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Today's Document
shark vs the universe
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Origami Around
will byers stan first human second
Misplaced Lens Cap
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Andulka
Noah Kahan
occasionally subtle
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
KIROKAZE
tumblr dot com
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Janaina Medeiros
Cosimo Galluzzi
Game of Thrones Daily
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
seen from United States
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seen from Colombia
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seen from United States
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seen from Canada
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seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
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seen from United States
@no1riah
ꫝbout me; ꫂ᭪݁iaᏂ, ໑teen
love narusasu , bi, blk, will not write for; scat, piss, anything featuring r@pe in a way that glorifies or romanticizes it.
narusasu, and toji fanatic .ᐟ , requests open, i try to write at-least every day.
love cheesecake and attack on titan, and grey’s anatomy
i would love to be moots! but we have to interact.
ℓo͟v͟ꫀ ყoυ .ᐟ
more about me
dni/ rules
masterlist
JJK masterlist
more 2 come !
Higuruma Hiromi
Your trash, my treasure!
ch2
Toji Fushiguro
In sickness and in unemployment
Satoru Gojo
Camping, glamping
gray decorative dividers
credit not needed. recoloring welcomed. feel free to edit as you need! original colors here!
random pink dividers
PINK AND GREEN DIVIDERS || Request
✰ USAGE RULES .ᐟ Please credit @angeliicide in the post you use my work! You may also credit me in your pinned or somewhere else visible on your blog. Please do not reupload or alter my dividers.
Likes/reblogs are also appreciated .ᐟ
𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 / 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 — >> please tag @whor3ing in your posts, if you end up using !!
just some desserts & supplies I made for my own theme !! consider liking/reblogging ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ !! — 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 : 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 !
♡ pink divider collection pt. 2 ♡
made by me, @petalpxl
these are free to use with credit!
𝒮atoru begging for a little cockwarming, claiming it’s the only thing that'll help him drift off to sleep…
1.2k words, quick read 𝑓𝑡. byf!toru ( +18 )
Satoru tossed and turned for the fifteenth time in ten minutes. The mattress groaned under him, and honestly, so did you.
"If you don't anchor your ass down in the next two seconds, I’m sleeping on the couch," you muttered into your pillow, your voice thick with sleep and irritated as hell. Your acrylics clicked against your phone screen as you checked the time. 3:42 AM. Fantastic.
Satoru flopped onto his back, sighing like he’d just run a marathon instead of just lying in a climate-controlled room. He rolled over, propping his chin on your shoulder, his hair poking you right in the cheek.
"I can't sleep, babe. It’s a medical emergency at this point," he whined, his voice doing that annoying, high-pitched drag he used whenever he wanted something. "My brain is literally frying. You gotta help me out."
"Go count sheep or something, Satoru. Or better yet, go do some push-ups in the living room till you pass out." You shoved his face away, but he just slid right back, wrapping a heavy arm around your waist and pulling you against him.
"Sheep are boring. Plus, I have a way better solution," he said, a slow, cocky grin spreading across his face even in the dark. He gave your hip a suggestive nudge, flipping effortlessly onto his back and dragging you right along with him until you were sprawled over his chest. "Come on. Just a quick cockwarm. Just climb up and park it so I can drift off. You don't even have to do any work. Just lay on me and look pretty."
You let out a long, exhausted groan, staring down at his stupidly handsome face. "Are you for real right now? It is almost four in the morning and you’re tryna use me like a heated blanket?"
"I mean, you are warm," he teased, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, guiding you up his torso. "And you love me. And I’ll literally buy you those shoes you were barking at on Instagram earlier. The ugly ones with the spikes."
"They are not ugly, they're archive fashion, you uncultured brain," you snapped, though your defense lacked any real venom because, honestly, the shoes were expensive. You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Fine. Whatever. But if you start doing too much and wake me up completely, I’m biting you."
"Deal. You’re the best, seriously, a literal angel," Satoru cheered, already shifting beneath you and tugging his sweatpants down with zero shame.
He didn't waste any time. His hands stayed firmly on your hips, helping you lift yourself just enough to line things up before his fingers hooked into the fabric of your panties, pushing the lace firmly to the side so he could slide smoothly inside you. The sudden fullness made you catch your breath for a second, your hands coming down to rest on his broad chest for balance. You slumped forward, letting your forehead rest right against his shoulder.
"Uuugh, fuck," Satoru muttered, his arms immediately wrapping around your back, locking you against him. He let out a long, shaky breath, all that restless energy he’d been carrying for the last hour suddenly evaporating the second you completely enclosed him. He didn't move, didn't try to lift his hips, he just stayed perfectly still, letting out a deep, contented sigh that vibrated right through your chest. "See? Perfect. I'm already curing my insomnia."
"Mmm.. wrap it up," you mumbled, adjusting your legs so you were comfortably straddling his thighs, completely deadweight on top of him. Your nails lightly scratched at the skin of his chest, mostly just out of habit to keep him settled. "If you start twitching or doing that weird leg-shake thing you do when you dream, I’m getting off."
"I don't twitch," he mumbled, his voice already dropping an octave, thick with growing drowsiness. He tightened his hold around your waist, burying his face in your hair, his breathing already starting to slow down. One of his hands moved in a lazy, comforting circle on your lower back. "You're soft."
"I know that," you replied, closing your eyes and finally feeling the pull of sleep yourself now that he was anchored and quiet. "Don't forget the shoes."
"Mmm. Spiky shoes. Got it," he slurred.
Within five minutes, his breathing completely evened out, turning into heavy, rhythmic thuds beneath you. He was completely dead to the world, holding you secure against him while he snored softly into your neck. You gave a small, half-annoyed huff, melting completely into his chest, and finally fell asleep with his cock buried inside you.
᭡ kali’s notes ⸻ I’ve been thinking about writing about cockwarming for a while now… I’m just experimenting tbh guys, but yeah hope y’all enjoyed it ?? mwahh !
© kɑlirɑees 2026. ɑll works belong to me. do not trɑnslɑte, edit, repost, copy, or feed into generɑtive ɑi.
ch1, ch2, ch3
Your trash,
Divorce lawyer Higuruma X reader
Synopsis.
You are in a loveless marriage with your husband of six years. Until he breaks the one rule you both religiously followed. No mistresses allowed. On any side. Surprisingly you don’t run straight to divorce, instead into arms of an overworked divorce lawyer.
Monday’s groceries, Tuesday is meal prep, Wednesday is family dinner— always with his family, Thursday is almost always a publicity outing, and Friday? Friday’s laundry day.
These are things you would’ve never payed attention to prior to getting married, yet here you were marking them on your calendar, folding a grown man’s clothes. Shit that you wouldn’t be caught dead with years ago.
It’s Thursday again, which means suffocating confrontations disguised as conversations.
You smile at yourself in the mirror, you’re in a black, halter dress, a little bit cinched on the waist to show your figure, but still modest enough.
Behind you, your husband fixes his cuff links, lazy fuck keeps glancing up at you from the mirror, waiting for you to notice him struggling and lend a hand.
Instead, you keep looking your reflection, trying on different earrings to see which one fit. Then, you settle on a pair of gold earrings, humming as you put them on.
Behind you, his gaze lingers, heavy and unmoving, its that look he gives you when he’s about to say some bullshit.
Like now, “Don’t you think this is a little much for a family dinner?” He says, eyes roaming over your hips. “Mom might not like it.”
You roll your eyes inwardly at the mention of the witch his mom.
Maybe the better adjective for her would be bitch. A nasty, snarky, hook nosed bitch, who couldn’t stop babying her thirty-something year old son.
You would think it was a TSA screening the way she would feel the need to squint her beady little eyes at you, searching for things about to pick at.
She said since your nails were always done, it must mean you never cooked for her son, even though he had more than enough money to afford a cook. She said you dress too scandalous, like you were supposed to put on a potato sack simply because you were married.
And the worst part? You took these critiques to heart. Gone were the days of you taking care of yourself and dressing for you, all because you were married.
Your fists clenched at your side. Those days of you dimming your shine for some man and his family were over.
Now you knew how to deal with people like this. Never give them anything to work with.
“Nope.” You replied cooly, popping the p as you grabbed a clutch off your extensive collection.
Bypassing him on your way out the walk-in closet, your heels clicking and clacking on the marbled floor.
“Where are you going?!” He called out, staring at you in disbelief.
“To the car, You can drive the other one and meet me there.” And with that, you were out, adjusting your shades as well.
———————————————————
Silence hung, heavy in the room. Your fork scrapes against the porcelain dish, and suddenly the previously downcast eyes have all shot to you.
You continue eating calmly, ignoring the pointed look your husband shoots you.
“Y/n,” he mumbles, a hand drifting off to squeeze your leg, pretending to be discreet, but his eyes stayed on his mother. “Please eat a little more quietly.”
You shake his leg off you, leaning over to scoop yourself some more pasta, completely disregarding everyone’s stares of horror.
Your eyes drift over to your mother in law, who sits at the end of the table. Still no reaction. Not even a look.
Not until you pick up a forkful of pasta to your lips, slurping unashamed, sauce getting all over your lips.
Bam! She slams her cup down on the table, red wine spilling everywhere, staining the napkins before her a deep crimson.
You look up at the sound, looking innocent as can be, “Is something wrong mom?”
At once, anger lashes out at you, “Don’t call me mom!”
Besides you, your husband immediately begins placating her, “Mo—
“No!” She says firmly, raising a hand up to stop him. Her eyes narrow back at you. “What an embarrassment it is to have you as a daughter-in law, you have no manners—
“Mom, calm—
“Stop interrupting me Jonas! She has no manners, no decorum, she is not fit to be your wife, or bear our family name!” She snaps, her voice trembling with a raw, uncontrollable anger.
It all enters in one ear and out, you were still keeping your composure.
“Y/n. Pour mom some more wine.” Jonas, your husband says next to you, still sucking up to his mother like a little coward.
You nod, picking up the bottle of wine— probably more expensive than any of your purses, and stand up, walking over to her.
As you walk close, her eyes stay fixed forward, hand holding her wine glass out for you to pour in.
Like you were some type of maid, she could order around with no care in the world.
All it takes is one tilt of the bottle, and a cute little, oops! from your glossed lips, and crimson red flows from the bottle down the base of her head.
Your father in law— who had been radio silent the entire time stands up, furiously, his face redder than the wine.
Even your husband gets up, slamming the table, steam practically oozing out his ears.
Once the bottle is empty, you calmly set it down, grabbing your clutch and walking out the restaurant, listening to their enraged voices fade out with every step you took.
When you get back into your car, you can’t help but burst out laughing, grabbing yourself the outfit you had in the back and slipping it off, before you drove off.
———————————————————The buzz of the club is almost deafening around you. To others, it’s a turn off, it’s a reason for them to go to a bar instead, but to you, it’s everything you could ever want.
you walked in, pulling down on your tiny little sequenced skirt. You paired it up with a black, backless draped halter top, which showed more skin than it covered.
It had been so long since you walked inside a club, been so long since you set free and danced to your heart’s content.
That reputation clause had been more of a leash on you, hindering you from doing anything that you enjoyed.
No bars, no clubs, no drinking, moderate dressing, fuck he might as well’ve killed your social life.
Except he did. While you weren’t barred from speaking with your friends, you were barred from doing anything with them that you normally did.
Those bars and clubs, the drinks? All of it was done with them. So when you married your husband, it all got forcefully shoved off the table.
You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts.
Tonight was about you. About your fun, snd reclaiming your everything back.
Speaking of your friends, one of them, Tierra, pulls you into a tight embrace, early bawling her eyes out.
“Ohh, baby I missed you so much!” She whined, half dramatic, half serious.
It had been years since you guys got to hang out like this, not just for a shopping day, or a spa day with them, but dancing, just like the old days.
Another one of your friends, Laura, joins in—both the hug and the sentiment. “I can’t even be mad at you,” She sniffles, giggling.
One by one, everyone in the friend group joins in, turning the hug into a giant group hug.
You felt your eyes mist up, the warmth of your friends were so much more comforting than seeing their faces over FaceTime or simply texting them.
After a few minutes, all five of you girls separate, still wiping your eyes.
“But what happened to your husband? Wouldn’t he be mad you’re here?”
It dawns on you then that you still haven’t informed them about the whole cheating situation. It’s a far cry from the lack of fulter you had with them years ago. If you’re period was even a day late, if your doordash didn’t arrive on time, or maybe you picked your nose too hard, you would be so quick to tell them.
Rolling your eyes, you said, “That loser? Please. He cheated.”
A gasp escaped one of their mouths, then another, a range of disbelief and anger.
“ Cheated?”
“How could anyone cheat on you?”
Finally, Tierra asks the question that had been on everyone’s minds. “So what are you gonna do?”
You sip on the margarita in your hand, swirling the cup around. “Nothing.”
It’s funny how when you said nothing, your friends immediately knew what it meant.
You were going to do the absolute most.
ch1 here
i was rewatching attack on titan while doing this and the slurping pasta scene reminded me of Sasha stuffing her face. anyways Higuruma will be introduced in the next chapter 😏
———————————————————
Comment to be added to the taglist!
Current taglist:
@alebrasil0101 @mahirusgf @motleyroses87
Divider credit: @pxrce-lain
ch1, ch2, ch3
Your trash,
Divorce lawyer Higuruma X reader
Synopsis.
You are in a loveless marriage with your husband of six years. Until he breaks the one rule you both religiously followed. No mistresses allowed. On any side. Surprisingly you don’t run straight to divorce, instead into arms of an overworked divorce lawyer.
Monday’s groceries, Tuesday is meal prep, Wednesday is family dinner— always with his family, Thursday is almost always a publicity outing, and Friday? Friday’s laundry day.
These are things you would’ve never payed attention to prior to getting married, yet here you were marking them on your calendar, folding a grown man’s clothes. Shit that you wouldn’t be caught dead with years ago.
It’s Thursday again, which means suffocating confrontations disguised as conversations.
You smile at yourself in the mirror, you’re in a black, halter dress, a little bit cinched on the waist to show your figure, but still modest enough.
Behind you, your husband fixes his cuff links, lazy fuck keeps glancing up at you from the mirror, waiting for you to notice him struggling and lend a hand.
Instead, you keep looking your reflection, trying on different earrings to see which one fit. Then, you settle on a pair of gold earrings, humming as you put them on.
Behind you, his gaze lingers, heavy and unmoving, its that look he gives you when he’s about to say some bullshit.
Like now, “Don’t you think this is a little much for a family dinner?” He says, eyes roaming over your hips. “Mom might not like it.”
You roll your eyes inwardly at the mention of the witch his mom.
Maybe the better adjective for her would be bitch. A nasty, snarky, hook nosed bitch, who couldn’t stop babying her thirty-something year old son.
You would think it was a TSA screening the way she would feel the need to squint her beady little eyes at you, searching for things about to pick at.
She said since your nails were always done, it must mean you never cooked for her son, even though he had more than enough money to afford a cook. She said you dress too scandalous, like you were supposed to put on a potato sack simply because you were married.
And the worst part? You took these critiques to heart. Gone were the days of you taking care of yourself and dressing for you, all because you were married.
Your fists clenched at your side. Those days of you dimming your shine for some man and his family were over.
Now you knew how to deal with people like this. Never give them anything to work with.
“Nope.” You replied cooly, popping the p as you grabbed a clutch off your extensive collection.
Bypassing him on your way out the walk-in closet, your heels clicking and clacking on the marbled floor.
“Where are you going?!” He called out, staring at you in disbelief.
“To the car, You can drive the other one and meet me there.” And with that, you were out, adjusting your shades as well.
———————————————————
Silence hung, heavy in the room. Your fork scrapes against the porcelain dish, and suddenly the previously downcast eyes have all shot to you.
You continue eating calmly, ignoring the pointed look your husband shoots you.
“Y/n,” he mumbles, a hand drifting off to squeeze your leg, pretending to be discreet, but his eyes stayed on his mother. “Please eat a little more quietly.”
You shake his leg off you, leaning over to scoop yourself some more pasta, completely disregarding everyone’s stares of horror.
Your eyes drift over to your mother in law, who sits at the end of the table. Still no reaction. Not even a look.
Not until you pick up a forkful of pasta to your lips, slurping unashamed, sauce getting all over your lips.
Bam! She slams her cup down on the table, red wine spilling everywhere, staining the napkins before her a deep crimson.
You look up at the sound, looking innocent as can be, “Is something wrong mom?”
At once, anger lashes out at you, “Don’t call me mom!”
Besides you, your husband immediately begins placating her, “Mo—
“No!” She says firmly, raising a hand up to stop him. Her eyes narrow back at you. “What an embarrassment it is to have you as a daughter-in law, you have no manners—
“Mom, calm—
“Stop interrupting me Jonas! She has no manners, no decorum, she is not fit to be your wife, or bear our family name!” She snaps, her voice trembling with a raw, uncontrollable anger.
It all enters in one ear and out, you were still keeping your composure.
“Y/n. Pour mom some more wine.” Jonas, your husband says next to you, still sucking up to his mother like a little coward.
You nod, picking up the bottle of wine— probably more expensive than any of your purses, and stand up, walking over to her.
As you walk close, her eyes stay fixed forward, hand holding her wine glass out for you to pour in.
Like you were some type of maid, she could order around with no care in the world.
All it takes is one tilt of the bottle, and a cute little, oops! from your glossed lips, and crimson red flows from the bottle down the base of her head.
Your father in law— who had been radio silent the entire time stands up, furiously, his face redder than the wine.
Even your husband gets up, slamming the table, steam practically oozing out his ears.
Once the bottle is empty, you calmly set it down, grabbing your clutch and walking out the restaurant, listening to their enraged voices fade out with every step you took.
When you get back into your car, you can’t help but burst out laughing, grabbing yourself the outfit you had in the back and slipping it off, before you drove off.
———————————————————The buzz of the club is almost deafening around you. To others, it’s a turn off, it’s a reason for them to go to a bar instead, but to you, it’s everything you could ever want.
you walked in, pulling down on your tiny little sequenced skirt. You paired it up with a black, backless draped halter top, which showed more skin than it covered.
It had been so long since you walked inside a club, been so long since you set free and danced to your heart’s content.
That reputation clause had been more of a leash on you, hindering you from doing anything that you enjoyed.
No bars, no clubs, no drinking, moderate dressing, fuck he might as well’ve killed your social life.
Except he did. While you weren’t barred from speaking with your friends, you were barred from doing anything with them that you normally did.
Those bars and clubs, the drinks? All of it was done with them. So when you married your husband, it all got forcefully shoved off the table.
You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts.
Tonight was about you. About your fun, snd reclaiming your everything back.
Speaking of your friends, one of them, Tierra, pulls you into a tight embrace, early bawling her eyes out.
“Ohh, baby I missed you so much!” She whined, half dramatic, half serious.
It had been years since you guys got to hang out like this, not just for a shopping day, or a spa day with them, but dancing, just like the old days.
Another one of your friends, Laura, joins in—both the hug and the sentiment. “I can’t even be mad at you,” She sniffles, giggling.
One by one, everyone in the friend group joins in, turning the hug into a giant group hug.
You felt your eyes mist up, the warmth of your friends were so much more comforting than seeing their faces over FaceTime or simply texting them.
After a few minutes, all five of you girls separate, still wiping your eyes.
“But what happened to your husband? Wouldn’t he be mad you’re here?”
It dawns on you then that you still haven’t informed them about the whole cheating situation. It’s a far cry from the lack of fulter you had with them years ago. If you’re period was even a day late, if your doordash didn’t arrive on time, or maybe you picked your nose too hard, you would be so quick to tell them.
Rolling your eyes, you said, “That loser? Please. He cheated.”
A gasp escaped one of their mouths, then another, a range of disbelief and anger.
“ Cheated?”
“How could anyone cheat on you?”
Finally, Tierra asks the question that had been on everyone’s minds. “So what are you gonna do?”
You sip on the margarita in your hand, swirling the cup around. “Nothing.”
It’s funny how when you said nothing, your friends immediately knew what it meant.
You were going to do the absolute most.
ch1 here
i was rewatching attack on titan while doing this and the slurping pasta scene reminded me of Sasha stuffing her face. anyways Higuruma will be introduced in the next chapter 😏
———————————————————
Comment to be added to the taglist!
Current taglist:
@alebrasil0101 @mahirusgf @motleyroses87
Divider credit: @pxrce-lain
ch1, ch2, ch3
Your trash,
Divorce lawyer Higuruma X reader
Synopsis.
You are in a loveless marriage with your husband of six years. Until he breaks the one rule you both religiously followed. No mistresses allowed. On any side. Surprisingly you don’t run straight to divorce, instead into arms of an overworked divorce lawyer.
Monday’s groceries, Tuesday is meal prep, Wednesday is family dinner— always with his family, Thursday is almost always a publicity outing, and Friday? Friday’s laundry day.
These are things you would’ve never payed attention to prior to getting married, yet here you were marking them on your calendar, folding a grown man’s clothes. Shit that you wouldn’t be caught dead with years ago.
It’s Thursday again, which means suffocating confrontations disguised as conversations.
You smile at yourself in the mirror, you’re in a black, halter dress, a little bit cinched on the waist to show your figure, but still modest enough.
Behind you, your husband fixes his cuff links, lazy fuck keeps glancing up at you from the mirror, waiting for you to notice him struggling and lend a hand.
Instead, you keep looking your reflection, trying on different earrings to see which one fit. Then, you settle on a pair of gold earrings, humming as you put them on.
Behind you, his gaze lingers, heavy and unmoving, its that look he gives you when he’s about to say some bullshit.
Like now, “Don’t you think this is a little much for a family dinner?” He says, eyes roaming over your hips. “Mom might not like it.”
You roll your eyes inwardly at the mention of the witch his mom.
Maybe the better adjective for her would be bitch. A nasty, snarky, hook nosed bitch, who couldn’t stop babying her thirty-something year old son.
You would think it was a TSA screening the way she would feel the need to squint her beady little eyes at you, searching for things about to pick at.
She said since your nails were always done, it must mean you never cooked for her son, even though he had more than enough money to afford a cook. She said you dress too scandalous, like you were supposed to put on a potato sack simply because you were married.
And the worst part? You took these critiques to heart. Gone were the days of you taking care of yourself and dressing for you, all because you were married.
Your fists clenched at your side. Those days of you dimming your shine for some man and his family were over.
Now you knew how to deal with people like this. Never give them anything to work with.
“Nope.” You replied cooly, popping the p as you grabbed a clutch off your extensive collection.
Bypassing him on your way out the walk-in closet, your heels clicking and clacking on the marbled floor.
“Where are you going?!” He called out, staring at you in disbelief.
“To the car, You can drive the other one and meet me there.” And with that, you were out, adjusting your shades as well.
———————————————————
Silence hung, heavy in the room. Your fork scrapes against the porcelain dish, and suddenly the previously downcast eyes have all shot to you.
You continue eating calmly, ignoring the pointed look your husband shoots you.
“Y/n,” he mumbles, a hand drifting off to squeeze your leg, pretending to be discreet, but his eyes stayed on his mother. “Please eat a little more quietly.”
You shake his leg off you, leaning over to scoop yourself some more pasta, completely disregarding everyone’s stares of horror.
Your eyes drift over to your mother in law, who sits at the end of the table. Still no reaction. Not even a look.
Not until you pick up a forkful of pasta to your lips, slurping unashamed, sauce getting all over your lips.
Bam! She slams her cup down on the table, red wine spilling everywhere, staining the napkins before her a deep crimson.
You look up at the sound, looking innocent as can be, “Is something wrong mom?”
At once, anger lashes out at you, “Don’t call me mom!”
Besides you, your husband immediately begins placating her, “Mo—
“No!” She says firmly, raising a hand up to stop him. Her eyes narrow back at you. “What an embarrassment it is to have you as a daughter-in law, you have no manners—
“Mom, calm—
“Stop interrupting me Jonas! She has no manners, no decorum, she is not fit to be your wife, or bear our family name!” She snaps, her voice trembling with a raw, uncontrollable anger.
It all enters in one ear and out, you were still keeping your composure.
“Y/n. Pour mom some more wine.” Jonas, your husband says next to you, still sucking up to his mother like a little coward.
You nod, picking up the bottle of wine— probably more expensive than any of your purses, and stand up, walking over to her.
As you walk close, her eyes stay fixed forward, hand holding her wine glass out for you to pour in.
Like you were some type of maid, she could order around with no care in the world.
All it takes is one tilt of the bottle, and a cute little, oops! from your glossed lips, and crimson red flows from the bottle down the base of her head.
Your father in law— who had been radio silent the entire time stands up, furiously, his face redder than the wine.
Even your husband gets up, slamming the table, steam practically oozing out his ears.
Once the bottle is empty, you calmly set it down, grabbing your clutch and walking out the restaurant, listening to their enraged voices fade out with every step you took.
When you get back into your car, you can’t help but burst out laughing, grabbing yourself the outfit you had in the back and slipping it off, before you drove off.
———————————————————The buzz of the club is almost deafening around you. To others, it’s a turn off, it’s a reason for them to go to a bar instead, but to you, it’s everything you could ever want.
you walked in, pulling down on your tiny little sequenced skirt. You paired it up with a black, backless draped halter top, which showed more skin than it covered.
It had been so long since you walked inside a club, been so long since you set free and danced to your heart’s content.
That reputation clause had been more of a leash on you, hindering you from doing anything that you enjoyed.
No bars, no clubs, no drinking, moderate dressing, fuck he might as well’ve killed your social life.
Except he did. While you weren’t barred from speaking with your friends, you were barred from doing anything with them that you normally did.
Those bars and clubs, the drinks? All of it was done with them. So when you married your husband, it all got forcefully shoved off the table.
You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts.
Tonight was about you. About your fun, snd reclaiming your everything back.
Speaking of your friends, one of them, Tierra, pulls you into a tight embrace, early bawling her eyes out.
“Ohh, baby I missed you so much!” She whined, half dramatic, half serious.
It had been years since you guys got to hang out like this, not just for a shopping day, or a spa day with them, but dancing, just like the old days.
Another one of your friends, Laura, joins in—both the hug and the sentiment. “I can’t even be mad at you,” She sniffles, giggling.
One by one, everyone in the friend group joins in, turning the hug into a giant group hug.
You felt your eyes mist up, the warmth of your friends were so much more comforting than seeing their faces over FaceTime or simply texting them.
After a few minutes, all five of you girls separate, still wiping your eyes.
“But what happened to your husband? Wouldn’t he be mad you’re here?”
It dawns on you then that you still haven’t informed them about the whole cheating situation. It’s a far cry from the lack of fulter you had with them years ago. If you’re period was even a day late, if your doordash didn’t arrive on time, or maybe you picked your nose too hard, you would be so quick to tell them.
Rolling your eyes, you said, “That loser? Please. He cheated.”
A gasp escaped one of their mouths, then another, a range of disbelief and anger.
“ Cheated?”
“How could anyone cheat on you?”
Finally, Tierra asks the question that had been on everyone’s minds. “So what are you gonna do?”
You sip on the margarita in your hand, swirling the cup around. “Nothing.”
It’s funny how when you said nothing, your friends immediately knew what it meant.
You were going to do the absolute most.
ch1 here
i was rewatching attack on titan while doing this and the slurping pasta scene reminded me of Sasha stuffing her face. anyways Higuruma will be introduced in the next chapter 😏
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Where he draws the line | p3
Satoru Gojo x Reader
part 1 . part 2.
Being loved by the strongest is complicated. Being married to him as a sorcerer from a despised clan makes you dangerous. But no one is foolish enough to cross the line of an utterly devoted man, right?
cr: @_3aem on X
CW / Fic tags: NSFW. Married couple/Established relationship. Plot & Smut. Possessiveness. Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, praise kink, creampie, oral sex (f and m rec), inappropiate use of cursed technique, fluff, hurt/comfort. Satoru Gojo goes insane
The drive took a little over an hour. Nanami had never been particularly conversational during missions, and today you found yourself grateful for it. The steady hum of the engine filled most of the silence while the city slowly gave way to quieter roads and scattered industrial buildings.
You reviewed the mission file again anyway. Grade One curse. Abandoned manufacturing district.
Across from you, Nanami closed the folder he’d been reading and adjusted his tie before glancing in your direction.
He wasn't stupid. He'd noticed the way you'd gone unusually quiet whenever the subject drifted too close to certain conversations. He didn't know everything, and he suspected you preferred it that way.
His thoughts drifted back to the phone call you'd shared days earlier.
I want you to treat me like I'm not there.
You had sounded calm when you'd said it.
I can handle myself.
Nanami had never doubted that. What concerned him was that you seemed to underestimate the toll sustained amplification took on your body, especially when you’re amplifying a high-grade sorcerer.
A quiet sigh escaped him as he looked back out the window. Whatever concerns he had, the decision had already been made. You were here. The mission had been approved. And until given a reason otherwise, he intended to trust your judgment.
By the time Ijichi pulled the vehicle to a stop, the sun had already begun its descent behind the industrial skyline. Rows of abandoned warehouses stretched in every direction, their rusted exteriors stained by years of neglect. It looked exactly like the photographs in the mission briefing.
As the two of you moved deeper into the industrial complex, your gaze swept automatically across rooftops, broken windows, elevated walkways.
Searching for cameras, of course. They weren’t the type to stand in the shadows and watch personally. If they wanted information, they had dozens of ways to obtain it.
The point was that someone would eventually read what happened here.
A few steps ahead, Nanami slowed. The smallest acknowledgment.
As you both were expecting, the curse ahead wasn’t a threat to him. Not with your amplification, and not even without it.
Bringing you here had never been about necessity. It had been about observation.
Nanami glanced back once, you held his gaze.
A few days ago, over the phone, he had offered you an exit. And you refused.
Treat me like I’m not there.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he looked away again.
You moved into position, the connection forming almost immediately. Your cursed energy reached for his, threading itself into the familiar pathways. Amplification had always felt less like adding something and more like removing obstacles.
Most people assumed amplification was effortless. It wasn’t. Sustaining a connection to a powerful sorcerer for extended periods always came with a cost. By the end of longer missions, your own cursed energy tended to lag behind, slower to respond, slower to recover.
The curse emerged from between rows of rusted machinery, its massive frame forcing twisted metal aside as it dragged itself into view.
Nanami moved before it could fully reveal itself.
The connection between your cursed energies tightened instantly as he closed the distance. You felt the familiar pull of amplification settle deeper into place, sharpening his output, smoothing every movement until there was something almost effortless about the way he fought.
His blade cut across its arm with enough force to send the creature reeling backward, a distorted scream echoing through the warehouse as black blood splattered across the concrete. Before it could recover, he was already moving again.
Another strike. Then another. Each one landed with the same ruthless precision.
You found yourself frowning. The mission briefing had painted a picture of a Grade One threat requiring immediate intervention. Yet Nanami was dismantling it in less than a minute.
By the time the curse made one final attempt to attack, pieces of its body were already beginning to dissolve.
For a moment, everything went quiet. Not the natural quiet that follows the end of a fight, but something stranger.
Across the warehouse, Nanami didn’t lower his weapon.
The same thought had already occurred to both of you. Something about this felt wrong.
Suddenly, a pulse of cursed energy rolled through the warehouse. There was something deeper inside the complex.
A second presence. No. Not second
Realization hit a fraction too late.
The real one.
Satoru had never admitted this to anyone. Not to Shoko. Not to Suguru. And definitely not to you.
The truth was that for almost an entire year, he had been convinced you were in love with Suguru. Looking back, it was probably the most embarrassing conclusion he had ever reached. At the time, though, the evidence had seemed overwhelming.
One afternoon he found the two of you sitting beneath a tree near the training grounds. Suguru leaned against the trunk with a notebook in his lap. You sat cross-legged beside him, gesturing animatedly as you explained something.
“…amplification isn’t actually adding anything” you were saying.
Suguru nodded immediately.
“You’re removing inefficiencies.”
“Exactly” you said, pointing at him with a bright smile “I wish we were in the same year, Sugu. It would’ve been fun”
The comment was innocent. Satoru still hated it enough that he stepped forward and cleared his throat loudly.
Both of you looked up.
“How are you doing that?” he asked, pointing between the two of you
Suguru sighed. You looked genuinely confused.
“Doing what?”
“The thing”
“What thing?”
“The weird thing where you both understand each other after three words.”
“We’re having a conversation, Satoru” you said, amused
Suguru looked at him for a long moment
“Are you jealous?” his friend asked, completely deadpan
Satoru nearly choked on his own spit.
“What? No” he answered too quickly
Suguru didn’t even blink.
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I am literally the strongest sorcerer alive.” Satoru protested, crossing his arms like that somehow proved his point.
“The fuck does that have to do with being jealous?”
“I’m n—”
Your laugh cut him off, hand pressed over your mouth trying –and failing– to not laugh at him.
The sound followed him for the rest of the day. That was another problem. Everything about you lingered.
For a long time, Satoru convinced himself he simply enjoyed your company. That lie worked surprisingly well. Right up until the day you weren’t there.
Nanami mentioned in passing that you’d gotten sick and wouldn’t be joining training.
By noon, he was in a terrible mood. By two o’clock Suguru threatened to throw him through a wall.
“You’ve managed to be even more unbearable than usual today. Impressive” Shoko said, and didn’t even look up from her phone. “Just go visit her.”
His entire body froze.
“What makes you think I want to visit her?”
“Satoru.”
“What?”
“You’re pathetic.”
Suguru, who had been pretending to read a report, snorted loudly from the corner of the room.
“You should just tell her,” he added, voice calm but firm.
The room went dead silent.
Satoru stared at Suguru. Suguru stared back, completely unfazed. Shoko slowly lowered her phone, watching the exchange like it was the most entertaining thing she’d seen all week.
“Tell her what?” Satoru asked, his voice suspiciously casual, almost airy.
Suguru didn’t hesitate.
“That you’re in love with her.”
The words landed like a lighting strike.
For a second, nobody spoke, and he felt heat crawl up his neck. Then he laughed — sharp, defensive, the kind of laugh that gave everything away.
“You’re insane.”
Suguru simply raised an eyebrow, calm as ever.
“Am I?”
The horrifying part wasn’t that his friends knew. The horrifying part was that they were right.
At some point, somewhere between missions and training and ordinary afternoons, being near you had stopped being a choice.
It had become instinct.
The cursed energy struck like a tidal wave, and the pressure kept building — heavier, darker, rolling through the metal beams and concrete walls like something alive.
Across from you, Nanami moved without hesitation. His hand went straight to his phone, no discussion needed. If a Special Grade had somehow slipped into the area, protocol was clear: report immediately and prepare for escalation.
You were already doing the same, fingers flying across the screen. But when it lit up, the signal bar remained empty. No signal.
Behind you, Nanami lowered his own device with a slow, deliberate motion. His silence said everything.
You had no way to report what you’d found. The realization settled heavily between you, and suddenly everything clicked.
This wasn’t a random encounter.
You had known this assignment was a test. You had known the higher-ups were watching, waiting for you to slip. But you hadn’t realized until this moment just how far they were willing to go.
Your jaw tightened, a slow burn of anger mixing with the dread curling in your chest. They hadn’t just sent you into a dangerous situation. They had manufactured one. Placing a Special Grade — or something close enough to feel like one — in front of Nanami, one of Jujutsu High’s most reliable Grade One sorcerers. All while knowing you would be here to amplify him.
A few days ago, sitting across from those elders, you had assumed there were limits they wouldn’t cross.
Naively, apparently.
Because somebody had looked at this operation, looked at the possibility of placing a Special Grade in front of one of Jujutsu High’s strongest Grade One sorcerers, and decided the risk was acceptable.
They were gambling with his life just to test you.
And worse, they were doing it on purpose. You were the real target. Always had been.
Retreat would have been the smart move. The logical one. But something told you that whatever was lurking further inside wouldn’t simply let you walk away. And if it broke free from this abandoned complex and reached the populated streets just a few kilometers away…
Civilians.
The thought cut through everything else. You couldn’t let that happen. Not when you had the power to stop it.
The guilt you’d been carrying pressed heavier now. If things went wrong here, if Nanami got hurt because of this manufactured trap…
No. He wouldn’t. You’d make sure of that.
You exhaled slowly, letting your technique settle under your skin like a second pulse,
“I’m going to amplify you every twenty seconds” you said, voice low but firm “Don’t hold back. Don’t look back. I’ll keep you at full power. Just focus on ending this quickly.”
Nanami’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of protest crossing his usually composed features. He opened his mouth — probably to argue — but you didn’t give him the chance.
“There’s no other way” you know it. If you didn’t amplify him, there was no chance of you exorcising that thing. And he know it too, but the weight of unspoken concern was heavy between you.
Then he gave a single, sharp nod
The air grew colder. And from the depths of the warehouse, whatever was hiding back there had finally decided to stop playing games.
You were adults now. No longer students. Full-time sorcerers, taking on missions and carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.
And still… Satoru hadn’t asked you out.
He had spent the last three years quietly, pathetically in love with you. Learning every little detail: the way you liked your coffee, the exact way your nose scrunched when you were trying not to laugh at his stupid jokes. He memorized every little thing. He waited. Patient in a way he never was with anything else. He savored. He let every small moment stretch out as long as possible.
One late evening, the two of you were alone in the common room of the faculty building. The lights were dim, and you were sitting on the couch showing him something on your phone. Satoru, however, wasn’t paying attention to the screen at all. He was staring at your face again — completely lost.
You noticed, of course.
“Satoru” you said, waving a hand in front of his eyes
He blinked slowly, then leaned forward with that signature cocky grin.
“Baby” he drawled, the pet name slipping out like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Stop that” you muttered
“Stop what?” he asked innocently, though his pulse was racing
“You know what. The staring. And the ‘baby’ thing”
Satoru tilted his head, smirking wider
“Does it make you nervous?”
You looked away for a second, then back at him with that soft, knowing smile that always made his brain stop working.
“Pretty sure you’re the one who’s nervous, Satoru.”
He opened his mouth to deny it, but you kept going, voice gentle but direct.
“For the strongest sorcerer in the world, your confession game is actually terrible” you said, lips curving into a playful, lopsided smile. “Just ask me out already.”
Satoru’s brain short-circuited. His heart was hammering so violently he genuinely thought it might climb up his throat and choke him.
For a few long seconds he just stared at you, mouth slightly open, all his usual arrogance nowhere to be found.
You waited, watching him with fond amusement, before finally taking mercy on him.
“Satoru?”
“Yeah?” His voice came out embarrassingly rough.
You leaned in just slightly, eyes warm and certain.
“I’m in love with you too.”
Before your words could even fully settle in the quiet room, he reached out. His hands caught your face with a tenderness that almost hurt. His sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, exposing the brilliant, unmasked intensity of his eyes. He didn't say a word. He just pulled you into him, closing the distance between your lips in a kiss that felt like inevitability.
It was deep, desperate, and entirely consuming. Satoru kissed you as if he were trying to swallow the very air in your lungs, his thumbs wiping across your cheekbones while his entire body leaned over yours, backing you into the cushions of the couch, infinity completely vanished. He wanted to feel the heat of your skin, the frantic beat of your pulse against his fingers, the soft sigh that left your mouth into his.
When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was ragged, his lips slightly bruised, and for the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru looked entirely defenseless.
"You have no idea" he whispered against your mouth. "You have absolutely no idea what you just did."
That night had changed everything. Three years of silent pining, three years of learning you, wanting you, waiting for the right moment… and you had been the one to finally push him off the cliff.
Even years later, he still remembered the way his world shifted the moment those words left your lips.
You weren’t just someone he loved. You had become the undisputed center of his world
The monstrous curse burst from the depths of the warehouse — a grotesque mass of twisted limbs, countless blinking eyes, and a pulsing core of volatile cursed energy. It was undeniably Special Grade.
Nanami charged forward without hesitation, his Ratio Technique flaring to life as he closed the distance with precise, lethal movements.
You stayed close, moving with him, keeping within striking range while dodging flying debris and lashing tentacles of cursed energy.
Twenty seconds.
You darted in during a brief opening, fingers brushing his shoulder blade. Your amplification surged into him like a second wind. Nanami’s strikes became sharper, faster, more absolute.
The curse shrieked and swung wildly. You rolled under a sweeping limb and sprinted to the side, keeping pace with Nanami’s footwork while the headache began to bloom behind your eyes.
Twenty seconds.
You weaved through the chaos, heart pounding, and touched his back this time. Another surge. Nanami pivoted instantly, using the amplified power to cleave deep into the curse’s defenses.
Your vision flickered.
The pain was building faster than you expected — a heavy pressure squeezing your skull. You shook your head hard as you dashed to a new position, staying just close enough to reach him when the timer reset. Dust and cursed energy residue stung your eyes, but you didn’t stop moving.
Twenty seconds.
You slid across the concrete, barely avoiding a crashing tentacle, and pressed your hand to his arm mid-strike. The amplification flowed again. Nanami pressed the advantage ruthlessly, but the curse was adapting, growing more frantic and dangerous.
Your head throbbed violently now. Each amplification felt like a hammer driving into your temples. You staggered for half a second, then forced yourself forward again, breathing through gritted teeth.
Twenty seconds.
You ran alongside him, lungs burning, and touched his shoulder once more. The pain spiked so sharply that you bit the inside of your cheek to stay silent.
Not yet.
You weren’t going to slow him down. Not when civilians were at stake. Not when Satoru was waiting for you to come home.
Nanami landed another devastating blow, but even as the battle raged, the pain in your head continued to build. You shook it off again, vision blurring at the edges, and kept moving.
Just a little bit more.
The office was silent, save for the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Yaga sat rigid at his desk, staring at the phone in his hand
"Damn it" he muttered. The report from Ijichi had arrived only a moment earlier, delivered in a voice strained with panic
The signature is gone, Director. We’ve lost connection. Both of them.
He closed his eyes for a split second, a familiar weight settling in his chest. When she had stood in this very office and asked him to keep Satoru out of it, he had agreed. He had respected her judgment. Respected her right to handle her own battles. Now he wondered if he had simply handed her over to them. Because this was no longer a test.
If they had done what he feared… The thought died there.
Yaga opened his eyes and reached for his phone. For a moment, his thumb hovered over the contact.
There would be no undoing this. Once he made that call, events would begin moving toward a conclusion none of them would be able to stop.
He pressed dial. The line rang once. Twice. Then—
“Yaga?”
“Come back, Satoru.”
The battle dragged on far longer than it should have.
The warehouse had become a graveyard of shattered concrete and twisted steel. Dust and cursed energy hung thick in the air, making every breath feel like swallowing glass. The Special Grade curse refused to die, regenerating with hateful persistence.
Your technique was failing.
What once felt like a steady river of cursed energy now came in weak, stuttering pulses. Maintaining the connection with Nanami grew harder with every passing second. The pounding in your skull had become unbearable. At some point blood had started dripping steadily from your nose, warm and metallic, staining your collar and the back of your hand every time you wiped it away.
Nanami had noticed. Several times his sharp gaze flicked toward you, jaw tight with restrained words. He never spoke them. There was no point. Both of you already understood the cost.
A violent crash rang out as the curse slammed Nanami backward. His shoes carved deep grooves into the concrete floor as he skidded to a stop.
The curse’s energy signature faltered.
There.
A small opening. One single, fleeting chance.
You wiped the blood from your mouth with a trembling sleeve. When had it reached your lips? You couldn’t remember. Your hands felt numb. Your cursed energy felt like it belonged to someone else—distant, fraying at the edges.
Satoru.
His face flashed in your mind — that bright, lazy smile, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth slowing down for. The way he’d finally learned to let you stand on your own.
You took a slow, painful breath. Every last fragment of power left in your body gathered beneath your skin.
You thought of his voice whispering “wife” like a prayer. Of the guilt you carried for keeping this from him. Of how much you loved him.
Nanami’s eyes met yours across the wreckage. The moment he realized what you were about to do, his expression fractured.
“No.” The word cracked out of him like a whip. “Don’t—”
You were already moving.
“I’m sorry, Ken” Your hand slammed against his shoulder.
The connection detonated. It wasn’t amplification anymore. It was everything. Every drop of cursed energy, every ounce of strength, every second of endurance you had left surged into Nanami in a single, devastating wave.
The world violently tilted. Sound vanished. Your vision tunneled into white.
The last thing you registered was Nanami moving — faster and sharper than you had ever seen him, his Ratio technique blazing with lethal, absolute precision. A single, perfect strike.
The curse dissolved into nothingness, and for one suspended heartbeat, silence fell over the ruined warehouse.
Nanami turned immediately, and your body hit the concrete before he could catch you.
Satoru sat in the private jet, long legs stretched out across the luxurious leather seat.
Yaga didn’t tell him why he needed to return so urgently. The fact that he called him back so suddenly —even assigning Yuta as backup — set his nerves on edge. If I were something truly serious, he would have said it outright… right?
His phone rested in his hand, thumb hovering over your contact. He wanted to call you, to hear your voice, but the thought of surprising you the moment he landed was even more tempting. He was just minutes away, he could wait.
He exhaled through his nose, leaning back again, letting the idea settle—just for a moment.
Then something felt wrong.
At first, it was just a faint, itching unease at the back of his neck. Then, without warning, your cursed energy signature—the one he had memorized like a second heartbeat—flickered.
He froze.
It flickered again. Weaker.
In a single fluid motion, he ripped the blindfold off. His Six Eyes ignited, flooding his vision with overwhelming clarity that tore through the fuselage as if it weren’t there at all. The pilot nearly jumped out of his seat as the cabin pressure shifted violently, the air around Satoru warping under the weight of his unchecked power.
He reached for you desperately, pushing his senses to their absolute limit across the distance. For a brief moment he caught it — your energy, strained, burning far beyond safe levels. Then it began fading faster.
“No” The word tore from his throat, raw and broken.
He stood up so violently that the seat cracked behind him. Without another word, he teleported out of the moving jet mid-flight, leaving the shocked crew behind in stunned silence.
He reappeared exactly where he had felt the last desperate flare of your cursed energy — right outside Jujutsu High.
Once he was on the ground, everything became worse. Your signature was too weak. What used to be a constant, unmistakable warm light in his world was now nothing more than a fragile, flickering thread. Barely there. Fading in and out like a dying candle. He couldn’t get a clear lock on your exact location.
He stopped thinking in full sentences after that. Reality began to blur at the edges, and memory crashed into him.
Six years ago
"How do you process it?" you asked, pointing to his eyes. "Filtering the flow of cursed energy from everyone… how do you manage to isolate a single signature in the middle of all that noise?"
He had paused, surprised by the clinical nature of your curiosity. He sat beside you, his gaze lingering on your face. "Your energy doesn't feel like noise to me. It’s the only consistent anchor in the static."
"So you're always tracking me?"
"I'm always aware of you," he corrected, his voice dropping into a rare, vulnerable cadence. "I don't have to look for you, Ataru. You’re simply a constant in my field of vision."
He shoved the memory aside, his long legs eating up the distance across the courtyard, white hair whipping wildly behind him. His mind was too chaotic, too frantic. Every time he tried to focus on your energy to pinpoint it, the signal wavered and slipped away like smoke. He was chasing a ghost of you.
He followed the weak pulses instinctively, head snapping left and right, Six Eyes glowing with terrifying intensity. He ran like a man possessed — down the main path, past the training fields, changing direction every time your energy pulsed faintly. Almost animalistic.
Your signal stuttered in his perception, and something his mind betrayed him again
Four years ago
You were standing in front of him, your hands pinning his wrists to the mahogany desk, your eyes burning with a frustration that had finally boiled over. You were tired of the hovering, the shadow of his obsession looming over every mission you accepted.
"You have to stop, Satoru," you said, your voice low and trembling with the weight of the moment. "I'm not a curse you need to track. I'm a sorcerer—besides being your girlfriend."
He had stared up at you, his Infinity humming with a restless, jagged energy, but you hadn't flinched. You leaned in, forcing him to look at the reality he refused to see.
"You can't control everything. You can’t be everywhere at the same time.”
The memory hit him like a physical blow, grounding him for a terrifying second before he launched himself into the main building. He passed through the halls like a man standing at the edge of the abyss. His eyes burned an unnatural, violent blue. The air around him crackled with raw, unstable power. Sorcerers pressed themselves against the walls, terrified to even breathe. His Infinity was flickering uncontrollably, shattering windows and cracking the pavement with every step. He didn’t care.
He was running out of time, and his brain felt like it was splitting in two, flickering between the present panic and the past failures.
One year ago
A mission had gone wrong, and you were bleeding from a shallow cut on your arm, shaking with adrenaline-fueled rage. He had stormed into the room, his aura so dense it made the furniture groan.
"Satoru, you need to calm down," you had said, stepping directly into his personal space, ignoring the way the air warped around him. You grabbed his wrists, forcing his arms down. "You’re going to level the entire complex if you don't breathe."
"They hurt you," he had spat, his voice vibrating with a primal, dangerous heat.
"I'm fine. Look at me. I'm right here, Satoru."
The doors to the medical infirmary exploded inward with a violent bang.
The first thing he saw was blood. Your blood. Dried under your nose, at the corner of your mouth, staining Nanami’s uniform where he stood stiffly by the wall.
Shoko was already there, her face drawn, her hands moving with practiced, frantic speed. “She’s going to be fine” she said flatly without looking up at him. “Don’t interfere.”
The words landed exactly where they were supposed to. Relief came first, and then something else took its place.
The roar in his ears—the frantic, animalistic panic that had fueled his run—suddenly died. It was a transition so seamless it was unnatural. His shoulders dropped. His hands, which had been clenched so tight the skin had split, slowly unfurled.
The chaos of his Infinity stopped flickering. It settled, hummed, and then froze into a terrifying, absolute stillness.
Satoru’s Six Eyes weren't glowing with fury anymore. They were cold. Empty. Like looking into the vacuum of space—devoid of light, emotion, or mercy.
He walked to the bedside, his movements perfectly measured, almost mechanical. He reached out, his fingers hovering just a fraction of an inch above your cheek. He didn't touch you.
"Who?" he asked. His voice was a flat, dead thing.
He turned his head slowly, looking at Nanami, who stood in the corner, his suit ruined, his expression a testament to the horror he had just witnessed. The Grade One sorcerer stiffened, feeling the weight of that gaze. It was the coldest thing he had ever felt—a heavy, suffocating pressure that made the air in the room feel thin.
"It was a trap" Nanami said, his voice strained. "The mission... it was an orchestrated—"
Satoru didn't let him finish. He just nodded once. It was a slow, deliberate motion; a confirmation of a death sentence.
Yaga stood by the doorway, his eyes dark, his hands balled into fists. He watched Satoru, and for the first time in his long career, Yaga felt a primal, shivering fear. He saw it in the way Satoru’s eyes tracked nothing, staring at a future that was already decided.
"Satoru, listen to me," Yaga started, stepping forward. "We need to handle this through the proper channels. If you—"
Satoru finally looked at him.
That single look carried more weight than any outburst. It was the look of a man who had already exited the human world to enter a different one.
"Proper channels?" Satoru repeated. The ghost of a smile touched his lips, but it never reached his eyes. It was a terrifying, hollow expression.
He turned back to you, his eyes softening for a fleeting, heartbreaking second before the frost reclaimed them.
Then he turned on his heel and began to walk toward the exit.
Yaga stepped forward, his jaw tight, his hand half-raised as if to reach out, but he stopped. He looked into Satoru’s eyes—the unshielded, infinite blue that held no recognition of his mentor, only the cold calculation of a judge about to execute a verdict. Yaga’s hand fell to his side, his shoulders slumping. He knew. He had spent his life watching Satoru hold back, but the dam had finally broken, and he knew as well as anyone that there was no force on earth that could stand in the way of this.
Nanami, still braced against the wall, merely looked at Satoru’s back. He saw the way the air shimmered around him, the absolute, lethal focus of a man who just witnessed his worst fear. He didn't move to intercept him. He simply let out a long, weary breath and bowed his head, an unspoken acknowledgment that the hierarchy he served had just signed its own death warrant.
Satoru didn't look back at them. He didn't demand they step aside, because he didn't even acknowledge them as obstacles in the first place.
The decision had already been made.
reblogs are always appreciated!! <3 -> next part coming soon! taglist is open masterlist
Where he draws the line | p2
Satoru Gojo x Reader
part 1
Being loved by the strongest is complicated. Being married to him as a sorcerer from a despised clan makes you dangerous. But no one is foolish enough to cross the line of an utterly devoted man, right?
cr: @_3aem on X
CW / Fic tags: NSFW. Married couple/Established relationship. Plot & Smut. Possessiveness. Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, praise kink, creampie, oral sex (f and m rec), inappropiate use of cursed technique, fluff, hurt/comfort. Satoru Gojo goes insane
“Baby—”
You silenced him with a kiss, slow and deep, pouring every ounce of reassurance into it until he melted against you. When you pulled back, you dropped to your knees right there on the rug in front of the window, the city lights painting his sharp cheekbones.
Your fingers worked his belt open with practiced ease, tugging his clothes just enough to free him.
“Look at you” you murmured, voice husky with want. “So perfect. My strong, beautiful husband. Always carrying the weight of the world, but right now..” you licked a slow stripe from base to tip, savoring the way his hips jerked and a low groan tore from his throat “You’re mine to spoil.”
“Fuck—sweetheart, you don’t have to—”
“I want to” you cut in, swirling your tongue around the head, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum. “I need to. Let me worship you, Satoru. You deserve to feel good. You deserve everything.” You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and the broken sound he made sent heat flooding between your thighs. “Mmm, that’s it. Let me hear you. You’re so big, so hot in my mouth. Love how you fill me up.”
His head fell back against the glass with a soft thud, white lashes fluttering. “Shit—your mouth, baby, it’s—ngh—too good. You’re gonna kill me.”
You hummed around him, the vibration pulling another curse from his lips. You worked him with long, wet strokes, one hand stroking what you couldn’t take.
Every praise spilled out between licks and sucks: “So pretty when you’re falling apart for me… You’re doing so well baby, just relax and let me take care of everything.”
His thighs trembled. “You’re—fuck—gonna make me come if you keep talking like that.”
“Good,” you purred, pulling off just long enough to look up at him through your lashes, lips shiny and swollen. “I want you to come down my throat. Want to swallow every drop like the good wife I am. Because you’re mine. All of this power, all of this beauty—it’s mine to please.”
He cursed again, fingers tightening in your hair as you sank back down, taking him to the back of your throat and swallowing around him.
The praise kept flowing, muffled but fervent, until his hips stuttered and he came with a raw, guttural moan of your name. You swallowed every pulse, milking him through it, humming softly in satisfaction until he was spent and shaking.
You pulled away gently to get up, then drew him into a slow, deep kiss, letting him taste himself.
“I love you” he murmured, in awe “I'll make you scream my name so loud the old men at Headquarters will hear it from here.”
“Motivated much” you whispered.
“Very.”
His mouth crashed against yours, all heat and hunger, and for a moment the missions, the secrets, the shadows of the jujutsu world ceased to exist. There was only the friction of his tongue, the press of his body, the way he consumed your attention completely.
“Say it” he commanded, eyes darkening. “Tell me whose you are. Not the Ataru’s. Not the higher-ups’. Tell me.”
“Yours” you breathed.
Your back arched as his hand found the hem of your skirt, sliding upward with deliberate slowness.
The shift was instantaneous once again. One second you were standing; the next, the air shimmered and you were dropped onto the velvet of the living room sofa.
You landed squarely in his lap, straddling him. The sudden change in orientation made your head swim, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself as you glared at him through the haze of desire.
“Satoru, seriously!” you gasped “Stop—stop doing that!”
“Shh” he murmured, his hands already sliding up the backs of your thighs, pulling you flush against his hard-on. “I just wanted a better angle.”
You huffed, but your hands weren't pushing him away. Instead, you reached for his face, meeting the unfiltered, electric blue of his gaze.
“Fuck my life” you whispered, reaching for the high collar of his jacket.
Your movements frantic, until he groaned and helped you, shrugging out of the heavy fabric and tossing it aside. You followed suit, your own top discarded in a heap, leaving you in nothing but your bra and skirt.
The contact was immediate. Skin on skin, your chest pressed against his broad, muscular torso.
He let out a jagged breath, his head falling back against the cushions as you began to grind against him, a slow, deliberate tilt of your hips that had him gripping your waist
“You’re so hot” he rasped, his voice thick and rough. “I’m not sorry”
You frowned in question, but before you could respond, the world folded again.
The soft velvet was replaced by the cool, cotton of your duvet. You were splayed out among a sea of pillows, the sudden transition making your brain throb.
“Satoru Gojo.” you shout reaching out to shove at his chest as he hovered over you. “Stop it, you’re going to give me a headache!”
Satoru just laughed—a rich, vibrant sound—as he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head once more. Then you felt the Infinity settle over you like a weighted blanket. It was invisible, but absolute. You couldn't move your arms; you couldn't even lift your back off the mattress. You were perfectly, magically pinned to the bed by the very fabric of space.
“Better?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence as he crawled between your legs.
“Satoru, that is such a foul use of your cursed technique” you breathed, your eyes wide as you watched him.
“That’s not what you said the last time I helped you sitting on my face” he countered, his voice a low, honeyed growl. “You seemed to appreciate the stability then, wife.”
The dirty talk was a drug, a heady mix of his arrogance and his utter devotion.
He didn't waste any more time. His hand slid inside your silk panties, his long, clever fingers finding your clit with agonizing precision. You bucked, or tried to, but the Infinity held you fast against the pillows, leaving you completely vulnerable to his touch.
“You’re so responsible” he whispered, his thumb beginning to circle with beautiful precision “So composed. So ‘Mrs. Ataru.’ My fucking god. Does it make me a possessive husband hating them calling you that?”
He reached the center of you, his fingers finding you already slick and aching.
“Those fucking vipers calling you like that on purpose, like it changes anything, like it could change the fact that I sign a paper to be yours for the rest of my life” He kept rambling while you were on an edge
You bucked against the invisible weight of the Infinity, a frustrated whimper breaking from your throat because you couldn't wrap your arms around him, couldn't pull him closer.
He was relentless, his fingers working you into a frenzy while he watched your face with the clinical focus of the Six Eyes. He knew exactly when to speed up, when to slow down, and when to pause just long enough to make you whimper for more.
“Satoru, please,” you gasped, your head thrashing against the pillows “The Infinity... let me touch you. I need to touch you.”
Finally, the crushing weight of the Infinity dissipated. The sudden release of pressure made you feel like you were floating. You immediately threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss that tasted of desperation and salt.
“I want you,” you finally choked out “Inside me. Now.”
“Bossy tonight, aren’t we?” he teased, but there was no hesitation in his movements.
His fingers withdrew from you slowly, deliberately, leaving you clenching around nothing and gasping at the loss. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs with a reverence that belied the fire in his eyes, then your skirt. You kicked them off impatiently
Satoru shed the rest of his clothes in a blur. He was a vision above you, all lean muscle and pale skin glowing under the dim light filtering through the curtains, his cock hard and heavy again, curving up toward his abs.
“God, look at you,” he murmured, positioning himself between your thighs, one hand bracing on the mattress beside your head while the other guided himself to your entrance. The tip nudged against your slick folds, teasing, coating himself in your arousal. “So wet for me already. You need this as bad as I do, huh? My perfect wife, all spread out and begging.”
You nodded frantically, hands roaming his back, nails digging into the taut muscles there. “Satoru, please—”
He didn’t make you wait. With a slow, controlled thrust, he pushed inside you, inch by agonizing inch, stretching you in that familiar, delicious way that made stars burst behind your eyelids. A low groan rumbled from his chest as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to yours. “Fuck—so fucking tight. All mine”
The fullness was overwhelming, your walls fluttering around him as you adjusted, hips lifting instinctively to take him deeper. He stayed still for a heartbeat, letting you both savor the connection, his breath hot against your neck. Then he started to move—slow at first, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in with a deliberate roll of his hips that hit every sensitive spot inside you.
“Yes—oh god” you moaned, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer, urging him on. The rhythm built quickly, his thrusts turning harder, faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room alongside your shared gasps and curses.
He captured your mouth in a messy kiss, swallowing your cries as he angled his hips just right, grinding against your clit with each drive forward.
“That’s it,” he growled against your lips, voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Take it all. Scream for me, sweetheart. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”
The pleasure coiled tight in your core, building with every powerful snap of his hips, his hands roaming—gripping your thigh, pinching a nipple through your bra until you arched off the bed. He was relentless, pounding into you with that inhuman stamina, whispering filthy praises between kisses: “So good… clenching around me like you never want me to leave. Gonna fill you up, mark you inside and out. You’re everything, my wife, my world.”
Your climax hit like a tidal wave, crashing over you as you shattered around him, walls pulsing and pulling him deeper. “Satoru—fuck, I’m coming!”
He followed right after, thrusting erratically as he spilled inside you with a guttural moan, his body trembling above yours. For a long moment, the world was just the two of you—panting, tangled, utterly spent.
Finally, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms with a satisfied hum.
“I love you,” he finally said, turning to look at you. “So—” a kiss, “fucking—” another kiss, “much.”
When you finally parted, his stomach gave a quiet rumble.
You laughed softly. “Come on, husband. Let’s cook dinner together. I’m thinking something simple—pasta, maybe? You can chop the garlic and I’ll handle the sauce. Normal couple stuff after saving each other from bureaucracy.”
Satoru’s grin was bright and boyish, the feral edge gone, replaced by pure, uncomplicated affection.
“Yeah,” he said lightly, thumb brushing warm circles against your hip. “Normal sounds perfect right now.”
He stood and lifted you with ease, arms sliding around your waist as he nuzzled into the curve of your neck.
“As long as I get to kiss you between every stir of the pot.”
“Deal” you murmured against his jaw
“And bend you and fuck you over the kitchen counter,” he added, lips ghosting your ear, grin unmistakable.
You huffed a laugh, poking his ribs.
“Not everyone has your stamina, Toru, y’know?”
He laughed, unabashed, and carried you down the hall toward the bathroom instead.
“Fine. Shower first,” he conceded. “Then food. Then we’ll see.”
Warm water, soap, shared space—enough to rinse the day off both of you. By the time you made it to the kitchen, wrapped in clean clothes and lingering touches, the heaviness was gone.
You’d done what you set out to do. He was calm again.
The elders, the reviews, the politics—they could wait.
Tonight was just dinner, quiet conversation, and the comfort of being together like this.
You woke to warmth pressed along your back and a lazy arm draped across your waist, heavy with sleep. Satoru’s breathing was slow and even, his face buried against the back of your shoulder. It was strange, how quickly your body had learned the geography of him. The weight, the heat, the way his presence filled a room even when he was unconscious.
You let yourself enjoy it for exactly three more seconds before the phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He groaned. A deeply offended groan that vibrated against your shoulder. Your lips twitched.
“Don’t” he mumbled into your skin, voice rough with sleep and threaded with that possessive edge that had quietly become your new normal.
“I didn’t do anything” you whispered back, barely moving.
“You’re thinking about moving” he accused, tightening his arm around your waist in sleepy protest.
A soft laugh slipped out of you “It’s probably important, Satoru”
He sighed, a long, dramatic exhale, then tightened his arm around your waist in silent protest as you reached for your phone. You turned the screen toward you. The message header alone told you everything you needed to know. Cold in the way only institutional language could be.
Reassessment Briefing: 10am tomorrow. Attendance Mandatory.
You set the phone down carefully. “They scheduled the reassessment”
Silence stretched long enough to become an answer. You rolled onto your back, staring at him, white hair falling messily into his eyes. Without the blindfold, the Six Eyes were striking and currently clouded with a dark, simmering irritation.
“When?” he asked.
“Tomorrow”
He nodded slowly. No surprise. His hand lifted to your face, fingertips tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that felt like a promise. He leaned in to kiss you, slow and unhurried, brushing his nose against yours before speaking.
“I’ll go with you” he said, the words leaving his mouth like a decision already made.
“No,” you said softly, catching his hand and interlacing your fingers with his. “If you walk in there, it stops being an evaluation and starts being a confrontation. Let me handle the bureaucracy. I’m an Ataru, Satoru. We’ve been navigating their nonsense for a long time.”
“They can schedule all the meetings they want” He leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder, moving his hand to firmly grip your hip. “Doesn’t change anything.”
Your fingers traced idle circles along his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath your thumb.
“It changes paperwork” you said quietly
He huffed a soft laugh, the sound warm against your collarbone “God, you sound like Nanami”
“That’s because Nanami is usually right”
“Debatable” he muttered, lifting his head to look at you again.
You smiled faintly, but the expression didn’t fully settle. He felt the shift immediately. Of course he did. Satoru always noticed when your thoughts drifted somewhere he couldn’t follow.
His hand slid up your back, slow and absent-minded, grounding. “You’re spiraling”
You nudged his shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will.” His thumb brushed the curve of your waist. A pause. “That’s not the part I don’t like.”
You didn’t ask what part he didn’t like. You already knew the answer: people who felt braver when he wasn’t physically present.
You pushed yourself up onto one elbow, looking down at him. “You’re not coming”
His jaw flexed once. A tiny tell most people would miss.
“No.” you repeated. Because if he walked into that room, it would stop being an evaluation and start being a war. Because this meeting only worked if he wasn’t there, and because the elders were cautious, not stupid.
You brushed your thumb over his cheekbone. “I can handle a room full of old men asking invasive questions.”
“I know.” he murmured, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb brushing slowly along your hairline. “But you have this look,” he added quietly. “Like you’ve already decided how something ends and you’re not telling me the script.”
Your heart stuttered. For a split second, your breath caught in your throat, sharp and guilty. Forcing yourself to stay normal, you smiled
“You’re imagining things,” you said lightly, brushing your nose against his “I’m just confident”
His eyes narrowed a fraction, then his shoulders loosened just a little. Not convinced, but willing to let it go.
“Fine” he muttered. And you kissed him before he could change his mind.
—
The room at headquarters smelled faintly of polished wood.
The elders sat in a circle behind a screen, never showing their faces. Just silhouettes behind thin paper, voices without bodies. Observing. Measuring.
A single chair waited in the center of the floor. You stepped forward and sat, hands folded neatly in your lap, back straight. You felt the weight of their gaze, a judgmental pressure meant to find the cracks in your composure.
“Thank you for attending” one of them said “This reassessment is standard procedure following significant changes in a sorcerer’s status”
They meant marriage. Your marriage specifically.
“Of course” you replied
“We will begin with a discussion of amplification output”
The questions came slowly. Methodically. Had your amplification changed since the marriage? Did proximity influence output? Did emotional connection alter efficiency? Had there been any unexpected fluctuations? Each question peeled back another layer of pretense until the real one sat quietly at the center of the table.
Had marrying him made you more dangerous?
You answered carefully, explaining the mechanics of your technique. Precisely. Honestly enough to satisfy the letter of the question without feeding the hunger behind it.
Paper shifted softly behind the screen.
“Let us address loyalty” another elder said “Where do your priorities lie?”
“With Jujutsu Society”
“And your husband?”
“He is part of Jujutsu Society”
Silence stretched. You could feel the weight of their attention pressing down, heavy. Then one of them spoke, voice firmer than the others.
“The upper limit of power has shifted. An amplifier has married the strongest sorcerer alive. A man who requires no amplification to stand at the apex of modern jujutsu.”
You knew being an amplifier wasn’t the only problem they had. It was being an Ataru. A lineage tied to power that had never sat comfortably within the system.
You didn’t comment.
“Do you understand the implications of this union?”
“I do”
“Do you understand why it requires careful monitoring?”
“I understand”
Another pause followed. Then you heard a folder opening.
“One final area of clarification.”
You stilled, waiting.
“When acting in an amplification role,” the elder said, his tone clinical “your output requires sustained focus and proximity to the sorcerer you are amplifying”
“Yes, it’s necessary”
“During that time, your independent combat capability is reduced”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement waiting to be confirmed.
“It becomes secondary” you said calmly
“And in a multi-variable scenario,” the voice continued “where maintaining amplification directly increases the survival probability of civilians, but places you at elevated personal risk—”
The pause stretched just long enough to become intentional.
“—how would you prioritize?”
There it was.
Clean. Professional. Impossible to object to.
“Civilian safety takes priority.” you said without hesitation
“If maintaining amplification were the determining factor in mission success?”
“Yes”
“If disengaging would improve your personal safety but reduce the primary sorcerer’s operational output?”
“Yes.”
A folder closed with a quiet, decisive sound.
“That will be sufficient.”
And just like that, the meeting ended.
You stood, smoothing your hands over your uniform out of habit, and walked toward the exit without looking back.
The questions replayed in your head as you pushed the doors open, and your upcoming mission with Nanami surfaced immediately after. Routine support assignment.
Your jaw tightened.
They didn’t need you to fail this evaluation. They just needed confirmation of how you would behave in the field.
You would keep amplifying. You would prioritize civilians. You would accept personal risk if it meant mission success. Exactly what an amplifier was supposed to do.
Your shoulders straightened as you started down the steps.
You were walking into a trap with eyes wide open. At least, that had to count for something.
You could tell Satoru. You could call your family.
But suspicion wasn’t proof. And in the world of jujutsu politics, accusations without proof didn’t protect you — they escalated everything.
They would deny it. Satoru would push back. And the fragile balance you’d been trying to preserve since the wedding would crack straight down the middle.
No.
You exhaled slowly and stepped into the sunlight.
For now, silence was the only move that didn’t make things worse.
—
The office was quiet except for the faint rustle of papers and the distant noise of training outside. Your pen hovered uselessly above the report as your gaze drifted out the window, unfocused.
Suddenly, a warm breath brushed your ear.
“My wife is so distracted she didn’t notice a presence right behind her”
You jolted in your chair with a small gasp, nearly dropping the pen. Satoru laughed immediately, bright and unapologetic.
“You scared me!”
“That was the point baby”
Before you could recover, he grabbed the back of your chair and spun it fully toward him. Your protest never made it out. His hand cupped your jaw and he leaned down, kissing you slow and warm and entirely inappropriate for a workday.
When he pulled back, his mouth lingered close enough that you could still feel the ghost of the kiss.
“I’d love to fuck you in this office right now”
You bit your lip, heat blooming in your cheeks despite yourself. “You’re impossible”
His grin widened “You wouldn’t object”
A tiny pause. Then you exhaled, honest and helpless. “No… I really wouldn’t.”
“Mm.” His thumb brushed your lower lip once, satisfied. “Noted.”
Then the playful smirk softened
“So,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear before stepping back, “how was the reassessment?”
“Predictable. A lot of questions about amplification output and loyalty. They didn’t get anything new out of me” you said, offering a reassuring smile. “It was just procedure”
His gaze searched your face for a beat longer than necessary, like he was trying to read the margins of what you weren’t saying. Then he nodded slowly, accepting the answer even if he didn’t love the subject.
“I actually came to tell you something,” he said. “I’m leaving in two days. International assignment. Big cluster of curses getting messy. They want it handled fast.”
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Two days.
The same day.
Your fingers curled slightly in your lap before you forced them to relax.
He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “You’ll be on that support mission while I’m gone, right?”
You nodded. “Routine assignment” you said again, but this time the guilt hit harder.
“Good” He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead — soft, grounding. “If you need anything, call Ijichi. Or me. Doesn’t matter where I am. You know that, right?”
You nodded again.
“Okay, I should get going before Megumi starts throwing rabbits at me for being late,” he added quickly. He kissed your neck, then your cheek, and finally your lips, punctuating each one with a soft muah, completely oblivious to the faint crease forming between your brows. “Love you. See you at home.”
You managed to whisper an “I love you” before he disappeared, your hand still half-raised in the air where it had instinctively reached for him.
And just like that, the last pieces slid into place.
You were in the middle of making coffee when you heard the kitchen door slide open behind you. Strong arms wrapped around your waist before you could turn.
“I don’t wanna go”
You smiled softly at the childish honesty in his voice, leaning back into him.
“You say that every time”
“I mean it every time” He whispered, his face buried into your neck, warm breath ghosting over your skin as his grip tightened.
His hips pressed closer and you froze for half a second before letting out a quiet laugh.
“Babe…”
“Sorry” he said simply, and you felt his smile on your shoulder
“Mm”
“I’m going to miss you.”
Your chest squeezed at the softness in his voice, but the thought dissolved the moment his lips dragged slowly along your neck and his hand slid up your arm, nudging the robe off one shoulder. Cool air brushed your skin at the same time his mouth did.
A quiet sound escaped you before you could stop it, your back arching instinctively into him.
“It’s just two days, Toru”
“Don’t you know how obsessed I am with you?” he murmured against your skin “I miss you every second we’re apart”
“You’re such a romantic husband” You smiled and reached for the whipped cream to finish your coffee, only for the can to disappear from your hand halfway through the movement.
Turning your head, you caught the look on his face.
Absolutely shameless.
Then cold sweetness touched one of your nipples and your eyes widened
“Are you serious?!”
He didn’t answer. Instead his hand slid to your jaw, tilting your head back as his mouth captured yours, slow and deep and distracting enough to steal the rest of your protest.
By the time the kiss broke, your thoughts were thoroughly scrambled. A small whimper slipped out when he pressed you forward against the counter again.
He turned you in one smooth motion, his hands settling firmly at your waist. The next thing you knew, the marble of the kitchen island met the backs of your thighs as he lifted you onto it effortlessly.
The robe fell completely open and for a moment, he simply looked at you.
His gaze traveled slowly downward, lingering on the whipped cream spread across your breasts, and something hungry flashed behind those impossibly bright eyes.
“You’re so beautiful” he breathed, already sounding slightly hoarse.
Then, he leaned down and dragged his tongue slowly over one nipple, licking the sweet cream off with a low, filthy groan. His large hands cupped and kneaded your tits, smearing the whipped cream as he sucked and licked greedily, switching between them like he couldn’t get enough.
You moaned, fingers threading through his messy white hair, back arching into his mouth. The mix of cold cream and his hot tongue made your head spin.
He spent long minutes worshipping your tits — sucking, biting gently, pinching your nipples until they were swollen and sensitive — before he dropped lower.
In one fluid movement he hooked your legs over his shoulders, dragged your hips to the edge of the island, and buried his face between your thighs.
“Fuck—” he groaned against your pussy, the sound vibrating through you. The first broad stroke of his tongue had your head falling back, a broken moan tearing free.
He ate you like a man on the verge of starvation. Messy and eager licks followed by focused suction on your clit, his tongue fucking into you in shallow thrusts that made your hips rock helplessly.
“Toru— oh god—”
Unable to hold back, you gripped his hair tighter and started grinding against his face, riding his tongue desperately. Satoru moaned loudly in approval, the sound muffled between your thighs as he let you use him.
“That’s it, baby” he growled against your soaked folds, while his hands gripped your ass, pulling you down harder, encouraging you “Ride my face. Fuck— use me.”
“—fuck, Toru. I’m so close already”
You rocked your hips faster, grinding against his tongue and nose while his hands squeezed your thighs. The pleasure built fast and brutal until it crashed over you. You came hard with a broken cry of his name, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure tore through you.
He kept licking you through it, greedy and unrelenting, until your legs were trembling.
You were still panting when he stood up, eyes wild. He freed his cock — hard, flushed, and leaking — and pulled you forward on the counter.
In one slow deep thrust he buried himself inside you, groaning at the tight heat.
“God… so good,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours.
He fucked you hard and deep, one hand still kneading your sticky breast while the other gripped your hip. The kitchen filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping skin and your shared moans.
When he was close, he buried his face in your neck.
“I love you” he groaned, voice breaking.
With a few final, powerful thrusts, he came deep inside you, filling you with thick, warm spurts. He stayed buried to the hilt, arms wrapped tightly around you as he rode out his orgasm, kissing your neck and jaw with surprising tenderness.
The shower afterward was quiet. Steam curled around the glass walls while warm water ran over both of you, washing away whipped cream, sweat, and the lingering haze of pleasure that still clung heavily to your body. Satoru stood behind you beneath the spray, one arm wrapped loosely around your waist as his fingers brushed damp hair away from your neck.
His lips brushed your shoulder once.
“You okay?” he murmured.
You nodded automatically, leaning your head back against his chest. “Yeah.”
His fingers traced idle patterns against your skin, grounding and affectionate and painfully familiar.
When you finally stepped out, the apartment felt colder. You sat on the edge of the bed wrapped in one of his shirts while he got dressed across the room, movements efficient now, blindfold folded carefully between his fingers before slipping into place.
You watched him quietly.
There was something surreal about it—the contrast between the man who had just been on his knees between your thighs in the kitchen and the strongest sorcerer alive adjusting his cuffs like he was preparing for another ordinary workday.
A faint smile tugged at your mouth, but it faded quickly.
The last thing he put on was his coat. Then he crossed the room toward you in slow steps until he stood in front of you
“Hey,” he said softly, tilting your chin up so you’d look at him properly. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone.”
Your chest tightened painfully, guilty again, but you forced a small smile anyway.
“Always.”
He leaned down and kissed you slowly. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours.
“I’ll be home before you know it.”
The words were meant to reassure. Instead, something uncomfortable shifted in your chest.
You hated that. Hated the guilt. Hated the instinctive urge to tell him everything.
But it was too late now. The decision had already been made.
“Go before you get fired,” you teased
He huffed a laugh.
“Impossible. They need me too much.”
“There he is.”
“See? You already miss me.”
You shoved at his shoulder.
He caught your wrist, pressed a kiss to your knuckles, and finally stepped away.
The apartment felt quieter almost immediately after the door closed behind him. You remained where you were for a few moments, staring at nothing in particular until your gaze drifted toward the clock.
Nanami would be arriving soon.
reblogs are always appreciated!! <3 -> next part masterlist
smau list (more coming)
Jujutsu Kaisen
mostly bottom jjk men
when are you going to let me hit it from the back, pt. 2 - before and after the jjk men have let you peg them, demon slayer hashiras
send pics - you ask the jjk men for gym pics/ they send them to you and you are overly freaked out
i know you love me baby - In which you and the jjk men can't stay exes
he is busy - The jjk men text you, pretending they're another woman, pt where you are busy
send me a whimper audio - In which you ask the jjk men for whimper audios
push ups - Making the jjk men do push ups while saying your name
jealousy jealousy - the jjk men getting jealous
aphrodisiac - in which the jjk men accidentally take an aphrodisiac
accidents happen - in which the jjk men have a surprise for you, not knowing you're not alone
Strap so good it put him to sleep - In which you post a tiktok of them sleeping after getting that good strap
them telling you they're a virgin - In which the jjk men tell you they're virgins
Me or my strap? - In which you feel insecure because you think they like your strap more than you
You as Sukuna's favourite of Yuji's friends - pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6
Surprise Creampie - In which you get a strap thag oozes lube
Mommy?? - In which the jjk men are supposed to/want to call you mommy
Me and who? , pt 1.2. Nanami and alt versions - The jjk men ask you if you've had dirty fantasies about one of their friends, me and who smut fics
A New Tattoo - In which the jjk men get a tattoo on their lower abdomen
Switch - In which you and the jjk men switch bodies
Do It For Me - In which you tell the jjk men you'll let them hit if they let you hit first (pre relationship)
I like 'em big - In which the jjk men added a few pounds and you love it
Public Indecency - In wich the jjk men have a vibrator up their butt and you control it
Freaked Out - Random freaked out texts with jjk men, pt 2 with the girls and other guys
Through The Mirror - Sending the jjk men a video of you fucking them in front of a mirror the night before
Make Up Sex - In which the jjk!men are mad at you and you and you're trying to make it up to them by getting in their pants
Public Indecency - In wich the jjk men have a vibrator up their butt and you control it
Enough - In which the jjk men feel like they can't satisfy you
jjk men's pregnancy cravings smau - pregnancy cravings but in a fictional world women shouldn't have to bear children so the jjk men are pregnant omegas and they'd look so cute with baby bumps! 😩 and the jjk!men are girl dads cause I said so 🗣
Crushing his dick - In which you ask the jjk men if you can crush their dicks
Dark side - In which the jjk men wake up a whole different side in you
Dickprived?? - In which the jjk men need their back blown out yesterday but there's one little problem... they're pregnant
Babyyy nooo - In which the jjk men feel like you only use them for their body (sex)
Who Is That? - In which the jjk men jump to conclusions when they see you out with someone else
No orgasm for you - In which you tell the jjk men you didn't come last night, demon slayer hashiras
No orgasm for you (alt) - In which the jjk men didn't make you come last night and make it up to you
Spoiled Princesses - In which you tell the jjk men ''no'' but they're spoiled
omega jjk guys when YOU'RE in rut and locking yourself in your room cause you don't want to 'inconvenience' them (aka blow their back out in AT LEAST 97 different positions) 😈
Gentle reader after the jjk men had really rough parnters
Your bf's hole is so tight - In which you send the jjkmen's girlfriends a video of you pegging them after their gf cheated
I Feel... - In which the jjk men feel insecure (most of them just feel ugly and you are a freak)
They get pregnant but don't know how to tell them so they avoid the reader for a while
Fencer!Reader x Jjkmen - In which you're nervous about a competetion
Fun Trip - In which you ask the jjk men to rent a cabin with you and let you eat their ahh
Shut Up - In which the jjk men send you a spicy fic to stop an argument
Just fratboy!sukuna trying to act nonchalant like the community dih he is 😝
Sugar Mommy - In which youre the jjkmen's sugar mommy
Spicy Book Scene - In which you ask the jjk men to recreate spicy book scenes with you
What's My Name? - In which the jjk guys complain about you using their names
Lemme EYP - In which the jjkmen are on a sex ban and beg to eat your pussy alt version
I miss you - In which the jjk men miss you
sugar titts - In which the jjk men are sore after you played with their chest last nighy
Embarrassing the men after they came all over themselves
texting the jjk men and your teen (abt 18/19) grabs their phone in the middle of your conversation
"Happy mother's day mommy"
Not Them - Friends w benefits jjk men being jealous
Random Texts With The Pregnant JJK men
Big and Buff - In which the jjk men go feral because Y/n is buff
KNY (Demon Slayer)
When are you going to let me hit it from the back? - demon slayer hashiras
No orgasm for you - demon slayer hashiras
When will you let me hit it from the back? - In which you ask the kny hashiras when
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ch1, ch2, ch3
Your trash,
Divorce lawyer Higuruma X reader
Synopsis.
You are in a loveless marriage with your husband of six years. Until he breaks the one rule you both religiously followed. No mistresses allowed. On any side. Surprisingly you don’t run straight to divorce, instead into arms of an overworked divorce lawyer.
Monday’s groceries, Tuesday is meal prep, Wednesday is family dinner— always with his family, Thursday is almost always a publicity outing, and Friday? Friday’s laundry day.
These are things you would’ve never payed attention to prior to getting married, yet here you were marking them on your calendar, folding a grown man’s clothes. Shit that you wouldn’t be caught dead with years ago.
It’s Thursday again, which means suffocating confrontations disguised as conversations.
You smile at yourself in the mirror, you’re in a black, halter dress, a little bit cinched on the waist to show your figure, but still modest enough.
Behind you, your husband fixes his cuff links, lazy fuck keeps glancing up at you from the mirror, waiting for you to notice him struggling and lend a hand.
Instead, you keep looking your reflection, trying on different earrings to see which one fit. Then, you settle on a pair of gold earrings, humming as you put them on.
Behind you, his gaze lingers, heavy and unmoving, its that look he gives you when he’s about to say some bullshit.
Like now, “Don’t you think this is a little much for a family dinner?” He says, eyes roaming over your hips. “Mom might not like it.”
You roll your eyes inwardly at the mention of the witch his mom.
Maybe the better adjective for her would be bitch. A nasty, snarky, hook nosed bitch, who couldn’t stop babying her thirty-something year old son.
You would think it was a TSA screening the way she would feel the need to squint her beady little eyes at you, searching for things about to pick at.
She said since your nails were always done, it must mean you never cooked for her son, even though he had more than enough money to afford a cook. She said you dress too scandalous, like you were supposed to put on a potato sack simply because you were married.
And the worst part? You took these critiques to heart. Gone were the days of you taking care of yourself and dressing for you, all because you were married.
Your fists clenched at your side. Those days of you dimming your shine for some man and his family were over.
Now you knew how to deal with people like this. Never give them anything to work with.
“Nope.” You replied cooly, popping the p as you grabbed a clutch off your extensive collection.
Bypassing him on your way out the walk-in closet, your heels clicking and clacking on the marbled floor.
“Where are you going?!” He called out, staring at you in disbelief.
“To the car, You can drive the other one and meet me there.” And with that, you were out, adjusting your shades as well.
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Silence hung, heavy in the room. Your fork scrapes against the porcelain dish, and suddenly the previously downcast eyes have all shot to you.
You continue eating calmly, ignoring the pointed look your husband shoots you.
“Y/n,” he mumbles, a hand drifting off to squeeze your leg, pretending to be discreet, but his eyes stayed on his mother. “Please eat a little more quietly.”
You shake his leg off you, leaning over to scoop yourself some more pasta, completely disregarding everyone’s stares of horror.
Your eyes drift over to your mother in law, who sits at the end of the table. Still no reaction. Not even a look.
Not until you pick up a forkful of pasta to your lips, slurping unashamed, sauce getting all over your lips.
Bam! She slams her cup down on the table, red wine spilling everywhere, staining the napkins before her a deep crimson.
You look up at the sound, looking innocent as can be, “Is something wrong mom?”
At once, anger lashes out at you, “Don’t call me mom!”
Besides you, your husband immediately begins placating her, “Mo—
“No!” She says firmly, raising a hand up to stop him. Her eyes narrow back at you. “What an embarrassment it is to have you as a daughter-in law, you have no manners—
“Mom, calm—
“Stop interrupting me Jonas! She has no manners, no decorum, she is not fit to be your wife, or bear our family name!” She snaps, her voice trembling with a raw, uncontrollable anger.
It all enters in one ear and out, you were still keeping your composure.
“Y/n. Pour mom some more wine.” Jonas, your husband says next to you, still sucking up to his mother like a little coward.
You nod, picking up the bottle of wine— probably more expensive than any of your purses, and stand up, walking over to her.
As you walk close, her eyes stay fixed forward, hand holding her wine glass out for you to pour in.
Like you were some type of maid, she could order around with no care in the world.
All it takes is one tilt of the bottle, and a cute little, oops! from your glossed lips, and crimson red flows from the bottle down the base of her head.
Your father in law— who had been radio silent the entire time stands up, furiously, his face redder than the wine.
Even your husband gets up, slamming the table, steam practically oozing out his ears.
Once the bottle is empty, you calmly set it down, grabbing your clutch and walking out the restaurant, listening to their enraged voices fade out with every step you took.
When you get back into your car, you can’t help but burst out laughing, grabbing yourself the outfit you had in the back and slipping it off, before you drove off.
———————————————————The buzz of the club is almost deafening around you. To others, it’s a turn off, it’s a reason for them to go to a bar instead, but to you, it’s everything you could ever want.
you walked in, pulling down on your tiny little sequenced skirt. You paired it up with a black, backless draped halter top, which showed more skin than it covered.
It had been so long since you walked inside a club, been so long since you set free and danced to your heart’s content.
That reputation clause had been more of a leash on you, hindering you from doing anything that you enjoyed.
No bars, no clubs, no drinking, moderate dressing, fuck he might as well’ve killed your social life.
Except he did. While you weren’t barred from speaking with your friends, you were barred from doing anything with them that you normally did.
Those bars and clubs, the drinks? All of it was done with them. So when you married your husband, it all got forcefully shoved off the table.
You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts.
Tonight was about you. About your fun, snd reclaiming your everything back.
Speaking of your friends, one of them, Tierra, pulls you into a tight embrace, early bawling her eyes out.
“Ohh, baby I missed you so much!” She whined, half dramatic, half serious.
It had been years since you guys got to hang out like this, not just for a shopping day, or a spa day with them, but dancing, just like the old days.
Another one of your friends, Laura, joins in—both the hug and the sentiment. “I can’t even be mad at you,” She sniffles, giggling.
One by one, everyone in the friend group joins in, turning the hug into a giant group hug.
You felt your eyes mist up, the warmth of your friends were so much more comforting than seeing their faces over FaceTime or simply texting them.
After a few minutes, all five of you girls separate, still wiping your eyes.
“But what happened to your husband? Wouldn’t he be mad you’re here?”
It dawns on you then that you still haven’t informed them about the whole cheating situation. It’s a far cry from the lack of fulter you had with them years ago. If you’re period was even a day late, if your doordash didn’t arrive on time, or maybe you picked your nose too hard, you would be so quick to tell them.
Rolling your eyes, you said, “That loser? Please. He cheated.”
A gasp escaped one of their mouths, then another, a range of disbelief and anger.
“ Cheated?”
“How could anyone cheat on you?”
Finally, Tierra asks the question that had been on everyone’s minds. “So what are you gonna do?”
You sip on the margarita in your hand, swirling the cup around. “Nothing.”
It’s funny how when you said nothing, your friends immediately knew what it meant.
You were going to do the absolute most.
ch1 here
i was rewatching attack on titan while doing this and the slurping pasta scene reminded me of Sasha stuffing her face. anyways Higuruma will be introduced in the next chapter 😏
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Current taglist:
@alebrasil0101 @mahirusgf @motleyroses87
Divider credit: @pxrce-lain
Smash or Pass?
Your omega husband is being a brat. A jealous fight before a party turns into him teasing you and you punishing him for it aka fuck him
word count: 2.7k
sub!omega!husband x domme!alpha!reader (female reader, can be read as any other too), him giving you a blowy, you fingering and fuckinging him (-> fem alpha with a dick), choking, spanking, hair pulling, crying, creampie, possesive H/n as in he says you're his while fucking and minimal angst with comfort
ch1, ch2
Your trash,
Divorce lawyer Higuruma X reader
Synopsis.
You are in a loveless marriage with your husband of six years. Until he breaks the one rule you both religiously followed. No mistresses allowed. On any side. Surprising you don’t run straight to divorce, instead into arms of an overworked divorce lawyer.
You and your husband were never in love, neither was there much of a friendship between you two. But it was always a partnership, something of a mutual agreement, that you thought you both followed. You wanted money and stability, he wanted to keep his image and company together. To keep this act going, you both agreed on one big rule. No mistresses allowed.
But what happens when he breaks that promise?
It all started, or rather— you found out in the most cliche way possible. Because you’re fairly certain this has been going on long before you knew.
Atleast once a week, as stated by the clause, you had to bring him lunch. The rationale? It made his image look even better.
After all, what’s better than a good business man? A good business man with a loving wife.
You both knew that neither of you cared enough about eachother to consider this routine sacred, but you still dutifully chose to do it every week.
Now, you wonder if he was making you go through all that to uphold his image infront of his mistress.
Maybe that’s how he wooed her— because his looks aren’t anything to help with— by selling that ‘my marriage is amazing but you make me so fufilled’ bullshit. You felt blindsided, a partnership that you thought was beneficial to each party on equal parts, was really a scale ever tipped on his favor.
He got the perfect wife, perfect company, perfect reputation and even more perfect mistress.
Even if you never cooked those meals, only ordered take out and dumped them into a bento box, it was still effort rhat you put in. Effort that was rewarded by a million dollars sent to you every time you brought it.
To fulfill your part, of course.
So yes, you’re walking into his office that day with a little bit of attitude, you were at home, crocheting while catching up on Mormon Housewives.
Getting into his office wasn’t particularly different, or suspicious enough to set you off. However, looking back there were some signs.
Both this time and the last, when you walked into the building, it was as if every employee on the floor looked at you as if they knew something you didn’t.
A head-shake there, a snicker here, and being the woman that you are, you confront it. Only to be met with apologies, but not the explanation you were looking for.
It only gets worse from there, because when you walked into inside his actual office on the first floor, your hand rests on the door knob, ready to pull it open—
Until you start to really listen to what you’re hearing.
Are those? Moans?
The moans are definitely from a female, but you recognize thag weezing anywhere.
It’s from that loser of a husband.
You’re not jealous of the woman he’s with. There’s really nothing to be jealous of. It’s hard to imagine she’s getting much pleasure with the worm he was packaging, or his inability to keep his worm up for more than one round.
And even that round was hell, he’s just wheezing in your ear, hairy chest tickling your back as he delivers weak thrust after weak ass thrusts.
So no jealousy there.
The first emotion you felt wasn’t sadness— not exactly. It was more of a slow cooking anger, every single moan and wheeze that fell from their lips on the other side of the door, only fueled that anger.
The moans themselves weren’t what made you mad, it was how loud they were. It implied that they did not care who heard, everyone probably already knew, and that’s why they looked at you like that, and this wasn’t the first time.
Your eyes narrowed at the polished wood door infront of you. Half of you wanted to kick the door down and raise hell in the entire establishment. It’s unbelievable how you could work this hard to fulfill his little clause of public image bs, and there he was undoing all your work, breaking the biggest rule you had for each other.
It was frustrating, to say the least, to adhere so much to rules with more care than the person who made them up.
The other half of you, maybe the more sensible one, wanted you to consider the money that flowed in. Every week you receiving tens of millions, and all you had to do was send a text. What would it really take for you to just ignore these incidents?
As long as his little affair didn’t interrupt your flow of money, who were you to care?
Besides, what’s a rule if it wasn’t meant to be broken? If he wants to break the very rules he made, fine.
Two can play at that game. Only, you intend to play it harder.
And when you’ve played to your heart’s content, you’ll take advantage of the subtext under the no mistress rule.
Divorce.
ch1, ch2 , ch3 (coming soon!)
Comment to be added to the tag list for the next chapter!
