulder, typing away at your phone as you try to book an uber. “I’m sure your silk sheets are great, but they’re no match for mine.”
To no one's surprise, you got out of his penthouse fast. You’ve gotten pretty good at dodging him in situations that could easily end with you on your back, splayed out right underneath him.
Believe it or not, he actually respects that— the self control and all. Especially with the way you’ve almost given in to him a couple times. It didn’t need to be said for him to know. He’s seen the needy, defeated look in your eyes during the times he’s gotten too close. It’s a look that screams ‘get away from me before I do something stupid, please’. A sweet girl you are, really.
But what would happen if he kept going and finally closed that distance?
Sometimes, he thinks he’d be nice to you. Be all soft, put you on his lap, whisper sweet things in your ear while his hand slowly slid down your stomach. You’d begin to hold your breath the moment he went past your waist and it’d finally catch once his fingers found themselves in between your thighs, slipping right in between your folds.
He’d kiss on your neck, pull moans from you as he drew little circles over your clit, making your legs tremble once he finally slipped inside and started curling in.
Then there’s times he thinks he’d be rough with you. Make you start crying from how fast and hard he made you cum from just his fingers alone. Bend you over the nearest surface and tease you with the thick head of his cock, rubbing it over your slick folds until you beg him to put it in.
He’d pull your hair back, make you look him in the eyes while he fucked you senseless, pump you full of so much cum that it’d continued to leak out of your poor pussy the very next day.
Bonus points if you two had to work together that day.
But for now, a man could only dream, or rather imagine, as he starts to fist his cock to the thought of you for who knows how many times now.
. . . . . .
There’s something mildly embarrassing about going to Damian’s with Satoru after being sent here all those months back to pick out new work clothes. Only because he specifically told the stylist to only pull items that were tight fitting and showed a decent amount of cleavage.
You’re sure if that asshole hadn't done that, you would’ve walked into the department store without a second thought. As if it couldn't have gotten any worse, that same stylist is here, and she’s looking at you with the same amount of concern you’d give to someone who’s being put through the ringer from extreme work conditions.
You technically are, given all the extra shit he has you do, like picking him up from jail at 2:00 A.M. You’re not exactly planning on leaving anytime soon, though. Don’t ask why. You’re not so sure of it yourself, either.
Satoru was here to try on a few different suits that just came in. And you’re here because unless you’re working on anything that’s considered incredibly important, you go wherever he goes.
Just as he was able to go off to the fitting room, the poor stylist asked a question she really shouldn’t have asked. She had good intentions when asking if you wanted to see some of the new pieces they had for Spring, and then Satoru made some comment about grabbing whatever you wanted and putting it on his card.
And then this poor girl looks at him with all the confidence in the world and asks, “If you’d like, I can pull a few different pieces from the racks like last time— tight fitting, low cuts, and neutrals, right?”
You didn’t have much of a reaction upon hearing that, it was already clear he had requested those things the last time you came here.
Satoru, however, just stood there and stared at this girl as if she had just ruined his fucking life.
It is not often he's left so appalled that it’s rendered him speechless, but there he was just staring at her with nothing but anger and betrayal in his eyes. She looked like she wanted to cry, and rightfully so. You were honestly scared for her.
“I think that’d be great,” you cut in, trying to break the tension, only to feel Satoru’s nasty glare get directed towards you instead once he realized you were trying to save her. “We’re here for less than an hour, though, so maybe just pull some skirts since the weather's starting to warm up.”
“Y-yeah! Of course.”
You watched as she quickly scurried away, then turned to find your boss just now deciding to follow the tailor, still looking absolutely fucking pissed that she just outed him like that.
Maybe you should tell her to hide once she comes back with those skirts.
. . .
Satoru might not be one to talk right now given how his goal a few months back was to get you to start dressing just a tad bit sluttier while still looking appropriate enough for work, but he didn’t give a shit. That woman had no tact whatsoever.
Who says something like that? You’re clearly his fucking assistant, there was no need to out his preferences like that.
It fucked up his entire mood for the hour… not that it stopped him from going ahead and having all the suits he tried on sent to his house. But just as he was getting ready to let it go, he saw something else that managed to make him do a double take.
It’s exactly what you think it is. Which is why he’s walking straight towards you and whoever the hell you’re talking to.
You didn’t know Rei existed up until two minutes ago, and tried to do him the favor of wrapping up the small conversation he tried sparking up with you once you caught a glimpse of a certain someone walking your way.
It didn’t work and now Satoru’s standing in front of you two, making you brace yourself for whatever sequence of words is going to come out of his mouth since he’s already in a shitty mood from the stylist snitching on him for being a pervert.
“You can leave now. Bye,” he simply says to the man, nodding towards the exit.
There’s a moment of silence. His reaction wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, but it still adds weight to the air around you. Rei was understandably left scrambling, not that Satoru noticed, he was too busy looking at you like he was tired of you disappointing him.
And your eyes widened, as if you were asking him, what the fuck did I do?
“Excuse me?” Rei finally managed to ask.
The displeased look on Satoru’s face stays as he briefly turns his attention to Rei. “You’re excused. Goodbye,” he says, casually dismissing him again.
“I’m sorry,” the man laughs from pure disbelief, “are you her boyfriend or something? Because you could’ve just said—”
“I’m not,” Satoru cuts him off with a tone that’s still surprisingly calm.
He wouldn’t say he’s calm— disassociated is more like it. All the words Rei throws at him just swarm around his head like a bunch of little gnats, and he steadily loses his patience since he’s already told the guy to fucking leave. Eventually, he closes his eyes and lets out a long, deep sigh.
“You know what?” Satoru suddenly cuts him off and proceeds to make him an offer— one that makes your jaw drop. “If you want her number so fuckin’ bad, then fine. You can fight me for it.”
“Satoru?!” you immediately scold the man.
“What the hell is your problem, man?!” Rei says at the same time as you.
“Oh, wow.” Satoru looks at you, then points a finger at Rei. “He doesn’t even want to fight for you.”
At that point, the man storms off, muttering some stuff under his breath about people and wondering what the fuck was wrong with them, leaving you to deal with whatever sudden mood swing your boss was having today.
It didn’t just start within the last hour. This has been going on all day and started when he almost snapped at one of the interns for running into him this morning when turning a corner too fast. You don’t have much patience for him, though.
“Ijichi’s already waiting outside for us,” you casually inform him and turn your heel, taking a step forward to walk away.
“That’s it?” The lack of acknowledgment makes Satoru snap. “That’s all you have to say?”
You stop and turn again, taking a good look at Satoru as you try to come up with more to say, which is hard given how you just watched him agree to let someone have your number if they fought him.
Yet all that comes to mind are the lines that you’ve blurred with the man.
“Do you want me to walk on eggshells around you, too, just like everybody else has today?”
“...No.” It’s not much of an answer with the way he mumbled it, but at least you were able to reroute the guy.
You softly sigh. “Alright, then… let’s go.”
. . . . .
The air’s been stale between you since that day.
You have no idea what’s gotten into him, neither do you want to ask. And it’s not that you don’t care— of course you do. It should've already been made clear by now that you care about Satoru more than you should.
At first, you wonder if it’s some sort of rough patch. Then you realize that isn't normal in professional relationships, leaving you with more questions than answers because nothing about your relationship is professional.
You run around all over the place for him, picking up his suits and sometimes even him at 3:00 A.M when he’s too drunk or high to drive home. As if that didn’t cross the line enough, he treats you like his friend. A really jealous friend, at that. He’ll do things like cockblock you if a man tries to talk to you when he’s around, sometimes even threatening to fight them.
It’s been three weeks of silence.
He didn’t even bother saying goodbye to you when you clocked out for the weekend yesterday. It wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all with your last boss, but something about getting just a simple hum from Satoru left you feeling stupid.
So what did change with him? It might be better if he listed all the things that didn’t.
He still jacked off with you in mind— that probably won’t ever change, at least not for a while. He still keeps an eye on you.
It sounds bad, but it’s really not.
He just has surveillance over your apartment building, not your actual apartment. He also has the security team keep an eye out whenever you walk to and from your car, before and after work. Just basic safety stuff. He might have a tracker on your car, but never looks at it.
Unless he’s drunk, but that doesn’t count in his head.
So then what changed?
Probably the new sense of shame that only seems to unveil itself when you’re around. He’d rather you not have a front row seat when it comes to all of his less… desirable qualities anymore. He is far from perfect— very fucking far from it.
Was it too late for that?
Probably.
It still made him feel just a little bit better about himself, even though he’s been rotting away on the inside from keeping his distance.
. . . . . .
Staying late at the office is a rare but unavoidable occurrence.
It happens. Some work gets prioritized over others, leaving small tasks to multiply and pile up. Today is one of those days Satoru is forced to push a main project aside and tackle all the little ones.
He considered taking on all of it by himself, but was reminded why he avoided the work in the first place just an hour into his day. It was all so boring and tedious. It would’ve driven him up the wall had he not handed off a portion of it to you.
But even then, there were a couple moments he spent wallowing in self-pity, looking out the window with thoughts of throwing himself off the top floor of the high rise. He fucking hates this and hates how he has no one but himself to blame for all the procrastination he’s done.
The office feels like a different world once everyone’s gone. It may feel comfortable for your boss since he has his own office, but your desk right outside of it gives you a front row seat to a corporate wasteland. Muffled chatter gets replaced with the sounds of the fluorescent lights buzzing above you. Air vents thrumming as they recirculate the cold, stale air.
The clock says 8:48 p.m once you finally finish your last task of the day. As happy as you are to finally leave this place, you grow nervous at the thought of entering your boss’s office to let him know you’re finished and heading home. Whatever camaraderie you had with him is non-existent at this point. Everything with him just feels awkward now and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you haven’t already started looking for new positions.
You lightly knock on the door leading to his office and don’t enter until you hear a tired hum on the other side of it.
Aside from the lamps next to his desk and next to the sofa you see when you first walk in, every other light is off, allowing the moonlight to peek through the dim space. It’s actually quite peaceful with his view of the city’s lit up skyline.
Satoru's eyes must hurt. He has his reading glasses on, framing the tired lines and dark circles under them.
“I’m all done for the day,” you say, carrying a stack of papers as you walk up to him and setting them down on the oak wood desk he’s half leaning on.
He doesn’t look at you.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, sounding just as drained as he looks.
You stand there, waiting for him to say anything else before coming to the conclusion that maybe it was time to move on to a new company, because you are too far gone.
Stupid.
The long day you two have had wasn’t a reason to think he’d give you more than he has lately, let alone something to get your hopes up over.
Just standing in front of him makes you feel pathetic— you shouldn’t feel like that.
You open your mouth to say goodbye for the night, since he won’t, but instead say something entirely different that leaves even you shocked.
“I’m putting in my two weeks.”
You haven’t even sent out any applications.
Satoru’s eyes darted up at you while staying in place. “What?”
Despite not having the right, he did not fucking like that. The cold tone of his voice made you want to cower down and take your words back, but there was no turning back.
You push through the nerves as you repeat yourself in a professional manner. “After some consideration, I’ve decided I want to take my career in a different direction and that would require me to step down from my position.”
The overly corporate tone does nothing but put a glare on Satoru’s face, one that deepens as you continue to spew, what he considers, a bunch of bullshit from your mouth.
“I’d like to thank you for the opportunities the company has given me, of course. I’d be more than happy to train my replacement.”
“You’re not training anybody,” he scoffs, standing from his seat as he starts to go through literally every stage of grief. “What the fuck? No? No. You’re not fucking leaving— absolutely not. Fuck that.”
Your eyes widen in disbelief over how entitled he is. He’s been treating you like a second class citizen for weeks and now he’s not letting you leave? “That’s not your choice to make.”
“I don’t care,” he says delusionally. “You’re not fucking leaving.”
“Yes I am.” You raise your tone. “You can’t just fucking keep me here—“
“Where are you going then, huh? Since you seem to have found a place so much better,” his immaturity inevitably shines through as he cuts you off.
“That’s none of your business!”
“It’s not, but you owe me that much,” he begins to argue.
Your face twists in disgust. “I don’t owe you anything. I— how can someone be this selfish?! You’ve been giving me the cold-shoulder for weeks—“
He cuts you off again. “So that’s what this is about?!”
For someone that’s been ignoring you for weeks, he’s very expressive, especially when he argues. His pupils will be blown out, he’ll look at you in disgust, talk with his hands, pace around the room, then get in your face. This time is no different.
“You’re leaving ‘cause I won’t give you attention? I thought you didn’t fucking want that!” He throws his arms out, voice resounding through the room.
You pause, mouthing a ‘what?’ to yourself in complete disbelief. Leaving someone angry and confused is one impressive skill— Satoru has clearly mastered it.
“When have I ever said that?!”
“It was written all over your face!” He shouts back, almost as if it was something that hurt him. “I figured you were getting tired of me so I backed off!”
“Seriously? That’s your definition of backing off?” You have to stop yourself from laughing at how ridiculous it sounds. “Backing off is stopping the 1:00 am calls on the weekend— not completely disregarding me.”
“I went back to being your boss—“
“Yeah, a really shitty one.”
“I was always a shitty one.” He barks out a laugh. “The only reason why you’re mad now is because you’re not getting anything out of it anymore.”
Satoru doesn’t mean that.
Not that you’d know.
He tends to reject anything that brings him even just the slightest bit of discomfort, all while hating rejection himself. Watching you try to quit has made it one hell of a combo for him.
If he was just someone you simply had to tolerate, then whatever you gained from it was not worth your time. But he spoke with enough conviction to render whatever response you had useless.
“How the hell do you expect me to stay after saying that?” you genuinely ask. “I’m tired of not being treated like real person and now you’re being a fucking asshole.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I—“
“No. Save it,” you say in defeat as you start to walk away.
“Where are you going?” he asks, still having the audacity to sound irritated.
“Leaving— have fun finding a new replacement. I’m not staying for another two weeks.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “Well if you’re not coming back would you at least finally admit you felt something between us?”
You stop and let out a sigh. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” he says, taking a couple steps towards you.
“No, there wasn’t.”
“Alright,” he huffs out a laugh. “I get that you’re mad at me and everything, but there’s no point lying about now.”
“I’m not lying about anything.”
“I don’t believe you,” he blandly says. “You wouldn’t have stayed as long as you did if there was never anything there. Be honest with yourself for once.”
Just as you’re about to deny it for the third time, you hesitate. “Just forget it already.”
The sight of you walking away for the second time feels entirely different from the first time for Satoru. No more confusion or panic, all that’s left is certainty. Perhaps a little amusement, as well. “No. I don’t think I will, actually.”
It happens fast.
You hardly process being spun back around, then you’re stunned again by a pair of lips crashing into yours. It’s messy from the start and he’s breathlessly apologizing against you with each rough kiss.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. Please.
And you forgive him, because there’s really no point in lying anymore. Not when you’re kissing him back. Desperately, at that— filled with just as much need. His hands start to roam, clothes start to scatter, leaving a trail that leads in the direction he took you in.
He always thought he’d put you on the desk.
The couch shifts erratically, moans pour into the room with each thrust. Satoru’s pressing down on your back and deepening the arch he put you in, bottoming out over and over again.
“Good job, baby,” he drones, mesmerized at the sight of you helplessly stretched around his thick cock, covering it in a thick coat of your slick.
It took some working up to. The moment he sat you down on the couch, he buried his head in between your thighs and tongued your clit— dragging it over that sensitive little bundle of nerves until you couldn’t see straight. Then it was his fingers. Working not one, but two of his long digits into your cunt, curling them into a little spot that had you gushing all over him.
Now he’s fucking that same little spot to no mercy, making your toes curl as the thick head of his cock catches it. “Oh my g-god— Satoru– fuuck!”
“Mmm I know,” he grabs your hair and pulls you back up against his chest, not letting up as he gets right in your ear. “Say my name again.”
His balls slap against your clit with each thrust, leaving you a gasping mess. “S-Satoru.”
“Again.”
“Satoru!” you cry out.
“Sounds so fuckin’ pretty coming from you,” he hums, licking a stripe up your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “You like getting ruined on the couch like this?”
Shamelessly, you nod. “Mhm.”
“Yeah? You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?”
“I have,” you admit. “A lot.”
“So honest tonight,” he grins, “so have I— thought about kissing you, fucking you, putting a baby in you.” A hand snakes down your belly until his fingers reach your clit, drawing little circles. “You really wouldn’t be able to get away from me then, huh?”
“That’s fucking insane,” your attempt to complain dies out into another pathetic moan.
“I fucking know,” he laughs, pulling your hair back even more so you can look him right in the eye while he fucks himself even deeper into you. “I think you might like that though since you’re squeezing around me like crazy.”
And you have no idea how to respond to that, you’re so fucking close. It’s taking everything in you to hold yourself together while he just tears you apart with each snap of his hips, rubbing fast circles over your clit.
“How bad do you wanna cum again?”
It’s been three times already, each time harder than the last. Your own body betrays yourself when you answer his question. “So bad.”
He hums sympathetically, though the look in his eyes seems to be the complete opposite of that. He keeps the same dizzying pace, pushing you further and further to edge until you’re finally gushing around him, again. He watches as tears of pure pleasure start rolling down your cheeks, trembling and letting out choked moans as he continues fucking you into overstimulation.
“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, letting go of your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping your back flush against his chest while he starts chasing against his own release. “M’so fuckin’ close. You’re gonna take it all, right?”
“Yeah,” you weakly nod, nails digging into his forearms, steadying yourself as best as you can.
“Shit— good girl,” he exhales, snapping his hips against your ass even harder, thrusts growing sloppier. “Here we go.”
The groans that spill out of Satoru are just downright sinful. There’s nothing but desperation in his tone as he holds on tight and starts pumping you full of his cum, shuddering as you milk his cock for all that he has.
You’re spent by the time you come back to your senses, with his arms being the only thing keeping you up. And yet, as you lay limp in his hold, he says something that, at the time, sounded like a threat with how entranced he seemed.
“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, princess.”
—
It’d been months since the night he finally broke his silence with you.
No, you don’t work for him anymore. You quickly found a new job just three weeks later. One with better pay and normal hours. Easier, too.
Looking back, he truly was a shitty boss. A conniving one that always took up your time. You guess you just never saw it because a part of you always liked it— better yet, liked him.
Good thing he’s a better boyfriend than he is a boss.
You were reluctant to start a relationship with him at first, the thought of him taking up even more space into your life lingering in the back of your mind and threatening whatever little peace you had left. But surprisingly, he went from being a conspiring little bastard to…
“I just have one request tonight.”
You’re in the middle of doing your makeup when his sudden presence pulls your attention away from it. You look at a slightly reluctant Satoru through the vanity mirror, raising a brow and waiting to hear what exactly that request is for tonight.
“Can you wear something that shows your tits more?” Immediately you scoff, and he’s quick to defend himself. “What?! It’s our anniversary!”
You’ve been with him for an entire year now, and he just seems to grow more and more pathetic as the time passes. He’s in nothing but boxers, begging you to show off some cleavage, for fucks sake.
“You see my tits every night,” you scold him.
“And I want to see them some more tonight, too.”
You scoff. “Sato—“
“Please,” he cuts you off with a beg. There’s a bit of a stare off shortly after, with him looking at you like some lost puppy and you inevitably give in, like you always do. He’s hard to say no to when he gets like this.
“Fine.”
He smiles and walks up to you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss, careful not to mess with your lip liner. “Love you.”
“I love you, too,” you softly say, before barely scolding him again. “Now go put your suit on, you’re the one that said the driver was gonna be here soon.”
“Yeah, whatever— he can wait,” he waves a hand, lazily walking up to the sea of suits he has in your shared closet.
“Hey, Satoru?”
“Hm?”
“If we’re even one minute late, I’m putting on a fucking turtleneck.”
𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚄 promised himself that he wouldn't touch you, his newly arranged wife. but he swears that you're trying to give him a heart attack with how bad you want him, someone twice your age.
꒰ age gap (40s/20s) :: arranged marriage :: suggestive ꒱
Satoru should have known you'd be a problem from the moment you said I do.
You were nothing he expected, everything he wanted, and something he couldn't have.
He knew he was in trouble from the day you flashed him those pearly white and crooked your head at him so cutely. Fresh out of your wedding ceremony and sprawled across your now shared bed. Waiting for a man with more creases settling into his skin than years to your name.
He sat still on the bed's edge. Quiet.
"You okay?" You asked. Sweet, sweeter than his scars deserved.
"Y'know," he drawled, cocking his head to mimic you. "You're awfully calm for a girl who just got married to someone old enough to be her dad."
He should have known the clan would pull something like this. Unfortunately, he could not outrun his elders. Forty four and without an heir was a stain on their name.
And now, you're here. Sweet, pretty, young you.
Smiling at him as if he hung the stars in the sky.
"Well," you intentionally mimicked his drawl. Huh, so you had spunk?
The mattress dipped beside him. Your soft knees brushed on his thigh's side. Your hands looked softer. Delicate. Probably fragile in his scarred ones.
"I guess that's right. You're twice my age— buuuuut."
Warmth bubbled in his side as you nudged him. A smile on your strawberry balmed lips.
"You seem nice enough." A dramatic? Sigh. "Real handsome too. Wouldn't say you're pushing fifty at all."
He blinked.
You stretched, still smiling. "Experienced, attractive, rich— what more could a girl ask for?"
His brows shot up. In all of his years as the Strongest, Satoru could only count on one hand the number of times in which his breath hitched.
You'd be responsible for it becoming two hands. Three, even.
What, with the way you batted your eyes at him at the dinner table. How you hung off of him during meetings.
It was odd. Not what he was expecting in the slightest. You should feel disgusted. Or unnerved.
He was your father's age.
Hell, his hands were wrinkling.
So why. The hell. Were you more into this than he bargained for?
"Don't you want a guy your age?" He scoffed at you one day during dinner.
You arched your brow. Huffed as you fixed one of your golden hoop earrings.
"Now why wouldn't I want my lobster buttery?"
Yeah. That's when he realised you were crazy.
Or maybe that should have been only a few days after your wedding, when he walked in to the sinful sight of you lounged on the bed. Silk kissing your soft skin. Teasing.
In a baby blue. Lingerie.
"What the hell are you wearing?" His hand covered his eyes. Over the blindfold. Not that it mattered. His six eyes knew what it wanted to see.
"A surprise for my husband." You smiled.
It felt like a taunt. He slept on the couch that day.
You were a little too excited about the thought of giving yourself away to a man who had finished school by the time you were born. A little too eager to press against his aging skin.
"We're married." You'd claim.
"Am I so wrong for wanting you?"
Of course not. But he sure as hell wasn't going to let your first time be with someone like him.
Not to mention the day that you—
"Remember how I said you're suppeerrr rich?" You cooed.
Satoru stared down at you. Mapping the morning sun that caressed half of your face in the dining hall.
His arms folded, the white fabric of his haori tucking against his chest. "Yes?"
He couldn't help but drawl, amused. Because his pretty arranged wife was full of surprises.
"Well, I was wondering."
Satoru really should keep his infinity up around crazy girls like you.
Your delicate fingers surged sparks into his veins. Your softness pressed into every inch of him.
As your hand treaded his bicep, so his sanity threaded. Thinned.
Doll eyes. Oh fuck. Why were you giving him doll eyes? Stop that.
"Could you maybe. . . spare your wife a little gift?" You asked.
Sweet.
Sinful.
The devil sure was pretty.
He cleared his throat, but he was still thirsty. Starving, even. White lashes hung low over blues as he watched every inch of you.
"What do you want?" He asked.
You leaned closer than he should have allowed you to. Pouted.
"There's this new pair of shoes on the market. Real pretty. Pink. I think it'd look soooo good on me."
"Yeah? That why you married me? For my money?"
"Well I could always work for it."
Your hands traced to his chest. That's where he should have stopped you.
He didn't.
You were nothing he expected.
Everything he wanted.
And something he couldn't have.
"Sweetheart," the words dripped dark. His brow quirked. Your fingers were getting a bit too comfortable with his haori ties.
His eyes hung heavy. Voice heavier.
"You know I've got scars older than you, right?"
It was meant to scare you off. But Satoru should have known better.
Again. He should really put his infinity up around crazy girls like you.
Instead of flinching. Or wincing. Or even curling your lip— you smiled.
Fucking. Dazed.
Were those hearts in your eyes?
Your fingers fiddled with his belt. Your giggle slipped into a sigh. Too dreamy. Too sweet.
"Yeah?" You hummed.
He laid a hand over yours. Gentle, because that's what pretty things deserved. But firm, because they never listened either.
Pulling you away, Satoru shook his head with a deep sigh.
"Anyone ever tell you you're crazy?"
Your pout returned. "So is that a yes to the shoes and a no to the sex?"
"Yes."
"Well, can you call me sweetheart again, then?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. As you hung on his arm with those big, bambi eyes of yours. Oh, he sure had his hands full with you.
You're a young college professor teaching English Lit and history, you don't live an insanely exciting life - no, you enjoy spending time at home with a good book and a glass of red. You're perfectly content until a certain student sets his pretty blue eyes on you - senior Satoru Gojo. Obsessed with you, Satoru starts following you everywhere, observing and waiting. He just wants you to realize that he's the only one for you, and he'll do anything to make sure you throw your 'ethics' right out of the window.
pairings - college student! Gojo x professor! reader
warnings - this story has yandere content (including babytrapping/stalking etc) Satoru 22, reader 30, reverse professor trope, power dynamics, push and pull. this part - free use, lots of tension, tons of emotions, some angsty parts, oral ( m and f receiving) fingering, breed kink, semi public sex, creampie, messyyy dynamics - psycho toru (he is more psycho than usual)
tysm for @venusthefrog for proofreading this chap for me!!! <3 I likely only have 2 more chaps for this psycho, I hope ya'll enjoy hehe
<<<part five - masterlist
part six
Free use.
What the fuck is free use?
You’re googling that in fact – you’re a woman who loves to learn, after all, what better way than to research what your psycho student expects you all to be this week. You sort of get the gist of it, you think – as you study it carefully, blushing when you just so happen to see random links to X where people are indeed doing it. You can’t watch this at work!?
“It can be used any time,” you read to yourself quietly, tapping your pen on the desk. Your cunt was abused all damn weekend by Satoru, and you can’t act like it’s not a delicious sort of pain. How he fucking stretched you out, how he felt when he was buried fully inside, the way his hot seed flooded your pussy, you felt it drip out this morning even.
He loved keeping you full of it. But now…
“Even when you’re working, cleaning, anything you’re doing the partner can simply use you – explicit consent beforehand. Submissive…”
Are you submissive? You think you must be, even though your entire life you’ve been independent, dominant, alone really – stuff you’ve not shared with Satoru yet, and you’re a little afraid to. The deeper the two of you go, the more you’re going to get hurt from it all, and not just you, what if Satoru got hurt when this didn’t work out?
How much of him is just obsessed with the taboo, how much of him is clinging to the way you care for him, and would that stay enough?
“I’m so stupid,” you whisper to yourself, eyes shutting tightly. “Why am I acting like this can last?”
Why are you talking to yourself!?
Satoru has done a number on you, clearly.
You should enjoy him while he’s here, even if the terrifying realization that love declarations are right on the tip of your tongue hangs there over your head. You know if it’s not him moving on, it’ll be his shitty parents pushing him for someone else, they’ve made it nice and clear you’re not good enough for someone like him, and as much as you act like it doesn’t sting?
It does – it hurts seeing the clear class difference along with the eight years and the fact that you’re his teacher. Every ethical thing in your life is questioned by the simple fact that you’re falling in love with your student – your six-foot-four, psychotic, breed kink obsessed student who you’re in a full blown affair with.
Would you end up on some damn lifetime movie now!?
The knock knock knock on your door has you slamming your laptop shut quickly, heart racing so fast it’s pounding in your ears. “Yes?”
“Are you busy, teach?” Of course it’s Satoru. You sigh, eyes shutting for just a moment.
“No, um… you can…”
He doesn’t wait for permission, no he’s Satoru Gojo, so he just walks right inside, peering at you, you see the reflection of yourself in his glasses as he shuts the door behind him with a resounding click. “Perfect, I need you, sweetheart.”
“Need me?”
“Mhm…” his eyes flicker across your body, hands tensing. “You don’t think you’re showing too much of those pretty tits in that?”
“I so am not!” You tug at your blouse, frowning. “It shrunk in the dryer a bit, that’s all. It’s still professional!”
“Professionally slutty,” he leans against the door, smirking at your pretty little scowl. “I should have you in those glasses and a little teacher costume just for me, beating my ass with a ruler.”
“What!?” He snorts at you.
“Just kidding. I’d beat your ass.”
“Go on now,” you click your pen nervously, feigning irritation as if your knees aren’t knocking together at the idea of him doing it. “You can’t be possessive and jealous of what I wear.”
Satoru’s lips curve up, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “Sure I can, aren’t those titties just for me?”
“Jesus…”
“As I said, I need you.”
“Right now!?” Satoru’s locking the door in your office, smirking right over at you as you sit the next day – a promotion, getting your own office from his father, what better than him fucking you in it?
“Free use this week – remember?” You blush when he walks over to you, hands entangling in your hair and tugging, your hands eagerly go to his belt buckle. “I can pick any hole, right?”
“I’m not doing anal the first time on campus, you perv!” You hiss, he’s grinning like the little psycho he is. “Fine, any hole you psycho.”
“Then I want your mouth,” he murmurs, you’re so quickly on your knees he almost trips, smirking down at you. “Did you miss me already?”
“Shh,” you’re tugging at his pants eagerly, giggling when you see the digimon boxers. “Aww, so cute!”
“Shut up,” he’s all blushing now like he’s a cutie pie and not a psycho.
“Shut me up.”
“I’m so in love with you,” you laugh as if he’s kidding – he’s not fucking kidding, Satoru Gojo is as in love with his professor as any boy could be, especially when she’s tugging the elastic of that waistband down, freeing his cock that’s already dripping with white. “Shut you up, hmm?”
“Next time is my choice,” you whisper as you lean forward just a bit, little pink tongue lapping at his leaky tip, making him have to cover his mouth to hide his whimper, leaning back on your desk. His knuckles whiten as he grips it so damn tightly, his breath catching.
“Mnh… god your mouth…”
You should feel more guilty, sucking your student’s cock, a psycho student at that, but when he’s whispering your name and guiding his cock right along your tongue, the salty pre coating your tastebuds, you can’t find it in you to be. He’s mumbling incoherently in just the first motion of your mouth, easing his cock until the pink tip hits your uvula, making you swallow reflexively.
“Fuck, just breathe,” he murmurs softly, glasses fogging up from his own damn breath as you choke on him, eyes glimmering. “Pretty professor, you’re all fucking mine this week, huh? Mine to use any time I want.”
Your answer is a little whine, tears slipping hot from your eyes when he shoves deep, you’re gagging as you breathe through your nose, half of that nine inches already buried in your throat. Satoru’s eyes are dilated and dark as he mumbles your name over and over like a devotion, putting your hair into a firm ponytail in his fist and then tugging hard.
“All mine,” you’re his to use – you think it’s only for the week, but you just fucking are his, all your holes belong to him, you belong to him. “That’s it – f-fuckk…”
You swallow him down deep in your throat, his hips begin to rock so that his cock is gliding even easier, your throat stretching as you look up into his eyes so goddamn pretty. He can’t even handle how much he feels – beyond getting his cock sucked, what you fucking do to him was something he could never explain, the possessive nature just growing every minute with you.
Satoru could never let you go.
You don’t want to end this either, it’s in your mind as he whispers that filthy mix of praise and degradation just how much you want it to last.
“You love it, me using you, hmm?” Your answer is a whine, as he does just that, using your mouth exactly as he wants, stuttering as he presses you fully down by the back of your neck, until you’re choking on him. The office door is locked, but the thought of someone walking by, hearing the muffled sounds of your submission, makes your cunt clench around nothing.
You are damaged – never has it been more clear than the fact that sneaking around in your brand new office with your senior college student fucking your throat with wet filthy sounds. You’re so damn needy your hand slips down between your thighs, touching yourself over those already soaked panties, trembling as your lashes flutter closed.
"Look at you," Satoru’s voice is broken with desire as he watches tears stream down your cheeks, easing into your throat while you take him deeper. "My pretty professor is on her knees f’me, choking on my cock. Aw, you cryin’, baby? Look at that, mmm, s’pretty..."
You want to retort, to say something bratty to his ass – like, fuck you – but your mouth is too full of his thick length, your throat stretched beyond its means until it’s burning. Instead, you just moan around him, the vibrations making him hiss, sucking in a breath through his teeth.
This was the only other time you’ve sucked Satoru aside from your class room, when he finished in your mouth, and both times had you craving impossibly more, to have that salty release down your esophagus, into your tummy. Your nails dig into his pants when he pulls back suddenly, letting you gasp for air in greedy gulps.
“You’re touching yourself, teach?” He teases now, there are strings of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock just dissolving as he brushes your hair back gently. “Does sucking you make you that wet?”
“Mmm, just lemme finish…”
“You wanna swallow all this cum?”
Your answer is lapping back at his tip – Satoru hates wasting cum in your throat when he needs you full of him, but he’s not turning down his eager professor who is fingering herself as she sucks him. Satoru brushes your hair back and holds you there, moaning at the sight of you as he jerks his cock in filthy strokes.
“Toru, stop teasing,” your brows are all drawn together in frustration, he chuckles as he holds you back.
“You’re so wet I can hear it, messy lil pussy, god…” He’s pulsing as he drags his tip on your tongue. “You love being used by me, any time I want.”
“Shut up and cum, Satoru,” you finally say, exasperated and in that fucking teacher voice of yours, he moans out, spurts of cum landing right on your outstretched tongue, whimpering as he makes sure it all lands there.
As pretty as your face would look with cum, he wasn’t going to do that to you, not when you have work – but as soon as you were just his? Oh he’d cover every inch of your body and face in it. You swallow him down, wrapping your lips around his tip, making his lashes flutter shut.
“I’m so mad you ever did this,” he mumbles all dizzy, you’re whining out, your fingers failing.
“You’re toxic,” he laughs, tugging you up, leaving his cock all glittery with your spit, tugging you to him and kissing his taste off you. “Mmm, you took every last drop, didn’t you?”
Your answer is a whine, he laps his own flavor right off your tongue, when the door has a knock, you curse, eyes shutting.
“Y-yes?”
“Professor, I need some help with a project,” you’re aching and haven’t cum, Satoru knows it too, smirking as he brushes your slit with his fingertips.
“Toru, stop!”
“Use my fingers, baby.”
“Professor?”
“Yes I’ll be free in ten! Meet me in my classroom?”
“Yes of course, thank you!” Satoru glares now as you smack his hand off.
“I don’t like you spending time with other students,” you snort at him, tugging his boxers up for him and giggling all breathless. “Don’t you laugh at me.”
“It’s insane, I don’t look at anyone the way-” You pause, as the very real words threaten to spill from your lips.
Satoru knows it too, looking right at you, lashes trembling, tilting your chin up to peer down at you. “What way?”
“You know,” he sighs, leaning down when another knock occurs, you swear Satoru is going to lose it. “Yes?”
“There’s a meeting in an hour, I thought you’d like to grab some food first?” Satoru will kill Professor Nanami.
“Oh… um…” Satoru’s hold is so brutal on your waist you damn near squeak, smacking his hand again. “I have to help a student, I’m sorry.”
“I’ll grab you a bite.”
“Thanks, Nanami!”
“Thanks Nanami!” You smack a hand on this little shit’s mouth and scowl, he has the audacity to bite your palm.
“Will you stop?”
“Why does everyone get to have time with you?” He hugs you to him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “Should only be me.”
You enjoy the embrace too much, though he’d just fucked your damn throat filthy, nothing you do with Satoru is just sexual, there’s always this entire other layer with him, one that fucking ruins you. You’re clinging to him tightly, nails pressing against his dress shirt, sighing at how good it feels in his arms.
Are you this delusional, you’ll imagine this could work?
“Kiss me,” you ask as you lean back, the way you asked the first time he’d made you soak him in your car. Satoru exhales, kissing you over and over, when finally the two of you pull back.
What sort of week would this be if this was only Monday?
*****
The week of having you be ‘free use’ to Satoru Gojo is anything but normal – the damn man’s stamina should be studied because he never seems quite done with you, as if he’s eating up every bit of this week before the two of you face the inevitable truth – that you can’t really be together.
Aside from the fact that it’s a complete career ruining relationship there was the simple fact that Satoru was just from a higher income bracket than you’ll ever be. Not that it mattered to him or you, but considering there is an event he has to go to which is basically just a modern day debutante ball explains it all.
He’s miserable, you’re jealous.
You don’t say that, though, you act like it’s fine and that you’re not angry every time you see a girl giggling at him, see his mom coming to campus and damn near letting these girls throw themselves at him. Satoru acts entirely uninterested, but a part of you wonders how long before getting a girl eight to ten years younger than you will take its toll on him.
You believe he wants you now, you see it, but to be delusional would simply lead to more pain than you’re equipped to handle. Those feelings of inadequacy from your family growing up and from school days rear their ugly head every time his father makes a comment to you – a command, really – telling you what to do in order to earn this funding or that.
You’re basically just a shiny figurehead for the Gojos and the university to be ‘so including of the middle class’ as if you’re the poster child for the fact that you can move up the ranks as a ‘normal girl’. You keep getting asked out by even more men in the faculty, which you politely push off rather than go out.
That’s even more dangerous – turning down Professor Higuruma, who by all fucking means is not just age appropriate, he’s hot and sweet. Turning down the second date with Nanami with an excuse of being exhausted for the moment, turning down any and every date because you’re getting fucked by the deans son in every damn room he can find.
Yet where would it lead you when the newness wears off?
You try to shove it back, every time he watches one of those attempts he’s grabbing you any moment he can, making sure you’re paying all the attention to him.
****
Tuesday, Satoru finds you in the faculty lounge as you’re brewing a cup of coffee, trying to grade papers while pretending not to notice Satoru watching you from across the room as he walks in. You ignore him to piss him off more than anything, there was nothing quite like making Satoru mad at you, having him walk up as the coffee filters into your cup.
He leans forward, the door barely shut, not even fully – a hint of it cracked open to where anyone can see, standing behind you with his lips brushing against your ear, pressing you against the counter. “Satoru…”
"Missed you," he murmurs against your ear, his hand easing up your skirt – that little pencil one that cups your ass so perfectly it’s insanity, already finding you soaking wet for him. “Ah, did you miss me too?”
“N-no,” you say, he chuckles a bit, running his fingers up and down the slit, pressing the cotton up. “We can’t just fuck here, psycho.”
“I know that,” he tugs your panties to the side, your eyes roll back when two fingers plunge inside your needy cunt. “Did you think I’d only use you?”
“Y-yes I mean, mngh,” he covers your mouth with one big hand, his fingers working your cunt with devastating precision.
“Shh baby, can’t make all those cute little moans right now,” he whispers softly, the sound of your cunt just squelching as she sucks him in so greedy is filthy and loud in your ears. “Sometimes I just wanna feel you cum, wanna see how you fall apart for me, not just me cumming. And you look so pretty when you do.”
Fuck him, truly, for saying that, for making you cry out against his hand and grip the counter as he brings you to a quick, quiet little orgasm right there in the faculty lounge. The heel of his hand is right against your clit as he whispers your name softly, moaning right with you, feeling you spasm around his thick fingers.
“There you did s’good f’me,” he sounds drunk off you, even though he’s straining against his boxers, turning you around to kiss you, to tug you tight against him. “I’ll be off campus all day, I need to feel you.”
You swallow down your nerves when he tilts up your chin, your hands slipping up his chest. “I missed you, okay?”
“You sound so mad about it,” he's grinning at you as your goddamn knees knock, aching for him inside you, pulling back when the door opens up, professor Higuruma yawning and heading to get coffee. “Thanks Professor, I appreciate the extension!”
“You’re welcome, Gojo,” you smiled at him, all friendly as the two of you play it off, Satoru almost rushes back in when he hears him flirting with you though.
He can’t flirt like that with you.
He has to figure something out before the week is up, because in no world does Satoru not get you to himself. He eagerly sucks his fingers and moans, lips wrapping those digits to savor your juices, and for the first time he’s finally worried – that his ‘plan’ of making you need him so much isn’t going to work, not when anything and everything plots against you both.
It can’t just be this week – though he absolutely uses it all to his advantage.
****
Wednesday? Well, it’s Satoru finding you in the library stacks, pulling you into one of the quiet aisles between history and philosophy, your two favorite subjects. You don’t even pretend not to want it, you’re kissing him so eagerly, hoping no one can hear those soft sounds of your lips smacking.
“Admit you missed me,” his words are so soft you barely hear them, swallowing nervously as you two look at each other. “Why don’t you ever use me sweetheart, hmm?”
“Should I?” You ask even softer, before pushing him down, making him bite back a moan. He doesn't even speak, just drops to his knees as you guide him, shoving your pretty little dress up. “Yes, I missed you, Toru…”
“Fuck,” it’s moments before Satoru’s tugging your panties aside and burying his face between your thighs, looking up at you under those thick lashes, practically slurping you all the fuck up.
“Mnh!” You slam a hand on your own mouth, muffling your cries against one palm while your fingers tangled in his hair, soft and fluffy from his shower, just a few droplets damp on certain strands. You’re rocking your hips up and down for impossibly more as you feel his tongue fuck into you.
You’re using him – using his face and mouth, taking what you want to the point he’s about to bust in his own pants, as he devours you like a starving man, like he’s dying of thirst and you’re clearly the only source of sustenance.
Devoted.
Satoru’s fucking utterly devoted to pleasing you, it’s all he wants to do as he kneels before you – his pretty professor – grabbing one of your thighs and plunging his tongue in your quivering hole, his nose bumping your needy clit. The bookshelf leaves marks as he drinks you down where damn near anyone can see, and at this point you almost fucking want them to.
You’re tired of hiding it, you’re tired of feeling bad you want him, and perhaps that’s more dangerous than him making you quiver right ‘round that wet muscle. Having you squirting down on him in the midday. In the fucking library with your Edgar Allen Poe book falling to the ground beneath him.
He leans up and you already are swallowing your own juices, this close to begging him to fuck you again – after three days of just teasing, but you can’t do that, even if you’re dying without him inside you, even if you miss him in your bed even though it was just a weekend.
This couldn’t end soon enough, every moment you’re more fucking precarious.
Especially when his kisses ruin you.
*****
Thursday you're giving a lecture when he slips into the back of the auditorium, taking a seat in the last row. You try to focus on the task at hand, at giving them your experience in writing and what it really means to you. This is a perfect opportunity, but just this morning his texts were ringing in your mind.
Satoru – skip your birth control, pretty please?
You – no you psycho!?
Satoru – baby please, the sooner I have a Gojo heir, the sooner my parents can stop trying to set me up. I need my cum inside you to take <3 Doesn’t Fluffy need a little sibling!?
You – you don’t bring Fluffy into this! That cat is meowing, missing you and everything, what did you do?
Satoru – then come over Friday. Our week isn’t up, right?
You can’t believe him really – but at the same time, you don’t want him dating other women, don’t like that shit one bit – and there is an event at the country club his parents run tomorrow. You’re invited – oh so generous of them, truly.
Those pretty blue eyes just locked right on you make your skin flush, you hope not visibly, so damn flushed in fact you can feel your ears are hot. You try to act casual and laugh a bit at some of the comments, but your thighs shift behind that podium, your panties – this pretty light blue to match his eyes, truly – are damp.
You can’t stop pressing your thighs together, as you focus even harder, even though it was impossible with his presence. Casually leaning back and studying you – you remember his words.
Jerked it in class to you.
Did he really?
Why do you like that, what’s wrong with you!?
You shove it all back as you finish the presentation, the class all files out but he hesitates of course, walking over to you as you gather your things, the last student leaving making the door echo as it shuts, heavy and loud. His words are running through your head in every way possible.
You loved teaching, right? You loved this job, and you can’t throw it away for a whim of a younger guy, as much as you’re helplessly falling in love. Fuck it’s past that really, you keep almost spilling love declarations every time he’s touched you, so much so as you walk over to your desk you hope he slides his dick inside.
Toxic, Satoru Gojo is toxic and you love that shit.
What would become of you if you just carry on like this?
"Professor," he says softly, pressing you against your desk, so damn tall always – his sheer size steadily fucks up your senses, how big Satoru is. How it never feels like you’re older or more experienced when you’re with him, that’s only when you’re in your damn head.
“Satoru,” you say softly in return, clearing your throat. “Did you need clarification on what was discussed?”
He chuckles a bit, shaking his head and tilting your chin up. "You looked so hot up there. All professional and smart, god I’m always so fucked up by how smart you really are.”
“Toru…” He moans at the name, kissing you, and you fall fully fucking into it without hesitation, without the semblance of some sort of fight with your conscious, whining out as he moans into your mouth.
“Made me want to bend you over that podium and fuck you in front of everyone, but I’d never let anyone fucking see you naked,” you gasp at that, as he pulls back, his eyes black. “Wish I could chain you up to my goddamn bed and never let you leave my sight."
“Stop it,” your cheeks burn now, but your body responds traitorously, aching with need, cunt already soaking his thigh. “You can’t say that shit.”
He laughs then, all cute like he’s not a complete psycho, cupping your face with one of those big ass hands. “Can’t say what?”
He pauses you when he leans over you, a hand on either side of your face. “You think I wouldn’t? If you wanted me to, if you let me, I’d never let you leave my house, just keep you there forever. But no, I won’t sweetheart because I need you so goddamn much I want you to have your ‘independence’ or whatever the fuck.”
“You… I…”
“You think I don’t need you?” You can’t speak then, rushing off and leaving him, making him damn near chase you down the halls, empty with just a few lingering people.
“Don’t say shit you don’t mean,” you whisper angrily when he catches up to you, “You think you need me. You think you have feelings… you…”
“Stop,” he pauses you right in the hall, turning you to him, your heart races in your chest. “Stop thinking I’ll ever want someone else.”
“It’s just the week, remember?” You whisper now, hand clutching his dress shirt, crumpling the material.
“Yeah,” he laughs without humor. “Just the week.”
You end up dragging him in a goddamn supply closet, cramped and smelling of chalk dust and old books, bumping against them as he locks that door behind you both and he lifts you in his arms like it’s nothing. “Satoru, don’t say it…”
“Don’t say what,” you swallow it down as he kisses down your neck, your lashes fluttering. “What I feel? You’re that fucking cruel to me, huh professor? What, you wanna be bored with Professor Nanami, Professor Higuruma? Think they could take your slutty little cunt like I can?”
“Oh you’re jealous?” You laugh and he scowls, biting your neck and making you gasp in pain. “Maybe those young girls falling all over couldn’t take you and how goddamn psychotic you are?”
“God yes, be jealous,” he moans, looking at you and pressing you against the door, tugging his cock out with a jerky, quick motion, gliding it on your needy slit. “You want me all to yourself, but I thought it was just this week.”
“It is just this week, it’s all it can be,” your legs wrap right around his slutty little waist, thighs pressing as you whine out, feeling his pretty pink tip line up with your slick hole. “It’s all it can be, Toru.”
He pauses, glaring right at you, before shoving his cock inside in one stroke, you almost scream to the point you have to bite your lip bloody, he’s right against your cervix – it hurts after four days of not having him inside you. Pain and pleasure and just sheer overwhelming emotions as he stays shoved inside, pinning you against the wall, his nose brushing yours.
“Just the week, hah… all right, professor,” he murmurs now as he begins to pound his cock into you, yanking a tit out from your blouse so he can cup it, pinching at your nipple and making you barely muffle a cry. “You think I’ll move on, huh? From this?”
“You will,” he kisses you quiet as he takes out his every fucking frustration on your cunt, slamming your back against the door – It's filthy, it’s mean how his cock bullies your walls, but you’re already shattering and squirting before he fills you again, before he pumps his cum inside.
“Stop telling me what you think I’ll do,” he gasps out those words, his glasses foggy from your kisses, moaning as he feels your aftershocks. He kisses up your neck, hot, open mouthed ones as he guides up higher, moaning against your skin. “Stop acting like you’re not all I see.”
“I c-can’t believe it, it’ll h-hurt,” he pauses then, seeing you full of tears and gripping you tightly, shaking his head in confusion just for your alarm to go off. “I have to go.”
He doesn’t try to stop you but he does drag your ass against him before you do, cupping your face and kissing you in the cramped quarters so goddamn desperately, and you fall right into it. Meeting his tongue stroke for stroke, his lips so brutal make you tremble, ready to say fuck all pretense and make yourself vulnerable.
When he caresses your chin and just rests his head on yours, it’s too fucking quiet.
You rush out without another word before you are the one that spills the one thing that would hurt the most, life’s biggest cruelty – that you’re in love with Gojo.
*****
It’s Friday – your week with Satoru is officially ‘over’ and you’re for whatever self masochistic reason going to his parents’ event. Knowing you’d have to see him with girls on his arm, knowing you’d have to see his fucking parents and how terrible they are. Knowing you can’t be on his arm as much as he’d love you to be.
Was it to show yourself reality?
Was it to make yourself see the bubble you’ve been in is just that – a bubble the two of you have hidden in, so needy and lost in each other that the two of you haven’t acknowledged the issues of your…
Relationship?
Even if you quit your career, the scandal of marrying Gojo would be fucking insane, his parents would never accept you, and what would that do to Satoru? No backing of his parents all because of you? What if you fucked up everything because you’re so damn in love with him?
It’s beyond falling now, and it would hurt you both if you told him how in love you were, how obsessed you were – no, you weren’t as obsessed as Satoru, you’re not even sure someone could be that level. But it’s close, the way he’s in your dreams, how he’s in your mind, how his cum was trickling down your cunt so you pushed it back in while you were in your fucking car about to drive home.
Remembering that first time he touched you, the rain that poured down, wanting to skip a goddamn pill for him. Insanity.
Stupidity.
He’s fucked your brains out literally – and you’re not sure you have any ethics left, as hard as you tried to keep them, not when you smile at your fellow faculty members in this fancy ass place, a pretty gown clinging to your body. So damn expensive you’ve snuck the tag in to take the shit back tomorrow.
You see Satoru across the room as someone talks to you and you pretend to act interested, girls flocked around him, the way they are makes you sick, like Satoru is just some damn object. You feel the pit in your tummy grow when his eyes meet yours – changing from bored to dark and hungry, his gaze dragging right down your curves, like he’s touching you.
A girl tugs at him, you’ve seen her before, his parents laughing and talking to their parents – transactional, that’s what they saw him as. It makes you so angry your nails press into your palm, rushing off over to the buffet table to gather your senses before your jealousy gets the best of you.
This can’t go on.
“Professor,” you almost jolt at the touch as you grab a glass of champagne, feeling him right behind you, one of hands snaking around you to grab his own glass, his cologne filling your senses. “I didn’t know you’d be here, but fuck am I glad you are.”
“Are you?” You ask, your voice tense, he frowns at that, turning you around to face him. “We’re in front of everyone!” You hiss, panicking when he tilts your chin up, so damn tall no one can even see you.
“You think I enjoy those boring fucking girls? When I have you that I’m dying to come inside?” You blush furiously, looking down now.
“I can’t do this, seeing you with… I can’t…” You shut your eyes, sighing now. “It’s not a game, Satoru, or a phase for me.”
“And you think it is for me?” You tremble now, downing the champagne as hot tears burn your eyes. “The sooner you let me breed you the sooner my parents can go fuck off.”
“And then what? They’ll hate me.”
Satoru laughs without humor now, shaking his head. “Think I care? Them hating you is a good thing – they’re fucking trash.”
“I won’t ruin your life and-”
“You’re not leaving me,” he takes your hand now, and you pause, heart hammering in your chest as he leads you to the dance floor.
“We can’t dance!”
“Yes we can,” his mother glares as you two walk past her. “Mother.”
“Gojo,” she looks at you now, raising a brow as you both pause. “Dancing with the faculty?”
“Not a problem, is it? That I dance with the prettiest girl in here?”
“Satoru…” You shut your eyes, begging him not to, but in no world was Satoru letting you feel inadequate, letting you leave him.
“Dance with her then, but you’ll dance with every other girl I’ve chosen,” he smirks at her, and she gives you the meanest glare, walking off.
“You’re insane,” his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer than is in any way appropriate, his other hand capturing yours. “She’s not going to let you live this down. People will talk and-”
"Tell me you missed me," he murmurs against your ear, leaning down, you can feel eyes on the two of you – it’s not unheard of to dance together, that’s not it, it’s how Satoru holds you, how a hand slips down your spine.
“Satoru…”
“Tell me it, please… fuck just say it,” his breath sending shivers down your spine, lips brushing your ear, his hand clutching you even tighter.
"I missed you," you whisper softly, clinging to him tightly. “Okay?”
"Good girl.”
“Fuck you.”
He sighs, pulling back and looking at you under those lashes, turning you and tugging you closer. “Tell me you want me."
You sigh as well, following his movements. "I want you."
"Good,” he dips you over an arm, slowly pulling you back up, far, far too close to you then. “Tell me you'll let me breed you.”
“No!?”
“You’re so fucking mean,” he glares and you glare right back. “Just quit this damn job so you can have all six of my kids.”
“I’m not going to have six kids!”
“Why am I in love with a mean ass brat like this,” you falter now at that, tears about to burn your eyes. “Don’t tell me I don’t love you.”
“You don’t.”
“After everything?” His eyes flash with hurt then, hands brutal in their grip. “You think I don’t know myself?”
"I'm trying to protect you, okay? From your parents – from losing everything. From the scandal it would cause, Satoru I love you too much to be selfish and ruin your life."
He pauses, heart hammering in his chest so quickly he’s flush, clinging to you so tightly you gasp, uncaring of anyone in the room – it’s all you.
It’s been you since he first saw you in the hall, all you, only you.
“You love me?” His words are quiet, the two of you not even moving, murmurs from his parents and the people around growing in intensity.
“Of course I do, who couldn’t love you? Who wouldn’t?” His own emotions hit when you tug back, shaking your head. “It’s why I can’t do it – you think I have a lot to lose, and I do, but you could lose everything if you do this. You should go to one of those pretty young girls, Satoru, and see if you find love with someone-”
“I’d never, the fuck!?” You rush out now, and he rushes out for you, only to be stopped by his parents, his dad’s hand on your shoulder.
“It’s enough of a fucking spectacle, Satoru,” he scowls at the old man then, his eyes so bright they’re hard to look at, jaw clenched. “Stop it now before she loses her career, if you even care about her. Before you lose your position as CEO-”
“I don’t want to run your dumb fucking company,” he shrugs his hand off, seeing you grabbing your coat from the front, heart sinking. “I don’t want to be your figure head, I don’t want shit from you.”
“And when your trust fund is cut off, what then?”
“I don’t fucking care,” he pushes past him and rushes to you, he has to damn near sprint as you rush to your shitty little volvo, hands trembling with your keys, pausing you then and there. “Don’t go. Don’t fucking go.”
“Satoru please,” your heartbroken face ruins him when you look up at him, lips trembling as the tears fall, and the thunder starts, rain pattering in cold little sprinkles as your chest heaves up and down. “I will not ruin everything. for you.”
“You are my everything,” he cups your face, resting his head on yours, breaths coming so fast as the rain starts to fall it’s fogging up around you both, you’re trembling in his hold. “All I can even fucking see is you.”
“Don’t say that,” he kisses you, knowing it’ll ruin you, you hardly manage to pull back. “Mmm, Toru we can’t…”
“I’ll leave this dumb party with you then,” he lifts you in his arms and presses you right on the hood of the car, sitting you there as he stands between your thighs, laying over you.
“They’ll see!”
“Let them,” he’s lost in you as the rain starts to fall, making that pretty silk dress cling to every curve, moaning into your mouth. “I’ve jerked it to you since I fuckin’ saw you, turned down everyone months ago just because you exist.”
“Y-you… mnh…” Your hands slide up his chest, one tangling in his silky locks as the rain falls against his back, leaving you protected.
“It’s only you, fuck just let me fill you with babies already,” you giggle then, before you break into laughter, making him bite your neck hard. “Stop laughing!”
“You’re so batshit, it’s…” You sigh now, cupping his face as the sting hurts your neck. “Take me home then, we’ll deal with this mess tomorrow.”
“Fuck I love you,” he can’t stop saying it now, can’t stop kissing you even as the rain pours. “You thought you could leave me?”
“I don’t want to…”
You’re sniffling when he carries you inside the car, you know tomorrow is going to either end your life, his life – or both, but when you’re laying your head on his shoulder and he’s got an arm on you, it’s hard to really fucking care.
Sukuna is reincarnated into the modern world, only to realize that being a villain is actually kind of a bore. Now a teacher at Jujutsu High by pure technicality, he’s decided being a “good guy” is way more entertaining, mostly because it still lets him do whatever he wants while everyone thanks him for it.
Unfortunately for you, that also means you get assigned to him as a specialist, since your technique is one of the very few things that can smooth out the jagged, overwhelming nature of his cursed energy after he uses it.
The problem is… you’re absolutely terrified of him. Every second in the same room feels like your body is trying to shut down, and the idea of having to touch him to do your job makes it even worse.
Sukuna, on the other hand, finds that fear hilarious and treats you like the funniest toy he’s ever been gifted.
pairing: sorcerer sukuna x sorcerer f!reader
wc: 5.6k
content: mdni, slow burn, kinda enemies to lovers, objectification, toxic dynamics, power imbalance, manipulation, coercion, possessive sukuna, violence, murder, blood, gore, dubious consent vibes, true form sukuna, yuji's not his vessel (...and probably smut at some point)
main masterlist ◦ series masterlist ◦ banner by @graphic0rn
“Can you pass me the—no, the other file, the one with the blue tab—yeah, that one.”
You look up when you speak, before returning your gaze to the stack of documents spread across your desk.
“It’s always the blue tab,” your colleague, Haruki, mutters from across the desk, a faint smile playing on his lips as he slides the requested file over to you. “You ever notice that?”
“It’s color-coded for a reason. Blue for incidents, yellow for low-grade exorcisms, green for post-stabilization reports.”
“Yeah, yeah. You and your systems,” he sighs, but there's no complaint in the sound. Haruki is the type to keep his entire desk organized by proximity to the nearest coffee machine, so your meticulous methods are a source of endless teasing.
You smile at that and finish writing the last sentence on the current form—a detailed, painfully dull account of a weaving after a Grade 4 curse was exorcised from a local park fountain. Once completed, you flip the blue-tabbed file open.
The regional branch of Jujutsu Sorcerers you work at is, thankfully, a backwater. The only curses that ever trouble this area are usually low grade, minor nuisances that a junior sorcerer can easily handle, earning their required field hours. You’ve always preferred that quiet peace of mind and the slow, predictable rhythm of your daily life here.
It’s nothing spectacular, to be honest. Mornings spent typing reports, afternoons in weaving sessions, coaxing the frayed energy of battered Grade 3 sorcerers, and quiet evenings in a modest, perfectly safe apartment where the loudest noise is usually the neighbor’s neurotic Pomeranian barking at the shadows. Your life might seem desperately boring to a combat sorcerer, but you don’t mind. Actually, you like it that way. It’s safe.
Which is why the longer you read the document in front of you, the deeper the frown creases your forehead. It’s a report on last night’s mission that was originally classified as Grade 3, when an unexpected Grade 1 had appeared and cracked open a young sorcerer's ribs before someone from Kyoto had finally arrived and managed to kill it.
Unfortunately, you’ve heard of no sorcerers with RCT in Japan besides Shoko Ieri, so recovery in cases like this, relying on conventional medicine, is a long, painful process.
“I’m going to the infirmary to check on him,” you say with a deep, weary sigh, pushing back from your desk with a squeak of the chair legs.
Haruki nods, his expression mirroring your own concern. “Give Sota my best. Tell him to stop rushing in like a maniac.”
“I’ll try, but you know he won’t listen.”
The infirmary is on the quiet side of the building. When you walk in, all the hospital beds are empty but one, which is occupied by Sota, whom you came to see. Next to his bed sit his friend and your supervisor, Akiko, who’s questioning them both about the more detailed points of that botched mission. Akiko looks up, and when she sees you, her professional expression softens slightly. She quickly stands, leaves the empty chair for you, and then subtly motions the healthy sorcerer aside, giving you the necessary space to work.
“Can I?” you ask Sota softly, gesturing with an open palm toward his bandaged chest.
He manages a faint, pain-laced smile. “Yeah,” he rasps out, shifting gingerly on the thin mattress.
You pull the chair close, resting your hands lightly against his warm skin just above the bandages. Focusing, you let the thin threads of your cursed energy slip between the microscopic splinters and cracks in his own, like fingers meticulously combing through snarled, knotted thread. You can’t heal him, but your technique, the Weaving, lets you bind the splinters down and make the energy flow smooth again. It’s not much, but it ensures his cursed energy won’t irritate the deep tissue wounds, so at least he’ll be back on his feet sooner.
Not even half an hour later, just as you feel the worst of the knots loosening, a voice you don’t recognize cuts sharply through the quiet infirmary.
“We’re looking for the Weaver.”
You lift your head to see two men in crisp black suits standing in the doorway. They look entirely out of place in this provincial setting. Akiko visibly jumps to her feet and steps closer to them, and her professional demeanor instantly snaps back into place.
“Oh,” she says quickly with a note of surprise in her voice. “I wasn’t informed you’d be coming today.”
“You weren’t required to be.”
The response is calm and polite in tone, yet completely dismissive in substance. The way her mouth presses into a thin line afterward tells you enough about how this conversation is going to go.
“Is there a problem?” you ask cautiously, still seated by Sato’s bedside, hovering your hand over his chest.
“No problem,” the taller man says, glancing at the injured man in front of you. “Please continue, we’ll wait.”
Right then, Sato winces sharply as your focus slips for half a second under their intense scrutiny.
“Sorry,” you murmur softly, immediately smoothing the jagged edge you’d disturbed. Being observed like this by two silent, intimidating men while working with such delicate energy isn’t helping. “Almost done. Just breathe through it.”
He nods with gritted teeth, and your fingers graze his skin, combing through until you can’t feel any more frays or snags.
“Thank you,” he sighs, before he gently pulls his hospital gown back on with a painful groan.
“We should have one more session tomorrow morning,” you inform him with a reassuring, slightly forced smile, finally standing up. “Then they’ll let you go home.”
As soon as you leave and the door closes behind you, the strangers in suits turn their full attention towards you.
“You’ve been reassigned.”
Your mind stalls right away, struggling to catch up. “…reassigned?”
“To Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School,” the taller one continues flatly. “Effective immediately.”
You blink at him, once, then twice, waiting for it to make sense, for some kind of logical explanation to follow that actually explains the why. Tokyo stands at the center of Jujutsu society, serving as the hub for the entire structure. Secondary branch specialists don't just get summoned there.
“Effective—wait, I—what about my current cases? I have two Grade 3s in…”
“They’ve been transferred. The reports are already being processed.”
“My supervisor—”
“Already notified.”
You glance sharply at Akiko. Something sharp and deeply uncertain settles under your ribs, a sense of betrayal, but she doesn’t meet your eyes, looking away. That somehow feels worse than any outright explanation.
“…for what reason?” you ask slowly, keeping your voice even despite the sudden, escalating panic inside you. “Tokyo doesn’t usually pull resources from secondary branches unless it’s a matter of—”
“A high-priority stabilization case.”
Your heart gives a small, nervous skip against your ribs, a quick flutter of dread. “I specialize in post-injury smoothing,” you press, your voice sounding a touch higher and more strained than you’d like in a situation like this. “Recovery support. That’s not exactly a—”
“It aligns with your technique.”
“Surely there are Seniors who—"
"They were very specific." The second man, who hasn’t spoken until now, holds out his arm with a sealed folder for you to take. It’s stamped with a seal of the Jujutsu Higher-Ups you’ve only seen in textbooks.
You open your mouth to press further, to demand clarification on what kind of case requires immediate reassignment without notice, briefing, or transition period, but the unyielding look you receive from both men shuts the question down before it can fully form. This was never intended to be a conversation or a negotiation. It was an order.
“…when do I leave?”
“Now would be ideal. A car is waiting outside. We’ve already cleared your absence with the local director. You won't be coming back tonight.”
You let out a quiet breath through your nose that’s almost a strangled, disbelieving laugh of helplessness. So both the director and your supervisor, who is still pointedly avoiding your gaze, were fully aware of this, and neither gave you any notice to prepare.
“Can I at least get my things from my office?”
Both of them nod, and you start walking toward the office wing, hoping desperately for a moment alone, but the men are following closely behind. Your colleagues look up in surprise when they notice the two figures trailing you upon your entering the room, but you just offer a weak, reassuring smile and tell Haruki you’ll text him later with an explanation you don't yet have.
You reach for your desk with numb hands, gathering files, closing folders, and mindlessly putting away the small pieces of a routine you hadn’t realized how deeply attached you’d grown to until someone decided to take it away without asking. As you pack your things, your mind races, grasping at whatever vague, terrifying rumors you’ve heard over the last year.
Everyone in the jujutsu world, even in the quiet provinces, knows something colossal happened in the capital a year ago. They spoke of fire and a shadow that turned the sky red, and of a reincarnation—something ancient and terrible, taking root within the city. The Disaster in Tokyo, they called it. But the details never made it into official reports. At least, not to the ones your small branch was privy to.
You had imagined it was a problem for heroes, for men like Satoru Gojo. And it had probably been the case, since the vague rumors had stopped a few months ago, suggesting the monster was either dead or at least pinned under a mountain of seals and restrictions.
This sudden summons has to be something else, but it still doesn’t explain the immediate, emergency reassignment of a specialist in recovery support.
“…this stabilization,” you start, not looking at them as you walk with them toward the waiting car, forcing the words out into the hallway. “Is it a curse?”
For a moment, neither of them answers. The silence stretches as they try to find an approved answer that won't violate any security protocols. Then, one of them finally says, with practiced neutrality, “It’s being handled.”
That’s not remotely what you asked, but the non-answer only confirms that you’re not getting any actual information until you arrive at the Tokyo main campus.
The officials make a quick stop at your apartment, where you’re informed to pack for at least a few days and, most emphatically, to hurry. Inside, you move on autopilot, tossing in a few changes of clothes, your battered laptop, and documents you need into the small suitcase.
The car ride to Tokyo is a blur of passing lights and the heavy, suffocating silence of the two men. You sit stiffly in the backseat, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield, watching through the window as the familiar, quiet world of the province recedes and finally disappears. An official folder from the Higher-Ups sits heavy on your lap, but its contents offer no clarity, only an imposing, formal letter of summons.
As the sedan nears the campus, you notice with some relief that it’s at least outside Tokyo, high in the mountains, and the area looks far more peaceful than you’d ever expected. The car slows, finally pulling to a stop in a broad, paved courtyard. The taller of the two men steps out and silently opens your door.
"This way,” he instructs.
The walk through the Tokyo Jujutsu High campus is an exercise in deceptive normalcy. The grounds are a sprawling mix of modern, functional structures and smaller, elegant buildings in traditional Japanese architecture. On first glance, it resembles a prestigious, if somewhat secluded, private academy.
But no matter how beautiful it looks, you notice subtle, unnerving cracks. They’re small, easy to overlook unless you pay close attention. There’s a thin fissure at the base of a wooden veranda on an older building, and another spidering up a stone pillar near the main entrance—neatly patched but still visible. Under your feet, a hairline fracture runs through the stone walkway. You glance at them as you walk, brow furrowing. Are these construction damage? Settling foundations after an earthquake? The campus is clearly well-maintained, yet these quiet fractures appear in scattered places. You briefly wonder what could cause such precise little breaks in a place that otherwise appears so ordinary.
"Standard maintenance isn't enough when the ambient resonance is this high," the taller man offers abruptly, like that explains anything when he catches you looking around.
The officials keep a brisk pace, and you hurry to match it, pulling your suitcase behind you. As you’re walking past a training field where a handful of students practice, their bright laughter drifts through the air.
Only when you climb the short flight of stairs and step inside the main building does the air begin to change and something begin to press against your senses.
As you proceed down a corridor, the longer you go, the more the atmosphere distorts. It begins as a faint hum just beyond perception. A heavy, suffocating pressure starts to build, pressing on your chest—cursed energy, vast and overwhelming. It’s not sharp or aggressive, but immense, like witnessing the tide pull back to reveal the ocean’s true depth.
It emanates from somewhere ahead, dense and thick enough to fill your lungs with every breath. Your steps falter briefly on the polished floor. You’ve encountered powerful sorcerers before, mostly visiting Grade 1s, but this is an entirely different category of existence. It doesn’t flex or flare; it simply is, spreading in slow, relentless waves that raise the hairs on your arms and quicken your heartbeat involuntarily.
You swallow hard, risking a quick sideways glance at the two officials. Their faces remain stoically impassive, but you notice the taller one’s shoulders are a fraction tighter than before. Neither of them offers an explanation, leading you down the sunlit corridor.
Between two branching hallways, a flash of white hair and a tall silhouette turns the corner ahead of you. Your stomach gives a small, instinctive flip of recognition.Of course, Gojo Satoru would be here; everyone knows he teaches at the main campus. Still, seeing the strongest sorcerer alive in the same building where something else radiates an energy that forms a monumental presence that’s as solid as the stone does absolutely nothing to ease the unease already crawling up your spine.
The power grows heavier with each step. It feels old, layered with centuries of existence that no modern sorcerer could possibly carry. Your breathing turns shallow when you realize it dwarfs anything you’ve ever experienced, and it’s coming from behind an ordinary door at the very end of this hallway.
"The Higher-Ups were very specific about your technique," the official states, halting abruptly in front of it. He doesn't look at you, but you notice how incredibly stiff he holds himself while maintaining a respectful distance from the handle. "They believe your weaving method is the only thing precise enough to smooth out the snags without... aggravating the source."
You desperately want to tell him that your work typically involves dealing with battered teenagers and Grade 3 sorcerers, not “sources” that cause buildings to crack. But before you can speak, he opens the door, revealing what looks like an ordinary faculty meeting room—long wooden table, chairs arranged neatly, and sunlight slanting through plain windows onto the wooden floor.
“Go inside.”
The room is nothing that should make the world tilt sideways, but the instant you step through the threshold, the power slams into you like a physical wall. The change in pressure is so abrupt that your body reacts before your mind can even process it. Your breath hitches painfully halfway in your chest as your lungs struggle to expand properly. The air feels thick and oppressively heavy, charged with staggering density of cursed energy that neither dissipates nor settles. It fills the entire room from wall to wall and presses against you from every direction at once.
It’s everywhere, rolling in slow, inexorable waves that seem to seep into your bones and leave a metallic, coppery taste in your mouth. Its vastness drains your strength, causing your legs to falter. The handle of your suitcase groans under your tight grip. A cold sweat blooms across your back, prickling beneath your uniform blouse, while your heart stutters once, twice, then hammers against your ribs with such violence that you are half-convinced the officials can hear it.
This isn’t the crisp, contained brilliance you felt when Gojo Satoru passed by. This is something ancient, pressing down on you until your vision narrows at the edges and your knees threaten to buckle completely.
Even amidst that, your eyes instantly lock on the man, seated calmly at the far end of the long table in a chair that looks ridiculously small against his large frame. He looks completely relaxed, with one arm casually draped over the backrest of a nearby chair, his shoulders at ease, exuding complete, effortless control of the space around him. He's tall, broad, and muscular, and his slightly tousled pink hair is a jarring contrast to the dark lines of ink across his face.
Despite the sheer, terrifying magnitude of the energy radiating from him, he isn’t a disfigured curse; his appearance isn't distorted or monstrous as you might have expected. For a fleeting moment, your mind struggles to reconcile this calm exterior with the intense, overwhelming pressure that fills the room.
Your body refuses to follow any logical instructions, entering a full, paralyzing vasovagal freeze. Your muscles lock tight until you’re nothing more than a statue standing just inside the closed door; your hands tighten even further against the suitcase handle, the sharp edges digging deeply into your palm, desperately grounding yourself in something physical while everything else in the room shifts beyond your control.
The cursed energy filling the space sinks deeper into your skin, sharpening until its vibrations are clearly felt along your nerves. It makes absolutely no sense that it’s contained so effortlessly by the will of the person sitting before you.
The scale of it causes your breathing to falter further. Each breath grows shorter, your chest tightening as your body struggles to find a steady rhythm under the overwhelming weight. Your shoulders tense and your jaw clenches as you attempt to regain control of your breath, but you fail to steady it.
Never in your life have you felt even ten percent of the power this man is deliberately letting you see.
One of the officials clears his throat, the sound painfully small and fragile in the charged silence.
"This is Ryomen Sukuna," he starts, keeping his voice carefully neutral, as though the name itself doesn’t carry the weight of centuries of nightmares. "Special Grade sorcerer.”
The name hits you like a physical blow, sending ripples of pure dread straight through your chest. You know the legends—the King of Curses, the strongest sorcerer in history, the calamity that had turned the Heian era into a slaughterhouse painted red with the blood of sorcerers and civilians alike. A man who nearly wiped out civilization.
Hearing that name spoken aloud here, in this room, in the 21st century, instantly turns the terror coursing in your blood to ice. Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle line up with what your eyes are seeing, and the true extent of it sinks in now that the presence has a name.
“He works as a teacher here at Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School."
You’ve always chosen to believe those stories were just half-myths, exaggerations designed as horror stories to keep young, ambitious sorcerers humble. But even if they’re true, he’s supposed to be dead. He’s meant to be only a record, a story explaining limits that no one dares to push anymore. Yet he’s sitting right in front of you, and, what is somehow worse, he’s an official part of the faculty.
The reality is more terrifying than anything your mind could ever imagine. Your hands begin to shake visibly, the tremor running through your fingers so violently around the suitcase handle that you can feel the plastic biting sharply into your palm. Your feet remain firmly planted, your body still, despite every instinct screaming at you to turn and run.
Across the room, Sukuna hasn't moved since you walked in. He looks profoundly, dangerously bored, almost like any other teacher enduring a tedious meeting, with his head resting languidly on one hand, his elbow braced on the table. The fingers of his other hand lazily drum once on the back of a chair next to him. The tiny motion sends another slow, immense wave of that cursed energy rolling outward, and you feel it brush over you, sliding across your bare nerves.
The room seems to physically shrink around his seated form; the sunlight itself feels dimmer, thinner, almost like his cursed energy is actively drinking the light, leaving only a heavy pressure that makes your teeth ache at the roots and your stomach twist into a cold, nauseating knot.
You’re about to feel sick and faint, standing here trembling with uncontrolled terror before he’s even looked at you. A distant, hysterical part of your mind wonders whether the Higher-Ups, presumably watching from behind the panels on the side, are watching their sacrificial lamb’s face pale and shoulders stiffen, as calmly and clinically as they must have watched every other person they’d sent before you.
Then his head tilts toward you lazily, and his eyes—four of them, you realize with a fresh, sickening spike of horror—settle on you. The movement is subtle, but it instantly heightens your awareness of the contrast between his vast cursed energy and his concentrated focus.
He assesses you, tracking your chest hitching with shallow, useless gasps and your hands shaking hard. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but something far more menacing: the faint spark of curiosity as he spots an intriguing new toy on the floor.
Then, he decides to play. He slowly rises from the chair, his powerful body unfolding to its full, staggering height in one motion that somehow instantly shrinks the room around you even further. The difference in scale becomes immediate, and your line of sight is forced up as your eyes follow him, your body remaining locked where it stands.
Your heartbeat suddenly pounds loudly in your ears. He calmly takes the first step toward you, hands in his pockets, and the dread that had already been suffocating you doubles, then triples, becoming something living, squirming, and writhing in your chest.
Sukuna intentionally floods the space with his energy, letting you feel the full, ancient enormity of what he is wash over you like an unstoppable tide with no intention of receding. The presence expands, tightening around you as he moves, with the pressure rising in direct proportion to the narrowing gap between you. The vibration under your skin sharpens further, irritating your lungs and making your breathing stutter again as your chest fails to keep up with the change.
With every step he takes, the air grows denser and heavier. Your hands shake so badly that the suitcase handle rattles against your thigh despite your effort to hold them steady. Sweat trickles down the small of your back, and your vision tunnels until the only thing left in the world is the approaching figure.
Thanks to your technique, the closer he is, the easier it is for you to feel the clear, sharp splinters flicker at the very edges of his power. It’s like static electricity dancing along a live wire, yet even those splinters are nothing compared to his sheer paralyzing presence.
He stops directly in front of you, towering over your smaller frame and casting a shadow that swallows you whole, forcing your gaze up fully. Your focus narrows as the details of him fill your vision: the texture of his skin, the lines of the tattoos across his face, and the steady, unaffected rise and fall of his chest, completely unbothered by the pressure he’s filling the room with. Up close, the tattoos give the illusion of pulsing against his skin, stretched taut over muscle that could snap you in half without the slightest effort.
Sukuna lets even more of his cursed energy surface. The sensation floods your entire awareness, intensifying into something that borders on pain without crossing into it, making every nerve ending in your body scream in terror. It’s so intense that your very skeleton might shatter under it.
Behind you, one of the officials takes an involuntary half-step back and stumbles awkwardly, unable to withstand the suffocating spike in tension as Sukuna leans down, closing the last of the distance.
The sorcerer’s gaze flicks past you for the barest fraction of a second, acknowledging the official’s cowardice with a look of complete, detached boredom, before it returns to you with the same terrifying intensity. Your breathing breaks entirely for a second before returning in short, ragged, uneven gasps that do nothing to ease the pressure crushing your chest.
Your fingers twitch uselessly, while your mind screams at you to move, to run, to do anything, but you can only stand there, frozen, as his face comes so close that you can feel the hot breath ghost over your skin. Your heart is hammering so hard you’re certain it will burst through your ribs.
Those four eyes study you with curiosity, drinking in the details your body fails to control. They track how your pulse flutters wildly at the hollow of your throat, how your shoulders tense so tightly they ache, and how you’re shaking so fiercely that your vision blurs at the edges. He just looks, letting the weight of his presence settle over you like a shroud.
A low and deep chuckle rolls out of his chest, dark and rich with profound amusement as he takes in your reaction in full.
Then, at last, he straightens back to his full height, but he doesn’t look away from you even as he addresses the panel behind where the Higher-Ups sit in silence.
"I’ll take this one," he rumbles.
The silence holds for a moment before the unknown voice from behind the panel responds with a brief confirmation.
“Understood.”
Sukuna lingers a second longer where he is, his attention still on you, amused by how your body stays locked in place despite the absence of any direct contact. His lips curl slightly, pleased that the pressure he exudes is more than enough. His gaze leaves you only when he decides he’s done observing. Suddenly, he moves, walks past you, slides the door open, and leaves the room without another word.
That pressure doesn’t vanish with him, though. It lingers, clinging to your skin, leaving you swaying on your feet until your knees finally threaten to give out entirely. A low, helpless sound escapes your throat before you can clamp your jaw down and swallow it back.
One of the officials, the shorter man, steps forward quickly, his face pale with something akin to alarm. He steadies your elbow carefully, his own hand shaking slightly.
“Breathe,” he says under his breath. “It gets… easier. Marginally.”
Behind you, the second man exhales quietly, then adds after his colleague, “You’ll adjust.”
Your hands are still shaking uncontrollably, and you stare down at your right palm. There, where the rough plastic handle you’d been gripping had pressed, a deep, angry-red welt is already visible. Then you realize you’re still gasping for air. Your lungs hitch and burn, struggling to remember how to expand now that the weight of his cursed energy is no longer physically pressing against them.
The reality of what just happened crashes over you. Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses. A living nightmare now walking these corridors as a teacher.
"You should count yourself fortunate," the taller man says, though his voice lacks any real conviction. "He hasn't shown that much… interest in a specialist since his arrival at this campus. In fact, he hasn't accepted any of the previous candidates we presented.”
You look up at him, your vision still slightly tunneled at the edges. Swallowing again, your throat still unbearably tight, you try to force a coherent question out past the lingering fear.
“Fortunate?" you rasp, your voice sounding like dry paper. "He looked at me like I was... a thing. A toy."
The official pointedly ignores your remark and the barely suppressed tremor in your voice, smoothing down his suit jacket with fingers that, despite his attempt at composure, are visibly trembling.
"Regardless of your personal feelings, the decision has been made. Sukuna has accepted you. From this moment forward, you are assigned directly to him."
He begins to pace the small area between the table and the door, his eyes darting everywhere but meeting yours.
"Your primary duty is to manage his cursed energy. Sukuna’s power is... immense. After his missions, his energy becomes more volatile, jagged, and overwhelming than usual. If it builds up—if those snags are not addressed and smoothed out by someone with your unique capabilities—his energy continues to bleed uncontrollably into the environment and…” he pauses, searching for a bureaucratically acceptable word to describe unchecked destruction.
“...incidentally damage to campus infrastructure,” the shorter man helpfully offers, gesturing toward the window, toward the campus you walked through only mere minutes ago. "The fractures you noticed in the stone, the splintering foundations—that is what happens when he’s left unmanaged. The school can no longer keep up with the repairs. Your job is to ensure his energy stays contained and regulated entirely within him. You will weave and smooth it whenever he returns from the field."
"And when he doesn't need me?" you ask, your voice barely a ragged whisper. The thought of being in the same room with him for an extended period already makes your stomach churn.
"When he isn’t in need of your services, you may be called upon to assist Shoko Ieiri in the infirmary. But make no mistake: your priority is him. Daily sessions. And if he calls for a session outside of that, you drop everything else. Am I clear?"
Daily sessions with him. Alone. You manage a shaky, nauseated nod, though the motion feels strangely disconnected from your body. Then, the reality of your technique finally settles into your mind. Your Weaving isn't a distance-based ritual; it requires direct, skin-to-skin contact to smooth out the energy. You realize, with a sudden spike of lightheadedness, that you aren't just going to be sitting across a table from the King of Curses. To do what you were brought here for, you’re going to have to reach out and actually touch him.
“Come with me,” the shorter official says after a moment, turning toward the door. “I’ll show you your office.”
He leads you out of the meeting room and down the corridor in the opposite direction Sukuna had taken. After a few tense steps, he glances back at you, his professional mask finally cracking, softening into something that looks like genuine, if detached, pity.
“You aren’t the first we’ve sent, you know. The Higher-Ups tried everything to regulate his energy. Binding techniques, suppression methods, and direct intervention. They sent many sorcerers who showed even a slight ability to detect and manipulate irregularities in cursed energy.”
He looks down the hallway, checking to see if the walls are listening.
“Sukuna doesn't need to actually act to exert pressure. His mere baseline output is more than sufficient to break most people.” You understand that much already, painfully so. "He didn't even have to lift a finger against any of them. He simply sat there, much as he did today, allowing his cursed energy to overflow and saturate the room. The sheer, suffocating mass of it..." He trails off, the memory clearly disturbing even him, then finishes in a low murmur, “They either withdrew or were quickly reassigned for their own safety.”
The words sink into you like heavy lead, bringing a sudden, hollow ache to your chest. Your reassignment isn’t a promotion; it’s merely a reckless gamble by men who have already lost every other bet.
If Grade 1 sorcerers couldn’t survive working with him for more than a few days, what chance do you have? You, who spent your mornings color-coding files and your afternoons smoothing out the cursed energy of Grade 3 and 4 sorcerers?
The official stops before a row of unmarked wooden doors, slides one open, and gestures for you to enter first. "This is your office. It has been fully equipped for your work.”
Inside, the space is a modest but entirely functional office, bathed in the soft light of a spring afternoon. There is a wide desk already stocked with fresh stationery, a comfortable-looking chair, a small couch against one wall for your sessions, and tall windows overlooking the main training fields.
“Living quarters on campus have also been arranged—nothing extravagant, but secure and close to both this facility and the infirmary. Your belongings from your previous residence will be collected and delivered by this evening. The Higher-Ups were quite… insistent on speed.”
The official lingers in the doorway. “Take some time to settle. Sukuna will likely find you when he needs you. Until then… try to rest. You’ll need your strength.”
He offers a shallow, almost sympathetic bow, then closes the door behind him, leaving you alone in the sudden, ringing silence.
Your suitcase slips from your numb fingers and thuds against the floor. You stand there in the middle of your new office, new life, hands still trembling at your sides, the memory of four eyes and that low, amused chuckle burning behind your eyelids.
