18+ | aang x f!reader
cw: voyuerism, outsider's perspective
It was a mistake—an accident.
A simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
All nations are aware of the Avatar's conduct and how he carries himself when in the public eye. He's seen as a pillar of hope for the world and has rightfully earned the title with how wonderful he is as a person. He's humble and kind while charismatic and approachable. Avatar Aang embodies all of what an Avatar should embody and the world is truly lucky to have him in their lifetime.
But mistakes reveal secrets that are best left under many, many layers.
Isla was supposed to have delivered fresh fruits to the Avatar's quarters as a way to further welcome him to their island. The platter was beautifully arranged and stacked high with an array of fruits that are his favourite and some native to their land. She made sure her clothes weren't rumpled, her hair was in place and her make-up well done because this was the Avatar. To approach him looking anything but put together would be a shame upon her house but also herself. It also didn't hurt that the Avatar was a very handsome young man and he just so happened to be looking for a wife.
It was an opportunity that shouldn't be missed and thus began Isla's journey to deliver the Avatar his gift. She rehearsed what she was to say during her walk towards his quarters, growing flustered in her very own fantasies as the imaginary Aang asked her to spend the rest of the evening with him. Isla was glad that no one was around to hear her giggling away as they'd surely find her to be delusional but they can't blame a woman for indulging in romantic daydreams.
But those romantic daydreams were shattered when loud moans filtered through the Avatar's door, partially muffled by the heavy wood. Loud moans accompanied by the frantic slapping of skin against skin and the filthiest squelches of a drenched cunt being thoroughly fucked. Isla stared at the door, wide-eyed in her shock, as she gripped the fruit platter tightly with her sweat-slick hands.
Surely, that wasn't the Avatar in there.
Surely, she had gotten the wrong room and it was someone else having an very arduous night with their lover.
Surely, it wasn't the Avatar who was—
"Aang!" A wrecked voice cried out his name followed by a string of sobs. "P-please, ah, I'm, ngh, I'm gonna cum—!"
"Again, my love?" Aang's voice flowed out, raspy and panting. "Good girl, sweetheart, this is gonna be your third one, huh? Gonna make a mess for me?"
"Yes, I'm gonna—!" There was a loud squelch chased by a choked hiccup. "Oh."
A deafening splash echoed throughout the corridor with another hitting the tiled floor like water gushing from a tap. There were no other noises but Isla didn't know if that was true as she was already rushing away, fruit platter almost spilling in her haste to flee. All with cheeks flushed, body heated and a damp patch between her thighs.
When asked why she didn't deliver the fruits, all Isla could say is that the Avatar was asleep before dropping the platter to spend a few minutes alone to calm down. Because what she had just witnessed was something life-changing and Isla needed to sort her thoughts out…among other pressing issues.
It had been a mistake.
A wrong place at the wrong time scenario that revealed more than she should have discovered.
But a few things have changed.
Avatar Aang is still a wonderful person and rightfully deserves to be called the pillar of hope. He's still humble and kind while charismatic and approachable. Avatar Aang still embodies all of what an Avatar should embody and the world is still truly lucky to have him in their lifetime.
But behind that innocently handsome face and disarmingly cute smile is a man who really, really knows what he's doing.
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ surpriseeee — this is 3 parts now hehe. satoru is still our lovingly annoying sweetheart here, but this part does have a bit more angst than the last. nothing too wild though… just a whole lot of yearning and our poor reader being very committed to denial. i hope you enjoy! part 3 will be the last one. (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
<<< part 1 - main masterlist - part 3 >>>
part 2
“Ma’am, may I interest you in our menu?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in with a practiced smile.
"Oh—um. Yes... thank you."
The thick, cream-colored menu lands in your hands a second later, and you settle into your seat just as she disappears down the aisle. A seat that is far too comfortable for the current state of your life. But that’s the thing about first class — it makes it very hard to be appropriately miserable, and you are trying to be miserable right now. You are committed to it.
“If you need recommendations… I recommend the wagyu.” Satoru leans in, close enough that his breath feathers warm against the side of your neck. “It’s to die for.”
He grins, blue eyes glinting behind snowy lashes. And unfortunately, the wagyu isn’t the thing currently putting your life at risk. Because a shiver moves through you before you can stop it.
“O-Oh…” your head jerks away, quickly. “Uh-huh… sure.”
Refusing to turn, you keep your eyes stubbornly on the cabin — denying him the satisfaction of seeing what his closeness does to the treacherous, backstabbing organ inside your chest. But you catch him in your periphery — leaning back, entirely unbothered, reaching for his own menu with that pleased little hum that means, of course, he notices.
Ugh.
This is going to be a long-ass ten-hour flight. And first class, as it turns out, is only roomy when you aren’t seated beside the exact person currently making your pulse act deeply unprofessional.
…
Wait. When did you pulse start doing that?!
Miserable, you remind yourself. Yeah. Miserable.
With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.
…you’d booked economy.
Economy.
But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.
“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”
…
Don’t worry about it?
You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.
But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.
Your family.
“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”
“—what do you like to eat?”
You blink, lips parting.
“I—sorry…what?”
“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”
Your brow furrows as you stare at him.
…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.
“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”
“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”
Brow knitting, you frown.
He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.
“That—that can wait. We need to—”
“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”
Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—
“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”
Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.
…when did he get so comfortable?!
“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”
Your lips purse.
“I dunno. Being…” But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”
His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.
“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”
You sputter into your water.
“Baby?”
You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.
“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”
As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.
…asshole.
Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”
The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.
You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.
…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—
“Hey.”
Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.
“Are you… nervous?”
“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”
Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.
Fuck.
It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.
“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”
His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.
It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.
Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.
By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—
“…better?”
His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.
“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”
He smiles. “Sure.”
That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.
Oh…
He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.
Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…
Ten hours was a long time.
Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.
It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.
“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”
You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”
He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”
And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.
“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”
Later… yeah. Later.
But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.
So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.
Now.
“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"
“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”
The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.
Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.
“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.
No.
No, no, no.
“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"
It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.
…why the hell is she here?!
You were supposed to have more time—
“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”
Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”
The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.
Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.
…great.
Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.
“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”
She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.
Oh, right.
So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.
…good to know there's a line somewhere.
“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”
Your body goes rigid.
Oh no. Fuck no.
Anything but that.
Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.
“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”
Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…
“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”
…
Wait.
Did he just say Gojo?
As in—
Your boss’s family?!
No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.
Nothing comes out.
“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"
Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”
“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”
And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.
You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”
Fuck...
Get it together.
Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.
“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”
“—sorry ma’am, no.”
Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.
“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”
There’s a hitch in your breath
Oh.
So… you’re not invisible?
As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.
He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.
“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”
Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.
The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.
“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”
And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.
By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.
It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.
…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.
But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.
“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”
“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”
He blinks.
“Huh?”
Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.
“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”
Oh...
Right. That.
“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”
And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
Yours doesn’t move.
“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”
You don’t say it like a question.
…is it a question?
Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”
You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.
He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”
Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”
He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.
So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.
“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"
“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”
And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”
You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.
Damnit.
You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.
…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?
“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”
His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”
The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.
And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.
Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.
Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.
Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.
All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.
“Goodnight.”
You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.
…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!
With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—
“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.
“Making myself comfortable?”
…
That explains absolutely nothing.
Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”
“Yup. I do.”
He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.
Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”
Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.
“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”
And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.
For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.
“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.
You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.
…
Or trying to.
You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.
Ugh…
Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.
Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.
“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.
“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”
“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”
Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”
You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”
He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”
The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.
…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?
He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.
Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.
“Come up here,” you blurt.
…
Silence.
“Wait… huh?”
Your eyes squeeze shut.
As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.
“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”
…
He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.
“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”
You cover your face with a groan.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”
“—yes ma’am.”
He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.
…too still.
All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.
“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”
Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”
He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”
Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.
A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”
The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.
“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.
The mattress dips.
“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”
…
Fake.
Fake boyfriend.
The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…
“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”
He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”
“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.
You blink into the dark.
“Wait. Sorry… what?”
A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.
Is he… pouting?
The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”
Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.
“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.
“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.
As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.
Beautiful.
“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"
The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.
…yours.
And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.
But…
Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.
And his frown is instant.
“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”
The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.
His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”
“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”
“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...
Why?
Why does he have to look at you like that?
You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”
Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.
Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.
a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to fall in love at first sight, much less fall in love. No, Satoru simply loves being single—not that he does anything with that, though. Most of his time is spent hanging out with his friends. Sure, he’s hot—and he knows he is—but he just isn’t interested in dating at the moment. Which is why it’s surprising to his best friend to see Satoru make heart eyes the moment he sees you.
College Student!Gojo who is the type to ignore all of his feelings. No seriously, he might’ve tripped over air and almost ate shit when he was looking at you, but that was only because he was looking at the delicious mochi you had in your hand. Yeah! Yeah, that’s it. Just the mochi, nothing more.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boy that pretends to be nonchalant, telling Geto that he totally didn’t fall in love, that would be soooo not him. Only for him to search you in the crowd of students the next time the two of them walk the halls, neck practically craning to see better—even though he already towers over everyone.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boy that immediately loses that nonchalance the moment you smile at him when you see him staring looking at you. He lets himself fall to his knees, making a loud thud on the linoleum floors. Multiple heads swivel around, chatter dying when they see the white-haired boy kneel on the ground.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to show his emotions like this in the open, but still he does so without a second thought; all of those left the moment you smiled at him. God, he’s pathetic as they come, and he doesn’t even realise it. Words are spilling from his lips like a broken faucet, heart on his sleeve as he asks you out in the middle of the hallway.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to not notice the eyes on him, he’s always attracted stares whether it be because of his hair or eye color, or even height, but right now all he can focus on is those pretty eyes of yours looking at him. They’re all wide while your lips parts slightly, shock evident on your face.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boy to celebrate small wins in a loud way—a very loud way. Today is nothing out of the ordinary, if you ignore everything else, because he whoops so loud when you agree to go on a date with him that even more people stare at him.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to be nervous, why would he be? He’s Satoru Gojo for fucks sake; pretty boy on campus with a 4.0 GPA. So why can’t he decide what to wear for the first date? Fuck, he’s been standing in front of the mirror, holding up clothes in front of his frame, for what seems like ages. His entire room is a mess, clothes strewn everywhere from when he decided they weren’t good enough to wear to the date—not worthy enough to be graced in your presence.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to show up early to functions. Fashionably late, as he says, is something that describes him pretty well—even though he doesn’t go to parties a lot. Nanami had once told him that he didn’t have to be ‘fashionably late’ to group hangouts, but Satoru ignored that comment completely. But here he is, sitting in the coffee shop the two of you had agreed upon twenty minutes before the set time, knee bouncing under the table as he anxiously smooths over his blouse once more—another thing he normally doesn’t do.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to be tongue-tied, but the moment he sees you walking through the door, the little bell announcing your presence, in that cute little outfit of yours, he stutters. Stutters. Gojo Satoru never stutters. God, if Geto was here, he would’ve burst out laughing at the white-haired man already.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boy to fill silences with easy chatter, but today he’s listening more than he is talking. He wants to know everything about you—from what you’ve eaten for breakfast to that weird story about how your straightener died a few days ago. He has his chin in palm, an easy smile on his face as he just takes you in.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type of boy to go on second dates, most of the time if he goes on a date it would end in fucking—yet another thing that didn’t happen with you, it just felt… weird if he were to do what he normally does—and never speaking to the girl again. Well, he wouldn’t outright ghost them, but he would tell them he wasn’t interested in going on a second date. Which is why it was surprising to Geto when Gojo told him he got another date in a week with you, this time the zoo.
College Student!Gojo who isn’t the type to date anyone, as we’ve established already. But here he is, with you, his pretty girlfriend, arm slung around your shoulder as the two of you walk through campus together.
College Student!Gojo who apparently is the type of boyfriend to share headphones with his girlfriend. Not the wireless ones—though he does have those—no, he specifically went to the store to get wired headphones so the two of you could share them. Something about it being more romantic, more intimate like that—having to walk close next to each other lest you want them to fall out of your ear.
College Student!Gojo who apparently is the type of boyfriend that clings to you everywhere. Well, that shouldn’t really come as a surprise, to be completely honest. Everything Gojo does is loud and grand, and that’s exactly how he loves you—loud and grand. Everyone will hear about how amazing his girlfriend is, even if they hadn’t asked him anything about you or the relationship at all.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend that wants to show off to his girlfriend of two weeks, playing basketball with some of his friends while said girlfriend watches him from the bleachers. He’ll throw a wink your way and say ‘This one’s for you, babe’, only to horrendously miss his shot. Like, not even hitting the backboard.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend that hasn’t even fucked you a month into the relationship, always kissing your forehead or the crown of your head when cuddling, but never taking it further than that. Sure, there have been steamy make out sessions where the two of you were more horny than either wanted to admit, but he still hasn’t fucked you. Hell, he hasn’t even put his fingers inside of you yet. The guilty feeling of leaving you hot and bothered evaporates in his mind when his fist wraps around his cock later that same night, thinking about how wet you were. He could practically feel your arousal drip through your flimsy shorts when you were grinding down on him.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend that wants your first time together to be romantic, something about taking you out to a candle-lit dinner on a balcony so it’s just the two of you. Then after he would take you back to his apartment—because of course he also has an apartment, but he stays in the dorms purely because he wants to be closer to his cute girlfriend—where he would have rose petals strewn all over the bed with some candles lit to really set the mood. Cute and intimate basically.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend that loves to surprise you, but this one really surprised you—fucking you full nelson after doing some couples yoga together, heavy balls slapping against your clit as his fingers dug into your legging-clad thighs. He had begged you to try it out with him, an confident smile on his face when he told you he wouldn’t drop you, may the occasion arise. But not even ten minutes into the session, he gets distracted when your tits are practically spilling out of your top, chest so close to his face, he lets out a moan before he practically manhandled you into the position where your back is pressed against his chest, ripping a hole at the crotch of your leggings. He already murmured a small sorry and told you he would buy you new ones before plunging his fingers inside of you.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend to fuck you so good, it has you screaming out his name in pleasure. He fucks you so good, the two of you get noise complaints from other students in the dorms. Those who don’t outright complain to the two of you just throw you nasty looks.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend to beg you to move in with him. ‘No more noise complaints when I don’t even have neighbours, babe,’ he’d oh so sinfully whispered against the shell of your ear when he was balls deep inside of you, pelvis grinding against yours while you clamped a hand around your own mouth, trying to be mindful of the noise level. Not that that mattered though, the headboard was still slamming against the wall with harsh thuds, making your dorm neighbour angrily pound on the wall and tell you two to stop fucking.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend to match everything with you, from matching toothbrushes to mugs and of course pajamas. God, he was so giddy you agreed to move in with him that he went on a spontaneous online shopping spree, trying to get matching everything for the apartment that felt bare a few days ago. His most recent purchase? matching cars. His was white with blue, while yours was white with sage green. ‘So people know we’re together!’ he’d beamed when he showed you.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of boyfriend to marry his girlfriend after only dating for a year—and still being in college. That all didn’t matter to him, he just wanted to put a pretty ring around your finger as soon as possible; a constant reminder that you’re his.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of husband to take his wife to Maccies on the evening of their wedding day, after the reception had ended, just because she’s hungry. The two of you are still in your wedding attire, scarfing down a happy meal—or six—while people are pointing and whispering. It isn’t every day that you see a newly wed couple—having been wed for a few hours, not even bothering to change into something more comfortable—at the Mac Donald’s after all.
College Student!Gojo who is the type of husband to use his wife as an excuse to why he’s late to class, effectively bragging to people that he married you yesterday. Only for said wife to get to the classroom a few seconds after, sweat beading down your face as you hunch over. It’s only then that you realise that you don’t take this class, and the eyes that are on the two of you are anything but subtle. (No, you two weren’t late because you had sex… well not really. You were only late because someone forgot that they got married on a week-day instead of the weekend, turning off all alarms so he could ‘consummate the wedding’ into the early hours of the morning.)
A/N: I know I said no new content for a while, but I finally finished my assignment so I let myself have this little writing hour.
ᝰ.ᐟ your soft bf!toji is a total meanie in bed ⸝⸝ 18+ mdni
mean bf!toji spends the whole day being a total sweetheart—cooking you dinner, giving you soft kisses on the forehead, and holding your hand in public—only to completely lock the bedroom door, pin your wrists over your head, and look down at you with a dark, heavy stare that tells you the "nice guy" act is officially over for the night.
mean bf!toji is normally so gentle with his hands during the day, using his thumb to softly wipe a stray crumb off your face or tuck your hair behind your ear, but the second he gets you on the bed, those same hands are gripping your jaw tightly, forcing you to tilt your head up so he can admire how pretty you look when you're scared of him.
mean bf!toji loves to pamper you in public, happily carrying all the heavy grocery bags, pulling you to the safe side of the sidewalk, and letting you pick whatever movie you want to watch, all while secretly plotting exactly how he's going to make you cry and beg for mercy later that evening.
mean bf!toji is so hyper-aware of the contrast in his behavior that he uses it to mess with your head; he’ll lean down while you're trembling under him and whisper against your ear, “you like it better when i’m mean to you, don’t you?”
mean bf!toji ignores your whines and protests when he changes positions or pulls you around like a ragdoll. in daily life, he moves carefully around you so he doesn't accidentally hurt you, but in bed, he uses his massive size and weight to completely overwhelm you, letting you feel exactly how helpless you are against him.
mean bf!toji makes you beg for every single thing. even if he knows you're desperate, he will completely stop moving, prop himself up on his elbows, and stare at you with a smug smirk until you verbally ask for exactly what you want.
mean bf!toji loves slapping your pussy with his palm right before going in, loving the sharp, loud crack it makes against your skin and the way it leaves a bright pink mark that contrasts with his tanned hands. he’ll do it just to startle a loud gasp out of you, watching your thighs twitch as he tells you to open up wider.
mean bf!toji likes dragging the heavy, blunt tip of his cock up and down your wet slit, teasing you ruthlessly until you're begging him to just put it in. instead of giving in, he’ll slap his wet tip against your clit over and over, mocking the needy little noises you make and telling you that you haven't earned it yet.
mean bf!toji just laughs when you try to complain that he’s being too rough or too mean. he won't slow down; instead, his chest rumbles against your back as he grips your hips harder, driving into you with even less mercy just to prove that he rules the bed.
mean bf!toji loves leaving you completely ruined and breathless. he likes looking down at the mess he made of you—smudged makeup, tangled hair, and thighs shaking uncontrollably—while he casually rolls off to grab a drink, completely unfazed while you can barely move.
mean bf!toji will pull your hair back with just enough force to make your eyes water, forcing you to look directly at him while he pounds into you. he hates when you try to hide your face in the pillows or close your eyes; he wants to see every single expression of pleasure and overload on your face.
mean bf!toji uses verbal degradation as a tool to keep you completely flustered. he’ll call you a "good little slut," mock how loud you're breathing, or ask you why you're crying over a little bit of fun, his voice deep, raspy, and completely devoid of the warmth he usually speaks to you with.
mean bf!toji will deliberately overstimulate you, rubbing his thumb harshly against your clit while hammering into you, and when you start to sob because it's too much, he’ll just kiss you hard to muffle your screams and keep going right through your orgasm.
mean bf!toji flips the switch right back to being a doting boyfriend the next morning. he’ll kiss your bruised hips, bring you painkillers and breakfast in bed, and pull you into a warm, gentle cuddle—leaving you completely dizzy over how the man who was so beautifully cruel to you a few hours ago is now softly rubbing your back and calling you his baby.
You’ve worn your boyfriend Sukuna to the bone, so your other boyfriend Toji takes over.
warnings. fem!reader/tojikuna, threesome, multiple orgasms, piv, kissing, creampie, overstim, ovulation, switch!toji if you squint, dom!sukuna. nsfw 18+ mdni.
──── ୨୧ ────
The first thing Toji noticed when he stepped through the front door was the heat. A subtle humidity lacing the air like the sweet lingering remnants of perfume. There was your lotion, sweet and familiar, and the smell of fresh sweat, layered with something primal and musky - the smell of sex.
The second thing he noticed was Sukuna, splayed over the couch like he’d just run a marathon. Tank top soaked through and sweatpants riddled with little damp patches, dotted across the fabric like stray petals. Toji’s gaze dipped without bothering to hide the way he was blatantly staring at Sukuna’s chest, at the heaving pecs peeking out from his neckline, eyes tracking the little bead of sweat beginning to trail a hot path down the center.
“What’s your problem?” Came Toji’s eventual greeting as he paused by the door, tearing his eyes away just to sling his gym bag over the hook there before continuing into the room, water bottle clasped in his hand.
Sukuna glared in reply, and if Toji were anyone else he might have actually felt intimidated by the sight. But with the way the other man was panting, pink tufts of hair stuck every which way and slicked with sweat, he didn’t paint a particularly scary image. In fact the only sensation the sight triggered within Toji was a mild amusement, alongside a tiny spark of heat low and betraying in his belly.
“I’ve already had her four times,” Sukuna grunted, “the brats insatiable.”
Toji snorted mid sip of water, eyes leaving the couch to instead peer through the half opened doorway to the bedroom, where he managed to catch only a glimpse of your bare leg through the crack. From the looks of it you were naked - splayed over the sheets, hair probably still a little damp from the shower, skin lacquered with lotion, half washed away with sweat by now.
“What, she ovulating or something?” Toji wondered aloud, lowering the bottle to once again catch Sukuna’s gaze over the metal rim.
The other man crossed his arms unceremoniously across his chest, and Toji watched the tendons jump in the winding muscle of his forearms as he shrugged.
“That or she’s in heat, damn near milked me dry.” He grumbled, brows knitted, working a mean line between them. If you were here you’d reprimand him for such an expression, crawl over the couch and run your thumb between his salmon brows until the lines wore smooth, or until Sukuna grew bored and wrapped a hand around your wrist to flip you onto the cushions instead.
Toji laughed then, the sound rough and graveled like tattered velvet.
“Seriously?” He scoffed, lips spread into a sly grin as he licked stray droplets from them, “had to tap out did ya’ Ryomen?”
Sukuna’s scowl only deepened, soured now with genuine irritation.
“Just be grateful I wore her out for you,” he spat, “and watch your tone, or it’ll be you spread eagle and whining for more cock next, Fushiguro.”
Toji chuckled again as he screwed the lid of his bottle on tight, the motion accented with a metallic ‘squeak!’ before he tossed it toward Sukuna, hard enough that he heard the fleshy impact when the other man’s hand shot out to catch it.
“Yeah yeah,” he mused, moving past the couch to instead push through the bedroom door, which creaked beneath the effort, “drink some fuckin’ water and get outta my way.”
If he were being honest, when he’d left for the gym that morning he’d been hoping for this exact scenario. Toji knew you - or at least your cycle - well enough to know that you’d wake up needy and leaking, and he knew Sukuna well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of you humping his thigh like a dog in heat for very long. So he’d left without a word just as the sun kissed the horizon, and he’d been half hard in his sweats since his second rep just thinking about it.
If the living room was warm, the air within the bedroom was stifling. But it wasn’t the heat or the sticky sweet scent that knocked the air from Toji’s lungs on entry, no. It was the sight of you - limbs splayed over the mattress, hair messed and wild where your head was tucked between the pillows. Your jaw lifted back far enough to expose the long column of your throat, giving Toji a stellar view of the dark sucking marks peppered there, indents of teeth that he was sure would melt into bruises by the evening.
Toji took in the sight indulgently - paused in the doorway, a lone hand already trailing its way down the curve of his stomach, teasing until his fingers curled over the bulge forming there. He squeezed once and shivered, reveling in the immediate relief that sizzled over his body like a splash of ice water.
He could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze piercing into the back of his skull like the promise of a snipers sight. He didn’t indulge the urge to peer over his shoulder and meet that heated gaze, instead he let his hand drop to his side and pressed a knee into the mattress.
You didn’t move, didn’t speak or even open your eyes when he crawled over the sheets, crowding your space like a panther sliding atop its snagged prey.
His hand met the curve of your waist, skin soft and warm beneath his palm, layer of sweat sticking you lightly to him. He trailed one hand downward over the curve of your belly, the other grazed feather-soft over the slopes of your breasts, pausing to pinch gently at either nipple, perked and willing in his hands.
“You’re soaked sweetheart,” he mused when his fingers finally dipped between your thighs, which gave way to him easily, spreading to make room for his forearm to slot between. He moved slowly, palming soft and teasing over your mound and listening to you mumble mindlessly below him.
You whined something unintelligible in reply, voice nothing but a high pitched whimper, crackled like shattered glass.
With a chuckle, he leaned down and craned his head until his ear rested level with your mouth.
“What’s that sweetheart?” He questioned, head tilted to listen.
You swallowed, hard and dry, and licked your lips before you spoke again. Another croaked string of words hit his ear, a touch clearer this time. He realized then that you weren’t mumbling gibberish at all, you were begging.
“More, more, need more, please ‘kuna, please jus’ one more…”
Toji chuckled and lifted his head back to study you again - he found your eyes still closed, brows now knitted into an expression that was decidedly desperate.
“Old Ryo’ couldn’t keep up, huh?” He mused, hands lifted from your body to instead press into the mattress either side of your head, leveraging the weight of him as he slotted himself properly between your thighs.
You offered a gentle huff in reply, eyelids feeling much too heavy to bother opening. Your limbs felt numb, tingling with residual little sizzles of pleasure.
“Don’t worry doll, ‘m here now.”
Toji didn’t waste time working you open or teasing you with the brush of his lips or gentle caresses, no. He simply slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it sideways. His thumb hooked over his waistband, tugged down to let his length spring free and slap hard and raw against you.
The sensation was enough to have his lips parting around a shuddered breath. You felt like heaven - like slick molten silk kissing each bumped ridge as he rutted through your swollen folds. You jolted when he shifted, hard inches rubbing over your clit, still singing with over stimulation.
He grinned and lowered a thumb to pet at your entrance, leaking slick and dribbles of what he was sure was Sukuna’s spend. He traced your rim beneath the head of his cock slowly, smearing the milky little pearls gathered there and wondering just how many loads Sukuna had managed to stuff inside you before he’d finally tapped out. The thought made his breath catch, and sent another sizzle of heat straight to his throbbing cock.
“C’mon, look at me now,” Toji cooed, watching the way any semblance of coherency on your face melted away when he finally pressed down, sinking inside with a single dizzying press of his hips - testament to just how soaked and used you really were.
It was enough to make your eyes roll behind your lids, fluttering with the delicious sting of being stretched open again. Toji treated you with shallow little thrusts. The hair at his base tickling your clit, thick veins pulsing against your rubbed raw walls where Sukuna had pounded you until you cried, until you bruised. And yet despite the pain, the ache - that needling little bud of desire still burned just as hotly as when you’d first awoken that day, stoking the fire in your belly and dribbling lava hot between your aching thighs.
“Oh, oh…” you moaned dumbly, lashes twitching as you finally lifted them and tried to blink away the layer of hazy film that had settled there. Your mind felt fuzzy, vacant. Drunk on the sensation of being stuffed utterly full once again.
“There she is,” Toji soothed.
“‘Ji, it’s you…” came your delayed greeting, nothing more than a breathy whine, “need’t cum, need to cum again, please…”
“Again?” Toji echoed in faux surprise, hips lowing to a torturous roll, “that’s a little greedy of you, don’t you think?”
“Incredibly greedy,” a distant voice interrupted, flat and deep and utterly serious.
Toji tilted his head back just enough to catch sight of Sukuna’s broad form filling the doorway, looking more like the hired security than someone who actually lived there. Toji peered through strands of ink black hair at the big hand that was beginning to dip beneath the waistband of Sukuna’s sweats, palming lazily at the considerable bulge there. Sukuna’s gaze was equally heavy and heated, lowered past the curve of Toji’s spine to track the way your hole was stretching around his thickness.
Toji swallowed, took a final glance at the sight of Sukuna beginning to work his length free from his boxers. His eyes stuck on the exposed slip of tan skin where Sukuna had tugged his shirt upward, the spatter of hair dusted there, before he turned his attention back to you.
“Haven’t even asked how my day was yet, and here you are begging me to make this needy pussy cum,” Toji teased, “and after Ryo’ took such good care of you too.”
“Please,” you cried, shaking your head furiously against the damp pillows crumpled either side of you, “please don’t tease me.”
“Aw I’m sorry sweetheart,” Toji cooed, voice dripping thick with mock concern, “you just need it real bad, huh?”
The delicate shallow thrusts he had been nursing you with suddenly shifted, turned to long pulls smacked back inside hard enough that you felt the tip of him kiss somewhere deep and delicate. Each buck had your legs quivering, and a sharp little shock of pain and pleasure in equal measure sizzling over your skin.
You were lucid enough only to know that he was moving, slow methodical thrusts that felt achingly tender. Each twitch of his worked muscle was purposeful, each motion entirely controlled and aimed to break you apart.
“Shh, just feel it. You feel me, right baby? Nice ‘n deep.” The words were sin incarnate, purred right into your ear.
You were nodding before you could think, slurring a string of unintelligible words alongside breathy cries of his name, strung together like a prayer.
“Deep… deeper…”
The scent of him was intoxicating, dizzying. The sharp sting of fresh sweat and his own familiar woody musk was enough to have you lifting your trembling legs just to hook a heel over his hip and tug him closer.
“Finally knocked all the brains outta you, huh?” Toji teased, “That’s alright, don’t need to think. Just keep squeezin’ this pretty little pussy around me, yeah?”
One of your hands fled the sheets to instead grasp at one of Toji’s bare shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there.
“Kiss me,” you panted, blinking up at him with wide wet eyes, blown black and glossy with need, “oh, hng-… please Toji…”
Toji didn’t bother with a reply, instead he simply dipped his head and captured your lips in a kiss so sudden you barely had the wherewithal to suck in a lungful of air before he was swiping any lingering thoughts away with the hot slide of his tongue.
You melted into the touch, letting the roll of his jaw guide your movements - moaning in surprise when his teeth nipped at your cracked lower lip, your grip on his shoulder tightening when his tongue met yours.
When you finally split apart you were sufficiently softened by the blend of his sweet kisses and the steady rock of his hips, brain humming quietly like the static of a tv set to a dead channel.
“Good?” Toji questioned, head tilting.
You just nodded, struggling to keep you gaze affixed on the inky strands of hair slipping over Toji’s forehead, that was until a sudden blur of colour crept into the edge of your vision.
“Oi, what are you?-…”
You watched, motion a little delayed, as Sukuna’s hand slid across the back of Toji’s neck. Toji’s eyes widened an inch, looking genuinely shocked for just a moment before Sukuna’s grip tightened, firm hand forcing his head upward until they finally met in a rough crashing of lips.
Peering up you simply watched, entranced, at the slide of pink tongue between sticky sweet flutters of your lashes. Eyes caught on the way Toji’s brows lifted and his hips stuttered just a little when Sukuna’s hand tightened into a fist at his nape, strands of silky black hair sticking wayward through his thick fingers.
Toji grunted into the kiss, rougher now - a tumble of teeth and tongue in stark contrast to the slow rhythm of the embrace you had shared. One of Toji’s hands curled over your hip, thumb mindlessly tracing the bone there. The other found Sukuna’s chest, grasping a handful of fabric before he was shoving the other man backwards.
You watched a glittering thread of spit link them for a moment before it split, and you must have clenched at the obscene sight because Toji made a choked sound above you, falling into the sensation a little like he were suddenly made of jelly.
“Fuck sweetheart,” he panted, lips glossed as he dug a fist into the mattress beside your head, “that’s it, just like that.”
His thrusts didn’t slow or soften, but they felt sloppier somehow, and when you blinked upward you realized why. Sukuna had stepped in behind Toji, plump chest pressed to his back, massive hand still curled around his nape, thumb rubbing soothing little shapes there. His head turned inward, lips pressed to the delicate little strip behind Toji’s ear, breathing so close you could see the speckle of goosebumps begin to prickle over Toji’s skin.
“C’mon Fushiguro,” Sukuna purred, quiet enough that you could barely hear the sweet syrupy words, “don’t get soft on me now.”
Dazed, you watched Sukuna raise a spare hand to his lips, thumb pressed against tongue beneath the glint of pearly canines before he reached past Toji’s hips and tucked it between your thighs. You jerked at the sudden contact, the searing heat of his slick thumb, calloused and rough and perfect against your abused clit.
“Bastard…” Toji gritted, breaths coming ragged now, panting between barely masked grunts of pleasure as his head dipped beneath the weight of the palm at his nape. His gaze was glassy, glued to where you were clamping around him, where your slick was painting the dark curls at his belly white.
Sukuna only grinned in reply, and you could hear the lazy glee lacing his tone with his next words, thumb still rolling over your twitching nub as you writhed beneath his touch.
“Go on now,” he rumbled, low and filthy over the shell of Toji’s ear, and you swore you felt Toji twitch in response. “make the pretty girl cum.”
You could feel it, the looming buzz of your orgasm, curling like the crest of a wave, hot and tight in your belly like the slow cinching of a knot.
“Close ‘ji…’m close,” you slurred, “gonna… hn!- ‘m gonna…”
“I’m right here sweetheart,” Toji was groaning now, shivering a little as the hand at his nape tightened once more. His thrusts were wild - wide sloppy pumps driven haphazardly into the slick mess between your thighs. Sukuna’s thumb continued its assault, drawing steady heart shapes over your clit, right above where Toji was busy splitting you open.
“C’mon princess,” Toji pleaded, words accented with a kicking throb that you felt all the way in your gut, “give it to me.”
You let your eyelids fall shut, squeezed tightly against the way your vision was beginning to blur at the edges. Senses dulled, sounds and scents becoming more and more distant with each second of rising pleasure until suddenly the knot snapped, and you were unraveling along with it.
Toji cursed somewhere beyond the numbed blackness of your senses, and alongside it you felt a flood of heat and the familiar twitching pulse of him as he filled you. Firm hands gripped your waist like an anchor, holding you in place as you squirmed against his final stuttered humps, wracked with unending wave after wave of white hot pleasure.
“Shh, that’s it, that’s a good girl…” Toji was cooing into your ear, forehead pressed to the pillow, only hair tickling your cheek.
The words were a salve, a balm smoothed over your mind until all that was left was the honeyed buzz of pleasure.
You sucked in a shaky breath and realized along with it that you were crying, cheeks soaked and salted with fresh tears. You let your limbs fall, limp and exhausted against the sheets. A subtle ache was beginning to settle in your muscles, in your bones, and yet beneath it all you still felt it - that itch deep inside, like an unending, desirous pit.
“More…” you croaked, voice utterly broken despite your pleading.
Toji scoffed somewhere above you - sounding equal parts shocked and proud at your incessant appetite. You heard the distant thump of approaching footfalls, followed by the telltale creak of a knee digging into the mattress before the bed was dipping beneath a considerable weight, and you felt Toji slip out with a slick sucking sound.
“Move Fushiguro, think I just got my second wind.”
────────────────
a/n: kinda ahhh drabble while I work on longer fics bc I’m stuck thinking about tojikuna, hope you enjoy anyway <3
toji fushiguro has your body naked in front of the mirror and his warm hands groping your hips. he lets his pinky slide up your puffy, wet slit—just a graze, just over your clit—and he doesn’t let your eyes leave the mirror as he draws back his pinky dripping with your slick.
“go on, princess,” he rasps into your neck. “m’listening.”
but he’s not just listening. your boyfriend is still in his boxers—unfair, really, because you’re clad in nothing & the room is too warm & your thighs are trembling from both the heat and the pressure. he wraps himself around you and slides his hands up to your tits. he gropes your breast once and lets his hands fall away.
your mouth dries. “i can’t.”
but your hips are bucking into him. rolling against his clothed cockhead as your pussy drools from the anticipation. toji laughs, chest warm against your back as he pinches your clit, forcing your hips to stutter & a whine to leave your lips. “y’got a pretty mouth, dollface. wanna hear you use it.”
in the mirror your thighs are still aching, chest heaving, and toji fushiguro has slipped his cock out of his shorts. you’re not sure you heard his waistband snap but his cock is there, flushed and swollen and dripping with precum.
"you see that ?" he murmurs, breath hot against your neck as he pumps himself in his fist all heavy & slow. "see what you do to me, sweetheart? standing there all pretty and wet?”
he lets the soaked head tap against your ass—once, twice—before dragging it lower between your thighs, letting it slip through your slick folds without pushing inside. your pussy flutters at the teasing, & toji watches your chest heave in the mirror through bleary eyes.
"you want this?" he murmurs, cockhead nudging your throbbing folds from behind. "want my cock in this pussy, baby?” he lets his precum smear over the folds. “start talking.”
you swallow, eyes glazed with lust and hips stuttering as you force the courage to speak. “i…i have nice tits.”
“breasts,” toji growls into your neck. “breasts, dollface. say it properly.”
your thighs squeeze. your eyes are teary when you look in the mirror, face flushed, tits heaving. "i have nice breasts."
"mmh," toji slides a palm up your side. he lets his thumb brush against your aching nipple, before twisting and stretching the pebbled peak between his fingers. you arch into him on instinct. "so nice, dollface. and what else? look at this pussy in the mirror, baby. tell me all about it."
his thumb presses into your clit. but then he slides it away.
you moan, loud, slick dripping down your thighs. toji’s cock twitches against your ass, but clearly he’s got the self control of a god.
your lashes are tear rimmed. “i have—i have a pretty pussy!”
“so pretty,” he murmurs, tugging your clit before pressing his thumb against it, rubbing slow circles over the bud. “prettiest pussy i’ve ever fucking seen. so wet and noisy for me. tell me more, sweetheart.”
“my pussy is so tight,” you rasp, breathless and hips twitching as toji rubs his thumb against the sensitive bud. “hnngh—so tight and wet for you, toji.”
"yeah?" he murmurs against your ear. his cock nudges your slick folds, pulsing and throbbing at the entrance. "love this fucking pussy, you know that?"
you can only whimper in response.
"love how puffy it is," he continues, dragging his swollen cockhead up your slit, only to drag it down again. "love how it tries to swallow me. see that, baby? see how it slobbers all over my cock?” he pushes his swollen head in as your cunt flutters around him. “fucking perfect.”
“toji—“ you gasp, “please—“
“please what?” he growls, pushing his hips into you. his thick cock swells between your folds, pulsing and stretching your puffy cunt. “want me to play with this pussy, baby? fuck you so hard your tits bounce in the mirror?”
“mhm—“
“words, sweetheart.”
“want you to fuck me,” you gasp out, hips bucking back to chase his cockhead and push him deeper into your folds. “want you to play with my pussy and fuck me till i’m dripping—“
“fuck,” toji groans, slamming into you, hard. “thaaaat’s my fucking girl. see how easy it is to please me?”
୨୧ — Imagine Nanami cradling his newborn daughter tenderly. His blonde locks that were once neatly slicked back now messily frame his face- serving as playthings for tiny, curious hands. The infant giggles, gripping and curling her fingers, attempting to grab at her father's hair with pure delight. Nanami's heart swelled, a genuine smile appearing across his face.
"Ya know... Fatherhood really suits you, you know that?" You murmured, resting your head against his arm.
Nanami looked down at you, his eyes- always so tired from the cruelties of the world and working far too much, were now soft with affection, "I never thought I would have a life like this... I always felt it was far out of my reach..."
"Kento..."
He brought his daughter up to his face, his lips pressing a kiss to her forehead. His voice was a low whisper, yet you still managed to hear his words, "I love you. Both of you. More than anything in the world."
You could see it, not only in his smile, but his eyes as well... they held some fear. Afraid of the life he led, afraid of it coming to take the family he had so lovingly built away from him. Nanami had seen much in his time as a sorcerer. The loss of people dear to him- their deaths never failing to haunt him... He was scared... Scared of leaving you both behind, scared of the what-ifs...
"Kento, you worry far too much. I promise we'll be here, right by your side. Always and forever, okay? You're always going to awaken to me in your strong arms." You give his bicep a soft squeeze, "no way anyone could get past these bad boys."
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, holding his baby girl in one arm, he used the one you squeezed to bring you into a loving embrace, drawing you even closer to his body. Drawing you closer into his world, a world he once thought would be forever in solitude. This was all a simple moment, but Nanami felt the full weight of this newfound joy- the joy of being a father and a loving husband to you. No could've prepared him for this profound privilege.
You were his home. And for the first time, he allowed himself to relax and trust in your words... that everything would be alright...
Hellooo, could I please request an aang x reader fic where aang and the reader are in the middle of a political meeting and they are on opposite ends of the table and all they can think about are the flashbacks of what they did the night before (they were being vey freaky) and they both look so red and flustered
One Look
╰┈➤ pairing: Aang x gn! reader
a/n: tyyyy for the requesttt!! (had to take break again, also just did like a whole rebrand on my acc lolll)
summary: A routine council meeting turns into a disaster when Aang and his partner can't stop thinking about the night before, making their flustered behavior painfully obvious to everyone around them.
wc: 1.8k.
contains: Established relationship, gender-neutral reader, romantic fluff, humor, suggestive themes, implied intimacy, lovestruck Aang, teasing from the Gaang, protective and affectionate relationship dynamics,
The council chamber was unbearably warm. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.
Because surely the reason your face felt like it was on fire had nothing to do with the fact that Aang was sitting directly across from you looking equally red.
Definitely not. The massive Republic City council table stretched between both of you while politicians argued about shipping routes and trade agreements. You had not heard a single word in the past ten minutes.
Neither had Aang. Which was becoming increasingly obvious.
“…And that concludes my proposal regarding harbor expansion.”
Silence.
One of the council members blinked. Aang stared blankly for half a second before immediately straightening. “Right. Yes. Harbor.”
You looked down instantly to hide your expression.
Spirits.
He was so bad at pretending to focus. Katara, sitting two seats away from him, narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Because usually Aang was locked into every meeting. Today?
The Avatar looked seconds away from spontaneously combusting. And honestly? You probably looked the same. Which was entirely his fault.
Because last night...
Your face heated immediately at the memory. Aang’s eyes flickered toward you at the exact same moment. Big mistake.
The second your eyes met, the memory hit both of you again instantly. His hands on your waist. The way he fucked you senselessly into the matress. Your voicing cracking as you kept moaning his name to go faster.
The way he looked at you like he completely lost his mind for you-
You immediately looked away again.
Oh gosh.
Across the table, Aang coughed awkwardly into his hand. Sokka noticed instantly. “You okay there, Aang?”
“Fine,” Aang answered way too fast. You pressed your lips together trying not to laugh. Aang shot you a look. Which only made things worse. Because now you remembered him making that exact expression the night before when...
Nope.
Absolutely not thinking about that during a council meeting. One of the older councilmen continued talking. “The Avatar’s opinion would be appreciated.”
Aang blinked.
“…About?”
Toph snorted loudly from near the wall. “Aang is totally out of it.”
You kicked her lightly under the table as she passed. She grinned. “I can hear both your heartbeats, by the way.”
Your soul almost left your body. Aang looked horrified. Toph leaned closer to Katara smugly. “They’re freaking out.”
Katara’s eyes narrowed immediately. “…Why are they freaking out?”
“No reason,” you and Aang both said instantly. Too instantly. Sokka looked between both of you suspiciously now. “Oh no.”
You wanted to disappear.
Aang rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, refusing to look directly at anyone now. Unfortunately for him, you knew exactly why his ears were turning bright red.
Because last night you may or may not have teased him relentlessly about how sensitive he got whenever you kissed near his tattoos. The memory hit you again suddenly.
Aang’s hands tightening around you. His arrows glowing faintly. The quiet sound he made when-
You accidentally inhaled sharply. Aang looked up immediately. And judging by the way his face somehow got even redder, he definitely knew exactly what you were remembering.
Katara slowly lowered her tea. “…What happened last night?”
“NOTHING,” Aang squeaked.
The entire room went silent. You covered your face immediately. Toph burst into laughter. Sokka pointed dramatically across the table. “I KNEW SOMETHING WAS WEIRD.”
Aang looked ready to airbend himself through the nearest window.
Meanwhile the council members looked deeply uncomfortable. One poor old man cleared his throat awkwardly. “…Should we continue this meeting later?”
“Yes,” you said immediately.
“No,” Aang said at the same time.
Then both of you looked at each other again.
Huge mistake.
Because now you remembered waking up tangled together that morning, Aang half asleep and clinging to you while mumbling something embarrassingly sweet into your shoulder. His face softened slightly looking at you now despite the embarrassment.
And suddenly the tension changed.
Less chaotic.
More warm.
You smiled before you could stop yourself. Aang immediately smiled back. Hopelessly fond. Sokka gagged dramatically. “Oh they’re disgusting.”
Katara finally sighed, realization dawning on her face.
“…Oh.”
Toph grinned wickedly.
“Oh she figured it out.”
Your face burned all over again. Aang rubbed both hands over his face. “We’re never living this down.”
“Absolutely not,” Sokka answered immediately.
And honestly?
Judging by the look Aang kept giving you from across the table afterward, neither of you were going to survive the rest of this meeting without completely losing it again.
⋆୨୧˚ ✦ SUMMARY In which Gojo is stupidly and utterly obsessed with you.
CREDS. gojo art - thatsallitchief, pics found on Pinterest, divider by @/strangergraphics
CONTENT. FLUFF Gojo being a hazard to himself and society, not rlly proofread. WC. 0.6k
A/N. You missed me sooooo badddd ahahaha you wanted me back sooooo badddd hahahahah......
You and Satoru had an interesting relationship.
Formed through a combination of Gojo's nagging and complete inability to respect others' boundaries, you were dragged into what could only be described as a one-sided romantic (non)friendship—against your will of course.
The moment you walked into Jujutsu High, you already felt it.
felt him.
That unmistakable presence that made the hairs on your neck stand and your eye twitch in pure annoyance.
Because Satoru gojo was standing in the hallways like a six-foot-three LED billboard on the Vegas strip, waving at you with both of his lanky arms like a toddler lacking self awareness.
"Y/N!!!" he shouted as if you were across a football field and not a mere 10 feet away.
you sigh, and blink once. "Why are you yelling."
"Wanted to make sure you saw me," he shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall.
He brings a hand up to push off his blindfold, revealing his terrifyingly blue eyes.
They sparkled. Literally. Like someone installed RGB lighting in his head.
"put the blindfold back on please," you said. "you look like a glowstick."
Gojo gasps, clutching his chest and stumbling back. "You wound me. These eyes are a national treasure. Wait no- global."
"no they're a safety hazard."
"you're so hot when you're mean to me," he sighs, trailing behind you while you ran around the teachers lounge moving papers and files.
"don't you have a job to do, Gojo?" You finally turn to him.
"Yeah. Admiring you," he winks at you.
"Do you have something in your eyes?"
"Just blinded by your beauty," he smiles.
Eventually, after threatening to report him to HR, he ran off to go harrass another innocent person while you got to working on planning your next lesson for the first years.
for a little while at least, the halls were quiet. calm, even. Until they werent.
Gojo teleported to your side, leaning down so close you could feel his hair tickle the side of your face.
"Hi," he whispered. "miss me?"
"no," you instantly replied.
he froze before grinning. "Liar."
you didnt look up from your paperwork. "What do you want?"
"you." he sat in the chair beside you, kicking his up onto the table and right by your head. you glared at him.
"soooo," he began, "when are we going on that date you havent agreed to yet?"
"we're not."
"Great! I'll pick you up at seven."
"Gojo-"
he vanished before you could finish.
then reappeared. "seven thirty?"
"NO."
“Eight?”
“Stop.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, hands up in defense. “We’ll compromise.”
You cap your pen before setting it down. “On what.”
He smiled, eyes growing wide in excitement behind his blindfold.
“You pick the time. I’ll pick the place.”
You gave him a blank stare, although you for some reason couldn't help but find his persistence charming.
“I hate you.”
"yeah you hate me now, but you'll love me eventually," he says, tugging gently at a strand of your hair.
"when is eventually?" you ask.
"when we're married with 3 kids and a dog and a fish and a house on the lakeside," he explains.
"right..."
you turn your head, looking at the indents in his blindfold where his eyes are. you saw the way his hair stuck up in every which way, the white strands reflecting the dull overhead lights.
you always noticed the way his shoulders untensed when he was around you, and how his infinity always faltered.
The way he looked at you like he'd already made up his mind about you years ago, when you first made your way through the threshold of Jujutsu High.
That was the problem.
I mean, you said he was annoying, but you never said he was ugly. it's not that he wasn't the typical guy you would go for—because he was very much your type—you were just scared to be in a relationship with the life you live.
You didn't want to lose someone you cared so deeply about, and unfortunately for you, you dont think Gojo is going to let you go anytime soon.
oblivious!aang being told "it looks heavy" by someone who's obviously flirting with him as they pointedly look at his crotch. but aang instantly assumes they're referring to his bag and goes, "oh, not really! it's pretty light but thanks for your concern!"
later on, aang will tell you about the encounter and you immediately clock the actual meaning. but you don't tell him because him thinking that the person genuinely cared if his bag was too heavy or not is too cute to crush.
PAIRING: Suguru Geto x BunnyHybrid!Reader x Satoru Gojo (Non-Sorcerer au)
CONTENT: Suguru is your gentle and strict owner while Satoru loves to get you all riled up [tw: Hybrid reader, non-con/dub-con touching of hybrid features, rough manhandling, spanking, humiliation, polyamory/shared ownership setup]
Suguru remembered the exact way you used to look in the university library. You were always tucked into the furthest corner of the archives, practically melting into the woodwork, your eyes wide and focused entirely on your books. You never spoke to anyone. You barely even looked up.
He had been utterly fascinated by you.
He used to choose tables just within your line of sight, watching the quiet, precise way you turned pages, the soft sweaters you buried yourself in, and the way you’d nervously bite your lip when a concept was hard to grasp. He’d never found the right moment to approach you because you looked like a fragile bird that would take flight at the mere sound of a heavy footstep. So, he had contentedly kept his distance, letting an obsession quietly simmer beneath his calm exterior.
Then, you abruptly stopped coming to campus. Days bled into weeks, and Suguru’s quiet world felt irritatingly empty.
Until tonight.
A sudden, freezing downpour had forced Suguru into a narrow, covered alleyway to shake out his umbrella. That’s when he heard it, a tiny, fractured gasp, followed by the wet, frantic rustle of a cardboard box tucked behind a row of industrial dumpsters.
Suguru froze, his sharp eyes cutting through the gloom. "Who's there?" he asked, his voice a low, smooth rumble.
A terrified squeak answered him.
Stepping closer, Suguru knelt, keeping his movements deliberately slow. He pushed aside a damp flap of cardboard, and his breath caught in his throat.
It was you.
But you were different. Shivering violently, stripped of your oversized sweaters and wrapped only in a threadbare, oversized shirt, you looked impossibly smaller. Curling out from your messy hair were two long, velvet-soft, snow-white rabbit ears, pinned flat against your head in sheer terror. A tiny, fluffy tail twitching against the brick wall completed the picture. You were a hybrid. In this world, freshly turned hybrids without registered owners were prey, hunted, abused, or sold.
Your wide, tear-brimmed eyes locked onto his. You recognized him from the library. He could see the faint spark of familiarity in your gaze, but it was quickly drowned out by your instinctual urge to hide. You buried your face in your knees, trembling so hard your teeth chattered.
"Hey," Suguru murmured. The sheer rush of possessiveness that surged through his veins was almost dizzying, but his expression remained perfectly serene, a mask of pure gentleness. "Hey, sweetheart. Look at me. It's okay."
"P-Please," you whispered, your voice a tiny, breathless thing. "Don't hurt me."
"Never," he promised softly, extending a warm, broad hand, palm up, leaving it a few inches away from you. He let you sniff the air, letting you catch his scent of rain, sandalwood, and safety. "You remember me, don't you? From the archives. You're safe now. I'm going to take you home."
You stared at his large hand. The cold was biting into your skin, and your bunny instincts were screaming at you to trust the large, warm predator who was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, hesitantly, you nudged your forehead against his open palm.
Suguru’s heart thudded. He closed his fingers gently around your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Good girl. Such a brave little thing."
Without another word, he shed his heavy, insulated trench coat and draped it over your trembling shoulders. It swallowed you whole, smelling heavily of him. Before you could even process the warmth, Suguru gathered you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly against his broad chest. You let out a soft gasp, your small hands automatically bunching into the fabric of his shirt as you hid your face in the crook of his neck.
His apartment was warm, smelling of cedar and hot tea. The moment Suguru set you down on his plush sofa, you tried to curl into a tight ball, acutely aware of your new ears and how terrifyingly exposed you felt.
Suguru didn't press you. He disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a basin of warm water, a soft cloth, and a fresh, incredibly soft sweatpants-and-hoodie set.
"We need to get you clean and warm," Suguru said, kneeling on the floor in front of you so he wouldn't tower over your small frame. "May I?"
You gave a small, submissive nod, your long ears drooping forward shyly.
Suguru was agonizingly patient. He gently wiped the grime from your face, your hands, and your scraped knees. When his fingers brushed against the base of your white ears, you let out a tiny, sensitive whine, your shoulders twitching.
Suguru paused instantly. His dark eyes softened, melting with an affection that ran terrifyingly deep. "Sensitive?" he asked, his voice a soothing purr.
"Y-Yes," you whispered, blushing furiously, your ears burning hot. "They... they feel a lot."
"I'll be very careful, I promise," he murmured. He didn't touch them again, respecting your boundary perfectly, though his gaze lingered on how incredibly soft they looked. He helped you into the oversized clothes, gently pulling the waistband of the sweatpants low enough so your fluffy tail wouldn't be squished.
Once you were wrapped up like a cocoon, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of warm, lightly sweetened oatmeal and a cup of chamomile tea. He sat right next to you, his large thighs brushing against yours, offering a grounding weight that your anxious instincts desperately craved.
"Eat, sweetheart," he commanded gently.
You picked up the spoon with trembling fingers, but your coordination was shot from exhaustion. A bit of oatmeal smudged onto your bottom lip.
Before you could wipe it, Suguru’s thumb was there, catching the stray bit of food. But instead of pulling away, his thumb lingered, gently pressing into your bottom lip, forcing your mouth to part slightly. His gaze darkened, a flash of his strict, possessive nature breaking through his gentle facade.
"You're making a mess," he whispered, his tone dropping into a low, firm register that made a shiver run straight down your spine. "Look at me."
You looked up, completely frozen, your pulse fluttering like a trapped bird.
"From now on, you belong to me. Do you understand?" Suguru said, his voice entirely devoid of malice, but heavy with an absolute, unshakeable authority. "No more running away. No more hiding in dark alleys. You stay where I can see you, where I can take care of you. If you are good for me, I will give you everything you could ever want. But you must listen to me perfectly. Understood?"
The strictness in his voice didn't scare you. It did the exact opposite. It drew a boundary line around you, keeping the cruel outside world out. It meant someone was finally in charge of keeping you safe.
You let out a soft, submissive sigh, your long ears flopping completely flat in surrender as you leaned your cheek heavily into his hand. "Yes, Suguru," you whispered, using his name for the first time. "I'll be good."
A blindingly sweet, genuine smile broke across Suguru’s face. The intense predator vanished, replaced instantly by the doting, caring man who had watched over you for months.
"Such a perfect little bunny," he cooed, wrapping his long arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. He began to stroke your back in slow, soothing lines. "Rest now. You're home."
The transition from solitary confinement in a damp alley to the suffocatingly sweet safety of Suguru’s apartment had completely rewritten your internal wiring. Months had passed, and under Suguru’s strict, doting care, you had blossomed into a thoroughly spoiled, utterly dependent creature.
Suguru liked you soft, compliant, and perfectly taken care of. He set strict rules: you ate what he made, you wore the clothes he bought, and you stayed inside where the world couldn't touch you. In return, he treated you like glass. You had learned that submitting to him brought absolute peace.
But it also made you incredibly lazy when he wasn't around to command you.
On a quiet Tuesday afternoon, you were sprawled across Suguru’s plush living room rug, laying flat on your stomach with your ankles kicked up in the air. Your white rabbit ears twitched lazily in sync with the rhythm of your chewing. You were eating strawberries straight from a bowl Suguru had left on the coffee table, letting a bit of the sweet juice sticky your fingers, completely ignoring the "no eating on the rug" rule because you knew he’d just sigh and clean it up for you anyway.
The click of the front door lock echoed through the quiet apartment.
Your ears shot straight up, pinning back for a fraction of a second before flopping forward in pure excitement. Suguru was home early from his university lectures. Abandoning the strawberries, you scrambled to your knees, a bright, eager smile breaking across your face as you scrambled toward the entryway. "Suguru, you're back..."
The words died in your throat.
The man standing in the doorway was entirely too tall, his broad shoulders practically blocking out the hallway light. He was casually tossing a spare set of apartment keys in the air, catching them with a metallic clink. He wore a heavy leather jacket, and slung carelessly over his eyes was a pair of dark sunglasses, though the blinding blue gaze piercing through them was unmistakable.
Satoru Gojo.
The university’s resident golden boy. The untouchable, impossibly popular, notoriously arrogant bully who used to track terror through the campus hallways just by walking down them. You had spent semesters actively hiding behind bookshelves to avoid even being perceived by him.
Your bunny instincts spiked into absolute red-alert. The cozy, warm apartment suddenly felt like a cage with a predator inside.
"Huh," Gojo voiced, his hand freezing over the keys. He tilted his head, his gaze sliding down from your wide, terrified eyes, over your trembling shoulders, and locking onto the long, snow-white rabbit ears twitching on top of your head. A slow, incredibly sharp grin pulled at his lips. "Well, well, well. So this is the little pet Suguru’s been keeping locked away. I thought he was just hiding a mountain of contraband, but you're way more interesting."
Panic made you stupid. Because you didn't feel the absolute safety of Suguru’s presence, your submissive facade completely shattered, replaced by a defensive, spiky wall of pure fear-induced attitude.
"Get out," you snapped, your voice trembling but laced with an uncharacteristic venom. You took a sharp step back, your fluffy tail twitching aggressively against your sweatpants. "Who gave you those keys? You can't be here."
Gojo’s grin only widened. He didn't look offended. He looked like a cat that had just watched a mouse pull out a tiny switchblade. He kicked the door shut behind him with his heel, strolling into the apartment with an agonizingly slow, confident stride.
"Oh, a feisty one," Gojo cooed, his tone dripping with mock delight. He stepped right into your personal space, forcing you to look up at his towering frame. He reached out a large hand, his long fingers aiming directly for your sensitive ears. "Let me see..."
Smack.
You slapped his hand away with a loud crack. "Don't touch me!" you hissed, baring your teeth slightly, your chest heaving. "Suguru is going to kill you if you touch me. Leave!"
Gojo froze, staring down at his backhanded knuckles. For a second, the sheer audacity of a tiny, fragile hybrid striking the most powerful guy on campus hung heavy in the air. Then, Gojo threw his head back and let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed off the walls.
"Oh, I get it," Gojo chuckled, pushing his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to reveal those piercing, electric blue eyes, completely unbothered by your hostility. In fact, his gaze was dark with a sudden, intense fascination. "Suguru thinks he bought himself a sweet, quiet little rabbit. But you’re a total brat, aren't you?"
"I am not!" you yelled, your ears burning hot with a mix of fury and terror as you backed away until your spine hit the living room wall. "I'm good! I'm good for Suguru!"
"Yeah, because you're terrified of him," Gojo reasoned, taking a casual step closer, completely trapping you against the drywall. He leaned down, placing one hand on the wall right beside your head, invading your space so completely you could smell his expensive cologne. "But with me? You're a little monster. I like that. I really like that."
"I hate you," you whispered fiercely, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your face away, your rabbit ears pinning flat against your skull.
"Keep talking like that, sweetheart," Gojo whispered, his voice dropping into a low, teasing gravel that sent an entirely different kind of shiver down your spine. He leaned in close enough that his breath brushed against your cheek. "Suguru isn't going to be home for another two hours. And I think you and I are going to get to know each other real well."
The shift from terror to pure, unadulterated irritation happened the moment Satoru Gojo refused to leave. Under Suguru’s roof, you had forgotten what it felt like to be challenged, and Gojo was pushing every single one of your newly defensive boundaries.
"Get out," you snapped again, your voice shaking but sharp. "I mean it!"
Gojo didn't move an inch. He let out a low whistle, his piercing blue eyes tracking the way your long, snow-white rabbit ears twitched with aggression.
"Holy shit," Gojo murmured, a slow, realization-filled grin spreading across his handsome face. "No wonder you suddenly stopped coming to school. The whole campus thought you vanished off the face of the earth." He tossed the keys onto the kitchen counter with a loud clatter. "And here I thought Suguru was just losing his mind. Every now and then during lectures, he’d smirk and mention he got a 'bunny' to take care of at home. I thought he bought a literal pet, not you."
The mention of how Suguru talked about you made your cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. Seeing the smug, knowing look on Gojo’s face pushed you entirely over the edge.
Thump! Thump!
In a sudden burst of pure, instinctual frustration, you lifted your leg and brought your foot down hard against the hardwood floor. It was a loud, aggressive double-stomp, the exact behavior of a wild rabbit warning a predator to back off. Your entire body was tense, your fluffy white tail twitching violently in a display of angry defiance.
Gojo actually blinked, his smug grin faltering for a split second. He stared down at your feet, then up at your flushed, angry face, completely caught off guard.
"Did you just... stomp your foot at me?" he asked, a look of genuine, shocked amusement washing over his features. The utter absurdity of a tiny, fragile girl trying to intimidate him by acting like a literal forest creature was the most hilarious thing he had ever seen. "Are you serious right now? Wow. You really are a brat."
"I told you to leave!" you cried out, completely humiliated by his laughter.
"Yeah, not happening," Gojo chuckled, his shock instantly melting back into pure, predatory delight. "In fact, now I definitely have to see what Suguru is dealing with."
Before you could scramble away, Gojo moved with terrifying speed. His large, heavy hands shot forward, catching you by your wrists. With zero effort, he spun you around and pinned your back flat against his broad chest, trapping your smaller frame securely against him. He used one arm like a steel band across your waist, lifting you just enough that your toes were barely brushing the floor, completely neutralizing your ability to stomp or run.
"Let me go! Suguru!" you shrieked, wriggling frantically in his iron grip, your ears pinning flat against your head in a panic.
"Suguru’s not here, princess," Gojo teased, his voice vibrating directly against your back. He shifted his weight, forcing you down onto the plush living room sofa, effectively pinning your lower half under his heavy thigh so you couldn't kick. "Stop squirming. I just want a look."
"Don't touch me! I'm not a toy!" you bared your teeth, turning your head to try and bite his sleeve, a total bratty display of defiance because you knew you couldn't physically overpower him.
"Feisty," Gojo hummed, thoroughly entertained.
With his free hand, he reached up and deliberately brushed his long fingers against the velvet-soft skin of your left rabbit ear. The moment his fingers made contact, a violent, sensitive shiver tore through your entire body. Your gasp was cut short as a warm, heavy sensation flooded your lower stomach, your ears burning bright red.
"Oh, wow," Gojo whispered, his tone dropping into something much darker, completely fascinated by how intensely your body reacted to the touch. He stroked down the length of the long white ear, his thumb gently rubbing the sensitive base. "They really are super sensitive, aren't they? No wonder Suguru keeps you hidden away."
"S-Stop," you whined, your bratty attitude melting into a breathless, shaky plea as the overwhelming sensation made your knees go weak, even while pinned.
Gojo didn't stop. His hand slid down your spine, his large palm smoothing over the fabric of your oversized sweatpants until his fingers brushed against the fluffy, round bundle of your tail. He gave it a firm, teasing squeeze.
You let out a loud, high-pitched squeak, your hands clenching into the sofa cushions as your whole body arched against his hold.
"Look at you," Gojo murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed the crown of your head, right between your twitching ears. He could feel your heart hammering like a piston against his chest, a mix of pure bratty outrage and physical overload. "You're a handful, sweetheart. I think I'm going to start visiting Suguru a lot more often."
For the next ten minutes, Satoru showed you absolutely no mercy.
To him, you were the ultimate toy, a tiny, furious ball of fluff and attitude that he could bend to his will. Every time you tried to claw your way out of his grip, he would simply laugh, catch you by the waist, and effortlessly shove you back down onto the plush cushions. He spun you around, roughly pinning your wrists above your head one moment, only to release you and watch you try to scramble away, just so he could grab you by your oversized waistband and drag you right back across the sofa.
"Come on, princess, you can do better than that," he teased relentlessly, his voice deep and breathless with amusement.
You bared your teeth, swinging a wild fist at his shoulder, but he caught your forearm with agonizing ease. With a sharp tug, he yanked you forward, his other hand coming up to firmly grasp the very base of your snow-white ears. He didn't hurt you, but the heavy, unyielding pressure on your most sensitive spot sent a violent jolt straight down your spine. You let out a ragged, high-pitched gasp, your legs instantly turning to jelly.
Before you could even recover, Satoru's large palm slid down, roughly gripping and squeezing your fluffy tail, pulling your hips back against him. The sensory overload was dizzying. You wriggled, you hissed, you tried to bite his leather jacket, but Satoru just handled you like a whirlwind, completely dominating your space until your muscles ached and your lungs burned.
Finally, the fight completely drained out of you. Your bratty defiance crumbled under the sheer weight of his stamina. You couldn't breathe, your throat felt dry, and your sensitive ears were burning a bright, furious crimson from how much he had touched them. With a soft, defeated whine, your body went entirely slack.
Satoru let out a low, satisfied chuckle, sensing the exact moment you gave up.
He slid back on the couch, making himself comfortable against the armrest, and hauled your limp, exhausted body right along with him. He hoisted you up by your hips, forcing you to straddle his lap. Your legs fell to either side of his broad thighs, and because your spine was completely tingling and spent, your back arched weakly as you collapsed forward. You buried the side of your face directly into the crook of his neck and shoulder, your hot breath fanning against his skin.
The silence in the apartment was heavy, broken only by your shallow, ragged breaths.
"There we go," Satoru murmured, his voice finally dropping the mocking edge, replaced by a deep, possessive purr. "Look at you. All worn out."
He didn't let you go. Instead, his large hands settled into a rhythmic, almost hypnotic motion. One of his long-fingered hands reached up, gently cradling the back of your head while his thumb and forefinger lightly stroked and flicked the tips of your velvet ears, soothing the ache he had caused. His other hand slid down to the small of your back, his broad palm cupping your fluffy tail, his fingers mindlessly swirling through the soft fur.
You let out a tiny, pathetic whimper, too tired to be angry anymore. You hated how good it felt, and you hated how safe his massive frame felt, even though he was a total menace. You just melted against him, your small hands weakly bunching into his leather jacket, entirely at his mercy until Suguru walked through the door.
Satoru didn’t stop moving his hands, and he certainly didn’t stop talking.
For nearly an hour, you remained hopelessly pinned to his chest, your body completely spent. He kept up a steady, low stream of murmurs right against your ear, a dizzying mix of condescending praises and sweet nothings that made your face burn.
"Look at how quiet you are now," Satoru whispered, his thumb lightly flicking the tip of your left ear, making it twitch. "So sweet when you're not trying to bite my head off. Such a good little bunny, resting so nicely for me. You like being held like this, don't you? Even if you're too stubborn to admit it."
You let out a soft, exhausted whine, your face burying deeper into his shoulder. You hated how the steady rhythm of his fingers stroking your fluffy tail was making you drowsy, completely clouding your judgment.
Suddenly, Satoru’s fingers went still against your tail. His head tilted slightly toward the entryway.
You were too dazed to notice the faint sound of a key turning in the lock, but Satoru's sharp senses caught it instantly. A slow, deeply amused smirk spread across his face. He didn't move an inch, keeping his large arms securely wrapped around your waist.
"Look who finally decided to show up," Satoru called out, his voice loud and dripping with mischief. "You're late, Suguru. Your pet and I already got real cozy."
The mention of Suguru’s name acted like an electric shock. Your eyes snapped open, your rabbit ears instantly shooting straight up in panic. You tried to scramble off Satoru’s lap, your heart hammering against your ribs, but Satoru’s grip tightened like a steel vise, anchoring your hips firmly against his thighs. He wouldn't let you budge.
Suguru stepped into the living room, his coat slung over his arm. His dark eyes swept over the scene, you, flushed and breathless, straddling his best friend's lap, while Satoru casually fondled your ears and tail.
Suguru wasn't angry with Satoru. The two men understood each other too well for that. Instead, Suguru’s gaze locked entirely onto you. His eyes narrowed, a cold, dangerous strictness replacing his usual gentle warmth. He noticed how relaxed your body had been just moments prior. He noticed the slight glaze of sensory pleasure in your eyes.
And it irritated him deeply.
For months, Suguru had treated you like the most fragile porcelain doll. He had intentionally avoided handling your ears or your tail with any real force, terrifyingly aware of how sensitive hybrid anatomy was, terrified of hurting his precious, shy little girl. Yet here you were, completely melted into another man's touch.
"Get up," Suguru commanded. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a terrifying, heavy authority that made your entire body freeze.
Satoru finally chuckled and loosened his grip, allowing you to weakly scramble off his lap. You stood on the rug, trembling, your head bowed and your ears drooping completely flat against your skull in pure submission.
"Suguru, I-I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice cracking. "He wouldn't leave, and he..."
"I don't want to hear it," Suguru interrupted smoothly, walking over and placing his briefcase on the table. He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves with a slow, deliberate precision. "I leave you alone for a few hours, and I come home to find you completely disregarding my rules. Not only did you let a guest touch you, but you look like you thoroughly enjoyed it."
"I didn't! He forced me..."
"You didn't fight him hard enough," Suguru countered, stepping directly into your space. He reached out, his fingers catching your chin and forcing you to look into his dark, unyielding eyes. "I have spent months being agonizingly gentle with you, treating your little bunny features like glass because I didn't want to overwhelm you. And this is how you repay my patience? By letting Satoru handle you however he pleases?"
From the couch, Satoru propped his chin on his hand, a thoroughly entertained smirk on his face as he watched the drama unfold. "Don't be too hard on her, Suguru. She put up a decent fight at first. Total little brat."
"Which is exactly why she needs to be corrected," Suguru said softly, his tone dripping with a strict dominance. He let go of your chin and sat down on the armchair across from the sofa. He tapped his thigh. "Over my lap. Now."
Your heart stopped. Your eyes darted to Satoru, who merely winked at you, enjoying your utter humiliation.
"S-Suguru, please," you begged, tears immediately welling up in your eyes. You were a submissive creature by nature. The threat of his genuine displeasure was enough to make you weak, but the thought of being disciplined in front of a witness was agonizing. "Not in front of him..."
"You should have thought about that before you let him treat you like a toy," Suguru said, his voice entirely devoid of pity. "Do not make me repeat myself."
Knowing there was no escape, you walked over with trembling steps. You lowered yourself over his lap, your stomach pressing against his thighs, your hands gripping his knee for support. Your fluffy white tail twitched in absolute anxiety.
Smack.
The sharp, loud crack of Suguru’s broad palm landing against your sweatpants echoed through the room. It wasn't meant to injure you, but it carried the heavy, stinging weight of his absolute authority.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat, and a fat tear rolled down your cheek.
Smack! Smack!
"You belong to me," Suguru murmured rhythmically, delivering the firm swats with a steady, unhurried pace. "Every part of you. If those ears are going to be handled, they will be handled by me. Do you understand?"
"Y-Yes!" you sobbed, burying your face in your arms as the stinging heat bloomed across your skin.
Satoru watched from the couch, his blue eyes flashing with amusement, entirely unfazed by the display. If anything, seeing you cry and squirm under Suguru's strict hand only made you look more delicious.
After a dozen firm swats, your soft sobs filled the quiet apartment. Suguru finally stopped, his hand resting heavily on the small of your back, letting the heat settle. He let out a soft, heavy sigh, the strict disciplinarian instantly melting away, replaced by the deeply doting, caring savior who adored you.
He hooked his arms under your armpits and pulled your crying, shaking body up into his chest. He shifted you so you were sitting sideways on his lap, tucking your face securely into the crook of his neck.
"Shh, it's over. I've got you," Suguru murmured, his voice incredibly sweet and gentle now. He wrapped his large arms around you, rocking you slightly as you cried into his shirt, your tiny hands gripping his collar desperately. He reached up, his long fingers finally brushing against your sensitive ears, stroking them with the exact, perfect amount of gentle care you had been craving all along. "Such a sensitive little thing. You're okay. Suguru’s got you."
The room was dead silent save for your shaky, hitching breaths as you hid your face in Suguru’s neck. The sting from his palm was already fading into a warm, thrumming heat, but the heavy comfort of his arms around you made you feel entirely secure.
From the couch, Satoru let out a low, appreciative hum, shifting his weight as he leaned forward. He wasn't leaving. In fact, his intense blue eyes were fixed entirely on the way your white ears were twitching under Suguru's soothing strokes.
Suguru caught the look. He didn't pull away from you, but his hand paused on your back as his dark eyes lifted to meet his best friend's gaze. A heavy, silent understanding passed between the two men. Satoru loved a challenge, he loved the sharp, spitfire attitude you had thrown at him. And Suguru? Suguru loved your absolute surrender, the way you melted into his rules.
"You're looking at her like you want to take her home, Satoru," Suguru said, his smooth voice cutting through your quiet sniffling.
Satoru grinned, pushing his sunglasses up into his white hair so his piercing eyes were fully on display. "Can you blame me? She’s a total menace when you’re not around, Suguru. A little brat. I think she needs someone to rile her up every now and then so she doesn't get too lazy on your rug."
You stiffened slightly against Suguru's chest, your ears pinning back. You wanted to snap at Gojo to shut up, but the lingering warmth of your discipline kept you completely quiet, your fingers tightly bunching Suguru's shirt.
"Is that so?" Suguru murmured. He tilted his head down, kissing the crown of your head right between your ears. His grip on your waist tightened, a possessive finality settling into his posture. "Well, she isn't going anywhere. She belongs right here. But... if you’re going to be coming over here and making a mess of my hard work, you’re going to help keep her in line."
Satoru’s grin widened into something wicked and delighted. He slid off the couch and sank onto his knees on the rug right in front of Suguru’s chair, bringing himself down to your eye level.
"Look at me, princess," Satoru cooed, his tone dropping into that teasing, gravelly register that made your tail twitch.
Slowly, hesitantly, you turned your head, peering out from the safety of Suguru’s shoulder. Your eyelashes were still wet with tears, your cheeks flushed a deep, embarrassed pink.
Satoru reached out, and this time, his large hand was incredibly gentle. He used his thumb to carefully wipe away a stray tear from your cheek, his touch surprisingly warm. "Look at those big, sad eyes. Did Suguru hurt you? Such a dramatic little bunny."
"Behave, Satoru," Suguru warned softly, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his broad chest anchoring you from behind while Gojo hemmed you in from the front.
"I'm always good," Satoru lied smoothly, his fingers sliding up from your cheek to lightly, playfully pinch the tip of your rabbit ear. You let out a tiny, involuntary squeak, leaning back directly into Suguru's solid frame. "I'll be back tomorrow, sweetheart. And you better have a better attitude for me, or we're going to have a repeat of today."
"She will be perfectly behaved," Suguru answered for you, his hand sliding down to firmly cup your fluffy white tail, offering a grounding, strict reassurance that you were entirely theirs. "Won't you, my sweet girl?"
Exhausted, completely surrounded by the two most powerful men on campus, and thoroughly overwhelmed by the intense, dual weight of their attention, you let out a soft, defeated sigh. Your ears flopped forward in total surrender as you nodded against Suguru's neck.
"Yes, Suguru," you whispered.
Satoru chuckled, leaning in to press a quick, teasing kiss to your hot cheek before standing up and pocketing his keys. As the front door finally clicked shut, you let yourself sink completely into Suguru's lap, finally safe in your warren, knowing your quiet life in hiding had just become a whole lot more chaotic.
aang lazily fucking you while you're both laying on your sides, his face tucked into the crook of your neck so his pants are warm and damp against your sweat-slick skin. he's got two fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue to muffle sweet noises you're making due to how well his cock is hitting you deep ahd keeping you nice and full.
"shh," he hushes, his other hand splayed across your stomach and pushing down so you can feel the slight bulge of his cock in there, your eyes rolling back. "keep quiet, my love. wouldn't want everyone else to hear us."
as if the loud and noisy squelches of your sopping cunt being bullied by aang's thick cock hasn't already woken the rest of your friends up.
aang who had made it his life goal to carry you ever since you were kids. he failed to do so when he was twelve and was crushed because he'd always imagine himself carrying you away into the distance like a prince does to his princess.
so the obvious solution was to make himself stronger because he wasn't going to tell you to change yourself—you were forever perfect in his eyes.
skip to ten years later and you're coming back after a few years away in a different country. aang is meant to pick you up as you've kept in contact and he insisted that he had to be the first person to see you and vice versa.
so when you exit through arrivals, you expect to see a scrawny guy who's maybe grown a couple of inches. aang never really sent you pictures of himself and you always wondered why that was as he wasn't known for being shy. but then you're quickly approached by a very tall and broad man who scoops you up into his very strong arms, startlingly you greatly.
you immediately try to push this guy off because who on earth is this guy and how dare he think he can just grab you like this?
but then this guy pulls back, beams up at you because he's got you hefted up in his arms and those adorable grey eyes make your jaw drop.
"aang?!" you exclaim and aang nods excitedly, squeezing you tightly.
"welcome back!" he shouts happily but you're too busy taking aang in to really say anything because he's carrying you like you're a mere handful of pebbles. "i've missed you!"
"...missed you too," you say weakly, now peering up at him once he sets you down and wow, what happened to the scrawny, short guy you left behind?
℘ } ⫶ taking a student job as a live muse for nanami at the university's isolated art basement was meant to be a means to pay for textbooks. but, keeping your posture becomes a nightmare when caught between kento nanami's disclipline & satoru gojo's possessiveness. who's boundaries expire first ? ⋮ tags : mdni, f!reader, college au, “love triangle”, explicit smut ⫶ 4.7k wc , art creds
[ i. ] ───
the sculpting studio was tucked away in the basement of the arts department, far removed from the polished hallways upstairs. down here, the walls were concrete, pipes exposed, and everything smelled faintly of clay. it was a miserable place to spend a tuesday evening.
you sat on a rusted, three legged stool thats balancing dangerously on a wooden riser, one wrong stumble away from collapsing. according to the syllabus, the pose was meant to be an “expressive and dynamic posture.” in reality, it felt like a slow moving orthopedic emergency. your left shoulder had gone numb twenty minutes ago. something unpleasant was happening to your lower back. you'd given up trying to figure out exactly what.
“the line of the clavicle is the anchor point,” nanami said.
his voice cut through the dead silence of the basement studio. he didn’t look up from the massive, seventy-pound block of oil based clay resting on the heavy iron turntable between his knees.
nanami was a twenty four year old graduate assistant who approached art the way some people approached tax audits: with relentless focus and absolutely no sense of fun. while the department wore paint splattered overalls and left charcoal thumbprints, nanami somehow arrived in a neat, cream colored button down shirt with the sleeves folded back exactly twice, revealing thick, pale forearms that looked less like those of an artist and more like someone who spent his free time lifting concrete blocks.
“if you drop your chin by even half an inch,” nanami continued, his long, blunt fingers carving a precise groove into the shoulder of the clay, “the entire composition of the upper torso becomes unrenderable. keep focused on the fire extinguisher by the exit, please.”
“the fire extinguisher is losing its novelty, nanami,” you murmured. you kept your head perfectly straight at the faded red cylinder mounted against the damp brick wall. “i’ve been staring at it since seven o’clock. i’ve memorized the inspection tag. it expires in october.”
“then read the warning label.”
"already did"
"read it again."
“you’re a joy to work with.” you muttered sarcastically.
“i am here as required,” nanami said, resuming his work with a sharp scrape of the wire loop. “my personal inclination is entirely irrelevant to the composition of this piece.”
the studio fell back into its suffocating, metrical quiet. the only sound was the occasional hiss of the radiator in the corner and the heavy, wet thwack of nanami throwing excess clay back into the storage bin. the air between you felt dense, the stifling heat of the overhead modeling lamps that beat down on your bare neck like an artificial sun.
you watched his reflection in the dusty glass cabinet behind him. he was incredibly particular. every stroke of his thumb, every sweep of tools was calculated. he didn’t drift into an artistic trance. he checked proportions with glances that lasted no longer than two seconds.
but those two seconds were becoming difficult to ignore.
whenever nanami shifted from the clay to your face, it didn’t feel like an evaluation. it was too heavy. behind a pair of small, gold-rimmed, reading glasses that sat low on his nose bridge, he had a way of tracking the flutter in your throat with a silence that made your skin prickle under your thin cotton shirt.
“your breathing is inconsistent,” nanami noted, his insult breaking the silence so suddenly you nearly jumped. “your chest is rising too rapidly. it’s ruining the shadows along the sternum.”
“maybe i’m just tired,” you said, your teeth gritting as you maintained the pose. “some of us have mid-terms at eight tomorrow.”
“then you should have managed your schedule by taking the future into consideration,” nanami said, his tool carving a deep, shadow catching hollow beneath the clay’s collarbone. “exams are predictable. however, this studio reservation is a non-negotiable deadline for my portfolio.”
“good to know my physical torment is giving you a higher academic purpose,” you said.
nanami didn’t answer immediately. he set the tool down with a definitive clack that signaled the end of the first forty five minutes. he checked his stainless steel wristwatch, his face still stoic.
“five minute break,” he announced, turning his back to you as he walked toward the sink. “you may step down.”
the concrete floor felt ice cold against your socks as your feet met the floor, your joints popping and cracking in sounds too loud to call normal. you leaned your lower back against the platform, rubbing your hands against your thighs to encourage blood circulation back.
across the room, nanami was washing his hands. he did it with the same rigorous routine he applied to sculpting. scrubbing the grey clay from his nails with a brush, the water loud from the faucet. the sleeves of his cream shirt were damp near the cuffs, turning translucent against his skin.
“do you ever actually enjoy this?” you asked, leaning your head back. “or do you just look at a block of clay and see a checklist that needs to be done before graduation?”
nanami turned off the tap with a twist. he grabbed paper towels from the dispenser before turning to face you. without the easel between you, his height was much more evident. chest puffed, face flushed from the work.
“art is just labor,” nanami said, walking back toward the center of the room. he stopped three feet from your platform. “enjoyment is a luxury for undergraduates who think inspiration pays bills. labor is reliable. inspiration is not.”
“that sounds incredibly depressing,” you said, a small, tired smile twinging at the corners of your lips.
“it is practical,” nanami corrected. he glanced at your pose, then to the slouch of your hips against the platform. “your posture right now is horrible."
“then come fix it,” you said.
the moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.
the studio went entirely still.
nanami didn’t move. he stood perfectly upright, hands at his sides. the boundary he maintained so carefully seemed to flicker, just for a fraction of a second, replaced by something entirely different.
“that’s outside my responsibilities,” nanami said, speaking in a lower, rougher tone that didn’t sound like a graduate assistant at all. “the guidelines regarding model-instructor behavior are clear. physical contact is limited to adjustments of form, under professional watch.”
“the professor left two hours ago, nanami,” you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs as you stayed leaning against the platform, looking up at him. “there is no professional watch.”
nanami took a single step forward. his leather dress shoes and the edge of where you’re sitting coming next to each other.
“do not mistake my compliance with lack of awareness,” nanami murmured, glancing to your lips before lifting back to you. “i am fully aware of how thin your shirt is under these lamps.”
the smile slipped from your face. you suddenly weren't sure you wanted to keep teasing him, your fingers curling tightly behind you. nanami reached out. his hand was large, his fingers long and dusted with residue of clay. he didn’t touch your skin yet, but his palm hovered over your left shoulder, the heat radiating from his body warming your cold one.
“turn,” he commanded softly.
you turned your torso back toward the fire extinguisher, your movements slow. nanami’s fingers finally closed around the curve of your shoulder.
his grip was firm as he adjusted your posture, thumb sliding up the side of your neck to press firmly against the base of your skull, forcing your chin up into the exact angle he required. his fingers lingered on the back of your neck after your posture was fixed. his thumb gave a single, slow, and entirely unprofessional stroke against the sensitive skin just behind your ear, a gesture that made a shiver run down your spine.
“stay there,” nanami whispered, his breath warm against your temple as he leaned in close. “if you move again, i will be forced to extend the session past midnight. and neither of us wants to calculate the overtime rates for that.”
[ ii. ] ───
“he actually said that?” satoru gojo laughed, the sound loud and obnoxious, bouncing off the sixty foot glass ceiling of his penthouse. “nanami is losing his mind in that basement. im gonna have that printed on a t-shirt for his birthday.”
you sat buried in the cushions of his white leather sofa that probably cost more than your tuition. a heavy, crystal bottle of expensive sparkling water cooling your palm. outside the floor to ceiling windows, the city looked like a circuit of gold and neon, the campus nothing more than a dark square in the background.
“don’t mock him,” you said, though you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you as you took a sip of the water. “he’s the only reason i can afford to buy groceries this month. the art department pays better than the library.”
“the art department pays you pocket change,” gojo scoffed.
he was pacing along the edge of the glass floor, kicking his shoes off mid-walk. he had already abandoned his usual dark blazer, his white linen shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves shoved up to his elbows to reveal the muscle of his forearms decorated with bulging veins. his signature dark sunglasses were balanced on the tip of his nose, allowing those electric blue eyes to lock onto you with the corners crinkled.
“if you needed groceries, you should’ve just told me,” gojo said, stopping at the edge of the sofa and looking down at you. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek, matte-black amex card and tossing it casually onto the glass table, landing with a heavy clank. “there. go buy a supermarket. stop letting nanami use your collarbones for his experiments.”
“i can’t just take your card, toru.” you said. staring at the black plastic with a mixture of need and pride. “i have some pride left. i’m trying to be an independent adult.”
“pride is expensive,” gojo murmured, a dimpled grin breaking across his face. he leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of the sofa either side of your head, trapping you against the sofa. “and independence is boring. being spoiled by me is much better.”
“you’re ridiculous,” you said, leaning your head back against the cushion, looking up at him through your lashes. “you can’t just buy out my life because you’re bored.”
“watch me,” gojo whispered, leaning down to your face.
he didn’t wait for a response. he slid over the back of the sofa with a jump, settling himself right next to you dipping the leather with his weight. he hauled you sideways into his lap. your knees dragged over his legs, and his arms locked around your waist, pulling you hard against him.
“toru,” you gasped, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders. his sweater that you’re wearing, made of cashmere so soft it felt like a cloud. your hand slipped beneath his unbuttoned shirt, brushing against his bare skin.
“shh,” gojo whispered, burying his face into the side of your neck. his silver-white hair was incredibly soft as it brushed against your jawline, his breath hot and rapid against your skin. “no independent adult talk in the penthouse. i just spent three hours sitting in a donation board meeting just so i could get away and see you. you owe me at least two hours.”
“is that how donations work?” you teased, your fingers loosening, idly tangling into the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “you give them five million dollars and they let you kidnap a junior?”
“ten million,” gojo corrected into your skin, lips brushing against your pulse with a slow pressure that made your core tighten. “and i didn’t kidnap you. i sent you a private car with heated seats and pastries. that’s called luxury relocation.”
he pulled back slightly, his sunglasses sliding off his face, forgotten on the cushions beside him. without them, his irises were bright blue beneath pale lashes that looked at you with none of his usual jokes left in it.
his hands slid down from your waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your pants, his grip tightening until your hips were forced flat against his.
“nanami was right about one thing though,” gojo whispered, his teasing sending goosebumps across your arms. he reached up, his large hand cupping the side of your face, his thumb rubbing over your lower lip. “your collarbones look much better under my lights than his.”
“you’re so annoying,” you breathed.
he closed the distance before you could make another snarky comment, his mouth covering yours in a deep, passionate kiss that was completely different from nanami’s discipline. gojo kissed you like he owned you, the room, the building, and every breath in your lungs. his tongue sliding past your lips smoothly, leaving you breathless. your fingers clutching his collar holding him steady against you, equally holding you against him. the city lights blurring into an insignificant smear behind him.
[ iii. ] ───
“yes toru! f-fuck!” you moaned, moving up and down gojo’s dick. he’s leaned back against his massive headboard, hands locked behind his tilted head as he watches your tits bounce in his face with breathy moans. “yes baby, just like that. riding me so good” a gruff praise as he thrusts his hips up to meet you halfway. you arched over him as he hit deep, your fingernails digging into his stomach to keep your balance, trying not to lose balance. “come on, you can do it. keep going, fuck, don’t stop” his encouragement sending energy straight through you. your hips motioning from bounces and grinding, clit meeting the white fuzz at the base of his pelvis, tickling your nub just barely.
your thighs feeling the sharp burn of gravity, intertwined with the fullness of gojo inside you. every sharp friction a reminder of the weight inside you. his face askew, hands coming up to guide your hips as he feels you tire.
“don’t give up on me now. keep going baby” you place both hands on his abdomen, hoping for a little balance. you plant both feet either side of his hips and move all the way up, almost releasing his tip, and slam back down on his length completely. the heavy thwack has gojo bending his knees, trying to get ahold of you so he doesn’t fill you up right there. his deep, guttural moan as you continue to ride him like a mechanical bull. “oh f-fuck. i’m gonna cum” he breathes.
you keep at it in perfect motion. until, he wraps around your torso, digging his fingers in and turns you over back-first. “you’re gonna cum for me first.” he demands.
your hands gripping at sheets, nails leaving red lines down his back simultaneously. he has your thighs pried open for him, watching your puffy lips swallow his cock deliciously. he rubs idle circles on the back of your knees that are folded in half over your shoulders. every thrust yanked you back onto his dick, hammering you with his speed.
you try to slow him down as your vision becomes hazy, and he pins your hand next to your head at the measly attempt. “take it like the good girl you are” gojo whispers into you. his thrusts grow erratic by the second, both of you covered in all shapes of red and blue. the tight knot in your stomach growing as his pink tip meets your g-spot continuously. “toruuu-” you whined. hands moving sporadically from his muscled back to his snowy hair. “c’mon. cum for me. give it to me.” he groaned above, dick throbbing.
“yesyesyes toru- fuck!” you babble as white clouds your vision. the walls were spinning, and your heart with it. as you reach your high, gojo stills, releasing thick spurts up your walls. you both moan loudly at the clench, cream spilling out of your quivering hole.
sweaty bodies clinging to each other, a mix of drool, tears, slick, and cum. heavy panting as your breaths get shorter, harmonizing with the sounds of city night life visible through the reflection of you both in the windows.
[ iv. ] ───
by friday afternoon, the humidity in the art basement had reached an unbearable point. you stood in the center of the studio, looking at the clay bust nanami had spent the last four nights making. it was terrifyingly accurate.
the clay was cold to the touch, but nanami had captured the exact, slight asymmetry of your shoulders, sharp jawline, and the hollow base of your throat where his fingers lingered the night before. he was sitting at his workbench, cleaning his knives, the sharp scritch-scratch of the metal cringing your ears.
“the department requested the piece be moved to the gallery for exhibition,” nanami said, his voice flat. he didn’t look up from his knife. “the transport will be handled at four o’clock. your invoice has been submitted. you will receive your compensation via direct deposit in three days.”
“so that’s it?” you asked, leaning your hip against the edge of his workbench. “the semester’s over, the bust is done, and we go back to being graduate and student who isn’t supposed to move her shoulder?”
nanami stopped scrubbing. he set the palette knife down, his movements slow. he took off his glasses, folding them with a precise clink before placing them in his pocket. when he finally looked up at you, exhaustion lingered around his eyes.
“i am currently drafting my thesis,” nanami said quietly. he stood up, massive frame blotting out the light from the window behind him. “once that document is signed on monday morning, my contract as a graduate assistant is terminated. i will no longer be an employee of the university.”
you blinked, your breath catching as he stepped around the workbench, meeting you until he was inches from your face.
“nanami—”
“on monday at twelve o’clock,” he continued. “i am no longer bound by the guidelines of model-student interaction. it all becomes obsolete.”
he reached out, his hand closed around your wrist. he didn’t pull you closer, but he didn't let go either.
“if you are still interested in financial negotiations over something that doesn’t include cafeteria food,” he asked. “you can leave your phone number on this desk before four. if not, i will consider the matter done.”
before you could answer, the heavy wooden door of the studio swung open with a dramatic crash that rattled the jars on the shelves.
“nanami!” gojo announced, strolling into the room as if he were walking onto a runway, an oversized box from the city’s most expensive bakery carelessly balanced on his fingertips. “you look absolutely miserable! did the clay department run out of grey paint, or are you just realizing your thesis is thirty pages too long?”
nanami didn’t let go of your wrist after gojo entered. he slowly let his fingers slide down your arm, his thumb giving one last squeeze before he turned his head to glare at the intruder with a cold hatred.
“satoru.” nanami said not so pleased. “this is a studio. undergraduates are prohibited.”
“i’m not an undergraduate, i’m a donor,” gojo flaunted, tilting his head to look between the two of you from over his sunglasses, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. he walked over to the clay bust, tapping the likeness with a single finger. “wow nanami. you really captured her attitude. almost as stubborn as the real thing.”
gojo turned back to you, his smirk shifting into that familiar, handsome grin that always meant trouble. he slid his sunglasses down his nose, staring at you with possessive heat.
“the car is waiting outside,” gojo said, his tone casual, though his eyes delivering a different message. “the driver has the penthouse keys. i think we need to have a conversation about…” he fake thinks, “your schedule for next semester.” he so blatantly lies.
you looked between the two of them—nanami standing rigid and solid, holding a promise that was only three days away from being legal; and gojo, leaning against the doorframe with ten million dollars in his pocket and a look of complete dominance that suggested he would buy the entire arts complex before he let anyone else adjust your posture.
“i have an economics test to study for,” you said, voice shaking slightly as you backed towards the door.
“economics is a predictable variable,” nanami said, tracking your movement.
“and i’m a very expensive distraction,” gojo added, his grin widening as he straightened up.
the basement room felt tinier, more suffocating. the tension of two men who had absolutely no intention of letting you go.
[ v. ] ───
“you’re quiet tonight,” gojo said.
he was standing by the long island in the kitchen, a glass of amber sitting untouched on the counter. the playful, theatrical tone he used to terrorize nanami was gone. his hair fell in loose, silver strands over his forehead, catching the shadows of his sharp brows.
“i’m trying to figure out if you actually enjoy making my life impossible,” you said, leaning against the glass window. it was cold against your temple, opposite to the lingering burn on your wrist where nanami’s fingers had clamped down earlier.
gojo picked up his glass, the ice clinking as he walked toward you. he didn’t stop until his body was brushing the fabric of your hoodie, his shadow falling over you.
“i don’t make things impossible,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to track the unevenness in your chest. he reached out, his warm fingers catching your chin and tilting your face up until you had no choice but to look straight at him. “i make things exclusive. there’s a difference.”
“nanami is my instructor, satoru,” you whispered, your hands flattening against his abdomen to keep some range. “he’s grading my final portfolio.”
“not after monday,” gojo replied, his thumb putting pressed lightly against your lower lip, mirroring the spot that he had claimed last night. “i read his contract before i walked down those stairs, he’s just another guy trying to negotiate for your time.”
his grip tightened just enough to anchor you.
“and i don’t share,” gojo whispered against your mouth. “not with graduate assistants. not with anyone.” you trail back onto the city skyline. he turns your head again with a sharp twinge of his wrist, “and it’s toru to you.” he scoffs.
[ vi. ] ───
monday morning, the courtyard outside the office was packed with students rushing between lectures. the sun was baking the concrete, thick aroma of cut grass and diesel exhaust. you stood under the shadow of the archway, your fingers turning white around the strap of your backpack. the clock on the old library tower chimed once. twelve o’clock.
the doors of the building clicked open, and nanami stepped out into the bright afternoon light. he wasn’t wearing his studio clothes. he was dressed in a perfectly tailored, charcoal three piece suit. he came down the stairs with his usual steady steps. he carried a single leather briefcase. he didn’t look left or right until his feet met the common walkway. then, he spotted you immediately.
nanami didn’t hesitate. his long strides cut through the crowd until he stopped in front of you.
“the dean signed off at eleven thirty,” nanami said. he spoke free of the formal detachment he used all semester. “my final paperwork is processed. as of five minutes ago, i don’t work here anymore.”
he set his briefcase down on the ledge beside you, unbuttoning the center button of his suit jacket as he takes a slow, deep breath. “you didn’t leave your number on the desk,” he noted, searching your face for an answer.
“satoru was right there, nanami,” you replied, your back pressing against the stone. “he isn’t exactly discreet.”
“satoru gojo isn’t my concern,” nanami said. he reached out, hand wrapping around your forearm—not with the guidance of an instructor, but with the certainty of a man who waited weeks to touch you without a classroom rule stopping him. “he can buy whatever he wants on this campus. doesn’t change the fact i’m done waiting.”
“i made a reservation at a quiet bistro outside the city,” his face inches from yours. “my afternoon is completely open. the choice is yours.”
before you could answer, you’re interrupted. again. a long, sleek black sports car pulled up to the curb, its engine letting out a roar that drew the attention of every student in a fifty mile radius. the tinted passenger seat window rolled down, revealing satoru gojo leaning across the interior.
“nanami!” gojo called out. “congratulations on finally quitting! now stop bothering my favorite model, we have an appointment at the high rise, and she hates being late.”
nanami didn’t let go of your arm. he slowly turned his head, dark eyes narrowing through his glasses as he looked down at the sports car, his grip tightening to keep you at his side. gojo’s car was still there, but the space between you and the passenger felt too much.
nanami didn’t look back at the car a second time. his focus returned to you making gojo’s shouting sound like background static. “my car is parked on the lower deck,” nanami said, “we can take the back stairs. if you want to leave, we leave now.”
you looked at the black titanium card still tucked into the pocket of your backpack, then up at nanami’s pleading glance. the weight of gojo’s luxury was exhausting; it was a constant, blinding glare that demanded you adapt to his schedule, his penthouse, his terms. but here nanami was, standing in a suit, offering something grounded.
“the lower deck. let’s go.”
with a triumphant smile, nanami nodded. his hand coming down from your forearm to catch your fingers, leading you back through the doors. behind you, the aggressive honk of gojo’s horn echoed, but the door slammed shut, cutting out the sound entirely.
nanami’s car was as expected: a spotless, dark grey sedan with polished seats. he opened the passenger door for you, a common courtesy yet rare to find, waiting until you were completely settled before closing it.
“the restaurant is a few miles outside the city,” nanami said as the campus skyline shrank in the rearview mirror. “it’s an older place. it doesn’t attract the student crowd, so we won’t be interrupted.”
“you really thought this through,” you said, leaning your head back against the headrest, the tension relaxing. “i don’t like wasting time,” nanami replied, “and i had no intention of letting satoru turn this afternoon into a show.”
“he was just being satoru,” you murmured.
“satoru thinks everything he looks at belongs to him,” his tone turning colder. he turned the car down a narrow road where trees blocked out light, casting leaf-patterned shadows. “he doesn’t understand that you can’t just buy someone’s attention because you feel like it.”
he pulled the car into a gravel parking lot behind a building. the engine cut out, leaving the inside suddenly silent. nanami didn’t get out immediately. he took off his glasses, before turning his torso towards you.
“they gave my sculpture a perfect score before i left,” he said. “but he asked me why the line work along the shoulder felt so different from my usual style. unusually passionate.”
you were taken aback. the unemotional, robotic instructor described as passionate? it was a little unbelievable. “what did you say?”
“i told him i had a model who was difficult to ignore.”
he reached across, his hand didn’t wait this time, fingers slid into your nape, tilting your head up until you were looking at him. “there are no classes left,” nanami whispered, “i’m not your instructor anymore. i’m just a man who spent the last month watching you under the light, waiting until i was allowed to do this.”
his lips met yours in a deep, slow, careful kiss. his fingers tangled deeper into your hair, holding you as his other hand came up against your ribs, tracing your skin through the fabric. when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“let’s go inside before we lose our table,” nanami breathed against your lips, undeniably wanting more but also needing to be deserving of you. he wants to do it the right way, without the private drivers or the multi-million dollar quotas.
i lowkey have no idea what sculpting actually requires so i apologize if some of this is inaccurate… i tried
authors note : first time writing smut in literary forever, ntm on me ok.. still learning 🙇🏽♀️ advice is appreciated! NOT proofread + mdni
Your husband, the all oh mighty, Husband!Aang is an eater, for lack of better wording.
You were simply talking to suki, about an upcoming adventure you and the gaang have coming up. What you hadn't realized yet, was the wandering aang behind the corner of the southern air temple's pillars.
Even though you hadn't, Suki did. “Is that aang behind you?” she questioned, which made your head turn around to see him staring at the two of you, before ducking fully behind the pillar.
Jaw clenching with irritation, as you walked towards the pillar, aang looked towards you with a sympathetic look.
“I'm sorry.. I-i just missed you! Okay? And you guys were talking for too long.” he stammered, hands reaching towards yours in a soft hold. “Aang.. I left for 2 seconds.” you spoke sternly, not falling for his sadness, which made him frown.
His hands tighten around yours slightly, not enough to hurt just firm. Aang started to pull you away from the pillar, and from the confused suki a few feet away.
“Sorry suki! I'll tell you later!” whisper yelling as to not bother the monks, who were minding their business, meditating. Though Aang didn't care much, he was the avatar god sakes, who cares if he needs his wife now.
He opened the door of some random meeting room, it was usually for important things of course but, you're important to him.. So he wasn't exactly using the room wrong. The door closed quietly behind him, the lock sound echoing in your ears.
About to speak back, maybe yell at aang about how inappropriate that was, before your hips were grabbed by aang, placing your onto the cold stone table.
“Aang!” you whispered, pushing his shoulders away slightly, needing a moment to stop the thoughts running in your head. He whined as he leaned down into your soft, and plum neck, placing needy kisses along your collarbone.
His kisses led up onto your jaw, sliding up onto your ear. “Pleaseplease..let me, I'll be quick, I promise.” You knew damn well that the whole promise was a lie, aang couldn't help but be slow with you, always making sure your pleasure was his top priority.
Though you couldn't resist your poor husband, especially when his hands would glide under your robes, pressing onto the soft part of your inner thighs. “Mmhm okay.. Just be quick this time, please?” you begged, even though you knew he wouldn't.
It's the thought that counts. He nodded eagerly, both his hands spread the robes that had his colors apart, the orange, blue and white always looking gorgeous on you. The colors of your robes also claimed you as his without him needing to try to.
Aang didn't hesitate to get down onto his knees, looking up at you as he spread your legs apart even more, his fingers hooked onto the lace of your garments to the side. His eyes fully on the already slick cunt in front of him, looking between your thighs like you were food before getting devoured.
Hands reached toward the lower part of your stomach, pressing softly enough to not hurt, but firmly enough that you felt his strength, fingers were so close to your cunt but aang as the boy he is, wouldn't touch just yet.
“Aang.. please, dont tease..” You hummed, fingers gently grabbing onto his head, trying to push his mouth closer to you, desperately rolling your hips towards his face. “I know baby, I know, I'm sorry, my girl is just so pretty.” He cooed, smiling up at your whiny form.
“Sorry my ass.” you murmured, rolling your eyes as you turned your gaze away from his, did aang really think you wouldn't notice the way his ears perked up when he'd tease you? How his marks would glow just slightly but enough to notice.
Or perhaps even, the way his cock would subtly throb behind his robes, or when he'd grow harder inside you?? Tsk tsk.. Aang could tell the teasing was getting to you, the way tears were already forming at the corners of your eyes.
Soo.. like the good boy he was, he dove into you with his tongue like no other. You looked down, trying to hold back the tears of pleasure.
“Fuckf-fuck.. Mhmmhm, aang..! S-so good!-” you moaned out, back hitting the back of the desk, as your thighs wrapped around his head even tighter.
But he continued on like you knew he would, his face pressed closer, tongue lapping up at your folds like he couldn't get enough, on top of that his fingers were teasing the bud of your cunt, clearly overestimating you a little bit.
“Am i a good boy.. Pleaseplease tell me I'm your good boy.” he spoke whiningly, wanting your praises, his whiny voice vibrating from your legs alll the way up to your chest.
Trying to speak back was not really possible right now, trust you wanted to praise him and his tongue so badly, but all that came out were gasps of air, practically mute for the moment since he just wouldn't let up.
A few moments passed with silence, well not really, besides your gasps for air, on top of your moans and the slurping sounds aang was making every few seconds, it was quiet.
He was probably confused why you were quiet, not realizing how good he was pleasing you right now, he finally let up for a single moment to look up at you, thighs still wrapped around his head tightly.
“Y-yesyes-nfghh- please.. Y-your my good boy, so good for me.. Yeah?” you coaxed, which made him satisfied enough, to which he continued to eat you out passionately. “Fuckfuck s-so close! Mmngh aang..please just l-likee.. That mmhm” you breathed out.
Letting one of your hands slide down your stomach towards his head, pulling him in closer as your orgasm was sooo close.
Thighs wrapping around him even tighter now, you were scared he couldn't breathe but the way his marks started to glow, as he eagerly continued lapping at your slick cunt told you otherwise.
He clearly was right where he wanted to be, if he really wanted to he could push your thighs away with ease, but instead as the good husband he is, he lets you do as you please to him even if he couldn't or could breathe.
After a few moments of your moans and whimpers begging him to keep going.
You grabbed onto his head, as hard as possible, while you came, screaming out his name. You were like 100% sure everyone in the palace heard your screams.
Though he didn't stop, instead he continued bobbing his head up and down, side to side, while both his free hands grabbed onto your hips for support.
“A-aang please.. Sensitive still! pleaseplease! “ You begged and pleaded, not using the safe word but still asking, at this point you're not even sure if he heard you, from how hard your thighs were wrapped around his head, covering his ears.
Trying to push his head away from you, or even push his hands, that were gripping a bit tightly now on you away. He finally let up, not sure if you were actually hurt, or just.. He doesn't know, a part of the foreplay or something? He's just a babeh/ref
“Sorry! I'm sorry, sosorry..” He reassured you, pulling away and back up, wiping his mouth before pulling you into a kiss. “I'm sorry, I love you.. Are you hurt? D-do you wanna stop? We can- i dont mind really, i–”
He stammered on and on, innocently— or well, I guess as innocent as he could, with your cum and his saliva mixed with sweat running down his neck towards his chest.
“I'm okay.. Promise, I dont wanna stop, yeah?” You hummed softly, pressing a kiss to his neck while your hand reached towards his painfully, throbbing cock, you tried to not make it obvious, but who cares really, though he did jump a bit, not expecting your hands there.
“Let me help you.. Hm?” voice cooing into his ear, hands squeezing his cock firmly.
“Mhm mhm! Please..” he whiningly spoke, eagerly nodding up and down, trying to mask the moan he had to bite back.
you'd both known what this arrangement was from the beginning—a mutually beneficial relationship strictly for sex (and well-cultivated cannabis).
satoru doesn't do commitment, and you never cared for more than a good, no strings attached fuck occasionally with how your schedule is set up. your dealer (who could maybe classed as a friend if you squinted) offered that and good weed? how could you possibly say no!
the scent of smoke hangs in the air, thick and cloying, joint burning steadily. a singular gram seemed like more than enough to pass between you two, and satoru's always so inclined to share with you free of charge these days. the filter end is held in an easy grip between his thumb and index, free hand warming your naked hip.
this hadn't been your plan for tonight, really. unwinding by smoking with the man had been, yes... just not half-naked with your shirt shoved above your bra-clad tits, practically cockwarming him. you'd only come over here to leech off of him—for free weed from a familiar face.
his gaze locks on yours, cherry glowing red in the dim light as he takes a long drag, exhaling a white, wispy cloud out of the direct path of your face. then he's taking yet another one, free hand sliding up from your hip to hold your face in an easy grip, fingers pressing in to squish your cheeks, head tilting toward yours. the smoke he exhales this time travels in a slow, deliberate stream. it's warm and earthy as it rolls along your tongue, clinging to your taste buds, settling at the back of your throat. you lips press together, holding it for a few seconds just to feel that slight burn in your lungs, body already beginning to hum as the high settles even deeper. "mm.." you exhale with a low sigh, smoke a cloudy puff that obscures his face momentarily.
"good?" he questions, thumb tracing the gentle slope of your cupid's bow, smoothing over the dip before his hand falls away again. the loss has you squirming just a little, trying to get some sort of attention in your hazy state—which he quickly puts an end to, hand heavy and solid as it closes against the curve of your hip.
"nuh uh," he hums, barely biting back a smug grin, not even giving you a second glance. "you’re good where you are. don’t be greedy."
"huh?" you stare him down, a little dumbfounded. he's the picture of perfect nonchalance, thumb drawing shapes on your flesh, taking yet another hit—all languid like he's not literally buried inches deep inside of you. "but 'm not good where I am," you argue, voice carrying that slightly breathless cadence, the one it always gets when you're all wound up.
"really? I think you are." lidded eyes fix on yours, teeth flashing in a small smile. he doesn't make any move to give you what you so clearly want, just shifts his wrist to turn the joint so the burning end is facing him, other end to you. common sense tells you it's to take a hit, so your lips part, closing around the tip when he places it close enough.
"atta girl," he murmurs, pulling back when you inhale sufficiently, mouth close enough that you can return the favor from earlier. he steals the secondhand breath of smoke like he's owed something, pecking your lips after like it's the most casual thing to do between... well, whatever you two would be classed as at this point.
"are you really not letting me move?"
"you're catching on quickly." his head falls onto the backing of the couch, lengthy digits flexing on your hip when you shift again. "I said to stop doing that."
"why not?" you ask, trying to sound casual, but it damn near sounds like you're whining, voice thin and reedy with your building need. "why are you torturing me? aren't we friends?"
"of course we are, pretty." his thumb circles your hip bone, gaze on you not one you analyze too closely. "but you can't move because.." he says it slowly, like he's making sure there's no room for you to misunderstand. like high-you only has a few working brain cells. "..you came here to smoke."
...that's it? he's so stuck on the fact that you came here to smoke with him that he disregards you half-naked in his lap and making a mess on his cock? "…okay? so what?"
"so what?" he gasps like you'd said something scandalous, pulling back to fix you with an incredulous look. "weren't you the one on the phone saying 'i'm not coming over to fuck this time, satoru'? you were."
his imitation of you is all high and pitchy, near insultingly inaccurate. your narrowed eyes are a clear glimpse into your building annoyance.
"so we're not doing that. we're smoking because that's what you came here for. so," both hands keep you firmly planted, hips shifting ever so slightly, "do your part and stay still."
"what the hell was the point in letting me sit on it then?" you bite, squirming again, trying to angle his blushing tip somewhere sensitive—but he stops you cold with a single, stinging slap to your ass that only serves to sink you deeper into your building arousal.
satoru pretends to think for a moment, softly 'hmm'-ing under his breath in his contemplation. "for fun?" he says simply, large hand gently massaging your stinging flesh, squeezing it in his palm. "what’s the issue?"
"well, since you’re asking—"
"you didn’t say you wanted to fuck. you said you needed to 'chill.'" his tone dips lower in a way that makes your stomach turn over, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "doesn't this seem chill enough?"
"you're really, really fucking insufferable, you know that?" you huff, fingers digging into the top of his shoulders and biting into flesh, wriggling a little in his hold. just enough to finally drag his bulbous head against that spot where he's settled far too deep, mouth slackening. "mmf—fuck you, seriously."
"oh, i'm sure you'd like that." he tuts at your clear, too-obvious attempt at fucking yourself on his cock yet again, hand sliding up to your waist since holding you elsewhere doesn't seem to be working out too well. not that he's trying too hard at this point. "maybe next time."
you wish you could just grab him by that pretty, slender neck and wring it for playing with you like this. he's the one that’d kissed you when you’d gotten here, all nasty with his tongue in your mouth, hands on your ass. he's the one that'd gotten you mostly out of your damn clothes and perched on his cock—but, what? now he's oh-so set on respecting your 'no sex this time' comment?
your head drops down into the crook of his neck instead, long suffering groan warming his skin. "you're the worst person on earth and I seriously hate you."
oh, how he loves when you pretend you can't stand him.
"mm, I'm sure you do, baby." a hand drags up your spine, warm and lazy, like a reward for actually keeping still. the worst part about getting this close is that it’s easier for his scent to start filling your nose, clinging to your senses like it’s trying to brand itself there. smoke and soap, that heady cologne forgone today—but he still smells so good. "maybe make your intentions clear and you'll get what you want next time."
"this was not my intention."
"oh?" and just to be an ass, just to fuck with you, the hands on your waist ease you up, letting gravity do all the work as you fall right back down into his lap, fat of your ass smacking against his thighs. it punches a strained sound right out of your throat, hands grabbing at him, core throbbing around where you’re connected. it's somehow worse with how long you'd been sat with zero friction, every inch hitting somewhere deeper.
his mouth eases closer to your ear, lips brushing against the soft slope. "well, that's too bad then, isn't it?"
an arm bands around your lower back to inch you forward, tits crushed against his chest as you press into him, arms finding themselves draped across his shoulders. all the shifting isn't doing you any favors, but at least with his hand not keeping you down, you can move your hips in the tiniest bounces, tip pressing into that one spot he’s usually loves targeting.
"mm, satoru.." you moan into his neck, hands grabbing at the back of the back of the couch for more leverage, hips starting to rise higher and fall faster. "just—ugh, please? just fuck me already."
"you’re so easy to mess with," he snorts, bringing the joint back to his mouth and between his lips again. it's hard to pretend to be unaffected when you're quite literally bouncing in his lap unrestrained, just begging him to give you something to feel better. to just fuck you already.
so he obliges, of course, free hand moving to your ass to lift you just high enough. enough to unseat himself, precum slick head just barely nudging your folds. your hands grip at his shoulders like you don't trust yourself—or his single hand—to keep you balanced, head pulling out of his neck to look down at him. "'mm, what are you d—"
then he brings you right back down with a solid motion till your thighs press to his, burying himself in one firm stroke. once, twice, a third time—back-to-back lifting and dropping you, letting just his tip press against your fluttering entrance before he's sinking back home, refamiliarizing himself with the rhythm of fucking you.
"oh..oh fuck—oh fuck, keep doing that." your breathing gets shakier with every pass, every slow stroke in and out of your soaked cunt. satoru's watching you now, eyes flicking down to where you're taking him, watching your body try to keep him tightly in place every time he pulls even an inch out.
it’s a sudden change in pace from not moving, feet suddenly planted, hips driving up into you at a pace that forces the air right out your lungs. satoru snubs the burning end of the blunt out and abandons it, both hands a firm weight on the curve of your ass. spreading, gripping to bounce you on the length of his cock. obscene wet sounds fill the room, slick mixture built up between you two smearing down his shaft with every withdrawal and hilting.
your nails claw at his shoulders for purchase, head lifting out of his neck to pant against his cheek, mouth moving further east till he’s crushing his against yours again. he swallows every sound you make and fucks up into you harder. his kiss is all tongue and teeth, your hands scratching his undercut, sliding into pale locks—his guiding your movements with more urgency than before. you hadn't been the only one affected, clearly. the taste of him is all sweet and smokey on your tongue, practically chasing his mouth as he pulls back, lips kiss-swollen. "ah-haah, satoru...feels so good."
one hand slides up your back to undo your bra clasp in a single practiced motion. the straps go slack, hand instantly finding one of your freed breasts—squeezing, tugging at your stiff bud. your body jolts from the impact of him driving into you, tit bouncing in his palm.
"always so soft and pliant when you're high," he coos, gaze lifting just to see your expression crumple when he fucks you full again, relishing in all the whines and cries pouring out of you.
"what happened to not fucking, hm?"
author's note :: 𑣲⋆ edited repost from previous account ˙ᵕ˙ likes and reblogs appreciated, thanks for reading!
