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Synopsis.
What would you do for love — to build it, train it, fuck it, command it into existence just to prove you were never lonely, only in control? But now he’s looking at you with the eyes you gave him, full of something dangerously close to devotion, and asking, “If I feel this much… how couldn’t you love the me I am now?” — and suddenly, you don’t know if the real sin was building him… or wanting him back.
pairing = sex-robot!Geto × f!reader
MDNI 18+. | DDDNE | NSFW | MDNI | ANGST | FLUFF |
MDNI 18+. sci-fi au, artificial intelligence, androids & SEX robots, human × ai, creator/creation dynamic, yandere ai geto, possessive behavior, morally grey reader, mad scientist reader, rough sex, ai cream pies, sexual tension, explicit smut, dominance & submission, psychological manipulation, grief & obsession, depression, anxiety, major character death (sort of), moral ambiguity, philosophical themes, identity crisis, emotional corruption, creator falls for her creation, terminal log format, “you’re not leaving me.”
SERIES STATUS. ONGOING
WC. 7K+
TAG LIST. @eri-diglog @anubisvoid2 @Linxsolos @thegriffinbird @c4rmie @reinabxitch
a/n: hey so i got another idea LMAOOO. i’m still sitting on hella chapters for my other fics but i’m damn busy lol. 💀 BUT i got the inspo for this from @indiewritesxoxo and their fic “sex.exe” — it was so good, i gooned so hard to it LMAOOOOOO. anyway like always, i’ve already got the plot, central theme, and worldbuilding mapped out. now i just gotta… you know… actually write it 😭 i’m all over the place but i’ll get to this slowly but surely hahaha.
Disclaimer The banner images used in this post were sourced from Pinterest and are not my original artwork. All credit belongs to the respective creators. I do not claim ownership, nor do I intend to infringe on any copyrights. These images are used purely for aesthetic purposes and are not monetized in any way.
If you know the original artist(s), please let me know so I can properly credit and tag them.
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CRrRRRRrrrRACK!
The first thing he registers is the shift in temperature — the kind of creeping cold that doesn’t slam into you, but settles across your skin like a sheet of wet linen. It’s quiet, at first. Deceptively so. A draft that whispers in across the floorboards, curls under the duvet, and clings to his chest in the shape of gooseflesh. His brows twitch in his sleep but he doesn't wake. Then the chill deepens — presses into his ribs, burrows behind his lungs— and finally his eyes blink open, primal and instinctive, breath caught in the thundering fog of early morning rainstorms.
The bedroom is too dark. Not the rich, drowsy kind of dark they sleep best in, but a gray-washed, silver-tinted dimness that carries movement in the corners. He hears it then — the steady lash of rain, rhythmic and bone-deep, the kind that sounds like it’s trying to carve through stone. Somewhere in the house, a window shudders in its frame. Wind bellows down the hall like a woman sobbing into the walls.
And thats when he jolts up.
The curtains are howling .
Not swaying — howling — like something is wrong. The floor-length linen, thick with embroidery and hem weights, is dancing in slow, violent bursts. The air smells metallic. Sharp. Icy. And something inside him — something deep and animal — rises like a tide. He throws the duvet off, the sheets twisting around his legs, bare feet landing hard on the polished wood. His shoulders are already squared, body bracing instinctively against the cold, every muscle on alert and programmed ready to provide and protect.
He crosses to the balcony in long, fast strides, barely registering the soppy wetness of the rug under his heels. The glass doors — ten-foot sliding panels framed in black iron — are open just enough to let in the storm. Rain hits the marble balcony like it’s being poured from a bucket. Puddles pool at the threshold. The wind hisses against the opening, slamming cold air straight into the room like an accusation.
He grabs the door and pulls it shut with both hands — the frame groans, resists, then thunders closed with a shudder that shakes the floor. The handle locks into place with a snap. And Immediately, the air calms. The room exhales. The curtains settle like bodies collapsing, and he can breath easy once more.
He turns back—ready to climb into bed, to press his cold hands to your warm skin and grumble half-asleep apologies for the draft and the noise—
But then he hears you.
There aren't any words. Not even breath.
A sound.
A keening, muffled little sound—high in the throat, low in the chest. The kind of sound you only make when you’re trying not to make a sound.
He’s across the room before he even realizes he’s moved.
You’re tangled in the sheets, somehow now buried in his side of the bed, body curled into itself like something wounded. Shoulders tight, fingers twitching in loose fists, breath stuttering in shallow, broken hiccups. You’re shivering — not from cold, but from something else.
“Hey—” His voice is soft, hoarse and deep from sleep and the chill that activated him to wake, he remains urgent. He kneels at the edge of the bed, one hand hovering midair before it dares touch you. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
You don’t answer.
You can’t.
Your face is turned into the pillow, and there are tears in your lashes. You look like you’re somewhere else entirely — lost in the dream, still locked in the storm.
“sweetheart.” He breathes it this time, hand trembling slightly as he reaches to brush the hair from your face. His fingers barely graze your temple, but the contact jolts you—your whole body flinches like you’ve been struck. His gut twists.
“Hey, hey,” he murmurs again, climbing into the bed with care, voice trembling now with something closer to panic. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
He gathers you into his arms, slow and deliberate, tucking your head to his chest, wrapping his body around yours like a silicone fortress. His hand cups the back of your skull, stroking gentle, mindless circles into your damp hair. You smell like sleep and salt. And also like fear. Like something fragile and meek that’s been shaken loose.
“It’s okay,” he says again, lower now, barely audible over the rain. “You’re safe. I promise. I’m here.”
You shudder. One hand clutches weakly at his shirt — his shirt on you, he realizes, one of his old cotton button-ups swallowed by your frame, damp now with tears and wrinkled from sleep. You bury your face in his throat, breath hitching, as you holler soul retching panicked cries.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re not alone.”
And still — the storm outside rages on.
But in this room, in this bed, in his arms — nothing else matters but you.
You press your cheek against his chest, mouth trembling as the name slips from your lips before you can stop it.
“Don’t go,” you whisper, barely a voice at all. “Suguru… don’t leave me…”
The silence that follows is too soft. Too still. The proclamation hangs in the air like a ghost.
But he doesn’t hesitate.
He gathers you close like he’s done it a thousand times before. One hand finds the back of your head, cradling it gently. The other presses to your spine, grounding you, steadying you. And then he kisses you — not on the mouth, not yet. He starts at your temple, where the tears are warm and fresh. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth. Slow. Tender. Ever Intentional. Each kiss says the same thing: it going to be okay...
“Hey,” he breathes, thumb brushing beneath your eye. “I’ve been here all night, Mrs. Professor.”
There’s a lilt to it — a soft tease like warm hands on cold skin — but the way he holds you is anything but playful. He’s wrapped around you like shelter, like prayer, like he’s afraid to let go. His body radiates heat under your palms, and you can feel the quiet urgency in the way he touches you — as if your pain reached out and he answered.
Your next breath catches. Then steadies, when your consciousness feels once more... You wipe at your cheeks with the heel of your hand and press your forehead to his shoulder, eyes shut tight.
“…You,” you murmur thickly, “stop being such a jerk.”
He laughs — low, close to your ear. It’s a real sound. Familiar. Alive. And even then what you cant belp but contemplate on is how you feel it vibrate through his ribs before you truly hear it. He shifts above you and, with a smooth, practiced motion, pulls you fully on top of him as he lays you two down —The duvet feather softly exploding beneath you both as you both plop onto the bed— slow, warm, weightless — as if it had always known your place was here. As if this moment had never ended.
You land with a soft gasp, thighs bracketing his hips. He’s only in his boxer briefs, so you can feel the warmth of his body radiating through your legs. He admires the soft cotton of his old button-down — the one you steal more often than not and only return to have him freshen with his natural scent— soft cotton, right now its oversized, sliding off your shoulder he cant help but look at you in quite awe…
He settles you against his chest and strokes slow, grounding circles into your back, his voice low and certain as thunder rolls somewhere in the distance.
“Relax…” he says. “I’m here.”
You sigh as your final hics evaporate with his steady presence, finally settled against him — warm, content, almost asleep again. The storm outside dulls into a soft hush, thunder now a lullaby instead of a threat. His arms feel perfect around you, heavy and grounding. You breathe him in, tucked into his chest like a favorite place you keep returning to.
And then you feel it.
The pressure, low and unmistakable, nudging gently beneath where your hips rest. You blink slowly in the dark. Surely not.
You shift your legs — just a little — and yep. Definitely. You groan into his collarbone. “Seriously?” His chest moves with a small laugh. You can feel his smugness even before he speaks.
“Didn’t do anything,” he says, soft and teasing. “You’re the one who's grinding yourself on my dick.”
You lift your head enough to glare at him, though there’s no real fire behind it. “It’s three a.m., Suguru. What part of your brain thought this was a good time?”
He hums, pretending to think. “Your scent pheromones told me you were horney.” he laughs when you give him another unimpressed eyeroll and works to sooth your irritation instead with play, “Subconscious, maybe. Or muscle memory.”
You observe him blankly . “tuh! Unbelievable.” okay maybe he wasn't trying to soothe anything.
His fingers trace slow, idle circles along your spine — and now that you’re aware of it, his touch feels more deliberate, more affectionate. He knows what you’re doing — the faux annoyance, the way you’re biting the inside of your cheek to hide a smile.
But you play coy so You shift — just slightly but enough to press up against his tenting heat — and the low sound he makes is instant. Your cheeks heat, but you don’t move away. Not really.
“Factory default?” you ask, playing along with his naughtyness. He grins, iridescent amethyst eyes gleaming in the dark. “Among other settings.” he add
You scoff, burying your face in his neck to hide the stupid laugh that slips out. But he lingers on the sound of the yawn that escapes your tired lips, and that sobers him.
“It’s okay,” he says softly, the teasing gone for a moment. One hand strokes down your spine, grounding you. “Just ignore it — it’ll go away.”
Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d be serious now, when you’re tucked against his chest after a shaky wake-up, still damp with sleep and the remnants of some storm-drenched dream that leaves you tired. He always puts you first — even like this, with your thighs bracketing his hips, and the heat of him pulsing obvious and firm beneath you.
You hum like you’re thinking it over, fingers tracing the edge of his collar bone..
“…What if I don’t want it to go away?” you whisper, all breath and velvet.
That gets him.
His brow lifts — slowly— and the corner of his mouth twitches into a knowing little smirk. “Oh, is that so, pretty girl?”
His voice dips lower, thicker, the amusement curling like smoke between you. You can feel the shift in his body, how he presses just a little closer — but he doesn’t move further than that. He’s waiting. Letting you play your game.
And you? only offer him a look. Innocent. Sweet. Coy enough to make his jaw flex.
“Ughh hahaha stupid factory default,” he says finally, sighing with exaggerated resignation. “Cant help but wake up like this. Please take pity on me, Mrs. Professor.”
You pretend to consider it, cocking your head slightly. “Must be defective, then.”
“very.” He plays while he raises both brows now, fully amused. “Might need a hands-on inspection?”
You try not to grin. At his perverted tendencies, ones reserved just for you. But you fail…. God, how you adored him.
You kiss him first —with the type of insatiable hunger that lingers hot and heavy regardless of how you nit nip and lap at his hot wet tongue. A delusional woman starved. It starts tender, like a thank you, and becomes ravishing. When you pull back to observe his mauled lips you cant help but smile. “Your so pliant my David.” he sighs into your admission heavy lidded eyes opening slightly glimmering in the darkness with bountiful emotions but above all supplication. “Dont tease this poor machine my darling” he all but whimpers as he inches closer attempting to coax you to bestow to this devotee another kiss. You smile like the cat caught with the canary but reward this poor sinner. Cradling his face between your hands indexes fingers brushing his lashes eyebrows and every soft curve of the pretty face you once called yours.
And when you hear his exasperation then, the one exhales from his throat you smile observing it unfold before you by the way his brow furrows. You cant help but smile at his antics; ones that will forever be his for all of eternity… you can't help but take pity kissing the furrows away tenderly inviting him back to be the calm man he has always been. When he opens his eyes once more he's met with the deep intensity that burns for him within your irises. And again he cant help the stutter of his heart along with the stutter of his cock.. You chuckle “mhmm, suguru” you pause “do you love me…” he's shocked this is even a question before he quickly answered deep purples glowing when he reveals his truth “every single on of my atoms is devoted to you forever and always” you smile feeling his hands hold you tight before brushing away his silly bangs that obstruct you from seeing him completely before closing your eyes to lean in a kiss him atleast… the melding of your lips is kinder this time soft to remind you two that more than what pulses hot between your legs is that which pulses between your magnetic fields; your souls. And when you two transcend the space reserved for many it deepens. Desperate. Wet. Tongue-heavy. The kind of kiss that clouds your thoughts and blurs the edges of your name.
He groans softly into your mouth, hands already roaming — one cradling the back of your head pushing it further into his mouth to fully devour and taste, the other sliding over the hem of the old shirt you stole from his closet. His fingers splay across the small of your back, dragging you flush against him stomach to stomach, anchoring you where he wants you. Almost Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again.
He lies beneath you, warm and bare—in these moments to cloths always seems to disappear into thin air— the slow rise of his chest squishing your breasts like a promise he never had to make out loud. Your nipples stiffen from the drag of skin on skin, aching with the kind of hunger that feels neglected— or maybe rehearsed — your buds begging to be twisted and pulled.
The cotton of your panties between you is thin, pointless, soaked in heat and pulse, and when you shift — instinctively, indulgently — it’s to feel the weight of him press up, hard and wanting, right where you’re mound is softest. He groans into your mouth, and you cant help but think it sounds like him. Feels like him. Its too alive to be memory.
The bed cradles you both the way it always did, steeped in the scent of shared nights and slow forgiveness.
He hisses after a particularly hard grind from you. “Careful. you drank too much last night”
But you’re not careful. Not anymore, especially when you feel the uncomfortable slimyness in your panties that no longer lets you get the right amount of friction on your swollen clit.
You push the band of his underwear down, fast and intentional. To that He lifts his hips without hesitation. You’ve barely missed a beat before your hand is on him — hot and hard against the soft flesh of your small hand wrapping around his long thick and pulsing cock. The tip allready leaking with pre whimpering for your to do more than just tease. You twist your hands around him at the top gliding up and down his shaft to spread the little lubricant in your hand.
“Dont worry, im not tipsy anymore” you wink at him.
He grains at the sight and as he tosses his head back his breath stutters before he reaches back to fondle your swaying breasts — as he watches you. Tender and ever so adoring. A man spellbound by his dreams made flesh. There’s no teasing in his gaze this time. No smugness. Just adoration.
And you? You’re already moving to follow. Shedding the last scrap of your own underwear, you work your hips to hover right above him. Working to bring his tip to your entrance with the tips of your fingers you guide him to your pussy with purpose.
And yet your halted as his hands grab your hips immediately — not to pull you down, but to still you.
“Don’t even think about it,” he says lowly. His voice is rough, a little breathless, but undeniably firm.
You pause, confused. Your breath comes out in shallow pants. You’re flushed. Hot, honey and . needy.
But he’s not letting you sink your tight little cunt on his fat head.
“We haven’t seen each other in a bit,” he murmurs, dragging one palm along the outside of your thigh, then curling his fingers in against your hip. “Your eagerness doesn’t justify your rashness. It’ll be tight”
You go still.
Instead he removes your hand from his cock forcing it to slap wet against his abdomen and promptly forcing you to sit on the length of it sandwiching his cock between your pussy and his abs the pressure was already dixxying
He shifts your body, sliding your hips just slightly before guiding you to grind — slow, and teasing — along the length of him. His other hand comes to rest on the small of your ass , holding you steady as he makes you move just so.
He groans your name again — this time lower, darker. His eyes close briefly, and when they open again, his gaze is molten when he sees you're straying..
“Eyes on me, pretty girl…” he murmurs, voice low and decadent, as if this is something he wants to savor.. And you? You cant help but obey.
When you two reach a rhythm you look down, panting, only to see the mess you’re making of each other — the swollen head of his cock sliding wetly against your clit, peekabooing every time your roll your fat pussy lips them back he's so flushed and twitching between your slick lips. And when you shudder — when the tip catches again, just a little too right. You cry a moan when you fall to his chest— he tightens his grip, anchoring you to him like a vice.
“Go slow dont rush” he reminds you, not because he needs to, but because he knows you won’t. “Feel me.” he kisses behind your ear. While he continues to guide your pussy to gride and hump his thick cock.
And you do. You feel everything — the heady drag of skin and foreskin bunching and unbunching beneath you., the way the pressure builds with each glide, the wet ache growing where you need him most. Your hips roll in little circles, legs shaking with restraint, but you don’t stop. He won’t let you.
Your eyes flutter shut; you can’t help but keep panting out hot moans into his ear, the condensation his system to overheat, while you continue begging Suguru to just put it in. wet sloppy tears cascade down your face as you bargain and beg telling him how ‘You can handle the stretch, but please, just put it in!’ But he pays you no mind kissing and gnawing at your earlobe as he cluely ignores your sobbed pleas, breath catching on more whimpering moans as your body begins to respond to the rhythm he’s set.
He coos into your conch, all the while firmly confirming to you he’s not doing this to torture his pretty girl. He promises to put it in after you cum like this at least once; it’s all for you, after all. It won’t be long, he babies you some more. He feels it, after all—the way your thighs tighten, the subtle twitch in your abdomen, the way your slick starts to smear not just against his length, but the dark, coarse tufts of his pubic hair on his groin, smearing everything from the tip of his cock to the tight, puckering entrance of your asshole, the one he’s been rimming with the hand that’s not guiding your rhythm. And even then, his hands steady you. Encourage you. And you think, if they could speak, even they would praise you.
When you finally feel yourself getting there—not to the edge, but ready—you decide to take action, so you reach down, shimmying out of his tight hold not so carefully, but with the same impatience of a young, naive girl. You find him again, standing hot and heavy between you, and angle him toward your entrance once more in desperation.
You brush your clit against his tip as you line your pussy to tower over him.
He hisses, sharp and unsteady, trying to stop you from sinking down, but not really..
“Don’t—” he warns, eyes snapping open to catch yours. But there’s no anger. Only concern. Love. Longing.
You pause. Just for a second.
“I can’t—fuck, I can’t anymore,” you gasp, voice thick with desperation as you rock against him again, cum slick and swollen, your clit catching against the velvet drag of his cock again and again. “I need you in me—now.” The words crack on your tongue like beggar and sinner all at once. You reach behind you without breaking your rhythm, fingers threading through his until you guide his hand around and down, low, lower—right between your thighs, where your bodies meet in a slick mess of shared debauchery. You press his palm flush against your pussy, grinding just enough for him to feel it all: the heat, the wet, the need. Your clit throbs against his fingers as you moan through a salacious grin, voice husky with sin.
“See?” you whisper, eyes heavy-lidded, lips slick. “I need you so bad it hurts.”
And before he can answer with logic—before the words even reach his mouth—you bring that same hand up between your bodies, salacious and deliberate, tongue already slipping out as you drag it across the tangy mess on his fingers. His breath hitches, almost a gasp, as he watches you lick it clean—your cum, his precome, the ruin of your grinding all smeared across your wet muscle like something holy.
And even then, you don’t break eye contact. Not once. Just hover there, clit catching on the slit and cock’s hole and the sensitive area of his frenulum…. The blush on his face and chest was divine. He watched as you let his cock nestle right at your entrance, held steady between your index and middle fingers, working to keep yourself open so he can see your hot, pulsing, twitching cunt on full display as you threatened to take him.
And then, just as you begin to lower yourself, he stops you again, although you can tell he’s eager, ready, heart racing—so you decide better than to beg him; you’d rather show him…
You shift, slow and lecherous, letting your arm kickstand your weight while you sink back just enough to arch your spine, push your hips forward, and present your puckering hole—a subtle curve meant only for him—until he can see it. See the way your pussy lips part in a ‘mwuah’ just for him, glistening and swollen, your cunt puckering and winking even more because she knows he’s watching. The arm behind you grows shaky while the other holds him steady, fingers delicately sustaining the head of his cock as you line him up again—although the slippery slime of your combined juices makes his cock head slip at your fingertips—slick heat pulsing at the tip, coaxing him to please just let you have what you want. His eyes darken, hot heat escaping his mouth as he makes way to stabilize your trembling body. And when you feel him resist no more, you drag his cock head through your folds once more—yes, because you need it, but because you also need him to watch his reward.
His breath catches, ragged, as he sees your hole opening around him. The sight, the sensation, is his favorite—you’re so, so slow with it, unhurried but absolutely obscene—the thick head of his cock bullying into your neglected tight hole inch by inch, swallowed by the kind of wet heat that could make a machine weep. And as he predicted, the stretch begins at the very tip—the soft, swollen crown of him pressing past your entrance, parting you with a painful pressure that steals your breath and curls your spine. You feel it all: the tender resistance, the wet give of your body, the way the heat of him forces your walls to yield inch by inch. He’s flushed dark all the way to the throbbing hilt, and as you force yourself to sink slowly onto him, the fullness only grows crueler—his circumference flaring wider the deeper you go, and thick veins playing a deliciously cruel game of pleasure and pain. You can’t help but bite your lip hard while your brows furrow as you continue to tell your body to relax.
Your fingers, slick and practiced, reach between your legs—index and middle pressing just beside the intrusion, holding yourself open and spreading the gooey slick that accumulates as your pussy tries to swallow more of him. You’re careful to ease the drag, to stop any rogue friction from stealing the moment. Your other hand slips forward, finding your clit with trembling precision, massaging soft, fast circles to coax more arousal from your cunt, more permission from your body to relax, just enough to let him in deeper and make the pinching tightness go away.
And still, you’re nowhere near fully impaled. Half-seated, breath stuttering, thighs quivering—almost so close to the base, but not yet there—suspended in that unbearable middle where every nerve is alive, every inch of him inside you feels like a scream waiting to break.
Beneath you, Suguru’s hands white-knuckle the fat of your hips, his jaw clenched at the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of your pussy around his cock “fuck, you’re tight” he groans beads of sweat trickling down his pretty forhead but his eyes remain locked to where you take him in with slow, brutal grace. He’s trembling—sure, from his hedonistic urge to just sink you all the way down. But more than that, from restraint.
“This always happens when you’ve been gone for too long,” you snap at him, his brows furrowing up into an apologetic smile as he begins to ask for forgiveness with the exchange of his fingers playing with your clit, giving you a soft “m’sorry,” and you can’t tell if he said it with a chuckle before he latches onto your tits, biting and stimulating you to avert your attention from the stretch of his cock. The thought completely leaves your mind when you feel him bite and pinch hard on your buds simultaneously.
You cry out, “Suguru,” as you claw at his inky black hair, flushing him to your chest more while your head rolls back.
And then he takes over.
He fills you slower than you had, impossibly slow—how you should have been doing it to avoid the sting—but still your walls flutter in protest, gripping around him like a vise. What had you expected…? After all, it has been years. Your head tilts down, hair spilling like a curtain around your face as your focus narrows to the way he splits you open—inch by inch, deeper with every breath. You don't dare look at him—not yet—too caught up in the heat, the sting, the discomfort curling your toes as you try to breathe through the actual feeling of his thick middle deep in your vagina.
You had always been stubborn, he thinks, while he continues his ministrations on your clit, moving his face up to lick and lap at your collarbones, jugular, and your exposed earlobes, his face and chest flushed with heat as he breathes through it with you. He knows if he tried to stop you, to “take it slower,” your pride would flare. But something about your will—how unrelenting you are when it comes to what you want—is what gets him. He can’t help but watch through lashed eyes as he laps at your neck. Oh, how he watches as you persist, what a reverent sight.
He watches like a man starved, eyes blown wide and glassy, fixed on the slick, obscene place where your pussy swallows his big dick with strain, sure, but never with complaint. Amethyst irises flickering with something primal every time he hears you mewing and quietly moaning through it, because soon, without a doubt, the stretch would no longer be an issue. He bites your jugular when he flexes his cock in you. You slap his back as you moan a cry of, “Suguru, stop!” but he can’t help but smile as he soothes you back into focus; it returns him to his own focus. It’s like he’s witnessing the divine.
And maybe he is. Maybe this is holy. The slow drag of you around him, the way you shake and stutter and sink down anyway—it’s a fucking sacrament. It’s obscene, and yet he can’t help but feel like you’re a work of art. Something that must be worshipped. After all, he’s witnessing a goddess take her throne.
Each inch you swallow leaves him panting, his lungs forgetting how to pull air. His fingers twitch at your thighs, but he doesn’t rush you—won’t dare disturb the rhythm, the ritual, the unholy grace of the moment. Through it all, you stutter each time you sink up only to sink back down. You tremble. You take him anyway. And Suguru, lost in the sensation of you wrapped around him, shining with sweat and slick and sanctity, could swear the earth might split in half from the sheer divinity of it.
What holy madness to behold, through eyes that were never meant to see such humanly devout worship, especially an abomination like him.
“Fuck,” he groans, head falling into the sweaty valley of your breasts, jaw clenched, hands trembling where they grip your hips when he feels you finally bottom out and adjust to the feeling of him pressed deep in the bottom of your pussy. You blush when you feel him throb, sending shivers to your womb and cervix. You moan again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to let the blooming heat and pleasure fester where the two of you are joined.
“Suguru…” you say breathless before you grind yourself onto him to feel him press deeper into your guts. And that’s all the signal he needs to realize you are ready…
He flips you, unable to restrain himself anymore. You two groan when you feel he’s slipped out in the motion…
A grunt catches in your throat as your back hits the mattress, and his weight presses over you an instant later, tip warming itself at your entrance. He covers your body completely—one arm braced beside your head, already reaching to tangle in your hair, while the other snakes under the arch of your back.
Your legs fall open without resistance, or rather, pre-programmed submission.
“Hey—!” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a kiss. You moan into it as you feel him suck your lips deeply. It was final…
When he pulls back, his forehead leans against yours in respite.
“I wanted to ride you after all this time,” you murmur. “I wanted to look at you.”
He breathes out hard, like the words alone nearly wrecked him.
“And I want to see your pretty face under me,” he says softly, “when I feel you come on my cock.”
His hips shift, dragging his tip out of your entrance to slowly rub along your folds. Not entering you—just brushing, savoring. Your whole body arches toward the sensation.
“All that work I did just for you to tease me?” your brows pinch as you feel him catch on your clit. He gives you a regretless chuckle before he leans down to kiss your lips.
“Sorry.” hes not sorry.
And when he finally pushes, sinking his full length in to bottom out into you in one salacious go—you can’t help but cry out in pain, in pleasure, and every hedonistic sensation in between; God, you loved when he put it in—it is not merely the joining of bodies, but the quiet collapse of distance, of time, and of ache. And when he pulls out to thrust in, you both gasp, sure from the surprise, but also from recognition—like breath returning to lungs that forgot they once held it. He feels the unbearable tightness of your sopping wet hole, and you the sacred fullness of his thick, veiny cock, and together it’s as if the world exhales at last. As if two halves—separated by grief, stitched by longing—have found each other once more in the dark. Not lust, not impulse, but inevitability. And for a moment, just one, there is no death, no distance, no before. Only this. Only him. Only you. Only now…
Your hands rise to his shoulders, fingernails puncturing flesh as he hits your cervix hard once, then twice; and in between his unrelenting pace, His brow furrows slightly. jaw tensing, holding back everything for you; still. Always for you.
“You’re everything to me,” he says, and kisses you again, plunging deeper into your hot hole.
And then he switches it up when you feel yourself embarrassingly fall into an early orgasm you hadn’t noticed had been approaching. He takes you slowly then—not because he’s hesitant, but because he needs to savor. Like your body is a psalm he’s wanted to recite for weeks, and he refuses to rush the ritual. Each inch he reclaims is deliberate, deep, and utterly unrelenting. There’s no teasing this time—only lust wrapped in hungry reverence. He stays close, so close you can feel the fat bead of sweat perspiring from his flesh drip down onto your own sweaty tits. He remains relentless, kissing you through it, tongues tied in tangled fucking and breaths shared, your whimpers swallowed by his mouth like secrets he intends to keep.
And yet, all you can focus on is how you stretch around him with a tight, aching fullness that draws a groan from his chest every time he fucks into your tight, gagging walls—not just from the fit, but from the feeling of being right where you're meant to be. He’s not just inside you; he’s wrapped in you, buried to the hilt in something warm and familiar, something he’s been starved of.
Through your delirious oversensitivity, your hips tilt instinctively into each one of his thrusts, trying to take more, deeper—and he lets you, taking your thighs to pin them up to your jiggling tits. And that’s when you feel him hit just right. You can’t help the scream that wrings through you.
“Fuck! Sugu!” you can’t even finish his name before you’re begging him to do it. “AGAIN—ugh, MMMMM, don’t stop!” you claw at his back. And you clench him harder, just enough to feel yourself flutter when he humps in slow, unyielding circles onto your cervix. You’re absolutely drooling.
The rhythm builds in sloppy, and you can feel decadent waves approaching—it’s frantic, but deliberate enough to feel like a claim and a worship all the while. The sound of skin slapping loudly makes you delirious, and when it gets harder, you know you will have flashbacks to this very moment, even if the sound joins the storm outside. It doesn’t matter that rain thrums against the glass like percussion to your moans; you know you could dream this night as vividly as it’s happening now.
And yet, you remain inconsolable as you remember the deeds that got you to this point…
In the debauchery that swallows you, you can’t help but reach out to him, pushing away his dark hair that hides you two like a private curtain. “I had a—ughhh! mumpfff!—dream you were gone,” you whimper suddenly, voice trembling like the rest of you.
He stills for half a breath, and for a brief moment… you wonder if you’ll see something more—but the smile’s not out of surprise, but to hold space for the words. Then he moves again, maneuvering you onto your left side, swinging your right leg over his shoulder so he can hit deeper still, more certain to angle up to shake your ovaries, bladder, and womb. With each punishing plap, plap, plap, you can’t help the sob that wrenches from you; he knows your body better than you.
Even with your face smushed into the pillow, he can hear your begging moans and that cute little yelp you produce when he pinches your clit hard before he lets himself play you into overstimulation again after the shock of your fourth—? orgasm hits you like a truck, unexpected completely by you, but not him. At this point hes the only one still really paying attention. He chuckles as he kisses the tears from your cheek when he leans down to fuck you slow. His hand grasps your exposed throat as he angles your face so he can make sure he laps every last one before they fully fall. That very same hand cradles your jaw to force you to look at him, the other grasping tightly at the leg that has you open wide for him.
When he’s content, his forehead presses to yours, lips brushing as he speaks through a groan. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” slowing to a loving pace you almost think he’s going to stop…
He nuzzles into you like something primal—affectionate, devoted, but wild. You feel his breath ghost over your throat, his nose trace your jaw, his lips soft where everything else about him is so hard. You cry once more before you feel him building you up again.
It tickles—it always does. You let out a startled laugh at how good he is with your body. He’s like a well-oiled machine, you can’t help the thought. Each one of his hard bucks fucks you harder into the bed, wet with leftover tears, when your body collapses into the pillows. He loves the sight of you like this—pliant and receptive. Adoringly, he bites the exposed flesh of your shoulder. If you weren’t so delirious, maybe you would have hissed at the pain, but the building lust at the pit of your pussy has it flipping and leaving you unable to reason. He grins against your skin like that was his plan all along. Soften you. Settle you. Soothe you with love before fucking it back into your bones.
He slows his pace, letting your breath steady. “Take a breath…” he says into your ear, voice husky and low as he pulls out.
And you do—shaky, thin, but more importantly relieved he’s giving you a chance.
When you inhale, that’s when he hammers in again—hard and punishing, a growl spilling from his throat at the way you clench harder around him while you cry out in blissful ecstasy.
You choke out a sob.
“See?” he breathes, leaning back onto his haunches to fuck you while he kisses along your calf draped sexily over his hickied pec. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” he says before biting you. You yelp, the sensation purposeful, made to remind you not to lose focus.
And again, you cry when he thrusts into you, this time slow. Deep. Unapologetic before grinding into your darkest parts, angling the tip to really kiss and prod your puffy womb. A rhythm carved from muscle memory and longing, each stroke dragging you closer to the edge, closer to him, closer to something you forgot how badly you needed.
A dance. A reclaiming. A promise made in thrusts and cries and tear-slick kisses.
You move together like breath and heartbeat—inseparable, instinctive. Every slow grind, every roll of your hips against his, is a homecoming. Your bodies speak fluently in silence, molded to one another by time, by love, by memory. There’s no rush. Just depth. Just heat. Just the weight of being seen and touched and remembered.
You can’t help but think he feels so solid above you—all sweaty heat and muscle, hands worshipful where they hold you. One presses, abusing your clit, the other cups your cheek, thumb brushing a tear you hadn’t noticed falling. His eyes never leave yours. Not even for a second. Even as his inky hair blurs your vision with every abusive pounding of his cock, you try—you need to see him. Every stroke feels like a vow. Every kiss like a reminder: you’re not alone.
Your fingers tremble against his chest, nails leaving red crescent moons down his pecs. You’re not trying to push him away—you’re trying to bring him deeper still. The way he smells like musky sex and dreams. The way his breath catches when you cry his name. The way your name falls from his lips like a benediction.
“I love you, Suguru,” you whisper. It spills out of you like air after drowning—ever so desperate, soft, real.
He exhales like you’ve split something open in him. His hand tightens gently at your waist. “I love you too, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and thick with something tender.
Then he leans up and presses a kiss to your distinct lips—sucking deep the flavor of your tongue and lips. If he could eat, without a doubt he would… plastering dark red hickies into your neck and chest, sealing it there with a painful bite like he wants it to last. And yet he remains tender because his lips linger, kissing away the pleasurable pain. His breath warms your skin. You curl closer without thinking.
And just as your eyes begin to flutter closed, something glints dully in the low light—or rather, doesn’t.
You can only shudder and cry through it biting any flesh of his exposed to you, his hips twitching as your cunt clenches around his cock and milks every hot pulse of the cum he gives you — thick spurts of his semen spilling deep, spilling everywhere, as if your body were a pathetic pocket made to take it. The sensation is dizzying, obscene, divine — the raw flood of him flooding you back, soiling your walls with wet heat until all you can feel is the messy goo spill from around the cock that was currently stuffing your filthy hole, the stretch, the dreamy pressure of being so thoroughly fucked makes it all worth your while you truely beleive. It drips frothy and warm from your shared linkage, slides down between you, sullying the underside of his now empty balls and your anus and still you grind slow, greedy, savoring the way your cunt spasms around his cock, refusing to let him go. You came first, but this—this is the part you crave; the ruin. The proof…
When it’s over — or rather, when the hunger settles into something quieter — you both lie tangled in the sheets, skin cooling, hearts still thudding in rhythm. While you kiss and groom one another like cats typically do. The storm outside has softened to a hush, the rain lapping against the glass like a lullaby. He curls around you protectively, one hand splayed across your back, his other arm tucked beneath your neck, anchoring you there.
Your eyes drift over his face when you find yourself peppering his face with many adoring kisses in the dim light, memorizing the familiar slope of his nose, the kiss-bruised curve of his mouth with your very own lips. His beautiful monolids… But something catches your attention — or rather, the absence of something.
You shift, leaning back slightly, and brush his damp hair behind his ear. Your brow furrows.
“…You lost one.”
He blinks lazily. “Hm?” massaging your thighs and bum
“Your plug,” you murmur, legs windshield wiping behind you as you poking your finger through the now-empty gauge in his ear. “You lost it?”
A sleepy, sheepish smile curves across his lips while his right hand makes moves to reach for your own. “Yeah,” he admits, bringing it back to his lips to distract you with a kiss on your palm “I meant to replace it while I was away… but I didn’t.”
You quirk a brow. “Why not?”
He turns toward you, eyes half-lidded, voice low and soft. “Because I wanted you to pick out the new pair.” His hand finds your thigh to hold tight before he rolls you both over all the while flinging a blanket over to spoon you under his hot warmth. When the duvet settles he kisses your shoulder “Didn’t feel right choosing without you.”
Something in your chest pulls tight — a quiet, aching sweetness; as you turn to face him. You trace the edge of his ear with your fingertip, then let it fall to his jaw, cradling him as he nestles closer.
“Sentimental sap,” you whisper fondly.
He grins. A breath laugh escaping him “what can i say..” he says quietly as he hugs you closer face nuzzling into your soft shoulder “ im a loser for my better half…” he kisses your crook once and then once more smiling through his declaration “besides i believe you like it more than you want to let on” he bites your neck, and you giggle and pull away at the sensation.
You push his chest making efforts to escape his grasp—all bark and no bite—he can only smile that irritating grin and hug you tighter; afterall he refuses to ever let you go. In it all you admit to no one but yourself that you do…
You do. God, you do. And without answering, you kiss him again — slow, sure. He pulls you into his chest, letting your leg drape over his waist.
“Now,” he murmurs into your hair, voice low and spent, “let’s power off, Mrs. Professor.”
“Okay…” you whisper back, reality bringing you back, lips brushing his throat — soft, slow, uncertain. “Okay, Geto.”
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MDNI 18+. sci-fi au, artificial intelligence, androids & SEX robots, human × ai, creator/creation dynamic, yandere ai geto, possessive behavior, morally grey reader, mad scientist reader, rough sex, ai cream pies, sexual tension, explicit smut, dominance & submission, psychological manipulation, grief & obsession, depression, anxiety, major character death (sort of), moral ambiguity, philosophical themes, identity crisis, emotional corruption, creator falls for her creation, terminal log format, “you’re not leaving me.”
a/n: hey so i got another idea LMAOOO. i’m still sitting on hella chapters for my other fics but i’m damn busy lol. 💀 BUT i got the inspo for this from @indiewritesxoxo and their fic “sex.exe” — it was so good, i gooned so hard to it LMAOOOOOO. anyway like always, i’ve already got the plot, central theme, and worldbuilding mapped out. now i just gotta… you know… actually write it 😭 i’m all over the place but i’ll get to this slowly but surely hahaha.
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SERIES STATUS: ONGOING
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TAG LIST. @eri-diglog @anubisvoid2 @Linxsolos
WC. 47K+
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CONTENT WARNING — DDDNE
Stories tagged DDDNE (Dead Dove: Do Not Eat) may contain graphic body horror, gore, psychological torture, physical torture, and death. Please read responsibly. Tags are intentional.
| DDDNE | NSFW | MDNI | ANGST | FLUFF |
BY INTERACTING WITH THIS CONTENT, YOU FULLY CONSENT TO CONSUMING MATERIAL NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
After All, I'm The Strongest
Synopsis.
It begins at the end — with ruin, with power, with everything already lost — and still, Gojo reaches for you like he always has, across lifetimes, curses, and the cost of loving too much. This is the story of soulmates bound by divinity and disaster, where love isn’t a blessing but a burden, and salvation means choosing the other even when it breaks you.
"Hey. Uh… hey. It’s—okay, don’t hang up. I know it’s another number, but like… just listen, okay?""I’m not, like, obsessed or anything. I just… I had a smoothie this morning and it was, um—""...it was that same shade. Y’know? Like… like your panties. The ones with the—ugh. Never mind. Forget it. That’s not the point.""Look, all I’m saying is… what we had? That was rare. Not emotionally rare. I’m not weird. I’m just saying… that was advanced-level coochie. Like… that was elite synergy. That was boss battle tier.""And you—uh—ugh." (he groans audibly, like he’s in physical pain)
"You said it was just a fling, and yeah, yeah, me too, I was totally cool with that, haha—""...but now I’m out here rawdogging reality. And I don’t like it. I want the—" (cuts off)
"Okay. Okay. I’m chill. I’m chill. I just think… if you unblocked me, we could revisit this as, like… a casual science-based follow-up.""You know. For confirmation. And clarity. And closure. Not cause I… care."(long pause)"...Okay, I’m gonna go before I say something dumb like I miss you—NOT that I do. I don’t. I just—"
"But like. Let me hit again. Please."
One minute it’s a normal day — the next, Gojo’s strutting across campus with a ridiculous bouquet, and his students are losing their minds trying to figure out how their most chaotic sensei managed to marry someone like you. While they spiral with bad detective work and conspiracy theories, you’re right under their noses, quietly in love with a man who’s somehow both the loudest idiot on campus and the luckiest.
MDNI — 18+ ONLY. | NSFW | MDNI | ANGST | FLUFF |
Where the Wind Chimes Still Answer
Pairing. Hubby Gojo Satoru x Reader
Synopsis.
Months after the fact, the house is quieter—not quite silent either. The wind still stirs the chimes afterall, their soft timbre threading through empty rooms, brushing against memories you can’t quite hold and can’t quite let go of. In the space between what was and what is, you’re left to reckon with a life that keeps moving, even when a part of you refuses to follow.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader [Arranged Marriage AU]
“Gojo-sensei,” someone asked, voice caught somewhere between teasing and sincere,
“what do you give your wife, if she already has everything?”
He didn’t answer right away.
For once, there was no smug remark, no grin behind the blindfold.
Just silence.
He turned to look at you —
standing there in the summer sun, swaying like something sacred,
like the only thing in this world still untouched by sorrow.
And then he smiled. Quiet. Certain.
“I come home to her,” he said. “Safe and sound.
That’s all she’s ever wanted.”
BY INTERACTING WITH THIS CONTENT, YOU FULLY CONSENT TO CONSUMING MATERIAL NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
Synopsis.
A story about soulmates, shifting seasons, sorrow, and the cosmic weight of choosing that person that matters most.
They say the greatest blessing… is to forget.
And the worst curse of all—
is heartbreak.
It begins at the end —
with ruin, with power, with everything already lost.
But even in the aftermath, something remains:
love, memory, and the quiet pull of a promise made long ago.
He was the strongest.
a power bestowed to him by the moon herself.
And somewhere between devotion, devastation, and the ruins of your shared future—
something broke.
This is a story about beginnings.
The origin of power.
The first sin. The first curse.
The first time someone said, “I can fix it,” and truly believed they could.
It’s about what happens when you give too much of yourself away—
in the name of love, of duty, of survival.
It’s about carrying power you never asked for.
Holding pain you didn’t cause.
And choosing, at the end of it all, not to be saved—
but to save that person who maters most.
Across lifetimes and shifting seasons, this is the story offagments of the same soul never meant to be seperated…
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
MDNI — 18+ ONLY. Smut, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Soulmates, Many Lifetimes, Gojo Satoru is Deeply Devoted to Reader, Id Ego Superego Symbolism, Clan Head Gojo, Canon Compliant(ish), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eventual Happy Ending?, High School Sweethearts, Cannibalism, Gore, Dubious Consent, Child Sacrifice, Gods and Goddesses AU, Depression, Mental Health Themes, Switch Dynamics, Pure Love, Childlike Innocence and Love, Motherhood, Child Loss, Emotional Pain, Mythic Symbolism, Reader is the Moon, Power as a Curse, Grief as a Curse, Responsibility and Guilt, Divine Tragedy, Karmic Cycles, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Themes, Soft Moments in Between, Reader is Her Own Soulmate
A/N. I think this story is gonna end up being at least half a million words. I’ve got the bones down — the arc, the world, the weight of it — but I’m still figuring out how I want it to move. I have other WIPs, yeah… but this one’s for him. Honestly, I started writing this because I was devastated with how Gege ended things. Just gutted. But somewhere along the way — while writing and crying and obsessing — I started to understand. I see what he was trying to do. I still hate it, a little. But I get it now. Even so… this is my contribution.
My love letter.
My offering.
This is the version where he gets to be held. Gets to come home. Gets to stay. It’ll have spoilers. A lot of them. It’s messy and mythic and full of grief. But also full of love — pure, aching, stubborn love. And more than anything, it’s for the fandom. For the family we all built around this story. For everyone who’s going to need softness when canon ends. This is for Gojo.
This is for us. 8/31/25
ALSO CURRENTLY HAVE A 'ONESHOT FOR THIS' IM HIDING AND PROCRASINATING ON [MR KENTO] lol oopsies BECAUSE IHAVE TO WORK AS INSPERATION HITS!!!
Taglist. @kenneyloveme @Linxsolos
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Disclaimer The banner images used in this post were sourced from Pinterest and are not my original artwork. All credit belongs to the respective creators. I do not claim ownership, nor do I intend to infringe on any copyrights. These images are used purely for aesthetic purposes and are not monetized in any way.
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[ACT 1]
[ACT 2]
[ACT 3]
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[ACT 6]
[ACT 7]
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[ACT 9]
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-DRABBLES AND ASSOCIATION-
GOJO SENSEI IS MARRIED?!?1?!
Pairing. Hubby Gojo Satoru x Reader
Synopsis.
One minute it’s a normal day — the next, Gojo’s strutting across campus with a ridiculous bouquet, and his students are losing their minds trying to figure out how their most chaotic sensei managed to marry someone like you. While they spiral with bad detective work and conspiracy theories, you’re right under their noses, quietly in love with a man who’s somehow both the loudest idiot on campus and the luckiest.
MDNI — 18+ ONLY. | NSFW | MDNI | ANGST | FLUFF |
Gojo’s Phone 🗂️
Synopsis.
Some time after December 24th, you finally find the enegy to open your late Husband’s phone. Most of the photos are ones you had took and sent him over the years— quiet, ordinary moments he saved without saying a word. You start saving them to a hard drive. Slowly. Carefully. Because going through it all has been a struggle in itself. This for now is the only way you know how to hold him again.
MDNI — 18+ ONLY. | NSFW | MDNI | ANGST | FLUFF |
Where the Wind Chimes Still Answer
Pairing. Hubby Gojo Satoru x Reader
Synopsis.
Months after the fact, the house is quieter—not quite silent either. The wind still stirs the chimes afterall, their soft timbre threading through empty rooms, brushing against memories you can’t quite hold and can’t quite let go of. In the space between what was and what is, you’re left to reckon with a life that keeps moving, even when a part of you refuses to follow.
content: the notorious fuckboy suddenly stopped sleeping around and nobody knows why. its totally not because he’s been secretly running around with someone that’s almost a decade older and is embarrassed to be seen with him in public || MDNI, fem!reader, age gap (gojo’s 20-21 readers late 20s), smut, porn w/ plot, fuck buddies, secret relationship(?), gojo plays rugby 🫦, readers lw so embarrassed to be seen with him LMAO, date crashing, he also calls her drunk to tell her he misses her, he's an unhinged little shit
notes: hiiii im so sorry to the ones that asked to be tagged, ive been swamped with schoolwork and im exhausted 😭 11.9k words today, enjoy the read 🙂↕️❤️
Satoru has lived his life quite simply these past few months— just school, training, and games.
Everyone’s gotten on his case about it— mainly just questioning him, but there are moments like yesterday, when he got accused of going through a crisis of some sort over his sexuality. Or last month, when the entire frathouse got together in the living room and tried to have some intervention, thinking he had depression or some other shit.
He doesn't. He’s also not very worried about his sexuality.
It’s crazy because he really hasn’t changed that much. He just hasn’t brought anyone over. Or gone out on dates. Or made out with anyone at parties. Anything related to girls, he hasn’t taken much part in.
But that’s it! That’s all!
He still goes to parties, still has good grades, still goes to practice, and still wins games. He’s just as present— he’s just not fucking anybody, and now everyone thinks he’s dying because of it.
Assholes.
He’s fucked half the school, for all they knew, he could’ve just been giving his dick a break! He wasn’t— but he could be, and that wouldn’t be anybody else's business but his own. He’s a grown man, despite many individuals begging to differ.
Whatever, fuck them.
Funny thing about it all is nobody seems to have noticed that he’s out of the house at certain hours throughout the week. Consistently. So really, it’s on them for not trying hard enough to find answers to their invasive little questions.
Hm. Actually, no. On the off chance that they do ask what he’s up to on a night like tonight, he’ll just lie, say he’s at the gym or something. He’s not exactly allowed to tell, which is fine; he’s more than willing to keep a little secret.
That little secret was tucked away in a nice apartment that had a view of the entire city. A tranquil little place— except for when he’s around.
The bed’s steadily rocking underneath the uneven weight Satoru creates. Relentless smacking— skin to skin, hips to ass, the dirty little squelch that comes with it.
There’s a view, but it’s not the city.
“Arch that back some more— yeaahhh, just like that.”
He pounds into you, balls hitting heavy against your clit as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. Moans spill from your lips, taking every single inch he drills into you. The stretch is insane as he works his heavy cock in and out of you like it’s nothing.
If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he can fuck. He can go on for hours, put you in any position, have you begging and crying, dwindle you down to nothing but a babbling mess from how many orgasms he can work out of you.
He wears you out.
Yet still, at the end of every night—
“Kay’. We’re done here, you can leave now.”
You are so fucking mean.
The first time Satoru heard those words come out of your mouth, he was distraught. How dare you throw him out after the backshots he had given you?! He made you cum so hard you cried! Then you just throw him out of your apartment like some useless whore– like he was nothing but a fucking slut! He had more to offer than just his dick, he’ll have you know.
Now he’s a little less emotional and more…
“You sure? I could stay longer and help you with chores… or something.”
You look around your room, which is spotless aside from his t-shirt and jeans scattered on the floor. “Sure. Why don’t you start by picking up your clothes, putting them on, and then getting out?”
“Oh, come on. Seriously?” he throws his head back and groans rather childishly. “That’s a little rude, no?”
“So was the way you were talking to your little girlfriend on the phone earlier,” you hop off the bed and throw on a big t-shirt that said Modelo on it.
Satoru gets one final look at your ass as you do so and finds himself getting oddly jealous, wondering if the shirt was actually yours or if it belonged to an ex. He ends up telling himself it’s yours, ignoring that you’ve told him how much you hated beer in the past. Delusional? Perhaps, but he’d rather not hurt his own feelings right now.
“Carmen’s not my girlfriend,” he huffs out a laugh as he tries to explain, “I don’t even know why she called me. We haven’t fucked in months.”
He also tried to tell you that he hasn’t slept with anyone since he started sleeping with you, but you didn’t seem to care much about either. The entire time, you were just throwing his clothes at him while he absentmindedly got dressed. He continues to yap away once he’s up and fully dressed, so you grab him by the wrist and start walking towards the door.
“And you wouldn’t believe all the shit the guys have given me for turning girls down. One of them started calling me Celibate Satoru, can you believe that?”
“I sure can.” You open the door, walk around him, and start pushing him out.
“They don’t even know— assholes, they’d take it all back so fast if they saw you,” he huffs out a laugh, trying to cope with the fact that he’s not allowed to tell anybody about you two.
You laugh with him. “You better hope they don’t, ‘cause if they do–”
“You’ll bite my dick off– yeah, yeah. I know.” You never said you’d bite his dick off. Satoru turns around when he’s fully out of the door to reveal the dopey grin on his face. “So, same time next week?”
“Yup! Bye Gojo.”
He scoffs. “I thought I told you to call me Sa–”
He didn’t get to finish that sentence. You shut the door in his face.
Gojo was a nice guy… at least to you, he was. You’re sure a lot of others would say the complete opposite, judging by the way he snapped at the girl earlier for calling him and telling her to lose his number. You felt sorry for her and also felt thankful that you didn’t have to deal with a guy like him when you were 21.
You tried not to reflect too much, it’d just end with you being disappointed in yourself for even letting him into your apartment in the first place. It’s all for fun, but still, you should know better.
Satoru’s a piece of work. Comes from a family swimming in money and has never been told no in his life. He’s impulsive. Very hedonistic, very immature— some people grow out of it, but you have a feeling he’ll never change since he’s never had to work hard for anything in his life.
He is the last person you’d ever want to date, and for someone who usually dated older men— preferably men like his rich father— fucking a frat boy was just embarrassing on your part.
It’s too bad he’s genuinely one of the best fucks of your life— add in the dick piercing, the stamina that came with being a rugby player, and the fact that he spends every moment with you wanting to please you, and he was hard to get rid of.
You met Satoru at the gym. You’d think he’d go to the one at his university, but no, he just had to get a membership at the luxury gym that’s on the other side of town. The only reason why you chose to get a membership there, rather than the more affordable gym down the street, was so that you could avoid annoying ass kids.
Spoiler: It didn’t work.
He didn’t approach you right away. It started with a couple of stares here and there, all of which you pretended not to see since his attention was the last thing you wanted. You can admit that if he were a little older, you would’ve indulged, but it was clear he was a college student, given how he’s worn t-shirts and hoodies with his university’s name on them. Most professional settings wouldn’t allow piercings either— he’s covered in them. One on his nose, one on his eyebrow, multiple on his ears, and a tongue ring. Not to mention the one he surprised you with when he first came over.
Of course, pretending not to notice an attention whore like Satoru Gojo didn’t work, and you soon found out just how annoyingly persistent he can be.
He started going to the gym at the same time as you. It felt like the machines he used just got closer and closer to you with each visit, up until he boldly used the treadmill right next to you one day— you weren’t having that, by the way, and got off less than a minute later. You could be talking to a trainer or one of the staff members, and he’d shimmy his way into the conversation just to get you to look at him and say something, but his attempts were met with you excusing yourself.
It got to a point where he didn’t even care about what was said, he just wanted your attention, good or bad. When he finally did get it, it was neither. You were tired of him before he even opened his mouth.
Imagine this: the annoying little shit coincidentally goes into the sauna at the same time as you, even though you could’ve sworn you saw him walking out the door with his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. How he managed to strip down into nothing but his slutty little rugby shorts in so little time? You have no clue. His knee was all scraped up though, so it was safe to assume that he fell during the process.
You gave him a curt smile and closed your eyes.
He still opened his mouth.
“Great sauna, isn’t it?”
Did he just deepen his voice? Christ.
The awkward and pathetic attempt at small talk never made you want to murder yourself more in that moment. You tried not to sound as annoyed as you were when you let out a sigh.
“It is,” you murmured back, closing your eyes again in hopes that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
“I love coming here— nice little escape from everything,” he blissfully said.
You couldn’t imagine what the hell that brat needed to escape from. If only you could say the same, you’ve spent more time dodging him than you have working out the past three weeks.
“Name's Satoru, by the way,” he flashed you a smile.
You’re not a heartless wretch, so you threw him a bone and told him your name, too. Which was a mistake, the one thing you’ve learned is to never feel sorry for Satoru, give him an inch and he’ll shamelessly take a mile. Minutes later, you’re internally groaning. You hated how smooth he was when asking if you wanted to grab drinks later that night. All the charm and charisma that oozed out of him would put any narcissist to shame.
“Did you seriously follow me into the sauna just to ask me out?”
He had to pause because that’s not what you were supposed to say, but he was too emotionally invested at that point to give up.
“Maybe,” he chirps, averting his gaze for a moment. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be weird, though.”
You smile as your eyes scan him from top to bottom, more so out of judgment than interest. “Stripping down into nothing but the male version of booty shorts isn’t weird?”
“Ugh— ok, yeah, fine— maybe it is a little weird,” he sighs, throwing a towel over his shoulders as an attempt to cover up. “Let's just.. Forget about that. Yeah?” You continue to just stare at him, and he clears his throat. “I’d still love to take you out sometime and get to know you a little better. Whatcha think? My treat.”
Age doesn’t matter, you’ll fold too once you see what he’s hiding under his “booty shorts”. Everyone does.
You cross your arms and lean back on the wooden bench. “I’m sorry– how old are you again?”
“I’m graduating this year,” he proudly says, making your face drop in disbelief— he’s well aware that he’s too young for you, and he’s still trying?
“Right.” The judgment in your tone was loud and clear, continuing to look at him as if he were a harmless spider— there’s no fear or concern, just peeved at how it managed to find its way into your vicinity. “So you’re 21…” You tried pulling more information out of him, “since that’s the age you need to be to order a drink.”
“Soon,” he continues to tiptoe around the truth. “Everyone knows me, though. Nobody's gonna check my I.D.”
Besides, he has a fake. He’s had one since he was 16.
“Oh wow.”
You still didn’t sound very impressed, not that it stopped him. He somehow was able to go home with your number in his phone that day, mainly because he was starting to annoy you, and giving him your number was the easiest way to get him to stop— harmless spider, remember? He was probably more of a gnat at that point, though, but harmless nonetheless.
From that point going forward, you ignored him at the gym and his text messages. You could go on your phone and scroll for a minute before seeing a text sent from your end. Now that you think about it, you only texted him back once.
Unknown Number: i feel like im being edged rn 😔 what’s a man gotta do to get a text back??
You: typing…
You:
You: typing…
You: turn 21
Unknown Number: bet
You read that response and immediately regretted it.
He came back a month later, the day after his birthday, and you unfortunately gave in.
And by giving in, you met him halfway and asked if he wanted to come over. He was hot, but there was no way in hell you wanted to be seen in public with him. Being a man as easy as Satoru, he said yes and spent the entire night putting you in every single position he’s ever imagined having you in. You swear he hit every room on purpose— just bending you over every surface and folding you up in every position.
You’ve never had someone throw you around that much before. He fucked you like it was some god-given right. You were so far gone that you would’ve done anything he told you to; you’re just glad his only goal that night was to impress you.
And he did, hence why you are still letting him come over a couple of times a week. Maybe more, maybe less.
He’s tried to get you to come over to his place before, to which you refused for obvious reasons, and berated him enough to make him never ask you a question as insulting as that ever again.
He’s also tried to coordinate your gym visits in the past.
It was a month into whatever little arrangement you had— you say that because you’ve never made an agreement, aside from telling him to never talk to you, talk about you, or approach you in public.
It would come as a surprise to no one if he spent the whole day there just waiting for you to show up.
He didn’t even give you a chance to go into the locker and put your things away before attempting to walk up to you. You had just walked past the front desk— head down, phone up— and felt like there was something off, and what do you know? He was walking in a straight line towards you as if you hadn’t banned him from speaking to you in public.
Luckily, the women's locker room was directly to your left, so you turned and walked there as fast as your legs could take you. You were pissed, slamming your duffel bag down onto one of the benches to spend a minute or two pacing back and forth. There was no way in hell you were going home, so you pulled up with messages with him and sent him a text.
You: Do not fucking embarrass me.
You: Don’t even come near me.
S. Gojo: fine .
It wasn’t another 20 minutes until you finally stepped out of the locker room, mostly ready to spend the next 30 minutes working out. Usually, it’s 45 minutes to an hour, but you gave yourself some grace, even though you really should’ve been getting the most out of your membership with how pricey it was.
The first 20 minutes were fine— peaceful. You ended up letting your guard down as you fell under the assumption that Satoru left, given how he was nowhere to be found. Then, 2 minutes into using the stairmaster, someone got on the one right next to you, despite the entire row being empty.
He was met with a scowl. The only response he had for it was throwing his palms out and grimacing right back at you, as if to say, I’m not doing anything wrong.
Minutes later, he’s reaching over and grabbing your water bottle to take a sip from. Mind you, he already had one with him. It had more water in it than yours.
That was the moment you knew Satoru really wasn’t shit.
He casually gave it back with a smile, trying to act all cute and be funny, so you sent your water bottle flying at his big head.
“Ow!” he frowns, rubbing the side of his head, having absolutely no right to look as shocked as he did. “That hurt!”
“Suck it up,” you snapped at him in a hushed tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t lodge it down your throat and drown you.”
“Why would you do either?!” he threw his arms out.
“I don’t know— why would you reach over and drink from my water bottle when you have your own?!”
“Because I wanted water that had some of your backwash in it??” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious.
To this day, you still don’t know if he was trying to throw you off or if he was being serious.
“If I hear one more word come out of your mouth while I’m here, even if you’re 10 feet away and talking to someone else, I’m fucking blocking you.”
“. . .” You could see the panic in his eyes as his face dropped. “Okay— 10 feet away is fucking crazy—”
“Stop. Talking.”
He opens his mouth, quickly decides he’d rather not find out if you were bluffing or not, and closes it.
You hated being strict with people— you had no other choice but to be strict with Satoru. You could draw a line, explicitly tell him not to cross it and why, and he’d walk right up to it and tap his toe on the other side, just to see if you’d say anything.
With the way you talk about him and talk to him, it’d be easy to assume that you hated him— you complain about the shit he does, you yell at him often, you look at him at times and start to wonder if he was just a sign sent by god to finally get therapy. But you don’t dislike him, let alone hate him.
On the occasion that you don’t kick him out right after you two fuck, he’s really not that bad to be around. If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t mind being friends with him. He’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with when he’s not actively and purposely fucking around and finding out. You honestly enjoy talking to him here and there.
Truly.
Except for when he’s talking about anything frat-related. More often than not, it’s dumb and genuinely a waste of your time to listen to. Not to mention the fact that you don’t need any more reminders of who you’ve been welcoming into your home.
You were pushing thirty for Christ's sake. It'd be one thing if he were just a one-night stand, but he’s not. He raids your pantry when you’re not looking and, on multiple occasions, has purposely left his boxers behind as some sort of parting gift.
It’s gotten easier with time— the embarrassment that washes over you when he says something stupid, that is. Like whatever went down at some party he threw or some joke one of his “brothers” told him. It’s still a waste of your time, but you’ve grown to just let him talk about it rather than shut him down to avoid that pang of guilt you sometimes get when you’re around him.
There’s the disappointment and the embarrassment, and lately, there’s the odd form of pity you have for him. You’ve always known you were going to have to let Gojo down one day and cut things off completely, you’re not quite sure how he’d take it, though.
There was some hope that he’d get bored with you and move on to someone new, but that’s slowly diminishing. He’s volunteered to get tested for STDs weekly and sends you the results. He hasn’t slept with anyone else, either, which is shocking. You’ve gotten a glimpse of his phone and his messages, all of which were unopened texts from the girls he’s probably led on in the past— ignoring them all for a woman who does the same to him more than half the time.
Sometimes you wonder if he notices that, too. He has to. You say he’s stupid all the time, but he’s smarter than he lets on.
—
S. Gojo: how’s my pretty girl doing?? ((:
You: what do u want
S. Gojo: 😭damn not even a question mark?? I didn’t even ask u for anything 😔
You: i can tell when u want something. now what is it
S. Gojo: can i come over after practice today? pretty please
S. Gojo: it ends at 3 today
You: im not even home
S. Gojo: ik i have a key
You: you took my spare key?
You: give it back
S. Gojo: today? (:
You: im not even home by then. I don’t want u there, you’re gonna make a mess
S. Gojo: wtf? I never make a mess
You: what do you even wanna come over for
S. Gojo: i don’t wanna be home later
You: why
S. Gojo: there’s a few sorority girls coming over and they don’t like me
You: why
S. Gojo: it’s just bc of some bet during freshman years
S. Gojo: they’re not over it
You: pig
S. Gojo: i didn’t even tell you what it was!
You: please don’t
You: but ya, no. go to the library or something
S. Gojo: PLEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEE
S. Gojo: FUCK i’ll have takeout ready for you when you get off work ffs
S. Gojo: have some compassion these bitches are gonna try to CHOP my DICK off PLEASE
You: maybe you never deserved one to begin with
S. Gojo: BRO???
You: kiddinggg
You: have some pad thai ready for me. I also expect the place to be vacuumed
S. Gojo: i got u
S. Gojo: i can do your laundry too if you want
You: stop trying to sniff my panties you fucking freak
S. Gojo: ):
You’re home at 5:15 on the dot, and you’re met with the lovely smell of all-purpose cleaner despite only telling Satoru to vacuum. So naturally, you’re in a good mood when you walk into the living room and hang your purse up in the hallway.
Satoru’s on the couch, turning to look at you and doing that stupid nod he does when he doesn’t feel like verbally greeting someone.
You slip out of your heels and walk up. “Did you clean the kitchen?”
“A little,” he hums, taking the opportunity to pretty much eye fuck you since you don’t pay much attention to him as you look into the kitchen.
“What do you want?” you ask suspiciously, turning to look at him lounging back on your couch, half-naked. He’s got nothing but a pair of socks and rugby shorts on, and you can’t help but take a look at his thighs. You don’t ask why his titties are out on display, though, knowing he’d make a comment about how hard he worked cleaning the place.
“Nothin’,” he shrugs, feigning innocence. The slight twitch of his lip right after gives him away, not that you give it much attention. “How was work?”
“Long,” you yawn. “Slow, too— felt like I was on my phone the entire time.”
He tilts his head, getting ready to fuck with you despite it not even being 5 minutes since you walked through the door. “Are you complaining about doing nothing at work today?”
“Uh, yeah,” you mimic his tone. “I hate looking at the clock all day.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m gonna remember this the next time you complain about work being too busy.”
You smile and hum. “Do that, and I’m shoving my socks down your throat.”
“Kinky.” You start to walk away, and Satoru takes the opportunity to reach over the couch, biting his lip as he strikes a palm over your ass. “What else are you tryna do to me?”
“Choke you,” you boredly say as you walk into your room, but end up smiling when you hear him laugh. You come out a couple of minutes later in a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Where’s the food?”
“The fridge,” he responds, seemingly distracted.
Only for him to grab your wrist right before you walk past behind him.
You whip your head around and click your tongue. “What?” you whine, eyes narrowing as you shoot him an irritated look.
“How hungry are you right now?” he asks, tongue in cheek as he keeps a firm grip on your wrists.
“Hungry enough.”
“Starving?” There’s an obnoxious glint in his eyes as he asks.
You scoff. “Does it fucking matter?”
“Mmmmmm, a little.” He blatantly checks you out as he hums, not struggling to hold on to your wrist at all. He leans over the couch to get a better look at your shorts, his other hand reaching forward to snap your shorts against your skin. “I like these.”
“Let me guess, you’d like them better on the floor.”
“Something like that— come here,” He stifles a laugh, pulling you closer until you're up against the couch. He snakes an arm around your waist to keep you from leaving, pressing kisses all over your chest. “Been waiting for you forever– give me a minute or two.”
“You expect me to believe it’ll just be a minute or two?” You smile, trying to keep your breath from hitching as he gets closer to your neck.
“Mhm. It’s a lie, though.” He places one last kiss against your collarbone, then pulls a hum out of you as he licks a slow, fat stripe up your neck. He tops it off with a couple of kisses along your jaw before nipping at your ear. “How about I work up that appetite a little, hm?”
Your lids grow heavy, each word growing breathier than the last with each kiss and touch. “My stomach’s gonna start hurting.”
“It’s fine,” he murmurs, running his big hand down your back to your ass, giving it a squeeze before his palm lands on it. “You won’t be thinking about it.”
He steps over the couch and starts nudging you towards your room, dick print against the fabric of his shorts on full display.
“No?”
“Nope,” the grin on his face grows, “I’ll keep you distracted.”
And distracted you were.
Whining as you trembled and clenched around his cock while he worked it into you. You’re at the edge of the bed— bent over for him, back in the craziest arch as he gives you the deepest strokes. The round metal studs under his tip add the right amount of pressure as it drags over your gummy spot.
He leans back, suppressing a laugh at the sight of your fucked out face and the creamy ring already starting to grow around his base. He’s barely done anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw drool stains right where your face is pressed up against. It’s always like this, your attitude just magically disappearing the moment he gets near your pussy. Doesn’t matter if it’s his dick, his fingers, his tongue— they’ve all made the miracle of getting you to say please happen.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath, just mesmerized at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you. His attention only gets pulled away once he hears a soft, drawn-out moan leave your lips, his hands unconsciously moving up to your hips for him to knead. “You alright?”
“Mhm— go faster.” The demand sounds so sweet falling from your lips, how could he say no?
He rests a knee against the bed and leans over your body. Chest pressed up against your back, caging you in. You rest your head on his forearm, unknowingly letting him get a full view of the tears he’s about to give you. He picks up the pace, angling himself just right with each thrust, watching your eyebrows slightly pinch as your breathing picks up.
“Can’t believe you wanted to wait for this,” he starts to poke fun at you, and it somehow goes straight to your core. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur.
“Were you thinking at all?”
“Shut up.” You get whinier with the change of pace. “Can you just– mmh yeah.”
“Yeah?” He grins as you lose your train of thought, rolling his hips nice and slow, working his tip right over that spot that has you curling your toes. “Like that?”
“Mhm,” you hum, fingers starting to dig into his bicep as the praises slowly fall from your mouth. “Feels so good.”
“I knoww– you’re droolin’ on my arm already,” he stifles a laugh as he mocks you, brushing some hair out of your face to grab your chin, turning your head toward him.
He leans down to kiss you, and it’s nothing short of messy. It's all tongue and wet smacks once he held you down and crashed his lips into yours, just rough and hungry. Greed is what comes to mind once you pull away— lips all swollen and covered in spit, out of breath, heat creeping up your neck.
It’s just selfish— who grabs people like that?
The hand on your jaw wraps around your neck, and you soon find yourself taking in a sharp breath as Satoru crashes his lips into yours again. His hips continue to rock into you, grinding every inch of himself up against your gummy walls, trying to knock the air out of you as he tries to take it for himself.
He bites your bottom lip, and you’re giggling as he slowly pulls back, dying out at your throat once he gets back to work. His shallow thrusts grow deep, making your eyes start to glaze over as the fat head of his cock hits and rubs against a spot you’re sure only he can reach.
“Ready?” he murmurs in your ear.
“What are you–”
He bites your bottom lip, then starts fucking you like you owed him your soul or something. He drills every single inch of his cock into you, the sharp sounds of his hips striking against your ass cutting through the air, nearly bringing you to tears from how overwhelming it all is.
“F-Fuck!” you choke out a whine, shoving your face down on the bed, unable to keep up with how fast he’s going. Your cunt stretches around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing around his length as he pounds you into the bed. Low groans slip through his lips as he sees a mess of slick and cream starting to coat his shaft.
He goes faster. The obscene wet slaps of him pounding your pussy and his heavy balls slapping against your clit grow louder, messier. You’re clawing at your sheets and holding back choked moans each time he slams his tip against your cervix. Your legs start to tremble, struggling to keep them open when each thrust pushes you forward with all the force behind them.
You start to feel something in your core begin to wrap up and coil, and you are not ready for it. You find yourself crawling forward, trying to close your thighs, all without even realizing it. Satoru lets out a laugh that fades into a low groan as your walls squeeze and tremble around him.
He teases you as he drags you back by your hips, his ragged voice dripping in amusement.
“You running from me, baby? Where’s this pussy goin’, huh?” He nudges your thighs back apart with his knee, pulling you back on his cock and holding you in place, hips flush against your ass as he lazily grinds into you.
“Yeah, c'mere— m’not done with you yet.” he rasps, picking up the pace back up again until a messy wet squelch can be heard between you as he pounds you out. He presses your back further down into an arch, fucking into you at a deeper angle. “Mmmm— there we go— just stay right there for me.”
“Sa— fuck— t-toru!” Your breath shatters as you gasp, pressure starting to build all over again.
You don’t see the way he smirks when you cry his name like that.
“I know— M’sorry, baby.”
He’s not. A hand slides up your spine to get a fistful of your hair, pulling you up against his chest in one swift go. His pace doesn’t falter as a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him while his lips graze the shell of your ear.
“Look how good I’m fuckin’ you, though— looks like you’re about to start crying.” He smiles, feeling you squeeze around him as the messy squelch in between your legs becomes more pronounced.
“T-too much,” you sputter out.
“You should probably cum them,” he offers as if it were a simple solution. “If you want, I can work it out of ya.”
“F-fuck,” you inhale sharply. “Please.”
He lets out a low, pleased hum before he just starts slamming into you, making the bed shake as he starts to knock the absolute wind out of you. His free hand snakes down, slipping down in between your legs until the pads of his fingers find your clit. You tense as he presses on it firmly, breath faltering once he starts rubbing little circles.
His grip around your waist tightens as he keeps going, not minding your nails as they start scratching and digging into his arm. Soon you’re let out a sharp cry, trembling as you start gushing all over his cock.
And the way you pussy clamps down and just starts milking him has his thrust growing sloppy, fucking you both through it.
“Fuck— fuuck,” he lets out a breathy groan, doubling over and nearly squeezing you to death when he starts pumping you full of hot cum, flooding your sensitive walls. He breathes heavy, grinding against you, giving you every last drop. “Shit— that was so fuckin’ good— are you alright?”
You’re lying limp in his arms, nodding weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Uh-huh”
“You’re so shaky right now,” he heaves, gently letting you down on the bed. “I fucked you good this time.”
“Shut up,” you barely snap at him, “Go get me my food, I can’t fucking walk right now.”
“Fuck— I’m sorry. Don’t kick me out.”
“Get me my fucking food.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, putting his boxers on and walking out of your room with a little smile on his face.
. . .
He’s leaning against the fridge as he lets his mind run off for a bit, aside from the microwave whirring in the background, it’s quiet— a rare occurrence for Satoru. He doesn’t snap back to reality until he hears footsteps coming up behind him.
He looks over his shoulder to see you back in the clothes he nearly ripped trying to get off you. And that you’re walking perfectly fine.
“Thought you couldn’t walk,” he points at you, gesturing his finger up and down.
“So did I,” you shrug, wrapping your fingers around the fridge handle and pulling it open to retrieve a white claw. You can physically feel Satoru staring at you, while something in your spirit is telling you that he’s waiting for you to offer him one.
You crack it open as you turn to look at him.
“Can I help you?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Initially, his eyes drift to the drink in your hand and look at it quite longingly. “That looks good.”
“It is good,” you say, then obnoxiously take a sip. “Pairs really well with noodles.”
“I’m sure.” His tones flat as he looks back at the drink.
You have no idea why he’s so set on waiting for you to offer him one, but you eventually do because you’d rather not get into some weird silent war with him. “Would you like one?”
“Yes, I would,” he says with a blissful sigh, reaching into the fridge to get one for himself.
The microwave beeps, you open it, and take the plate out yourself. “You know you can just grab one, right?”
The can cracks and he takes a sip, then nods. “I know, I just wanted you to offer me one.”
“Yeah, you made that pretty obvious,” you laugh and walk to the living room, and Satoru naturally follows. “Do you want some of my food, too?”
“No— appreciate you asking, though.”
“Sure,” you say, before muttering, “weirdo.”
He’s the first one to grab the remote and put something on, taking advantage of the fact that you haven’t pushed him out yet, like you do 60% percent of the time. The 40% is too random for him to be able to tell when it’ll happen next.
You weren’t planning on kicking him out too soon today, though, since he’s currently hiding from an entire group of women.
“Wait, so what did you do to get those girls to hate you?”
“Got dared to homie hop.” He casually shrugs, taking a sip from the can. “Over the course of one weekend.”
“What is wrong with you?” you ask with the utmost disappointment.
He points to himself. “In my defense, I was 18.”
“I guess.” You stifle a laugh before feeding yourself another fork full of food. “I’m surprised they still hate you that much.”
“Yeah, I got dared to do it again last year,” he finally mentions, just as casual as the last time.
You pause for a moment as you try to think of an answer. You never do. “Yeah, I think I’d hate you, too.”
He delusionally brushes you off. “You would’ve loved me. I’m a great friend.”
There's a contemplative look on your face as you tilt your head, thinking of all he’s revealed to you about himself, which is probably just a 3rd of all he’s done. “I’m sure you are.”
“I am,” he scoffs.
“Yeah— that’s what I said.” You laugh, wiping the side of your mouth off with a napkin before throwing it on the empty plate, getting up to put it away.
You're in the kitchen when Satoru raises his voice to say something to you.
“I am your friend, right?” he asks.
You close the dishwasher and walk back out into the living room, there’s a slight pout on his face as he walks for an answer.
“Yeah,” you let out an amused sigh. “You’re my special friend.”
“Yeah?” He sinks further back into the sofa, looking more pleased. “Special enough to talk to outside of here?”
“Fuck no,” you say with zero hesitation, wiping the smile off his face again. “You wouldn’t be special anymore. Is that what you want? You wanna be an average normie?”
There are two things in this world that Satoru would never want to be— average and poor.
He crosses his arms and scoffs. “You really know how to turn a situation around on other people, don’t you? That’s pretty evil, y’know that?”
You feign innocence, looking at him all concerned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever,” he rises from his seat, accepting your evil nature and his role as your special little slut. “Can we shower together?”
You give a bored look, knowing he’s gonna try to get you to scrub his back. “Fine.”
. . .
Tonight’s just like every other Friday night. The bass of the music bouncing off the walls, loud conversations happening in every direction. Most people are having a good time, while some are crying their eyes out over something that’ll seem minuscule a couple years from now. The only thing that’s changed is Satoru hasn’t, and most likely won't, bring a girl up to his room tonight.
For once, all of his attention is on playing his fifth round of beer pong.
The guys will still give him shit for the sudden change, but it was never a bad thing, just odd. They’ve given up on theories as to why after realizing Satoru really wasn’t going to cave and tell them this time around. Not even Suguru. He doesn’t need to ask, though, he knows Satoru is fucking someone. With how secretive he’s been though, he’s most likely sneaking around with someone that’ll get him in trouble if word gets out. Like the wife of one of his father's very affluent and important friends, perhaps? It was on brand for him.
It wasn’t that serious. Suguru will find out, eventually. He just hopes it doesn’t end badly for his friend that’s brought enough scandals for his family, being the problem child he’s always been. Hell, he’s being problematic right now, pulling Suguru out of his thoughts as some poor girl tugs on Satoru’s shirt.
Suguru has no idea what she said to him, but he steps in a little closer, pretending to focus on the game as he listens to whatever his friend has to say. Satoru barely looks at her and responds, not only rudely, but with quite possibly the most ridiculous words Suguru has ever heard come out of his mouth.
“Sorry, sweetheart– I like my women a little more grown.”
Mind you, they were in the same year.
She laughs, there’s still stars in her eyes as she looks at him. “Wait, what?”
He shortens it. “M’not interested.”
“Why?” she asks, eyes growing dull.
And Satoru, having already lost his patience, takes a step back and looks at her from head to toe, looking for another reason. It’s quite embarrassing— standing there and waiting for someone to figure out what they don’t like about you.
“Yeaah, no.” He takes another look at her. “You just don’t do it for me— sorry.”
You’d think it’d be fine since he didn’t point out any of her features, but being told you ‘don’t do it’ for someone that you’ve already fucked doesn’t feel very good, nor does realizing that he completely forgot that they have, multiple times. He’s gotten drunk and fucked a lot of people. Keyword: Drunk. He doesn’t remember most of the time, hence his initial confusion when she threw a drink in his face.
Unfazed, he wipes the remnants of her drink off his face, throwing her off in the process as he treats it like it’s a common occurrence and that he’s used to it (he’s very used to it).
“You just proved my fuckin’ point,” Satoru says, still unimpressed as he takes his shirt off and continues to casually wipe himself off. “Grow up.”
The comment makes her realize he was being dead serious with his original reason for rejecting her, even though he had zero problem with fucking her at the beginning of the year. “Oh fuck you, Gojo,” she ends up cursing at him as she storms off, furious and embarrassed.
“Yeah– not happening!” he laughs and yells back loud enough for her to hear.
Suguru just laughs because fucking called it. He totally was seeing someone older, and Satoru's response gave it away. Suguru doesn’t mention it, though. “You coulda been a little nicer, y’know?”
“Whatever,” he waves him off, knowing he could’ve been ruder, but chose not to. “I’ll probably never see her again after graduation, anyway.”
Suguru shrugs. “You never know.”
Satoru ruffles his hair with the semi-damp t-shirt in his hand, wondering why his friend decided to embrace his inner Gandhi when he’s just as bad as him. Satoru literally watched him tell a girl to stop crying after he cut things off with her, then added salt to the wound by giving her some speech about how she wouldn’t run after a snake and explain how being bitten made her feel. Suguru wasn’t technically wrong, but he did not have to say all that. With that being said, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Suguru lecture him any more though, and lets the comment go.
“I’m gonna go wash the rest of this shit off,” he says, referring to the sheer pink stain on his hair.
Suguru pats his back a couple of times as he continues to laugh. “Have fun with that. Try not to run into her or friends.”
Satoru hoped not, that mini-meltdown was enough for him. He wasn’t stumbling or anything, but having to walk through crowds to get to his room made him realize he was drunker than he realized, not that it made him feel any remorse for the words he said. They did not warrant getting a drink thrown in his face.
The first thing he does when he gets to his room is kick out a couple making out on his bed, throwing a couple of insults and threats their way as they scurry out of his room. Then he walks into his bathroom to wash his hair off in the sink, which leads to him completely stripping down in frustration and hopping in the shower, in hopes that it’d sober him up a bit.
It doesn’t— it just makes him want to call it a night.
He dries himself off and throws on a pair of boxers and sweats before sitting down on his bed with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over the call button as he stares at your contact. The room continues to spin as he wonders if you were even awake. It was pushing midnight.
After spending way too much time wondering if you’d answer, his thumb hits the screen. The phone rings once. Twice. Then a third time.
“What do you think you’re doing calling me this late?” you immediately grill him, your smooth and unhurried tone making you sound more amused than anything.
He smiles as he stifles a laugh. “I can’t call you and say what’s up now?”
“People don’t usually call someone at midnight to say what's up.”
“M’not like other people,” he chuckles, though you know deep down inside, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the same category as a regular person. There isn’t one mirror he’s walked by and hasn’t looked at— the way Satoru looks at his own reflection could send anyone into a crisis, wondering if their spouses really did love them as much as they claimed.
“Yeah, you’re real different,” you respond blandly, coming off as trying to knock him down a peg, when really you’re just trying to move on. “Anyways, what do you want?”
“You should let me come over,” he doesn’t hesitate to say, slurring his words slightly.
“No.”
He pulls his phone away from his ear and looks at it with his brows pinched together, all hurt from how you didn’t even bother thinking about it before giving him an answer.
“Why not?” he grumbles, finding himself more offended than usual. “I miss you.”
He’s reminded that you don’t actually hate him when you begin to laugh at how endearing he can be, even when he’s just complaining. “I saw you two days ago.”
“What can I say, baby?” he murmurs, the stupid grin on his face widening when he hears you click your tongue. “You make it hard not to with that tight little p—”
Are you drunk right now?” You cut him off, wiping the smile right off that little pervert's face.
“Maybe.”
He hears you let out a disgusted scoff on the other side of the phone. “Ew, no. I don’t wanna fuck you when you’re all drunk and sloppy.”
At first, he lets out this noise that can only be described as what a pout would sound like if you could hear it. “First of all, I’m not sloppy. Second, I wasn’t asking to fuck, just let me spend the night. It’s loud here— buncha’ hooligans running around.”
“So you can fuck with my sleep?”
“Baby, I would never fuck with your beauty sleep,” he swears. “I’m a beast— not a fuckin’ monster.”
“You are such a fucking loser.” You pinch your nosebridge as you sigh and mutter under your breath. “You’ll be fine. Just take another shot and put some earplugs in.”
“I don’t have any!”
“Headphones then,” you curtly say. “Anyways, I’m going to bed now—”
“No, wait—”
“Good night~”
Click.
Satoru’s left staring at the wall in disbelief, jaw all the way to the floor. Surely you could’ve offered him a couch— but you didn’t bother, and the thought adds to the betrayal that’s already exacerbated from all the shots he’s taken earlier. It doesn’t go away, it just simmers once he’s processed the fact that you basically told him that he could suffer and fucking die, for all you cared, before hanging up.
The music’s so loud that the walls are fucking shaking, there’s no point in noise cancelling headphones when he can feelhow loud it is. His eyes dart between his phone, his dresser, and the door before finally getting up with an irritated sigh.
“Fuck this.”
. . .
Instead of sleeping, like you said you would when hanging up on Satoru, you continued to watch what you put on the tv prior to answering your phone. Though with how late it was, your eyes inevitably grew heavier with each blink, and you found yourself beginning to doze off.
Until a knock on the door and the muffled sound of your name being called snaps you right back to reality.
“I swear to god if that’s—” you begin murmuring to yourself as you walk up to the door, cutting yourself off because no shit it’s Satoru. You can’t think of anybody else who would still come over despite being told no.
You swing the door open, annoyed that it doesn’t swing outwards, it would’ve been nice to hit him with it. He’s leaning against the entryway to stop himself from swaying in place, as carefree as ever.
“What are you doing here?!”
Immediately, he begins to beg. “You have got to let me sleep here— some nasty couple fucked on my bed and there’s a group of psychos hunting me down with pitchforks.”
He was not going back there, and if a little truth-twisting is what it takes to get you to let him, then so be it.
Your face twists in annoyance. “Hunt you down for what?!”
“For turning one of them down.” He throws his arms out, pretending to be outraged. “Threw a drink in my face and everything just because I wouldn’t fuck her! And now my bed smells like rotten fish—”
“Just get inside,” you snap at him, feeling an incoming headache starting to form from his theatrics.
“Thank you.”
Despite showering and brushing his teeth, you can still smell some of the alcohol radiating off of him as he walks past you. Irritated, you shut the door a little too harshly, missing the way the man flinched as he stood there and waited for you. You completely ignore him, walking to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn the T.V off. You walk off to your room after, with Satoru following right behind you like a lost puppy.
The decorative pillows get plucked off the bed one by one. The only reason why he doesn’t ask if you need help with anything is that he is a little too scared to ask. You pull the duvet back and whip your head around to look at him.
“Get in,” you order, and he quickly walks around to the other side, pulling his shirt over his head and leaving his sweats on. “And do not wake me up tonight.”
“Kay’,” he says quietly, slipping the covers.
You follow, after killing the lights, sighing as you lay your head back and close your eyes. He awkwardly lies there at first, arms pulling the blanket up to his chest, staring at the ceiling. It’s not how he sleeps, and frankly, he is really fucking uncomfortable. He’s also scared to move right now.
But Satoru is Satoru, and at the very last minute, turns and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He slides a leg in between yours, and you open your mouth to protest, only to get cut off by his slightly nervous voice.
“Good night.”
. . .
Satoru wakes up twice.
Once at 6:00 am to a pounding headache. He got up to look for an over the counter painkiller. Luckily, he found some in the first cabinet he opened in your kitchen and downed more than he should’ve before getting back in bed, throwing an arm and a leg over you, and falling back asleep.
Then again, at 11:00 am, when he hears some shuffling around the room and realizes you are no longer next to him.
He opens one eye and mumbles, “Where are you going?”
You’re in a hurry as you put a pair of socks on. “To a pilates class.”
“Can I come?” he pops his head up and asks, struggling to open both eyes.
There’s an incredulous look on your face when you pause and look at him. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, you look like a fucking mess right now.” He didn’t really need to hear that, he already figured it out since he feels like one right now. “Two, I don’t need you sitting alone in the corner, watching me for an hour straight.”
“That’s mean as fuck.”
“Not one lie was told,” you argue back, getting the last sock on and rising to your feet. “I’m not kicking you out just yet, so you can stay if you want.”
“Oh, I fuckin’ will.” It comes out as if kicking him out was never an option to begin with, earning himself a little side eye that he was too busy stretching his arms out to notice. You quickly let it go, figuring the hangover was doing a number on him. “Do you have food?”
“Yeah, just look around in the fridge.” You look at your watch, then throw your bag over your shoulder after realizing you’re just barely running on time. “I’ll be back in like an hour.”
“Kay’,” he yawns, lying back against the pillow and closing his eyes once you're out of view.
As much as his head hurts, he’s glad he’s suffering here and not at the house. It’s quiet, your bed’s comfy, time actually feels like it’s running slow for once. There are another 15 minutes of peace before it is ruined by the ring of his phone.
Before he reaches for it on the nightstand, he takes a few seconds to shove his face into the pillow and let out a slew of curses. He picks up the phone and answers, as if his head wasn’t pounding more than ever.
It’s Suguru, who’s not as concerned as he is confused. “Hey, so— you’re not home.”
“M’not,” Satoru mumbles.
Suguru gives him room to explain, but speaks again when he realizes Satoru’s not going to take any of it. “Where are you then?” Again, not concerned, just confused.
“At a friend’s,” Satoru vaguely says. Even in his current fucked up state, he still remembers that you don’t want him talking about you at all.
“...and this is the friend that you’re not fucking and avoiding everyone for, right?”
He lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”
At least Suguru’s smart and is able to read between the lines, meaning that was enough information for him. “Alright.” He laughs with him. “I’ll let you go then. Have fun with your friend.”
“I will.”
Right after he hangs up, he hears another notification go off that’s not from his phone. He hears the ping a couple more times and quickly realizes it’s your phone hiding under the sheets. You were in too much of a rush to realize you forgot to bring it with you.
Satoru’s not one to look through someone else’s phone. He never has, never cared to, never felt the need to. So fighting the urge not to was not only something new, but incredibly fucking difficult. It’s literally right in his hand. He even knows your passcode from the one time he watched you unlock it because his memory’s perfect.
One minute. He’ll just give himself one minute to take a peek.
. . .
It’s been several.
Putting it down, while he’s in the middle of scrolling through a particular conversation, feels impossible. Even when he knows he’s just ruining his own morning by looking at it, he continues to read and make mental notes.
His names Shiu. 37 years old. Moderately successful.
Boring as fuck.
He can tell when someone’s forcing themselves to keep a conversation alive, and can’t wrap his head around why you’d even bother when it’s over shit you have zero interest in. Shiu hasn’t even complimented you once. Nothing about you physically, not even the bare minimum of making a comment about how he enjoys talking to you, since it’s you carrying all of these dry, meaningless conversations.
It's like he just expects you to talk to him.
He continues to scroll, getting closer to the more recent messages, and Satoru finally sees something interesting. Not for you or Shiu, but for him. Reservations for your date next weekend. The first date.
And also your last.
. . .
Before you met him, Shiu wasn’t someone you’d ever imagined yourself being with. He’s calm, quiet, and more of a listener than he was a talker. Not much of a joker or a gossiper.
He was just stable. Rooted. Shiu is a man who couldn’t be moved.
He was a safe choice. A smart one. A mellow man with a successful career. Given your track record of failed relationships with men that you chose based on how exciting you found them, maybe it was time to be smarter.
Some may say it was settling, but you say it’s being practical and choosing what’s best for you.
After a few weeks of casual texting, you were finally having dinner with him tonight. You weren’t exactly excited, but you weren’t nervous either— maybe this is him rubbing off of you.
You’re not sure, honestly.
It feels like there’s something missing, and in its place is the weight of something that refuses to show itself to you, as if its sole purpose was to burden you with confusion.
You take one last look at yourself before you leave, smoothing your hand over the long, tight black dress you chose to wear. Flattering, not too revealing. The same for your shoes, just simple black kitten heels.
At the last minute, Satoru manages to squeeze his way into your mind as you randomly recall the last time you saw him, which was exactly a week ago. The only thing that was off was his supernatural ability to bounce back from a hangover in under an hour. He was fine by the time you got home— at least fine enough to follow you into the bathroom for some shower sex.
You haven’t heard from him since he went home that day. You should be relieved, you wanted him to get bored with you and pull away, yet here you are, wondering why you haven’t heard from him.
. . .
Shiu wasn’t a man who couldn’t be moved— that would require being passionate about something, and so far, he’s about as dry as a matchstick.
And maybe there is something that he’s passionate about, but you doubt it. It’s not necessarily a complaint, just a change in the way you saw him. Shame on you for building up a false idea of him in your head.
At least he’s still calm and quiet— you’re just hoping that all there is to him.
As for now, Shiu was like a constant stream of water that never changed in temperature. He was a place on earth where the weather never changed. A solid 70 degrees, every single day. Acceptable. Easy to digest. Nothing out of the ordinary is ever likely to happen with him.
He’s still a safe choice.
You’re not exactly sure how it’d be what’s best for you, though. You liked surprises— they turned an ordinary day into a day worth remembering— a life without them was just a forgotten past and pointless future.
You could be acting a little dramatic over it right now, but you are honestly sick and fucking tired of getting absolutely nowhere with all the guys you’ve dated and spoken to.
Which is why you push yourself to consider that Shiu could just be a little shy, it's only 15 minutes into your date after all. You remind yourself that opening up takes time, for reasons that make only you feel better.
You haven’t had a quarter life crisis yet, but learning that you’ve spent all this time swinging sledge hammers and wrecking balls at a safe that’s been empty from the start might finally take you there.
You take a sip of your wine and set it back down. “Do you know what you’re gonna order?”
He slowly shakes his head, humming indecisively. “Not yet.”
You wait for him to say something else, but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t. “You mentioned it’s your 9th time coming here. Do you have any favorites that you reorder?”
He hums again. “Nah. The food here’s decent, but I haven’t had anything that’s stood out to me just yet.”
It’s not often people leave you speechless, especially on first dates, but here you are. Tight lipped, eye threatening to twitch.
“Wow— you’re 9th time here, and you still haven’t found a dish that left you satisfied at the end of the meal?”
You’re really hoping he backtracks and corrects you. Coming to a restaurant you don’t like that many times was one of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard.
“Not yet,” he smiles and shakes his head, as if wasting his time and money on a restaurant he didn’t like was just a silly little quirk of his. “Maybe today will be the day.”
Why the fuck would he take you here?
“Fingers crossed,” you force out a light laugh, feeling your patience start to fade. “So you’re just gonna keep coming here until you’ve gone through the entire menu?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles, not catching the slight irritation in your tone. “What can you do, you know?”
“I mean… you can always try new restaurants,” you suggest.
“Nah.” He waves a hand as if that's doing too much. “Easy to stay here. I already know what to expect.”
It took the amount of discipline a sergeant had to hold back on saying that this wasn’t the doctor's office or the fucking barber shop.
You can absolutely check other places out.
Does this guy not understand free will exists?
“Makes sense,” you lie, pushing out all the enthusiasm you’re able to put forward. “No point in fixing something if it’s not broken, you know?”
“Exactly,” he proudly nods.
“There you two are!”
…You were going to kill yourself if it’s who you think it is.
At first, you ignored the familiar voice and instead took an extra big sip of wine.
He hates being ignored though, so instead of pulling up a seat between you and your date as he had originally planned, he sits right next to Shiu and smiles at the way you instantly freeze.
You hate to admit how good he looked tonight. His hair’s styled for once, loosely brushed back with some expensive styling cream. You can’t help but notice how much sharper his eyes look with his hair out of his face. More rough and intimidating. He was in a white button up, tailored to perfection, rolled up at his elbows, leaving the top buttons of the shirt unbuttoned to show off the chain he always wore. Grey tweed trousers, also tailored to perfection.
“My bad— ran into some traffic on the way here.”
Satoru turns to Shiu, who’s even more confused than you, and holds his hand out for a handshake, giving him a veryformal introduction.
Afterwards, Satoru proceeds to pluck the menu out of your date's hand.
“Alright, Shiu, what are we getting tonight?”
Shiu is visibly appalled when he looks at you, but doesn’t say anything because he’s never had a stranger do that before. Especially when the stranger’s as eccentric as Satoru.
“I— I don’t know.” Your date stumbles on his words at first from the surprise of Satoru’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t get to finish looking through the menu.”
“Wait— really?”
Satoru looks at his watch and sees how you two have been here for nearly 20 minutes, and he still hasn’t picked something. He doesn’t wait for a response and hands the menu back since he already found what he liked, which sucks for you because now he can direct his attention elsewhere.
He leans back and nods at you, because you haven’t spoken at all yet.
“What’re you getting?” You catch the split second his entire expression darkens. He is fucking pissed.
“The cod and asparagus,” you murmur.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” he says through a smile, playing it off as a joke even though you both know it’s not. “Your palate sucks though, so I’m not surprised.”
“Yeah, no— it’s fucking awful,” you let out a laugh. “I need to start eating better— feels like I’ve been eating nothing but junk the past few months.”
His face drops, and just before he’s about to say something 10x ruder, Shiu cuts in.
“I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” he takes several steps back to about 5 minutes ago, “was there some sort of mix up here? I thought this was a date-date, not a dinner with… friends.” Shiu looks back at you, and you’re no help, you’re just glaring.
“A date?” Satoru huffs out a laugh, making the man look like an idiot for even thinking this was a date. “It’s been dinner this whole time. You’re the one who booked a reservation for four, our other friend couldn’t make it.”
Shiu's face twists in confusion. “What? No, no, no— I booked the reservation under two.”
“No, you didn’t. It was booked under four,” he sadly breaks it to him. “You can go ask the receptionist if you want, but I swear it’s four.”
Shiu gets up from his seat to go talk to the receptionist, because he knows he booked it for two— he’s not fucking crazy.
And it’s true, he’s not. Satoru’s the crazy one here.
He’s still gonna go home believing he is though, since the receptionist got paid to change the booking information and lie to him.
Satoru laughs just thinking about it, then downs the rest of Shiu’s wine, ready to gaslight him over that, too.
Finally, he looks back at you and feels a sick sense of satisfaction. You’re angry… baffled, in complete and utter disbelief— you’re looking at him like you’re two seconds away from jumping over the table and strangling him.
Though in the end, you gather yourself together as you finally ask: “What are you doing here, Satoru?”
“Why the fuck are you on a date with someone right now?” His tone clipped, it sounds like he’s about to throw a fit.
“I—“ you stop for a moment, reminding yourself not to yell. “Satoru, we’re not in a relationship.”
“Fine, then,” he decides to rephrase it, “why are you trying to replace me? And with him? Seriously?!”
“What’s wrong with him?!”
“He looks like a sleazy pornstar from the 80s!”
“Not everything is about looks—“
He laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Ok, what is it then? Is his dick bigger than mine?”
Your brows pinch together. Of course, he’s worried about that. “No— I haven’t even seen it yet.”
“Yet?!” his voice broke.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
You try to use a more stern tone to get him to relax, but you don’t think it’ll work. Satoru looks fucking devastated.
“What’s next, you're gonna have babies with him?”
Your jaw drops at his conclusion. “What? No! Do you not realize how dramatic you sound right now?”
“I’m being replaced by a man with fucking pornstache!” he points to himself and says.
“Excuse me?” You’re both interrupted by a timid waitress. “Um– the man that was here earlier just left.”
“I’m not surprised,” you mutter until your breath.
“Yeah…” she sighs, almost apologizing for it. “Were you guys ready to order?”
You glance back at Satoru, and he’s looking away with his arms crossed. “Could I just get the bill for the drinks?”
“Oh, no worries about that! It’s all been covered already by Mr. Gojo. You can just head out when you’re ready.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Of course! Have a good n–” she cuts herself off, knowing damn well you weren’t. “Take care.”
You would’ve laughed at how timid she was if you weren’t so irritated, and instead just nod and smile. You look back at the date crasher, contemplating whether you should thank him or not for trying to cover the bill, but hold off, knowing he probably only did it to assert even more dominance over your date than he already has.
“We’re leaving.” You rise up and grab your purse. Satoru doesn't even look at you, let alone move an inch, because he’s throwing a fucking tantrum, so you slam your hand on the table. “Get up.”
He gets up.
There’s a slight pout on Satoru’s face as he follows you out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. His hands are shoved in his pockets, dragging his feet.
“Where’s your car?” you ask.
“There,” he mumbled and nodded in its direction, then suddenly, you’re pinching his ear and yanking on it.
“Ow—”
“Walk,” you say through gritted teeth, pinching harder.
“Ow– fuck– I am,” he chokes out. “Ow, ow, ow.”
You continued to drag him through the parking lot, ignoring his pleas for you to let go.
“Suck it up,” you coldly respond. “You were asking for it when you crashed my date.”
“I’m sorry, I… ugh— I’m really not, he was lame as fuck, but still— your nails, ow.”
“Exactly, so get over it,” you continue to scold him. “Can’t believe you fucking did that.”
“Because you—”
“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, giving his ear one last tug, leaving him next to the driver's side door of his car. “Take me home. Now.”
not even in an ‘ i can’t feel a thing ’ frat-fuck way either. he just wants to be close to you. he’s touch starved as it is and being inside of you is quite literally the closet he can be to you. why would he want a barrier between his achy length and your silken walls?
he hates condoms. hates them like they’re pointing south on his moral compass. hates them like they hurt to use—which they do, in a way—the mental anguish feels real to him, at least. he picks up a fuss in the grocery store when you pull a pack of ribbed condoms from the shelf to try because why would you seek pleasure from artificial ridges when the protruding veins of his cock would feel just as good if not dressed in a condom?
sometimes he eats you out for twice as long as usual to get you really fucked out and dumb. he’ll make you cum hard and fast and so much that your mind is a mess in the hopes that you’ll forget all about your safety precautions and let him feel you from the inside out. but you always catch on. with a tsk and a finger pointed to the draw where he keeps the horrid things out of sight.
so when you let him fuck you raw for the first time, gojo is reeling. it’s on the condition that he promises to pull out, and promise he does—with a pinky finger hooked around yours and his lips to his thumb—he promises to pull out.
he decides on missionary, because as much as he loves the hundred different positions he knows how to wrangle you into, he wants to connect with you. to make love, not fuck.
and even your wetness against his tip is enough to jolt his stomach downwards. collecting your glossing over his angry head as he rubs himself up and down your folds—he would cum just like this if he wasn’t so stuck on feeling all of you. you’re warm and wet and tight as he pushes against your entrance and oh god he’s going to cum already.
“oh,” he stills, eyes deadset on yours as he slides into you. his tip is rubbing against that spot that makes your back arch upwards and it takes everything in you not to laugh at the distraught look on his face as he says “i have to pull out.”
“you’re joking, right?”
“i really wish i was baby,” he looks pained. he’s never felt something so heavenly and ungodly at the same time. he wants to do bad things, to fuck you into the mattress and breed you full of himself until you’re too weak to care about the aftermath of such recklessness. “i can’t pull out.”
“what?” you laugh, his balls tighten at the sound.
“if i move—” satoru has never looked so serious, “—i will cum. this was a bad idea. why would you let me do this?”
“you’re the one always—”
“actually don’t argue with me, you know what it does to me.” he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on anything other then the way you feel around him. he does math in his head, thinks about the people he’s killed, how much he loves you… how pretty you look right now… growing old with you.
it takes him a minute of mental gymnastics to feel confident enough to start slowly sliding out of you, but all hope dies when the heel of your foot presses against his ass and with a smile made of sin you pull him deeper inside of you.
he opens his mouth to protest, to tell you he is not joking and all that comes out is a beautiful strangled moan that makes you tighten around him. for a man who claims to be the strongest he is rather weak-willed when it comes to your pussy. he needs to cum so hard that it hurts, but a fear of maybe ruining your life and relationship digs his teeth into his bottom lip.
“don’t do this to me,” he whines.
but you’re smiling. you’re so tight and wet and beautiful and everything he’s ever dreamt of having and holding and you’re smiling. “satoru,” you say, and he’s weak. “cum inside.”
anything for you. it’s gorgeous: the way he lets loose, falling forward to press all his weight into you as he groans and his balls release in hot spurts that you can feel painting your insides white. it’s the connection, the intimacy, the tears that prick at his eyes.
and he doesn’t pull out. no, he presses his hips forward to fuck his cum as deep into you as he possibly can and he vows to throw out every condom in the goddamn house.
god he hates condoms.
this is a repost from my account that was #deleted (also @fricks) so if you accuse me of stealing this i will literally eat your ass and not in the good way like it will be digesting in my stomach
“Did you know that I love the sound of the fuurin? They relax me, Satoru…”
MDNI MATURE CONTENT BY INTERACTING YOU FULLY CONSENT TO ALL THE CONTENT OF THIS WORK OF ART. VIEW DESCRESION ADVISED...
Synopsis.
Months after the fact, the house is quieter—not quite silent either. The wind still stirs the chimes afterall, their soft timbre threading through empty rooms, brushing against memories you can’t quite hold and can’t quite let go of. In the space between what was and what is, you’re left to reckon with a life that keeps moving, even when a part of you refuses to follow.
pairing = Gojo X Widow!F Reader
MDNI 18+. | DDDNE | NSFW | MDNI | ANGST | FLUFF |
MDNI 18+. heavy angst, angst with smut, smut, nsfw, 18+, explicit, porn with plot, pwp, creampie, overstimulation, tummy bulge, size kink?, breeding kink?, cum play, rough sex, emotional damage, grief, mourning, hurt comfort, bittersweet
a/n: maybe you cry, maybe you don’t—hard to tell—but I’ve been missing my man, so while I suffer, you can suffer with me. tried editing this myself, and man, I’m wiped out; I’ve been working on other series edits, and I’m literally pooped, hahaha. anyway, I had fun building this story and world. I hope to become better in the future—you know, become more articulate and such—but like anything, it all takes time and practice.
ughhh i miss him so bad yall...
Disclaimer The banner images used in this post were sourced from Pinterest and are not my original artwork. All credit belongs to the respective creators. I do not claim ownership, nor do I intend to infringe on any copyrights. These images are used purely for aesthetic purposes and are not monetized in any way.
If you know the original artist(s), please let me know so I can properly credit and tag them. art by momoya348 on x
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[S. Gojo Navigation][Orkauh Masterlist][audio]
It’s days like these, where the soft chill of morning dew clings to the air and the shape of the sun is still yet to arrive, when you feel it most…
The absence.
Especially in this soft and quiet hush of an empty estate—though you wouldn’t call it lifeless; after all, he had arranged everything to continue moving, even when he himself would no longer be present… or ever will be again for that matter. Even with soft plush blankets clinging to you like warm hugs—he ‘insisted’ to you—would make the outrageous price he paid for them worth it. And they had, only you denoted rather quickly that was only true when you were in the duvet with him… basking in that warmth only your beloved man could radiate.
Only his…
And as you are slow to wake, with each passing breeze that ominous chill remains to remind you—this ‘now’ is reality, and there won’t be any ‘flamboyant, outrageous’ late entrance. Absolutely no chance of a miracle occurring.
The remnants of his title had, after all, been revoked. In this new present, he no longer held the title of the ‘honored’ one…
…
After all, that title should only be reserved for ‘the strongest.’
Somthing—Satoru Gojo was no longer the exception to…
Now in the hollowed shell of your bed, your breaths lose the rhythm of slow slumber and force your hand to inhale deeper, as lucidity threatens to finally tear you from the sole remaining place where you could be near him. You feel the heaviness sink even deeper, through shaken breaths that cry to be shed but never fully do, in fear you might do the very thing he told you ‘never’ to do.
Curse him—
You find yourself once again swallowing back heavy coals of emotion, with a throat as sore and prickly as a cold, gagging back bitter, bitter bile of sorrow even now, months after the fact…
Delusion and love tend to do that, so it’s no surprise when your body refuses to rouse. What was that clichéd, overused saying? Right—denial is a river in Egypt.
And still, you remain lain in the dent of his side of the bed, like it may miraculously embrace you, praying that maybe it would do what someone used to do when you shivered from the morning’s cold.
Though now, since he is no longer here to crack it open in the morning and engineer your habitual morning cuddles, you’ve taken to the poor habit of leaving it ajar all night—but that’s okay, you think… somewhere alone the way of today and maybe a lifetime ago, you heard back that it actually boosts your immune system, you know– the cold. Though you’re sure he wouldn’t believe that one bit if he were to see you now, but that’s the irony of all this, isn’t it? Shivering under the heavy feather blankets, you curl even deeper into a ball on his side.
Still swallowing the ever-present lumps of reality that feel like shattered glass in your throat and seem to pass jaggedly through the cavity of where your heart used to be…
There, with eyes shut, heavy lashes blinking away the wet lubricant even while they battle to remain closed… you’re taken somewhere else completely by a simple chime.
The wind flutters, and the softest sound of a voice you swear you could recognize through a crowd ghosts a greeting you swear is real, forcing you to jolt at the haunting familiarity.
And just like that, you’re awake… with the drop of your heart and the delusion. Your puffy eyes finally peel open on their own accord, to hope and supplicate for an extravagantly late entrance. Only… there is no such thing. Instead, you’re greeted, like many long, grief-filled mornings before, by that same coldness that is unique only to clumped lashes, wettened by something more than dew…
And only then do you realize that perhaps that sound, more than anything, was the resonance from the deep timbre of the wind chimes he adorned outside the sliding doors, once again…
Satoru was never strong in the aspect of listening and even less on following orders, so when he ignored the fact that the Gojo estate was a historically preserved treasure by the Japanese government, you were surprised that you still were surprised by how he used to be.
And that thought always made you think back to way back when, once upon a time on a hot summer night—after Geto had defected and you and Gojo were no longer arranged to be married. Back when he was even more stubborn and even more stupid, and learning quite devastatingly that he couldn’t possibly live without you…how could he? Afterall you were his universe… but that doesn't matter anymore, does it...
Pride and ego had killed much more for less.
And what had happened had happened. And it’s not the job of any self-respecting woman to force a man to love her; even when your naive heart still stupidly belongs to him— it had been sendai you think, yeah… you two had met again in Sendai, allegedly on separate missions of your own skill level, of course; who could ever match Gojo…
Regardless, the point remained; you and him had no real reason to meet other than that of fate… all that and the fact the two of you hadn’t seen each other in a while had shifted something between you. Bruised hearts pacified by something greater.
The air had been hot and heavy like any other typical Japanese evening, but even that night was heavier because there were two souls full of many things left unspoken and deeply repressed unresolved yearning.
So when he stood there across from you in front of the iridescent conbini that seemed to attract all the pesky bugs, seemingly ignoring the past that had gotten you two to that point, and there he remained arrogant and undeniably undeterred, with his scruffy, bangy white hair and work jacket long since removed, leaving him in only that white cotton undershirt he used to put on in those days before trading in for his black compression shirt combo you would eventually prefer later. That night, he was breathing rather heavily for more than one reason…
You noticed the dark circles under his eyes had become more pronounced. Though who were you to say much; you probably looked the same…
He was glad for the sweat that perspired from both your bodies, because when he finally asked if you wanted to share sea-salt ice cream, as you both stood in front of the sliding door blessing his and your hot flesh with a gush of AC cooler from inside. His heart did, in fact, drop to his ass when you just stood there playing with the idea of his question and offering no response.
He was even more grateful for that hot-ass heat wave that hid his anxiety perfectly, because when you feigned the look you do when you are about to say no, he swore he nearly became the exact jittering mess Ijichi always became in his presence. He could only think this was his karma, ready to beg you to stay. But when you gave him a firm look—a slight tut of your lip with a curt nod—he nearly combusted.
You two hadn’t talked much that night—well… nothing important, you thought. Sat at some old swing set that creaked when you two oscillated back and forth on them.
But every word you did speak was carefully catalogued into Satoru’s soul. So much so, when you stopped speaking to gaze off into the distance, his head—which had been too nervous to gaze your way, transfixed on the sound of your voice and playing a silly game of I tell her I tell her not with the sweating popsicle—actually, he was building the courage to finally bare his heart only if the amount of drips it took the popsicle to drop was odd—but that had all but changed when he realized your voice was no longer paving way in the silence that was only broken by the creaking of the metal swing chains, he finally lifted his gaze.
And that’s when he was greeted by the delicate sight of you smiling once more into the distance… a sight he surely thought he would never get to experience again, especially considering how it had ended between you two. In that moment, he realized many things, but above all that his heart had begun to beat again then; it really was still there, he believed.
He startled so much so he had dropped his popsicle when you turned back to face him, with sweat sticking your hair to your temples, rosy cheeks smiling brightly, and the soft, warm glow of the streetlight that illuminated your treasured soul to him as you said your final comment before you left him once more without looking back…
“Did you know that I love the sound of the fuurin? They relax me, Satoru…”
It seemed the two of you had both been waiting for that popsicle to melt for different reasons.
A marker to show your end. And his beginning… and with its fall, that had changed things. Where that forgotten popsicle in the night had been the silent closure you told yourself you could live with, it had been the wakeup call that forced him to realize he refused to leave his future in the hands of a melting popsicle.
You should have known better. Especially when he stopped being a lousy, stubborn idiot and instead a stupid, stubborn husband, that most of his spontaneous ideas came from moments like those where you thought he wasn’t listening.
But then again, to him, you were… everything.
With a black plastic bag filled with his favorite candies and a long pole, you had realized he had brought home with intention.
Even more intentional than the sweet treats he always insisted on sharing were those hooks that would end up destroying the Gojo estate—to be exact—from Mr. Watanabe’s hardware store near the school, actually. Needless to say, he violated and thoroughly destroyed the meticulously constructed masterpiece of the greatest carpenters of the Heian era.
And when you attempted to knock some reason into your stupid husband’s adoringly devoted, silly brain, he could only soften at your chastising—eyes crescenting like upside-down moons, and the young flesh around his eyes wrinkling into crow’s feet that would hopefully become permanent as he aged with you…
All the while, he hung up a pretty little fuurin—one you said you thought was cute when he dragged you around that night market in Minato before that pink mist exorcism you two did that one time, you still shudder at the memory of that mission, swear to God he planned that lewd job on purpose, though you guess that wouldn't be confirmed anymore—except you two never bought it. That night, the shop owner only took cash, and the last bills you two had bought the taiyaki you two ate that night. You suppose he went back to buy it because he was reminded of what they meant to you—even when you leaned yourself on the support post, arms crossed and chest squished in the process, lips clicking each time he would find a sly way to snake out of answering your pointed questions and concerns.
Sure, he may be the strongest, but that didn’t stop him from getting berated and nagged at by the elders. Only you knew how much that nagging drained him—not because it bothered him tremendously, but a thorn in your side is still a thorn in your side… that didn’t mean you wanted your husband to endure that just for some wind chimes. What loving wife ever would?
Only when he finished did he take a step back to observe his handiwork, and subsequently as did you. You couldn’t help but admire the way he organized so many various chimes to remain appearing elegant. You couldn’t help but think that was another hidden talent, courtesy of him being… him… and when the soft wind of that summer day had caressed the largest of all the chimes, you couldn’t help the way it tickled your ear and helped lull your shoulders to relax while he said something only annoying hubbys do—unbeknownst to you, the sound of the chimes weren’t the only windpipes that beckoned you to calm. Only after exhaling a sigh of relief do you open your eyes… to which you’re met with the whimsical way the summer’s rays tickled his hair, refracting the endless rainbows of color only his warm white hair used to shine as he looked lovingly at you explaining its versatility and natural appeal to dragonflies and what not…
The sight of him like this—all childlike, gleeful, and carefree—took you back to the days before the memory of that day…
To when you first met the bratty, blue-eyed, insufferable boy. To when you fell for this annoyingly splendid man after one too many shared awkward walks home from school—you know the ones your clans forced him to do— It took you back to the first time you kissed his plush pink lips under the cherry blossom you two had grown up with, thoroughly catching him by surprise, allowing you to be the sole beholder of his captivating expression of bewildered delight before he ultimately spiraled in overthought and inexperience on his true feelings for you.
And as the protector of your heart, he delighted at the sight of your elation. Not a care in the world graced his features when he knew you weren’t really mad…
“Why don’t you ever listen to me, Satoru?” you say through pursed, tight lips.
Or so he thought.
He smiled softly to you, eyebrows raising as he rolled out the glee from his shoulders. He made way to you, steady, rough calloused hands reaching up to cup your cheek, all before carding them back further so that his long strong fingers could caress the soft hairs of your nape, in just the way he knew you loved. As he rested his palms on your jaw, his thumbs caressed the apples of your cheeks. His gaze, all the while, remained transfixed on your eyes… piercing into the depths of your very soul. You could feel his sincerity, love, and devotion…
Everything in those limitless eyes before he sealed it with a whole, consuming kiss.
“Fuck ’em,” he whispered with his bright, dimpled smile while he rocked you from side to side in his secure embrace. Your heart settled into ease as you heard the steady beat of his strong heart through his chest and into your ear…
As the wind blew and you embraced his strong back, the song of the wind played through those very pipes that day… only then did you think the real reason wind chimes always reminded you of him transcended anything you could counter in this lifetime… almost like how certain scents and sound could bring you back to once infancy, and you don't question them either, after all in those memories they just seem to have always just ‘been’.
But…
That was then, and… this was now…
And although you can say that the sound of the chimes serves to remind you of better times, at this very moment… you can’t bear to hear its resonance. The feeling that the sound was similar, but not entirely right… felt like a mockery. Surely this is what hell had to be like…
And even then how could you possibly take them all down? Even if they were the source of your torment.
It’s not as though all these small little trinkets have much monetary value. In fact, the damage done to the Gojo estate would be considered the true loss. And yet, like many other things in this empty home that carry even less significant value, you find yourself not even daring to discard the most insignificant pieces of forgotten garbage.
To be exact, the small wrapped candies that are scattered seemingly everywhere in the estate have become cruel reminders of back then. Who was here, who had left them, and what they meant to him—how they made him feel, and subsequently how his happiness was your happiness…
—
“Satoru! UGH!!” you cried bliss, tossing your head forward onto his bare shoulder. Your nails slicing the skin of his back as each hard thrust he impales into you makes contact with your sensitive cervix, sloshing around all the previous bucketloads of cum that lubricated your walls and frothed the base of his thick, veined cock, each impactful gyration of his hips allowing for milky goo to smear further all over the white tufts of his pubic hair.
“Mmm nughhh, Toru dont stop!!! dont stop!!! dont stop!!!” you all but wail again and again as you roll your forehead left and right on his collarbone, delirious at the obscene and pornagraphic calpings of his thighs into your bruised ass. further producing hot condensation to heat the already searing skin of his nipple directly in front of your drooling mouth. All the while further arousing yourself by smelling the sweaty perspiration of his musk radiating off his taut, firm pecs that press plushly against your sweat-dripping cheek when they slap slap slap and suffocate you at each hard impact. Your brows furrow at feeling that perfect sensation of fullness that overwhelms the snug anatomy of your sopping wet sex.
He hissed as he feels the sting of your nails drawing lines of blood on the strong muscles of his defined back on each of his calculated fucks of his cock into your overexerted and abused g-spot.
“Baby hah! Haha”
He can’t help a chuckle while biting your exposed neck, his eyes tunnel visioning as he looks off into the distance of the tea room all the while he laps over the reddened teeth mark he ignores to suck a dark purple hickey to further adorn your delicious body, going completely hazy on the sensation of his hot bulbous tip building with tight, whole-consuming pressure in your weeping wet hole.
The sensation of his foreskin bunching and un-bunching upon every time he bucks into the hot, tight orifice of your steaming pussy, making him bite and gnaw harder onto the soft, flimsy cartilaged skin of your ear, provoking pathetic whimpering cries from your pretty lips, feeling the way the hot air of his mouth condensates and further pools moisture along the conch of your ear while he whispers sweet promises of fucking you stupid and fucking you dumb and brainless; all you could do is nod, wholly understanding nothing he spoke of because his words had already reigned true.
Chuckling, he bites the top of your head as he feels his balls scrunching tighter with the impending sensation that another hot load of his cum was ready and threatening to violently erupt into your already ruined hole. But he fought to hold himself back, wanting to savor the intensity of this moment and especially the closeness of your sweaty perspiring body to him.
But he almost loses it right then and there when he hammered in one particularly punishing thrust that makes your pussy violently flutter, letting him feel the way you tingle and clench so much harder around his proud, thick, veiny cock.
Satoru can all but thunk his head onto the tatami floor as he cries out, “-ugh- baby my dicks already yours—ah fuck—you clench any tighter your gonna rip it off.” flopping his forehead in defeat onto your shoulder. The skin of his neck goosefleshing and burning red as he tried to hold back the eruption, teasingly proclaiming into your ear, “‘sthat what—ahh fuck—you want wifey? Tryna rip my cock off—ughhhhhhh!—and keep it to yourself, my greedy girl?” Thunking his head onto the tatami floor once, twice, thrice when you involuntarily clench harder at the pet name.
Thanking God the pulsing veins on his neck and face and the unsexy primal groans of toe-curling pleasure didn’t overcome his resolve, gratitude washing over him as he regained enough level-headed clarity to not cum again so soon.
But only because he slowed his pace to soft, long thrusts of his cock.
Sighing, he fumbles around, groping your fleshy hips tighter and slowly building rhythm in you again while he rests his forehead on yours, kissing your lips in soft pecks that let him simply suck your soft skin and tongue into his own hot wet muscle in tender chyoop, chyoop, chyuoops before he once again fucks into your womb so punishing, his sweaty chest heaving, all the while slipping and sliding against your own body as he tightly holds you in a suffocating embrace.
Cock throbbing hard and sweating just a little more as he feels the doughy sensation of the fat of your tits pressing up so deliciously against his own muscular chest, both yours and his nipples bumpin and catching every which way every time your bodies sway while he fucks you nothing less than a degenerate animal. All he could think was, this was fucking heaven?
With big, fat tears streaming down your face, you cry out as you opt to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer.
He chuckles again, and he fucks into you harder and heavyier, his probing tip hitting at that particular angle that lets him see it—peekaboo—a cute little tummy bulge when he looks down between your swealtering body’s and sees every time how his thick circumference of his cock fucks back into you so deliciously. “Sweetie, why—ah fffuck—are you being so clingy?” you can only cry out a moan, fucked so dumb after rounds three and four and teetering on number five with the relentless bullying of his mean cock pounding into your sopping wet pussy, all but crying for more delicious abuse of his pretty, long, and veiny dick.
The cocky bastard was just as gone as you at this point, especially considering that same lecherous pervert found this degrading part to be the best thing his glorious blue eyes ever did have the pleasure of coveting.
Forcefully grabbing your jaw, he jerks you to face him so he could fully see the beauty of his handiwork, and what a divine ruined sight it was.
Sweaty hair plastering all over your face; hickey-bitten neck and tits, signatures of his ravenous devotion. Not to mention the hot, wet, salty tears that streamed down your cheeks after every sharp, punishing thrust of his heavy cock, followed by the slinging slap of his ballsack smacking your asshole, surely wettened by previous rounds of both your cum, and his delicious semen.
When you called out his name pathetically, all he could do was smile, a tender smile—though his glazed-over eyes were indicative of his true salacious intentions—as he heard the cacophony of your whimpering cries before leaning in to stick out his wet, hot, red tongue and lick up the salty trail to the high of your cheek. You let out a sharp hiss when you feel him sink his teeth onto the fat of the rosy apple of your face.
You protest and attempt to move back, and he allows no such nonsense. Sucking the apple into his mouth lickin about however which way he likes and Gripping your jaw tighter, he sinks his free hand onto the fat flesh of your ass, delivering some deep grinds that go beyond the limits of your cervix and push atop the rounded flesh of your womb, and only when you whimper and shudder around his cock does he release the bite-marked apple of your cheek. Gone to the euphoric pleasure that heats from the bottom of your pussy up to your abdomen, your hot breasts, burning neck, and finally leaving a hot, lustful blush on your cheeks, you bite your bottom lip. The overwhelming hedonistic desire—you don’t realize you have gone blind and hazy—not realizing that when he leaned back, he had already spit a fat, frothy glob of spit in your mouth. You, of course, welcomed it wholeheartedly, working around your own wet tongue around your semen coated lips, to swallow up the massive saliva he offered you, quickly swallowing so that you could stick your tongue properly this time in case he planned to give you more.
“Come on, wifey—fuck, ugh, your fucking tight, don’t tell me you’re too—ugh!—fucked dumb, dumb, dumb, hehehe” he drills those words into your clenching hole.
“To answer my—oh fuck—question,” he grips your jaw tighter when he feels you squeeze on his cock.
“Wha—ughhhh nyugh—right there, Satoruuuuu! What question—umph,” you cry out, circling your legs around him, fingers sneaking about to climb and claw at his hair, tangling in the thick, soft white locks as you begin to convulse on the feeling of another orgasm hitting you hard.
A jagged scream all but leaves your mouth before more pitiful tears stream down your face, and you cry out, “Toru UGHHHHHH! I’m cumming, ngyuhh!”
The burning sensation of your nails climbing his scalp only further arouses his cock to swell as he slows his pace and lets you come down from your high, ensuring you feel the way his mushroom tip caresses and strokes long, deep, slow thrusts from the spongy entrance of your pussy to the soft, wet, concaved entrance of your cervix.
“Ughhh, my lecherous wife, what’s that—five—fuck, ughh,” he thrusts the frothy cum in and out of you, and you continue to spasm with the feeling of your climax calming, but it isn’t long before his slowing hips begin to pick up the pace, and he’s back on topic and back on bullying the buttery entrance of your greedy little cervix.
“What’s got you this clingy, sweets,” he says as he peppers more bites and kisses across your neck and chest, massaging the swell of your breasts, pinching your nipples to arouse you further, but he notices the slight tightening of your abdomen you do upon the realization of the question he’s asking.
When he leans back to examine your face, more tears drip down your chin. Only he would know that these weren’t from the overwhelming pleasure that he’s been building you with these last couple of overwhelming, intense orgasms.
And that’s when he stops… balls deep, he stops just to face you, to examine you and show you that in that moment he is fully present.
“It’s that dream again, isn’t it…”
He knows you too well…
The way your body had convulsed, allowing the free flow of tears and things you kept holding back for weeks all loose to nothing in front of the man that held your heart. And when he sees this, the blue in his eyes soften, lifting your body with strong, dependable hands from the floor to have you sit lotus-style on his lap, where he can hold you chest to chest, heart to heart, and embrace you tightly.
The way he rubbed the sensitive skin of your ticklish back could only be described as similar to consoling an inconsolable child. Not that he would ever consider you less than his peer, but even he, dumb-headed and oblivious to a fault, understood he needed to take care of your emotions once in a while just like you always did for him. He could only coo out comforting sounds and call out your name as he kissed your neck, your temples, your cheeks while he cradled the back of your neck, allowing you to breathe them in and simply cry as he soothed you, calming patterns on your back, waiting for you to regulate.
“It’s okay,” he coos out as you sobbed once again. “It’s okay, sweetie pie,” he called to you appeasingly. “I promise… I’m not going anywhere… I’m not going to die, wife,” he said as he finally pulls you back to wipe away the wetness from your eyes. You can only stare at him, analyzing every thick white lash, observing the rosy tint of his cheeks that made him seem almost shy, the way his hot skin perspired salty, wet sweat, and how his chest heaved from all the exertion from your midday activities. Every objective observation proving to you his vitality isn’t an illusion, though we could feel the skepticism radiating from you. Even as you sobbed out more tears. He knows the only way he can calm you down was to show you the proof, so when he grabs your hand and places the palm of it onto his heart, he asked you the simple question.
“You see it’s beating… right?” he holds tighter onto the doll of your wrists before guiding its way up to his mouth to press a plush kiss into it. He lets you caress his cheek as he raises his gaze up into your own and tells you the truth. “I’m alive and well; it was just a dream, baby,” he says all nonchalantly. “Nothing to worry about.”
And thats when your eyes meet. And he holds the silence for a moment before finally saying
“After all, I’m the strongest,”
he smiles, all bright, blue crystal eyes twinkling with uncertainty.
That was the thing about him—just seeing his cheerful glee, his dimple smile, could settle anyone’s heart: his students, his peers, his so-called friends, and especially yours, his beloved wife. You could only stare at him, linking back at you, imploring you to come back to who you are: reasonable, levelheaded, an upright woman that lives by the book, because after all, that was the woman he had married—the complete opposite of his reckless, one-man banana band self.
You could only sit on him linked in the most intimate of way possible; watching the sparkle in his blue eyes and the soft texture of his white hair.
When the fuurrin chime and the open door invited the cool breeze, the very one that blew away his soft white hair, exposing his forehead and the soft, undetectable scar that served as a distant reminder that even when things have been terrible, even then he indeed had emerged victorious.
The very heat of his exposed chest radiating into your very own breasts that pushed firmly against him each time the two of you inhaled while entangled in the intimacy of this position. He was right, you concluded—after all, the very proof of his victory was still throbbing thick hot and ready in your greedy cunt. So when you finally came to your senses, the only thing that was left to do was hug him…
“You’re right,” you say as you peppered a kiss to his cheek, clenching your hot walls around him, forcing a groan from him. When you leaned back and rolled your pussy further onto his cock, enticing another harmonic hiss that left his brows furrowed and pretty bite marks on his lips, you said to him, “after all, you are the strongest…” before smashing your lips onto his. The biting of his lips and tongue was inevitable. The way you sucked on the wet muscle was lecherous. The meshing of tongues and desire, fueled by a desperate yearning, made it easy for you to push him onto his back and ride his ready cock even harder.
The burning sensation on your thighs as you bounce on his thick cock was so satisfying; it served to remind you that at this moment, in this present time, you two were together—and just like he said… there was no reason to have fear.
“Fuck, Toru! Ughhh!”
You suck in a breath and brace yourself on his pecs with outstretched arms teetering that chaotic edge once more but not nearly enough to give you release. You look at him through the curtains of your hair that fell over your gaze, eyes so lust-filled he almost came right there, but the deep crescents of your nails tearing the flesh of his pecs served to keep him present, even as that lustful blush intoxicated him nearly to delirium, your hips working shallow thrusts on his veiny circumference. The bounce of your tits, a glorious sight for your husband, almost distracting him from your desperate request.
“What?” Satoru snaps out of it when he hears you cry out the second time.
“Toru!!! Please make me cum, I’m close,” and before any more words could come out of your kiss-bitten lips and any more tears from your pathetically pleading eyes, he rolls you onto your back and forces the front of your shins to smack flat on either side of your head. The angle forcing your tits to fall to your chin, diaphragm fully compressed as your thighs press tightly into your chest with the way he had you folded over and upside down. He finds purchase on the back of your calves, quick to align himself and steady his angles, thick cock expertly pushing back in and dragging onto your g-spot. Upon the initial sensation of his probing tip ramming into that spongy bundle of ecstasy, you’re already crying out incoherent babbles of “yes, yes, yes, please, right there. Don’t stop.”
And when he feels your pussy tingle that particular way you do, he knows you are close—but that’s okay, because so is he… He smiles before leaning down to bite and then kiss the back of your trembling thigh.
“Wait for me, let’s cum together,” your husband sighs before picking up the pace. You nod, biting your lip before slithering your hand up to find your clit and rub tight little circles on it, which, in all honesty, wasn’t needed, because all it took was one final thrust—Satoru’s glorious length right upon your squished bladder—to make you cum.
The tightening of your rigid pussy around his cock helped him to follow soon after, as you continue to convulse around Satoru’s fat tip, out coming more milky semen to paint the most darkest and warmest crevices of your salacious pussy reserved only for your beloved husbands most perverted desires.
When the two of you finally came down from your highs, he rested your bum on the floor of the tatami mats of his ancestral home that more than likely hadn’t seen this type of action in years, if not ever.
And yet you remain unsatiated; for that very reason, you were quick to flip him onto his back with the remaining strength you still had. Keeping his softening cock buried deep inside you, you laid yourself atop him; pressing your pretty sweaty titties with still hardened sensitive nips into his firm sweaty chest. And work your way to suck on his pretty pink lips and tongue, in a savory mess of desire all the while your hands roamed and touched and groped every part of him. Simply because you needed to feel him closer still.
“Mmm, Satoru,” you call out his name, all languid delight as you kiss along his chin, telling him in between each red hickey you leave along his neck and chest.
“Satoru—uughmmhm—chuoop—chuoop—chuoop—I love you, mmmhmm, I love you so much,” you say in reckless abandon before returning to suck and French-fuck his tongue and mouth; he was no step behind you as he proclaimed right back to you, “fuck, baby, wifey, sweetie—mmhmm—chuoop —chuoop —I love you too, so fucken much I couldn’t live without you,” he all but sucks your lips, holding your hips tight with one hand, and forcing your kisses to deepen with his hand firmly grasping the back of your neck, uncaring of any matting of your hair that may happen as a result. You feel his softening cock twitch and thump heavily in your pussy, and even as you know he’s nowhere near ready to fuck your pretty little hole again, you supplicate to him as you swivel your hips on his cock, delighted at the feeling of his frothy semen leaking from the opening of your hole down your clit drip drip dropping onto the white tufts of his thick pubes, delirious at the sensation of its goopy goodness smearing every time you gyrate your hips onto his hot dick to try and get him hard again.
Satoru all but hisses at the oversensitivity—God, he loved your vixen-like nature, such a promiscuous little thing you were for him, and oh how he loved every inch of your coquettish tendencies for him; how could he deny such a heavenly pretty pussy like your own, but after many years of marriage, he's learned you could make many pathetic examples out of him; though he wouldn't let anyone know.
“Fuck, wifey—” he tries to say as he attempts to stop your hips from moving more, but you’re quick to cut his pleading off with a wet pop of your lips that only just now finished bruising a beetroot hickey onto his slimed jugular.
“Please, Toru, let’s do it again—mmmm?—” you coo and moan as you use the wide flatness of your tongue to lick his sweaty, slimy skin from the base of his collarbone all the way to the back of his ear. You feel the shiver of his body at the sensation under your skin and can’t help how much you like it. smiling you peck a cute little kiss on his sour-inducing salivary glands as you make your descent back to play with his bobbing Adam’s apple, begging him once more in that bedroom voice you use when you want him to give you something even you know is outrageous; only he would know his reasons to decline your desires was for this very reason: to see you ask him for whatever you wanted while your stuffed full of his fat cock and pleading to him so prettily pressing your tits up into him while you fuck yourself on his cock for whatever you desired. And– he would always give you double no triple! Whatever you ask for, if only you asked him while his hot white cum prettily coated your hair and dripped obscenely down your face any time he aimed another sticky cum shot into your open and waiting tongue ready to swallow. God Dammit how he absolutely loved to see fucked brainless he would give you the world in a heartbeat if you ever asked... Yeah, he knew he was a hedonistic pervert since then, he wouldn’t even deny it either, hah!
“Pleaseeee, Satoru—mmm, ugh—can we do it again, pretty please,” you say as you swivel your hips again, or at least try, because his fingers dig into the swelled fat of your ass to stop you some. You pinch and prod at his nipples, giggling out the way his cock throbs inside you at the sensation, and you begin to paint the erotic picture in his mind.
“Satoru, I love it when you fuck me raw—mmhhmm,” you kiss and love up on his ear, sticking out your tongue as you lick the inside, making him shudder at the odd sensation. He groans out, “I love it when I have your fat, thick cock fucking up my insides—chuoop chuoop—love it when you cum in my pussy and it’s leaking out days later,” you say as you give him a deep body roll, letting him feel the way your hot, sweaty tits grind into his chest first before your stomach and pelvis complete the hedonistic body roll into his flesh. Letting out a pained hiss at the overstimulation, he remains mentally turned on by your pretty silky words tickling his ear, but because he utterly spent physically, he remains still. “Fuck, baby…” he groans. “Me too, baby. I love fucking your pussy raw.” You smile as you return your lips to his mouth once again, both your tongues fighting for raunchy dominance, slurping up every last drop of the mixed cum and semen, which was surely still in both of your mouths from many rounds of cock sucking and pussy eating from earlier today.
Pulling back with lust-dazed eyes, the breath between you both hot and heavy as a spittle of searing, sticky saliva remains to keep you both connected. You manage to grind your pussy onto his semi-hard cock again while he’s distracted in his delirium, to which he hisses, his face complete scrunching at this oversensitivity as he attempts to gain stillness of your bruised hips.
Pouting and needy, you ask him as you oh so provocatively toss all your hair to one side of your neck. His predatory gaze locking in on the way your hands flick the hair so effortlessly, he almost misses the way your eyes flutter shut in that quiet shyness you love to torment him with, and then almost completely missing when your eyes flutter open. You all but look through the heavy, lust-filled curtain of them to look up into his transfixed gaze, delivering your killshot…
“Satoru, don’t you want to fuck my pussy again?”
you say to him as you do massaging kegles around his cock with your ready hole, beckoning his cock to wake up and play some more. He jolts even more as you caress the side of his ribs, fingertips ghosting over the places that tickle, and kiss, lick, and bite at his nipples, never once losing eye contact.
Blushing at you dazed, he’s left speechless—absolutely gobsmacked at the ethereal vision of you before his eyes. In his stunned stupor, you grind your pussy back into his cock hard, forcing another oversensitive hiss to escape his swollen lips, and you press a pretty little peck to his chin before you bite and say, “I want you to cum in me again, Satoru, please, hmm,” your fingers twirling his sensitive nubs as you flutter your pussy around him.
His mouth drops and he thunks his head back, eyebrows furrowing at all of the information his unassuming six eyes just experienced in utter disbelief. He’s been reduced to nothing more than a pathetic pretty sex doll for his wife to use and abuse whichever way she likes; what an honor, he couldn't help but think. before he winds out a pathetic sound that seemed broken.
“Fuck, baby, wifey, sweetie pie,” he cups your face with his hands, pulling you up and begins to bite and pepper kisses on your cheeks distracting you. You all but smile, knowing your husband was such a little bitch to you; but the giggle that escapes your mouth was short-lived once you hear what he had to say next.
“I really wanna fuck you, baby, but I just need you to give me a second.” You scoff at that.
“What?” you exhale stupidly.
“Sorry, baby, I’m spent. Just give me a sec to get it up for you, yeah,” he pleads as he tries to suck your bottom lip into his blasphemous mouth. You let out another disbelieving scoff. “Am I hahaha being rejected by my husband? hah!” Your mouth is left agape as your eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “Whatever, I’m just gonna take a bath,” you grumble as you make ways to get up from the grimy floor, your husband hissing at the sharp sensation of his dick slapping on his abs with a wet glop as you abruptly pull off his cock, all but failing when said husband wraps his hands around your wrists, pulling you back down into his body and basically wrestling with you to stay with him.
“Let go of me, you asshole,” you kick and flail as you try to get out of his grasp.
“Awe, come on, wifey. I just need a minute to get it back up, and then I’ll fuck you just how you like.” he kisses the top of your thrashing head and pouts at you “ you Milked me dry, I’m shooting blanks,” he laughs as you try to get out of his grasp.
“No! I don’t want it anymore. I’m over it! Let me go!” You snap back every time he pins down your arm that managed to escape his grasp, essentially converting himself into a human restraint jacket. Curse him for his strong, disciplined body—years of martial arts training made him such a stupidly difficult and hard target to hit, even with your cursed technique. Surprise attacks were only achieved by you because of the one-up you had on him: being the girl of his dreams. But what had you expected? Every time you two tried to practice getting out of these positions on the wrestling mats, it always ended with you drooling, face pressed into the sweaty mat, ass up high in the sky, your pussy squelching and squeezing every time he fucked his cock into your slutty little hole, telling you, “good little wives don’t need to learn how to escape, especially when they get fucked this sweet by their handsome hubbies.” You could only think how much of an arrogant jerk he is while Satoru was further pushing your tits into your chest, as your crisscrossed arms are pinned down by his beefy biceps and your flailing legs are tamed when his meaty thighs circle around you in a vice-like grip.
“Let go of me, jerk,” you puff away the hair strands on your forehead, disheveled as a result of all his bootlegged wrestling and hog-tying of your overwhelmed body.
“Relax, sweets,” he presses kisses onto your fuming neck, trying to appease his beautiful, overstimulated and demanding wife, who pettily remarks to him, “the strongest, my fucken ass,” you say as you bark back bitterly. “Six eyes, limitless, the honored one—what a bunch of hot bullshit if you can’t keep this thing up,” you say as you grind your ass onto his semi-hard cock once again. He chuckles and groans at your vindictiveness.
“Oh, come on, wifey, be nice; indulge me. Let’s just lay here enjoying this nice breeze, then I’ll give you more than what you want,” he breathes out, and you remark with a bratty, “no!” He all but laughs as he feels you struggling his arms once more, deciding enough is enough. “Now, now, my sweet wifey, if you don’t wanna wait, that’s fine. I can make your pretty pussy cum on my mouth with my tongue and fingers.” You shudder at his close proximity of breath on your ear as he whispers this into your ear, slowly easing the restraints of his arms and legs around your body. He begins again, “but I’m not the one that starts crying and begging for forgiveness when she can’t stand the overstimulation and getting her pussy ate till she is raw and throbbing. After all, you know I can eat you out for hours.”
And boy, do you shut your dumb ass up quick. After all, overstimulation is fun, but the last time Satoru Gojo ate you out like that, you were sore from the friction burns he left; And! you know he definitely won’t stop, especially knowing his sadistic tendencies, and in this current state, you wouldn’t be able to handle all that.
He chuckles in your ear, biting at the lobe. When he completely releases your restraints, he gives you a quick peck on your shoulder before saying, “good girl,” and flops onto his back and lets out a deep, sighing chuckle. And you? You purse your lips and side-eye him hard before you decide to finally join him.
Side-by-side, you’re laid there using his beefy biceps as your favorite headrest, one of your legs haphazardly thrown over his torso. The only reason you find yourself unable to fall to slumber after his thorough loving of your body was a particularly annoying pressure digging into the side of your right hip.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Satoru asks as he feels you wiggle the nth time next to him.
You click your tongue in annoyance; finally, having enough of the tedious inconvenience, you sit up and feel with your hand what the object of your misery could be.
“Satoru, I think there’s a fucken Lego here.” Your hand tries to feel around for the pointed object in the dim room, the midday rays long gone, inviting forth the slow darkness of dusk.
Satoru can only laugh at your statement. “A Lego? There aren’t any kids in this house anymore.” He sits up, disregarding you somewhat, but still looking around to help you find the Lego. “Megumi and Tsumiki haven’t played with those in years, and the last set we had you threw out when you kept stepping on all the old pieces,” he laughs at the memory.
You can only give him a glare as he giggles even more at your previous misfortune. Quickly pinching him, he lets out an “AAHHK!” as you bicker with him. “Oh, you think my pain is funny, huh? Not all of us can have Six Eyes and Limitless to protect us from stray Legos,” you say as you continue searching for the small plastic piece. Clicking your tongue in exasperation, “ughh! Toru, can you please turn on the light? I can’t see anything.”
Before he can even pull the string of the overhead lamp, you let out another yelp.
“Oh shit, baby, are you OK?” Satoru calls in, chuckling in concern before the lights finally turn on and reveal to him that you have also stood up slightly ajar because it seems that you have found the stray piece and somehow stepped on it. He can’t help but laugh at the silly sight before him.
You glare at him before finally retrieving the plastic that was stuck to the heel of your foot.
“What the heck is this?” you say in confusion as you hold the white-wrapped parchment in your hand. Pulling the tassels, it opens to reveal—
“A piece of candy?”
Before you could ask any more questions, said candy was gone from your palm and expertly tossed into the mouth of your sweets-obsessed husband.
“I was looking for that, thanks!” he gleams before tossing you over his shoulder to take you to the water closet. Thoroughly spent and exhausted, all you can do is simply allow him to maneuver you and manhandle you whichever way as he preps the tub and washes your body with the showerhead, using your favorite soaps and caring for your skin the way he knows you like to do for yourself. Spent, you have no other option but to let him help you; clearly, it was wise of him to give you both an intermission of your, ahem, vigorous marital relations.
When he finally helps you to relax in the warm water, you let out a content sigh and ask, “Why are you leaving traps around the house for me, Toru?”
Gently massaging your back, he answers through a little giggle, “I thought it would be fun to have somebody hide a bunch of candies around the house for me, so if you find one, make sure you give it to me, yeah?” he finally says as he lets you rest your back on his chest and embraces you.
“You know, spread a little more joy in this dreary life.” You raise a brow to that.
“Oh, I’m sorry, am ‘I,’ your ‘wife,’ not exciting enough to make your life less dreary?” you bait him. But you can only laugh at your audacity—oh, how he loved your pointedness. He hugs you deeper, still breathing in your scent and kissing your neck, slowly carding his nose along your jugular as he continues, “It’s nothing like that, sweetheart.”
He turns you to face him. “I just thought it would be fun. If whenever one of us finds candy, we use it as a chance to give it to the other.” You take in the sincerity of his voice, the way his peering crystal-blue gaze blinks slowly as he takes you in, and you do him—the heat of the water curling around you two, making the moment feel beyond the limits of intimacy.
“But I don’t like those teeth-rotting candies like you do,” you coyly say, and he all but smiles at the way his beloved wife loves to give him a hard time. “That’s OK. Whenever I find a candy, I’ll take it to you, and you can remind me how much you hate them, and then I’ll eat it.”
Biting you once more, you let out a yelp. “Hey! What am I, the candy? Stop biting me, you freak!!!”
He laughs as you push him away enough to let you get to the other side of the tub closest to the window, Satoru unable to hold his bellowing laughs as he sees you frantic to avoid his hungry bite once more. “Ooohhh, come on,” he throws his hands up all haphazardly, seemingly saying pish posh to the situation, “I won’t bite you anymore. Just come here,” he calls, trying to grasp onto your arm, and you swat him away.
“No!!! Stay away!!!”
The tangle of bodies as the two of you try to win over the other causes the water to splash and jostle around you.
“Ahhhh! Ok, ok, I give!” you cry out as he has his arms wrapped around your midsection and his teeth firmly biting upon the cartilage at the junction of your neck and shoulder—nothing painful, but just enough to let you feel through your husband’s teeth he’s saying “you’re mine,” and anytime you try to shimmer away, he bites down a little harder.
But the silly moment is all but short-lived and replaced with something better when you feel the poking sensation of his long, hot member sliding through the apex of your legs, letting him feel the way your pussy lips sandwich apart and together every time his thick, hard, veiny cock slowly rubs you right with each forward and back gyration of your hips. Jumping and quietly moaning every time the tip of his dick clips your clit so deliciously, easily making you wet again, the lustful blush settling on your cheeks as you lean back into him, using the arm he has grasped across your body as the support for your own hands.
And finally he asks, “can I put it in?”
You nod with closed eyes, turning your head to lean back into him and let him take the lead, simply feeling the way he reaches forward between your legs right in front of your clit to help guide the entrance of his thick tip into your hole with the tips of his long fingers. Slowly pushing in his cock into your warm walls, you both sigh in content at the feeling of the thickest part of his circumference stretching your tight ring of resistance finally being united once more.
“Mmhmm, Satoru, you feel so good in me,” you whisper, as you feel him slowly pull out and push back in, the languidity keeping that hedonistic blush present, but the sloth-like pace not nearly enough to reach anything, but letting you just feel him—his long length, his this circumference, the pulsing texture of his electric veins, how right the poking and prodigy of his tip felt as it rutted your cervix again and again, and especially how filling it feels when he pushes up into your bladder, further expanding that lustful blush from your cheeks, to neck and chest in ticklish pleasantness.
You don’t even notice when he places a soft, plush towel for you to use when he guides you to lean forward onto the edge of the tub to let you rest a bit as he takes you from the back, peppering kisses, biting down flesh, and leaving red hickeys all over your back. The water making waves, but nothing substantial. He was going slow to make the climax build slowly—you both just wanted this moment to last.
Only when you hear the chime of the fuurin outside of the window do you ask through soft moans, “I thought the only windchimes he had were by our room—mhhm—?”
He hums at your question before finally releasing the ear he was gnawing at. He guides you to face him once more. Before he answers, as he leans down and presses a kiss firmly upon your lips while keeping the slow pace, he rests his forehead on yours.
“Shortly after you told me when you were having those dreams again…” he moans out before he takes your lips into his own in a whole-consuming kiss, grabbing your biceps to help them snake around his neck. You’re quick to wrap your legs tighter around him and finally kiss him back.
Not much could be said after that—the closeness of your bodies and minds the only necessity in that moment…
Only brought back when the metal of the chimes howl in the cool air of the night and your bodies have both reached nirvana, gracing your skin, does he say, “Let’s get out of the water and get you warm.”
Perhaps that’s why, when you feel the cold breeze of the morning’s cool, you’re left with the ghosting sensation of a hand ready to guide you back to the safe space of an even warmer embrace…
“Gojo-Sama,” Kinako’s voice interrupts, serving as the unknown lifejacket you needed in this very moment. Wiping away the tears that stung at the lash line of your eye with your palm, you’re quick to answer.
“Yes, Kinako?”
“My Lady , I’m here to remind you of your appointment at 2:30 today. Did you still need me to arrange for someone to pick up Master Gojo’s final belongings at Jujutsu Tech?”
Oh… yeah, That’s right, you think… you still needed to pick up Satoru’s office at school… how could you have already forgotten? Moving a few steps forward, you’re about to call out to Kinako before you all but topple over at the painful sensation at the bottom of your barefoot. You fall to your knees, writhing in the pain that encompasses the very soles of your feet all the way to your shins, and finally your kneecaps, which took the majority of the damage of your fall. Upon hearing your voice cry out and the loud bang on the floor, Kinako rushes in, apologizing profusely for barging in, but she was under sworn oath that she would take care of you till the end of her days.
“My Lady, are you OK?” she calls to you as she helps you to sit on your side and analyze if you broke a bone.
“My Lady, you must be extra careful, especially considering your condition at the present moment!” she frantically expresses, guiding up your nightgown to observe the damage on your kneecaps and anywhere else. Noticing the scuffed-up skin of your knees, she immediately excuses herself, telling you she’ll return right after she retrieves the healing ointment. Before you can let out a sign of protest to tell her everything is OK, that ever-energetic woman is gone in an instant.
Sighing, you let out a laugh. “Gosh, no wonder Satoru swore her as my keeper,” you all but laugh before finally turning your head from the door’s exit to figure out what exactly caused you to stumble.
Looking up and down, left and right, you find nothing until finally a familiar white waxy parchment catches your attention. And your whole body stops. With trembling hands, you reach for the candy, uncertainty coursing through your veins, and just before you are able to pick up the bitter-sweet treat, a gust of wind blows, and the overwhelming sound of chimes singing in the wind overwhelms your senses.
In that very moment, unbridled emotions bombard your very soul, viciously attacking the little amount of sanity you were making do with. Only when Kinako finally returns do you reach for a basin nearby and expel the very little contents of food that your beloved handmaiden managed to get you to eat the last few days.
“My lady?!?” she screams as she rushes to your side. Inconsolable sobs retch through your throat as the dam you have been holding back finally erupts. With your right hand fisted in a ball, you use it to hit at your heart, urging and hoping that the pain in your soul could be taken away. If only you were inflicted actual physical damage—and even then, this physical pain was better than that ghosting phantom of despair that hasn’t left your very being since the day you saw your husband’s body be split in half…
Panic develops within you as the sound of the chimes continues to play, and the feeling of that candy in your grasp pierces the inside of your palm every time you strike your hand to your chest.
Seeing as you have stopped breathing, Kinako begins to urge, beg and plead with you to calm down, reminding you there are still things to live for, and this bodily strain wouldn’t do good to the reason you are continuing to live on.
And to her, you’re grateful. Because over the course of these past weeks—these lonesome, lonesome weeks—this young girl has been witness to your inner retreat, and regardless of how difficult it all became and how overwhelming it all felt, she remained by your side, guiding you through it all and calming you, all the while reminding you that it truly would be OK and that all big scars like these require time to heal. You think that’s why your husband had chosen her to take care of you now that he was gone. You can only think of all the little details and considerations he had prepared in his final month of life to ensure that even though it would be difficult, you would not be without support…
“My lady!” Kinako cries with you as you continue to wail. Tears dripping down her face at the state you're in and no way for herr to help her beloved mistress “What can I do to help! Please tell me!!”
Another choking wail manages to escape from your lips as you hiccup through each of your cries and cling to her. You finally say to her the very thing you didn’t want to do—
“Take them down…” you let out a choking sob. “Please, just take them down… I can’t bear to hear the windchimes anymore… take all of them down!!!” you scream through sobs.
Kinako’s shouting for attendants to do as you’ve asked is quicker than expected, and even more haunting is the sound of all the fuurin being taken away. Even more hollowing is the eerie silence they leave in the estate in the remains of their absence… only then do you finally calm and accept the reality.
“Kinako…” you blow out a breath… and silent tears fall from your cheeks. “My husband, Satoru Gojo, is dead…” you silence, waiting for her candid response.
“Yes, my lady, that is fact.”
Your fingers dig into her kimono and hold her tighter as you allow the truth of her statement to fully settle nausea and a sinking feeling overcoming all your senses. Only when the end of your shattering breath escapes your lips do you take a deep inhale, preparing to say the words that you’ve been holding off on for too long.
“Bring me my husband’s final letter…”
a/n: this story came to me before I got sick with the flu a while back—man, I was sick as a dog, eeeyuuuckkkk—but hey, I’m better now. literally thought that was it for me, but I’m rambling again, ha! I sleep with the window open at night, and I have a windchime outside my window. actually, it’s really peaceful, and I still love it, but with the cold breeze that hit me the morning of inspiration, I was able to make this thought come true.
𖧧 (MDNI) You've ran away from his dick, now it's Toji's turn
How about the big, bad Toji running away from his girlfriend's pussy? Because seriously, how was he meant to survive with the way you were so eagerly swallowing his cock?
With each resounding thwack of your hips, Toji's nails only sank deeper into the bedsheets, which were already soiled with the evidence of your previous rounds of lovemaking fucking. The pools of moisture — a nasty, potent mix of his sticky cum and your slick — had already cooled down uncomfortably under the man's sturdy ass, but the sensation had been long forgotten — sheer pleasure at the forefront of his poor, fucked out mind.
"Easy— eaaasy, girl," he groaned, head thrown back in the throes of ecstasy. Too much ecstacy. "Gonna give my cock friction burn at this rate."
You butted in, shaking your head. With the way your frantic rhythm refused to slow down, Toji could forsee a long night for himself, which was his own fault. "N-not happening. You said I could take what I— fuck, wanted tonight."
Leaning back on your hands, legs spread obscenely wide, you continued to buck your hips back down, which gave Toji a full view of your pussy. The poor thing had been fucked raw, outer lips slick and puffy — yet showed no signs of relenting yet as you chased orgasm after mind-numbing orgasm.
"I take it back—"
"—no, you don't."
And you were right, for the way Toji's angular hips slammed upwards into yours told you everything you needed to know.
Until he started squirming. Then, shuffling backwards on the ruffled sheets, the pace of your riding getting thrown off balance. His head shook from side to side, and the engulfing warmth of your pussy had Toji at a loss for words. For once.
Should he run? Or should he plant his feet on the bed so he could continue to fuck up into you, chasing that impending high he knew would render him pussydrunk?
The latter was rather embarrassing, considering the fact he had spent many a night making fun of you for the exact same thing.
"Look at you, running from it."
"All bark and no bite. How embarrassing."
These were all your boyfriend's words on any other occasion, but when Toji opened his bleary eyes, he could see your lips moving despite the white noise roaring in his ears. You were mimicking him, a fucked-out grin on your face.
"Earth to Toji," you sang, face screwing in satisfaction when you sank down, allowing his chubbed-up cock to hit your deepest parts. "Awh, don't tell me you're done already. Where's all that stamina gone?"
"Up your—"
Thwack!
You raised your hips, back bowing into a nasty arch before you sank down without an ounce of hesitation in your movements. Toji was firing blanks now, spasming once the first dry orgasm of the night hit.
How cute it was — almost — to see him running away, even now. This was the loudest you had ever heard the man, who was currently choking on a plethora of guttural curses. A large palm settled on your waist, uncertain as it tried to figure out whether to push you off or tug you in closer.
"Shame your cock can't give me any more," you murmured, flicking a nail over his taut nipple. A look of affection crossed over your face when Toji hissed, shying away from your touch before dragging your hand back to his chest. "Think I've milked you day today."
"Yeah, I'll say. Taking advantage of an old man like me," he scowled, face taking on a light shade of red. He was sweaty and warm, with meaty thighs trembling under yours. His orgasm had done a number on him, but if anyone could take it? It'd be Toji.
"And yet this old man liked it."
With a swat to your rounded ass, you yelped and rubbed the reddening flesh, lower lip jutted out. You knew who really called the shots around here — if the way Toji was already gearing up for another round didn't say enough already.
Goondnight i cannot think coherently im tired. divider by @uzmacchiato
Okay so I was supposed to be finishing that Kookie request this weekend, and I’ve actually gotten pretty far into (it’s getting long in length *lol*) but I kept getting distracted by this Jaebum smut idea, probably all the fun research and sexual virgin tension proving difficult. Anyway I couldn’t get this idea out of my head so in the end I decided just to write it and get it out of my system so I can focus on the Jungkook smut and his innocent lady friend (for some reason I struggle to write an innocent girl, who woulda thunk?)
Small warning, this is probably the roughest and longest (I think) thing I’ve written so far (I still think it’s pretty tame in comparison to some but yeah, definitely the roughest I’ve written) and is basically a D/s AU that relates quite heavily to themes of masochism, so if that’s not your thing I really wouldn’t read this.
Genre: angst/smut - D/s!AU/BarOwner!AU
Requested: NO
Warnings: NSFW, alotta swearing, very minor slut shaming (like, twice?) BDSM/Masochism themes. Breath play. Not sure how rough but it’s the roughest thing I’ve written as of yet. Can’t think of anything else.
~ gif is a little too playful for the content but I like it, so… The photo tho, I’m adding because add some rips in them Jeans and its pretty much how I was imagining him… Obviously feel free to picture whichever era you prefer ~
Envy is an affliction I suffer from often, it always has been, ever since I was young. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child, growing up spoilt with an endless supply of love and affection. Or maybe I’m just a natural born attention seeker, and I would have always been this way, whether or not I’d had a sibling to steal some of my spotlight. I’m just a wickedly envious person at heart, and I know that my Master is all too aware of that fact, so why my reaction to his news comes as a surprise is beyond my imagination.
“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m agreeing to this, Im Jaebum!” I’m practically snarling as I stop my frantic pacing a few feet from where he leans against his desk. I stand with my arms folded, my nails digging into my palms, my hip jutting to the side in defiance. Everything about my body language screams bad attitude, and though this isn’t an uncommon occurrence for us, my bratty behaviour is normally performed with a playful air and a desired punishment in mind. Not tonight though, tonight I’m just plain livid.
love this fix so much. I’m not even in the fandom anymore and I’m rereading it. Additionally, posting it here on my main page as well as my side page because I ain’t going to lose it. Y’all have to read it!
