You and Satoru were sitting on his obnoxiously large bed as you fumbled to turn the live stream on. Your viewers have been begging for a Q&A session.
“Hey guys! Welcome back to another live stream. I’m here with Satoru — as usual.” He gave you a sideways glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before you could even come up with a response, the comments came flooding in.
jlawhusband: KISS yooo who said that 👀
meow4toru: LOOK AT HIS SMIRK OH MY GAWD
kugi-nobara: i need your skincare routine.
You squinted at the screen. “Guys, tone it down, will you? You guys are crazy, except you, Kugi. I’ll do a video on my routine.” Satoru laughed, “They’re always weird, no? Can’t blame them.” He stretched one of his hands and rested it over your shoulder. “We are that couple.”
Rolling your eyes, you opened your phone and scrolled through the list of questions sent by your followers. “Okay, first question,” grinning, you turned to your boyfriend. “How whipped are you on a scale of one to ten?”
He blinked at you, pale eyebrows furrowing in thought before he answered, “Eleven.” He turned to the camera, his eyes narrowing slightly. “So don’t even think about flirting in the comments.”
toegay_inu: Yooo chill this feels targeted towards me 😕😕
m4k1i1: That’s because it is. Stop shooting your shot, they never land.
You giggled as your boyfriend gradually got redder every time someone made a weak attempt to flirt with you. “I just said off limits, guys! Take a hint.” Sulking, he took the phone and scrolled to the next question.
“Right,” he deadpanned, a pout settling on his lips as he turned towards you, “Who the hell asked if you’re single?”
You couldn’t help the laugh that snuck past your lips, “Oh my god? Did they actually?”
Satoru’s brows knitted together as his cheeks turned pink. “I will seriously start banning some of you from these streams!” You laughed louder, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Toru, you can’t do that!”
He mumbled something about doxing people before you swatted his arm and continued. “Okay, this one is asking us to react to the edits on TikTok. That seems okay.” Satoru seemed to perk up at this. “Awesome!” Babe, do you think they have those ship edits of us?” Giggling, you replied, “Baby, doesn’t that only happen when people aren’t dating?”
He rolled his eyes, “Whatever potato, potahto.”
The first edit that popped up was one for Sukuna. Gojo had connected his phone to his TV so you could aim the camera at it as well.
“Bend over and take this dick —”
“Woah!” You both practically screamed in unison, jumping into each other’s arms as if what you had just witnessed was a crime against humanity.
sukunas4thwife: OH MY GOD THATS MY EDITT!!1!1!1
hearts-yorozu: my man my man my man
fushiguro_m: ???
Clearing your throat, you scroll past the video, “Moving on.”
The next seems to be a wholesome edit of you and Satoru, different clips of your various vlogs stitched together to some soft music with the caption “dream relationship.”
Both you and Satoru cooed at the video, watching it on repeat a few times. “Awww, Toru. This is so cute! Look at us,” you pointed to a clip of you two baking from one of your first videos; flour was smeared across his face while he chased you around with a dollop of icing on his finger.
Then, Gojo looked as if he had a lightbulb moment: “Let’s search up my name.”
You almost instantly regretted letting him do that.
The edit opened with him laughing, head thrown back while his oval sunglasses rested prettily on his face. The next clip was of him licking his lips — but they conveniently cropped out the cake from the video. Then came the shirtless gym video…
“Oh?” Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Satoru stammered, clearly trying to recover the situation as sensual music played over and over as the video looped. “I-I uh forgot that was posted…” You snatched your phone back. “Clearly. Now everyone on live just witnessed that!”
Peering over, you checked the comments, and to your dismay, they were definitely swooning.
hi-bara: DAMN BRO
gojol0verr: I’m looking respectfully.
satorusfan1: I’M LOOKING DISRESPECTFULLY
The comments just kept coming, practically overloading the screen with over-the-top compliments. Satoru leaned back, resting his hands behind his head. “What can I say? The ladies and gents love me.”
You groaned, deciding the best course of action was to retaliate and look up your own name.
Your edit was more intimate, with soft colouring and a sweet song, editing you as if you were the dead wife at the start of a movie. You watched as clips of your own face were pieced together most beautifully.
Satoru sighed dreamily, “Wow.”
The comments seemed to echo his expression.
st4r-kirara: i’m in complete awe
shoko_i: Ruin my life. Please?
drakesux: i will fight Gojo.
Satoru’s face shifted again; this time, instead of being possessive, he seemed to be in awe of the edit and actually agreed with the viewers instead of arguing.
“Yeah, all mine by the way.” He leaned over, pressing an obscenely sloppy kiss to your cheek before returning a cheeky grin to the camera.
pms? tender breasts? don't worry, your ꒰devoted꒱ boyfriend satoru gojo is happy to be your personal bra for the day ౨ৎ 1.1k
fluff ; crack ; suggestive art by @/Rezijellyfish0
It was a morning like any other.
You woke up curled right into your boyfriend Satoru Gojo's side, practically on top of him on the comfortable double bed. You didn't really have much room, not with his habit of lying down like a starfish, but you couldn't blame him – his long limbs just needed to take up all the space every night, and so you were forced to use your boyfriend as a pillow, of course.
Your favourite pillow.
You were awfully comfortable like this, nuzzling into his broad chest as the morning light started to bleed in through the half open window. Yes, so comfortable you could just drift away again... until.
Until those long limbs started to close in towards you.
That was another one of his morning habits, you see. Even for how spread out he liked to sleep, as soon as Satoru started to drift back into consciousness – you were the first thing he'd search for.
In his half asleep haze he closed his arms around you, squeezing you into him with all his might, letting out the most satisfied of hums. Not you, however – the sound that escaped your mouth was somewhere between a yelp and a cry for help.
"Baby?!" Satoru sprung into consciousness in a second. "What's wrong?!"
His bright blue eyes snapped open to see you pouting at him, hands over your already very sore breasts that he had painfully squeezed against his side. "Oh" he frowned, understanding. "It's that week, isn't it?"
You nodded slowly, letting Satoru manoeuvre you on your back so he could rest on his elbow next to you. When you first found out he was tracking your cycle you did call him a freak, but to be honest, it was worth it with how gentle he was with you now.
"Is it really bad?" he asked, tracing soft lines over your collarbone with his free hand. His touch was feather light, his hand apologising to your tender skin.
"It hurts" you exhaled, letting your head sink into the pillow with a long sigh. "They feel heavy"
"Heavy?" Satoru echoed, very obviously looking down to your chest. Naturally, you pinched him. "Ow! What was that for?"
"I'm in pain and you want to check if they're bigger?!" you growled, ready to throw a pillow right on his stupid white hair.
"No no no, you know I think they’re perfect” Satoru apologised immediately, peppering kisses all over your face. "It was for science only"
"Sure" you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't keep the angry act for long, not with your boyfriend's puppy dog eyes so close to your face.
"I mean it, I only want to help" he said, sitting up. And you did believe him – your boyfriend had been trying his best since he figured out how difficult pms was for you.
Last month, he even bought you a personalised hot water bottle with both your initials on it. Baby blue, of course.
You weren't sure who else would be confusing their hot water bottle for yours anyway, but its the gesture that counts.
"Come here baby, I'll help you up" he called to you with wide open arms, but as soon as he started to pull you up, you groaned again. "Is it that bad?" he grimaced, seeing your hands go back to holding onto your sore breasts.
Unfortunately, it was.
"It's ok" you tried to deflect, feeling bad for how worried he seemed. "You don't have to worry about m–"
"None of that" Satoru pouted. "Does that help?" he nodded to your hands, clearly some sort of plan starting to form in that head of his.
"Kind of" you replied, massaging yourself. "Should probably put on a bra" you sighed.
"In bed?!" Satoru shook his messy white hair side to side. "It's unfair" he completed solemnly. And you agreed with him.
But then he opened up his mouth again, with that tone he employed when he was going to suggest something... unusual.
"Why don't you...let me help?"
That made you stop halfway, turning up to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"Just… come here" he said, extending those pale fingers to you. You had one raised eyebrow, but let him do what he had intended – and soon his large palms were closing around your breasts.
"Pervert" you deadpanned.
"You said it helped!" he argued.
You took a moment, considering. You were very used to your boyfriend touching you everywhere, of course, but you had never seen him look so commited about it. It was almost endearing, in a kind of, um, odd way.
"So, what, you'll just be my personal bra today?" you teased.
"If you want me to" he nodded.
"Aren't your arms getting tired?" you narrowed your eyes at him.
"Baby, this is what I train for" he replied smugly.
You let out a little laugh, enjoying your boyfriend's silly plan and how serious he was about it. "You can't possibly keep this up" you joked.
"Wanna bet?"
You shouldn't have said yes. But of course you did.
The rest of the day was spent with Satoru glued to you – more so than usual. "You're enjoying this" you poked him as he stood with his chin on top of your head and his hands right where he promised they'd be, watching you make your morning coffee.
"You wound me, princess" he pretended to sigh. "This is for your own good"
Sure it was.
Later you sat down to watch TV, and Satoru placed you right on his lap, before his hands returned to your chest. "You're ridiculous" you laughed, his chin heavy on your shoulder this time and your back to his chest.
"Is it helping?" he asked.
In truth, it was. He was warm and soft and much more comfortable than a real bra; and walking around like you had been cursed into attachment was lifting your mood as much as it was annoying you too.
His eccentric ways were just one of the things you loved about your boyfriend, after all.
Of course, this all got a bit too ridiculous when you announced you were going to shower, and got followed by the white haired giant all the way into the bathroom. "You can't be serious" you looked up at him.
"I only want to hel–Ow! Ok, I'll be outside"
You laughed, seeing his pout as he closed the door behind him. It was adorable how devoted he was to this stupid plan – and you also couldn't deny you missed his loving touch as soon as he had let go of you.
Maybe he could help you shower too. He only wanted you to feel better, right?
"Satoru" you called, not even surprised when the door opened before you had even finished saying his name.
"Need me?" he grinned from ear to ear.
You would have pinched him again if he wasn't so damn adorable.
my boobs feel like they're about to explode and this is what came of it I don't know what else to say
Sitting on Satoru Gojo’s lap while he plays video games until…
MDNI 18+
Content hums vibrate through your throat as you sit comfortably on Satoru Gojo’s lap. The subtle noise of in-game actions can be heard, most notably a ssssst-BANG followed by Satoru’s complaints about how creepers shouldn’t exist, because ‘don’t they know who they’re messing with?’.
After taking a moment to giggle to yourself and briefly admire how his face looks with a clenched jaw and furrowed brows, your focus goes back to the video you were previously watching on your phone. During the video, a song you particularly love starts to play, and in response you happily move your hips to the beat.
Satoru’s hushed grunts can be heard as he abruptly grabs your hips with two strong hands.
“Oh!” You exclaim as you suddenly stop your movement and turn to face him, confusion with a slight pink blush adorning your cheeks.
Only now do you notice how Satoru’s head has been thrown back, with his neck showing entirely. Your eyes can’t help but flicker to it for a moment, but your gaze snaps to his face before he grumbles,
“Why’d you stop?”
Your blush deepens as your eyebrows raise slightly,
“Because I thought I was hurting you.” You sheepishly admit. His expression matches yours, except the tips of his ears are flushed with a subtle pink, and the corners of his mouth are turned slightly upward.
“Just keep going.” Satoru insists as he firmly grabs your thighs, trailing one of his hands tantalisingly slow between them, maintaining eye contact as he does so.
Your breath hitches before you regain your composure, responding to the best of your ability,
“Yes Satoru, whatever you want.”
Sorry if this is a bit cringe! Please send requests to my ask ~ Masterlist if you’re interested ^^
your hand rests loosely around the base of satoru’s throat, more unintentional than intention, but the second the word leaves his mouth you stop.
you freeze for half a second, hips stopping where they are straddling him, but he doesn’t let you pull away. his much larger hand covers yours, pressing your fingers tighter against the sides of his neck and encouraging you to increase the pressure.
his snowy hair is a wild mess on the pillow. color burns high in his cheeks, and his bright blue eyes turn glassy as he stares up at you. his chest rises and falls quickly as you apply slow pressure, feeling his pulse race beneath your palm.
“fuck… yeah, just like that.”
his hips push upward, driving deeper inside you and stretching you open with each thrust. a broken moan slips from his lips when you add more pressure.
“use me,” he breathes. “use my throat, baby. choke me while you ride me.”
you lean forward, bracing more of your weight on the hand around his throat, and his eyes flutter. another gorgeous broken moan spills out as you squeeze harder. his hands grip your hips tighter, fingers digging into your skin as he helps you move faster, deeper.
“shit— that’s it. fuck, you look so pretty choking me out. don’t stop. ruin me. i want bruises tomorrow.”
every roll of your hips makes him groan louder, the sounds getting breathier the tighter you hold. his throat bobs under your palm with every swallowed gasp. you have never seen him like this, so eager to be used, and it makes you dizzy.
“harder, baby. make me yours,” he pants. he presses your hand tighter against his neck. “i’m so fucking close—use me. choke me while i come.”
ᝰ.ᐟ studying anatomy is hard, but lucky you, your boyfriend satoru is jacked
the textbook was a weapon, and it was currently winning.
you stared blankly at a diagram of a human torso, the labels blurring into a dizzying soup of latin words. your upper body anatomy quiz was tomorrow morning, and true to form, you were cramming the night before. you hadn't even been at it for an hour, but your brain was already completely fried.
"okay, wait," you muttered to yourself, rubbing your temples. "does the bicep sit higher than the tricep? or is the tricep on top? no that's… wait, where is the brachialis again?"
it was hopeless. you'd look at a muscle, repeat its name five times, look away, and immediately erase it from your memory. with a dramatic groan, you collapsed backward onto your bed, letting the heavy textbook rest precariously on your stomach. you were officially doomed.
the mattress dipped.
a flash of white hair entered your peripheral vision as satoru crawled onto the bed, shifting smoothly until he was hovering over you like a giant, ridiculously attractive cat.
"look at you, absolutely suffering," satoru teased, a sharp, playful grin tugging at his lips. "i can practically hear your brain short-circuiting from over here, babe."
you opened your eyes to glare at him, but the retort died in your throat. because, of course, satoru had decided to wear that shirt tonight. it was a long-sleeved, black compression top that clung to every single line of his frame, highlighting a ridiculously broad chest and sculpted shoulders.
he was just a criminally handsome guy who clearly spent way too much time at the gym. it was completely unfair how he could look that good just from lifting weights while you were drowning in textbooks.
"go away," you wheezed, weakly lifting a hand to push at his face. "you’re a distraction. a highly illegal distraction."
"me? a distraction?" satoru gasped in mock offense. he shifted his weight, dropping down to lie on his stomach next to you. he propped his chin up with his hands, a movement that caused the fabric of his shirt to tauten over the heavy definition of his upper back and shoulders.
your eyes tracked the movement. you blinked once. twice.
wait.
you looked from the textbook diagram of the deltoids and pectorals, then right back to satoru’s very real, very defined body. a sudden, brilliant spark of desperation ignited in your fried brain.
"toru," you said, your tone suddenly dead serious. "take your shirt off."
satoru froze, his smirk faltering into a look of genuine, rare bewilderment. his beautiful blue eyes blinked in confusion. "wh—now? i mean, i love the enthusiasm, babe, but i thought you were failing a class?"
"just do it. for science. for my gpa."
muttering something about how you were terrifying when stressed, satoru crossed his arms and pulled the compression shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. he sat cross-legged on the bed, presenting a perfect, shirtless canvas of lean muscle.
"alright, i'm naked—well, half-naked. what's the plan, professor?"
you didn’t answer. instead, you lunged off the bed, grabbed a neon green washable expo marker from your desk, and crawled back over to him with a manic look in your eye.
satoru eyed the marker warily. "uh, what is that for?"
"hold still," you commanded, uncapping the marker with your teeth.
you leaned in close, your left hand resting gently on his shoulder for balance while your right hand brought the marker to his skin. satoru tensed for a fraction of a second at the cool, damp touch of the felt tip, but quickly relaxed, watching you with an amused, fond expression as you began to draw.
"okay," you murmured, tracing a neat box right over his chest. "these are the pectoralis major. big chest muscles. easy." you wrote pec major in bold green letters right across his right pectoral.
"wow, using my body as a cheat sheet. i feel objectified. do it more," satoru chuckled, his chest vibrating under your hand.
"shh! i'm concentrating," you chided, moving your marker up to his shoulder. you traced the rounded muscle cap. "deltoid. anterior, lateral, posterior. it's like a shoulder pad." you carefully scribbled deltoid on his shoulder, giving it a little pat.
"and what about these?" satoru asked, flexing his arm slightly, a proud grin on his face.
you stared at his arm, the marker hovering. "ah! the age-old question. bicep is on the front, tricep is on the back. bicep pulls the arm in, tricep extends it." to cement it in your memory, you drew a giant arrow on his inner arm pointing up labeled bicep, and a matching one on the back labeled tricep.
for the next thirty minutes, satoru’s bedroom turned into a live-action, neon-green anatomy lab. you moved around him like a mad scientist, labeling his serratus anterior (the "rib muscles," as you initially called them), his trapezius, and even trying to map out his abs, though you kept getting distracted because his stomach kept twitching from being tickled by the marker.
"stop laughing, toru, i'm trying to find your external obliques!"
"i can't help it! your hands are cold and that marker is tickling the life out of me!" he gasped, squirming away from the green tip.
finally, you stepped back to admire your handiwork. satoru was covered from the waist up in bright green boxes, arrows, and messy anatomical terms. he looked absolutely ridiculous, completely contrasting his runway-model face.
satoru looked down at himself, then glanced in the vanity mirror across the room. he burst out laughing. "i look like a radioactive paint-by-numbers project."
"you look like an a-plus," you corrected proudly, capping the marker. "i actually remember them now. visual learning is a powerful tool."
satoru smiled, leaning forward and wrapping his green-labeled arms around your waist to pull you into his lap. "glad i could be of service to your education. but you know this stuff washes off, right? what are you going to do during the actual quiz tomorrow when you can't look at my chest?"
you hummed, resting your hands against his (now labeled) pectorals. "i'll just close my eyes and visualize my very hot, very heavily graffitied boyfriend."
"perfect," satoru beamed, kissing your forehead. "but if you get a hundred, you owe me a real date. one where you don't use me as school supplies."
૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )ა ;; your husband, satoru gojo, who can’t help but pout at the fact that his newborn baby girl sobs whenever she’s placed into his arms! ── ✦⋆🍼.˚
it’s been weeks of this — weeks of satoru tenderly trying to lift your frail newborn daughter from your arms, his tall frame hunched over her and his touch agonisingly gentle, only for her to burst out into tears. he just can’t comprehend it!
“it isn’t fair,” he mumbles, slumped over on the couch after yet another failed attempt at picking her up. “i mean, she has my eyes! in fact, she has all my genes, yet she won’t let me pick her up!”
his tone is scandalised, a hint of betrayal seeping into it; but beyond the usual dramatics, there’s a subtle sense of vulnerability in it too. it’s barely there, hidden behind the light-heartedness of his voice so that you almost miss it.
that’s the kind of skill that satoru has mastered by now: being able to feign confidence in the form of borderline obnoxious mock-arrogance. or rather, being able to divert any concerns you may have with a kind of ease and fluidity that’s got to be at least a little bit concerning.
but you don’t miss it this time. not with the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he stares at the floor, lost in thought. not when he looks so worn down, eroded of his usual playful demeanour, an unfamiliar tiredness written all over his body.
you can see the way his shoulders are lowered a fraction in exhaustion from the situation, and even despite his joking demeanour, you both seem to have noticed the way his voice lacked its usual charm earlier.
“hey, toru..” you murmur, sliding onto the couch next to him. your daughter is still clinging to your shirt, having only just been lulled to sleep by you. she’s finally finished bawling her eyes out at the sight of her own father. “don’t be like that…it’s nothing. she’ll grow out of it.”
“no, you don’t get it sweets! she must know something…” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “i mean, whenever she looks at me with those huge blue eyes, it’s like she’s staring right through me. she must know something i don’t!” with that, he drops his head into his hands with a groan.
you’d laugh at the irony of his words if it weren’t for the defeated look on his face. of all things, you’d never expected to hear satoru gojo complaining about the unsettling nature of the piercing-blue eyes that she’d inherited from him. nonetheless, you gently move your free hand to stroke his back, your voice soft as you rub soothing circles.
“hey, no…she’ll come around soon enough.”
“but what if she doesn’t?” he looks up, pouting once more. “what if i’ve done something wrong? maybe i messed up my first impression or something!”
“…toru, don’t be silly, i don’t think newborns care about first impressions.”
he sits up slowly, assessing your words as his eyes fall once more upon the baby in your arms. her snowy eyelashes flutter slightly as she snoozes, tiny hands curled up against her body. one of her chubby cheeks rests against you as she snores, her tiny chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale she takes. tentatively, satoru brings a hand to run over her small leg, fingers running over the soft fabric of the fluffy bear socks on her feet courtesy of his impulse buying.
he snorts sadly at that, remembering the way he had been so excited to spoil her. he’d ran around, desperate to find only the very best for his sweet daughter: bags of baby toys, soft socks, cute baby outfits and pacifiers. he’d spent hours researching the quality of each, scrolling through reviews, diligently ensuring that his daughter would receive only the best — only for her to sob at the mere sight of his face.
it’s a kind of irony satoru can’t bear. because ultimately, in the eyes of the newborn in your arms, he’s no longer satoru gojo. he’s simply…nothing. stripped of being the strongest, stripped of his usual defence mechanism of feigned-confidence, stripped of his ability to win her over with expensive toys and clothes. he’s left vulnerable, stuck with the discomfort of it all. maybe he isn’t cut out for this. maybe he isn’t cut out for fatherhood.
you study his face, frowning at the way his brows are pinched and his features have melted into something much more vulnerable, tired. he looks deep in thought, barely registering the fact that one of his legs is tapping anxiously. he just stays sat there, eyes absentmindedly resting upon your daughter, zoned out.
your heart aches a little. it’s a strange sight, to see your usually-bold husband reduced to this unfamiliar state, hands tensed in his lap like he’s not sure what to do with himself.
so, you decide to take action yourself.
tenderly, you lift your daughter and quietly place her into satoru’s arms, silently willing her not to wake just yet. you’re not quite sure how you or your poor husband will cope if she does — and the idea of having to lull her back to sleep whilst simultaneously looking into satoru’s face of pure disappointment is one you’re not particularly fond of.
the second the baby is in his arms, satoru tenses up, thrown off-guard for a moment at the sudden action. however he then slowly begins to pull her closer to his chest, arms cradling her more securely now. it’s a bit awkward at first, because for once your poor husband hasn’t had a chance to prepare himself to hold her: no half an hour pep talk in the mirror as usual, no rubbing vanilla baby lotion into his hands before attempting to hold her — after all, apparently the scent of vanilla is soothing to young babies. hours of extensive research and a couple of youtube tutorials on how not to make your newborn daughter cry have taught him that much, at least.
much to his surprise, though, despite his total lack of preparation this time around, she seems to warm up to his touch immediately. despite being fast asleep, she nuzzles her tiny cheek against his chest a little, angling her head just a fraction inwards towards his warmth.
sure, maybe they’re just baby steps, if you can even call them that. but for the first time since his sweet daughter was born, satoru has actually been able to hold her without being subjected to sobs and screams. he tries to fight a tiny smile, and your heart flutters at the sight.
he stays stood there in silence, eyes crinkled in fondness as he peers down at the sleeping girl in his arms, cradling her like she’s precious. and after a few minutes of standing like that, a single, tiny tear begins to form in the corner of his eye, not quite falling yet. it stays there for a few seconds, clinging to soft dove-white lashes before the salty water finally rolls down his face, just barely brushing over the edge of his cheek.
with a tiny sniff, gojo quickly manages to recover his composure, letting his typical confident grin return back onto his features and simultaneously trying to pretend that his eyes aren’t currently going blurry with the threat of fresh, brand-new tears.
“ah— i knew it, so you do like me..!” he chokes out a weak laugh as he addresses the sleeping newborn, his voice half-subdued in a poor attempt at being quiet so as not to wake her. he dramatically crooks his head downwards, his ear right up next to your daughter’s face as though trying to ensure he can hear her better before he speaks up again. “…soo, this means that i’m the favourite parent, right??”
the nerve of him!
a/n: filler post sorry if the writing quality is poor i just wanted to post something💔
the idea came to me thanks to a dad sukuna fic i saw so creds to them!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
taglist: @nonchalantfiend @mochiakun @rielovesphel @yujismissingfingers @megumigooner @vanillaascented @megumisrighttoe @catgvrl @hearts2vivi @mariisagb @renrenrenren17 @bowiesprettieststar2 @733164 @palanggaaa @megssleepygirl @rengoatku @hangenism @yujisdreamgirl @nonamedreams @ivankinnieclatter @sugerfilled @silverstar111 @dreamyreadinglover @v4mp1r3b4tzz @dev1lw4arsprada @megantheestallionswife @magicalpeenpoo @qrxswan @silverwfern @luvhza @rozzaa0scentzz1 @azizxxxah @eyayur @strawberrychansora @qrxswan + join!
divider creds @/dividers-are-us and @/cursed-carmine!
✮⋆˙ satoru cums in you for the first time in front of the city view MDNI
On Friday nights, people either go out partying or stay home and chill, doing what they enjoy. That’s something you liked to do, but that all changed when you ended up in a relationship.
You and Gojo have been on a movie marathon since 5PM, and it’s well past midnight now. Let’s just say the Netflix ‘Are you still watching?’ question has been on your TV screen for the past three hours.
Currently, you were getting fucked so hard, bent before the vast glass window overlooking a city alive with lights. Although your attention wasn’t on anything outside, it was on your boyfriend's girthy dick plunging in and out of your gummy walls.
It was Gojo’s idea to fuck you in front of the window. His words were: “I want everyone to see my pretty girl and how she takes this dick.”, and without a second thought, you agreed.
Your back was against his chest, both hands on the now foggy window. Meanwhile, Gojo couldn’t get enough of you—his hands roaming all over your body. Gripping your waist, while the other moved up toward your tits, giving them a harsh squeeze, which had you whimpering in return.
“Taking this dick so well, you’re so fucking perfect. God, I love you.” He rambled on completely out of his mind. His praises made you look up at him, your head resting on his shoulder.
His eyes were half-lidded, staring directly into your soul. The kind of look that always had your stomach tingling and the wetness between your thighs growing more.
“Please, please. Don’t stop,” you whined, pushing your hips back into him. The tip of his dick kissing your cervix.
Gojo’s eyes rolled back into his skull, his plump lips parted—panting so hard, it sounded as if he just ran a 20-mile marathon. “Ngh- baby, if you do that, I might actually cum inside you.”
You turn your attention back to the city, and then an idea of something completely new to you pops inside your fucked out brain. “Cum inside me, in front of the—Fuck just like that—city.”
After being together for nearly a year, he still hasn’t been able to cum inside you. You both just didn’t want to risk having a kid, but how hot he was looking and the feeling of his thrusts against you had you not caring about anything.
He quickly snapped his eyes open; his hips fluttered for half a second as an eyebrow raised. “You… are you sure?”
“Please.” You nodded immediately, licking your lips. “I need it.”
With that, his dick twitched inside you. One of his hands moved to the back of your spine, bending you down into a biggg arch. Your legs wobbled beneath your weight; the left side of your face squished against the cold windowpane.
He bit his lip at the sight of you, both hands now gripping your waist as his pace began to fuck you harder and faster. You cried out, nails digging into the window. Probably leaving scratches- not like you both cared anyway.
“Yeah? You want my cum inside you?” His gaze dropped down, watching his cock slide in and out of you, then glancing back up. “My needy girl wants my cum dripping from her pussy, huh?”
“Mhm!” You couldn’t mutter a single word. You were starting to feel so overstimulated with how full you felt, plus you both have been fucking like rabbits—without taking a single break.
He leaned over, his chest against your back. He sank his teeth into your neck, leaving yet another mark on your delicate skin. His eyes didn't look away from your face.
You turned your head as far as you could, your lips puckering in a silent invitation for him to kiss you. He met your lips right away; it was a sweet kiss you both shared over the years.
He bit your lip hard enough to draw the slightest amount of blood. You moaned against his lip, your lips parting. He slid his tongue inside your mouth instantly; the feeling made your head dizzy.
It’s surprising to this day how good he can kiss. Even though you were his first girlfriend, his first kiss. First everything in general, but honestly you loved every bit of it.
And as time went on, the kiss became deeper. Tongues fighting for dominance, with each of you refusing to give in. Gojo’s hand traveled up to your neck, his large palm settling against your skin before his fingers squeezed firmly.
He pulled away from the kiss, just enough to speak. Both of your breaths were mixing together as you looked into each other’s eyes.
His eyebrows furrowed up, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to roll his eyes back into his skull again. You also know he was so close to cumming.
“You gonna cum, baby?” Your voice was in that sweet tone that had him whimpering in response. You lifted your hand from the cool window, moving your arm behind you until your fingers disappeared into his messy white hair.
His thrust grew sloppier with each move, his thighs hitting the back of your ass. Gojo moved his hand down your body, feeling you up before landing between your thighs. His middle finger rubbed against your clit, fast.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes I’m gonna cum.” He grunted, throwing his head back, eyes closing tightly, mouth gapped open. The grip on your waist tightened enough for his knuckles to turn white.
His throat bobbing, hips meeting your ass as his cum spilled all over your walls. Painting your insides white. The new sensation of being filled to the brim made your own release wash over you. Your legs became weak as tears began to form in the corner of your eyes.
“Fuck!” You cried out, slamming your hand back onto the window. The contact made a big bang, which, surprisingly, none of you noticed.
Your mind was absolutely scrambled, lost in the orgasm he just gave you. Probably the best one you've experienced together, and if it wasn’t for his arms holding you up, you would’ve fallen to the ground.
He held you close to his chest, panting into your ear. Overcoming his own release. Then he slowly pulled out of your pussy, watching as his dick fell out. “holy shit.”
You turned your head to face him. “Hm?”
He leaned down, cracking a hand over your plush cheek. You whine out at the contact, but he doesn’t take any of notice of it, his attention stuck on him spreading your ass cheeks apart and watching as his cum drip out of you, “This is the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.”
“Stop! You’re gonna get it on the carpet.” You complained, slapping his shoulder. He shook his head, chuckling—not long before running his finger between your slit, gathering up every drop of the white liquid that slipped out of you.
He stood up to his full height, moving his finger to your lips. “Open.”
You locked eyes with him, slowly opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. With that, he stuck his finger into your mouth. Immediately, you sucked on it, whining at the taste.
His dick got hard right away. He pulled his fingers out, leaning down, meeting your lips in another harsh kiss. The taste of both of you lingering on his tongue drew a low groan from him against your lips before he slowly pulled away.
”Just letting y'know, i'm cumming inside you all the time now.”
sorry if this is ass, i have no clue what i’m doing 😣.
the last position you’d expect a marriage proposal in was a mating press. gojo was balls deep inside, bullying your velvet walls with each stroke, but still somehow absolutely wrecked as he moved his hips.
“jesus christ, so tight, fuck,” he panted. his pupils were blown and his hair was mused. he twitched inside of you again at the sight of you underneath him. he thought you looked beautiful all fucked out all for him. he was giving all of himself to you, that was obvious enough. aside from the fact he was splitting you open with his cock, and his tip was kissing your cervix each time he bottomed out, he also kissed you like you were his last breath. he still whispered to you in a soft voice about how you beautiful you looked underneath him. how you were his everything. those should have been signs, yes, but he has always been smitten with you… so smitten that the idiot couldn’t wait to get down on one knee.
“i think about it—shit—every day,” he murmured. your walls hugged him tightly and he let out a low groan. the pleasure building in your stomach made you squirm. you arched your back every time your bodies became one again, saying his name like a prayer. his comment almost flew over your head. he was fucking you so good you almost forgot to ask him what he was droning on about.
“huh..? think about what?”
satoru cursed under his breath as your fluttered around him once more. “about being with you... forever and ever,” he exhaled, somehow reaching even deeper than before. you gasped, the feeling of him nested so deeply inside your cunt throwing you off guard. the drag of his cock against your walls caused you to whimper his name. the broken cries spilling from your lips was enough for satoru to come right there and then. already burying you to the hilt, satoru let go: shooting thick ropes of come deep inside your cunt, his chest heaved as he caught his breath. you followed soon after, orgasm crashing over you. you whispered satoru’s name as you came down from your high. you closed your eyes and relaxed. satoru rolled over beside you and did the same.
after a beat, he finally dropped the bomb: “i just wanna marry you,” he said quietly. you froze, now very much alert.
“i was supposed to wait until i set up a dinner and did it properly, but i was just so dee—”
“satoru!”
“er…i just got lost in the moment… either way, that’s how i feel.” he turned his head to face you, cerulean eyes now glossy. was he tearing up? you reached over and cupped his face gently, face breaking into a grin.
“of course i’ll marry you, don’t cry.”
his jaw dropped at that. “i am not crying.”
“you were totally going to,” you teased, “what? did you think i’d say no?”
satoru went quiet. his eyes darted away from yours, causing your heart to sink. the silence was deafening. never in a million years would you ever say no to him. he was your world.
“hey,” you whispered. “look at me.”
he slowly lifted his eyes to meet your own and your heart shattered once more. under the pale moonlight, his sad eyes looked even more dull. his uncertainty was a heavy weight that you wanted to relieve him of. he was his most vulnerable right now. he trusted you, and only you to see like this. to have him like this.
you pressed your lips in a firm line. “satoru, it’s a yes. a yes every time, in every universe, in every lifetime. i’m yours forever.” and with that, satoru's eyes shone again like they always have. well, at least they did when he was looking at you.
Synopsis: Scar!jo's wife misses her husband's touch.
Pairing: Scar!jo x wife!reader.
Tags: [MDNI] Slow and intimate SMUT some fluff and angst sprinkled, voyarism, public sex, exhibitionism, breeding, p in v, reader is a horny little shit, praise kink ig, missionary, overstimulation (can people learn the diff between this and overwhelmed..?) cunnilingus.
From Shibuya and Shinjuku's ruins to the Italian coast is a long, dreadful and sorrowful journey you embarked on with your husband.
Freshly scarred and high from the adrenaline after the showdown, Satoru hadn't realised just who he was after defeating Sukuna.
He wasn't just the strongest anymore.
He was a survivor.
The winner.
But he came crashing down from the peak sooner than he expected.
One look in the mirror.
And he wasn't anyone.
Not your husband, and most definitely not Gojo Satoru anymore.
So for months, he hid.
The characteristic charming and confident man you married was nowhere to be seen the last three months. Buried in the rubble that consumes what Tokyo once was.
Satoru is still somewhat a ghost of himself—you watch him as he stays rooted at the shore, tall frame swallowed by his orange oversized sweatshirt to hide the dents in his canvas underneath that follow his skin until his mid thighs.
Just staring at the horizon of azure blue, a mirror of his own eyes.
Though you can't see his face, or read his thoughts from where you lay on the sunbed shaded behind the creamy, semi-see through curtains, you can tell his gaze is void—empty like it's been for some time now.
Or perhaps foggy with his everlasting fear. Paranoia of ever having to relieve what he did. Unfortunately for you, as much as you've tried to be a reassuring and wife, nothing has quite helped your husband with abolishing that mindset just yet—that he's on the battlefield.
You don't dare to say it out loud.
But you miss your husband.
Your Satoru.
So much.
Not how he looks.
Never that.
But the cheerful, loud and lively version of him. It pains you far too much to see him so far away despite being right next to you.
You press your face further into the plush white pillow beneath your cheek and try to find comfort in it—to no avail, you can only fall asleep on your husband's chest but he's refused physical contact ever since he came home.
It breaks your heart every time.
Because you love him either way—scarred or not—maybe now even more than before after he kept his promise of coming back to you.
He doesn't see it that way though. And he avoids you like it's better for you to stay away and not see the outcome of the events carved into him.
Says he's "not worthy for you anymore." or "unattractive." So you won't need to force intimacy onto him because he hates the feeling of your fingers brushing every dip of his skin that wasn't there before and that only serves as a reminder that he was still weak.
You wish he'd understand he's anything but weak.
In the distance he's still watching the waves, you begin to wonder if today, on the third day of your vacation—the one you forcefully dragged him on, far away from Japan so he'd have a change of scenery (a positive one)—he will finally get inside the water.
Tug off his cover-up, dip himself beyond his feet in the blue and lose himself in the ocean.
The answer lingers in the back of your mind like a pest, you're sure he's not ready yet, but there's a sliver of hope in your chest.
Which disappears and gets overtaken by vast disappointment once he turns around and makes his way to you. A few long strikes and he reaches where you're bundled up on the bed, hair messily sprawled out on the sheets, curtains half drawn to sheild you from the sun.
And he would usually cling onto you immediately. Throw a hand over your waist, press himself against your back and curl into you. Cuddle you until you both fell asleep in this nice weather.
Instead, now he takes the other end of the bed. Swinging his feet up after dusting the sand off and leaning against the headboard—quiet as a church mouse.
Sadness pools in your stomach, an uneasy feeling taking over your every fiber. You try to be strong knowing he has it so hard—but you can't help but feel undesirable at some point.
Swallowing the prickling feeling of wanting to cry, you try to keep your voice leveled—clear of any sentimental emotions—when you attempt small talk with him.
"How's the water, honey?"
He's quiet for a beat before mumbling "I didn't go in."
You hum, a sorry excuse of a smile on your face.
And you can't help it when the tears bubble quickly in you and you accidentally choke out a sob you were meant to push down.
Satoru’s head whips over to your sideways curled up figure on the bed when the sound reaches his ear.
You feel pathetic.
Making small talk with your husband.
Helpless, and feeling incredibly selfish.
For the first time in months, Satoru feels himself live in an emotional fully. Worry spreading through his whole body.
He pushes himself off his side of the bed and circles the bed till he reaches your side and crouches right where your face is hidden in the pillow and from where tiny whimpers are muffled.
"Baby, what's wrong?" You start sobbing at the sound of the nickname. He has no idea just how much it means to you to just hear him talk or look at you.
The tears spill past your waterline like a waterfall with no direction or limit, dampening your cheeks, soon turning your eyes raw from the dryness.
You hiccup into the pillow, muffle sobs that rip straight from your chest while your husband stays crouched next to the bed and rubs your back—unaware of the inner turmoil you actually fight everyday because of him.
Because he’s there.
Yet, he’s not.
And it stings.
“It’s okay, tell me why you’re crying.” His voice soothes in your ear, questioning softly with the underlying care in his words that he always had with you.
That has your heart clenching even more, your chest tightening at how the man you knew only shows up every once a never now.
You feel like a terrible wife for wanting him back.
“I miss you.” You frailly cry out, voice a pitch higher and shaky.
Though you can’t see him, you know he’s probably wearing that face of indescribable confusion. He’s there, so what are you talking about?
“I’m right here, sweetheart..?” He’s unsure as he points out the obvious.
You don’t miss a beat in replying. “No, I miss my husband.”
His mind slowly wraps around the idea he has about what your talking about and something shifts in him.
For the first time since he’s gotten back from the shore, you show your face again. Mascara smudged around the corners, hair messy, cheeks glossy and lips puffy.
“You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t let me touch you. We barely talk. You don’t let me help. We are married for fucks sake, Satoru.”
Your voice breaks as you spill your hearts content out through the tip of your tongue. Months of frustration and loneliness piercing right at the one man you love most in the world.
Satoru falls quiet with a frozen tongue and a paralysed mind. Internally, he feels the gears shift, his mind rewire as he understands you.
And he gets it.
Shit.
Where has he been these last months?
Back at the battlefield while his wife desperately tried to cling onto his consciousness and ground him like the tether she always was to him in his world of curses?
Uneasiness washes over him at the realisation that he can’t erase the past—the last months you’ve spent in solitude with an absent husband at home, constantly nurturing it without reward.
So all he can offer and pray you accept are apologies.
“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry.” His long fingers clasp around your hand against the pillow. Holding tight enough for you to feel your bones being squished against his.
“I’m so sorry.”
But you don’t need his apologies.
He has no need to apologise for. After all, you’re not the only one grieving him. He is too. The life he had, who he was, who the mirror showed him before the slashes.
It’s different though. He doesn’t love who he is now, while you still do.
He’s still your husband. You said “I do.” 4 years ago with the same confidence you’d say it today. Even after all of the hardships and even after all of the forgiving.
“Don’t apologise.” You mutter, shifting on the mattress and sitting upward—moving your weight to sit on your legs—and cup his cheek with your right hand to caress it.
Only now do you realise his eyes are glossy too, guilt swimming in them—regret. The kind that eats at your bones for mistakes you didn’t mean.
Quietly, you confess with the sound of the waves in the background supporting you.
“I’ll always be by your side, Satoru. But you need to let me in. I’m your wife.”
Your eyes follow the way his Adams apple bobs as he swallows your honest words. Their meaning sinking into his marked skin with permission this time.
He nods once—slow and sure—and the knot in your chest loosens. In the blink of an eye, he’s getting off his knees.
The matress dips where he sits down next to you, hand still in hand, his body fully turned to you while your legs—folded beneath you—still are angled straight ahead.
In a slow pace, he draws himself closer to you. The smell of his natural musk that always drove you crazy mixed with the ocean breeze in his milky white hair filling your senses.
His lips brush against you in the comforting way they always did before meeting.
And slowly, he whispers.
“You are so much more than my wife.”
You hum once, curtly.
“You’re my everything.”
And the man you thought you no longer recognised, kissed you like the man you know by heart.
The kiss is impossibly soft. Tender and warm. Electrifying all of your dormant atoms to life, cells buzzing under his touch.
It’s magical. An open door to the world you thought you were shut out of entirely—one with him and your love.
His lips move slowly against yours. Plush skin meeting plush skin in a desperate yet patient reunion.
You didn’t realise you missed it so much till now.
It hurts to part.
Satoru only pulls away for a second to look in your eyes.
Neither of you exchange words before diving back into each other’s essences.
His hands find your waist, your body turns to him completely—back pressing against the headboard as he holds you, your hands fitting on his broad shoulders.
Beneath the tips of your delicate fingers, you feel the dips and uneven surfaces under the thin layer of his sweatshirt.
The kiss deepens once he swipes his tongue under your lip and you grant him that quiet access like you always have under the sun or moon.
You’ve always been Satoru’s.
From the day you saw him on the other side of the train station.
Till now.
And you always will be his.
Your nails slightly dig into his flesh as he explores your mouth, one of his hands now on your chin—tilting your face up—so he can follow the same path he always did.
Tongues fighting, bodies heating up under the daylight, you feel the need to reduce the layers between your thin white cover-up dress and his sweatshirt.
Hesitantly, the pressure on his shoulders caused by your fingers lessens and your hands migrate to the collar of the orange material.
He’s still kissing you as you tug on the zipper.
Then he freezes.
Tongue retreating and lips separating from the heated kiss. Eyes locking together.
You see the fear and hesitation in his baby blues. A silent prayer for you to not see him.
“Satoru, I love you.” You croak out. Voice scratchy and hoarse. The remaining few drops of tears spill from the corners of your eyes.
“I love you so much you have no idea. And I have always loved you and I always will. Even when you change.”
Your husband’s heart shatters.
Loud, like glass breaking against the floor. Unmendable.
But he trusts you.
So he dries your face with the buds of his fingers. Kisses the corner of your damp eye, and pulls the zipper down himself—showing the tainted and raw outcome of his fight.
Pink scars, painfully painted stars in his history.
You see beyond them. See the chiseled body he worked for, the defined v-line that you go crazy for, his rock-hard abs. His determination.
The scars are mere decorations you wish he accepts someday.
“You’re beautiful, honey. Even more now.”
Satoru has doubled in mass since being in the prison realm.
There’s nothing unattractive about him.
Your mind momentarily flashes to the promises of him giving you a family after the fight if he made it.
Every time you think about it, nausea overtakes you.
That dangerous what if that haunted you for nights before the showdown.
What if he didn’t…
No, he’s home.
And that matters so much to you.
That he could come home missing half of his body and you’d still cherish him to death.
Because you know there were others without the gift or the fortune to see their loved ones faces ever again.
Your hands press against the hard surface of his pecks before peeling your back off the headboard and reaching up to kiss him.
You’re caged in between his arms that hold himself up against the headrest. He happily accepts the kiss, lighter than a few seconds ago.
He melts into you again. Your back presses against the cushioned board again as he hovers over you once more.
Hands dipping, your nails feel every dip of his abs. Your legs subconsciously closing as the heat in between them grows.
Satoru bites your bottom lip so he can slip inside your mouth this time, his confidence recovering little by little as he sees the effect he still has on you.
You rein back a whimper that almost escapes once he lowers his lower body onto you. Hard boner pressing against your thinly covered clit—slotting himself perfectly against her.
With the palms of your hands, you push the orange sweatshirt off Satoru and he pulls his hands back quickly to throw it off before latching them on your breasts.
Your mouths dance a ballad you’ve both practiced across different lives.
With no regard for even considering that people might walk by and catch what’s happening through the slightly agape curtains, you slowly plunge your hands inside your husband’s swim trunks.
He hisses against your mouth as your hands wrap around his shaft, sensitive from not being touched or touching himself at all these last months.
Every fiber in you is on fire. His lips leave yours and attach to your neck—peppering your skin with love bites that show you’re his as he works on kneading your tits.
You start pumping his girth at a rhythmic pace, swiping your index finger to collect the small amount of pre-cum oozing out of his tip to stroke him.
Satoru’s face lifts to see you spit on your hand while maintaining eye contact and he feels himself grow harder even when it’s not even possible anymore.
His hand messily pushes down his swim shorts and his cock springs up, hitting him in his lower belly where you immediately grab it and coat it in your spit.
He lets out a deep rumble from his chest that has you twitching around nothing. One large hand pushing your cover up just enough for your bikini-covered breasts to meet the light of day.
A finger hooks under the thin strap underneath them and he sets them free once he tugs the string over your tits.
Your stroking falters when he moves to your nipple, biting as a greeting and then sooting the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You’re dripping—soaking the expensive material of your bathing suit under your cover.
Satoru’s still working on your nipple when his hand pushes up your cover up and moves aside your panties. Long fingers pressing against your warm wetness.
He swears he could cum just for the fact that you’re this wet over him.
A thick, rough digit of his pokes at your entrance before slipping inside. You gasp at the stretch, not having had sex in a long time.
Satoru relishes in the small sound. He pumps the finger once, twice and on the third thrust he unexpectedly adds another finger.
Now, his middle and ring finger stretch you. Wedding ring pressing against your cunt whenever he bottoms his hand out.
His palm rubs against your clit in a way that has you twitching beneath him. Your body jerks at his tongue swirling around your nipple and his palm slapping your bud.
Small moans ring in his ear. With your hands still wrapped around him, he starts thrusting against the mattress, chasing that friction while your mind crashes.
He feels you tense up when your walls start to flutter around his fingers so he pulls them out before you can reach your release.
You feel him lower and latch his mouth onto your pussy before you can process it and whimper for the loss of his digits. Hands letting go of his length as he lowered himself.
Immediately, your hips buck when he flattens his tongue—trying to lap up and consume relish in every taste of his wife’s nectar that she’ll offer him.
You lose all control over the moans and whimpers that leave your mouth—too far gone to even think about others now when your husband eats you up so messily.
Your juices mixed with his saliva soak into the white mattress, staining it, yet the two of you couldn’t care less.
Satoru laps up like a starved man. As he is. His tongue slips past your ring of resistance at times, teasing. Testing to see if you’re ready.
Your nails cling at his back, scratching new redness that he doesn’t mind—not in the way he does with his scars.
His hands are now under your plush ass, angling you upwards and holding you in place as he devours you with the reverence and need he has always had with you.
Your orgasm approaches quickly once he reignites it. Satoru holds the need to smirk against you once he feels your clit twitch and your sweet cunt start to flutter all alone.
He looks up with your bud in between his lips to see the heavenly sight of you propped on your elbows, tits out and glistening, your head thrown back.
His rutting against the bed stops.
You come undone on his tone aggressively. It hits you all at once, shivers overtaking you as your mind falls into pure euphoria.
Satoru doesn’t let a single drop spill.
Not giving you much time to recover, too eager to melt his body with yours, and with you all over his face, your husband climbs over your body again and captures your lips in a kiss.
Tasting yourself on his glistening lips, you shudder and whimper from how sensitive you are once you feel him rub his tip against your entrance.
“ ‘toruuu.” You whine, tears brimming your eyes.
A mock pity pout spawns on his face. His head lolls to the side as he watches your struggled expression—mouth parted, eyes fluttering open and shut when he brushes himself against your overstimulated clit.
“Didn’t you miss me, baby?” He teases.
"I—did-I missed you so much, mmh!" You mewl out in high-pitched stutters. Eyes falling shut and letting the tears spill from your clamped shut eyelids once he bottoms out in one go.
“Oh fuck.” Satoru bites back a low groan that escapes straight from his chest, his thighs pressing against the round and plush skin of your ass.
He wastes no time in pulling back and snapping himself back home. Letting his length disappear inside of you with little to no resistance. “Yeah, baby. Take all of me.”
Electricity sparks every once-dormant nerve in your body back to life.
Your mind momentarily flashes back to the promises he had vowed to keep before the fight. How he’d retire if he won, give you a family and spend the rest of his days cherishing the moments he spends in your arms.
And you snap out of your thoughts once you feel his two hands slide under your thighs, strong forearms locking them against your hamstrings so he can snugly wrap your legs around his textured waist—carved skin firmed up from days in a dark realm where he fought against time and his own mind.
You feel him everywhere. To the veins harshly reminding you how they have a place within your velvety walls ever since he vowed to be the only one who would ever walk the earth to please you—to the heat swirling in your chest out of profound and raw love you have for your husband.
It’s not supposed to be such a bittersweetly beautiful moment as Satoru is keeping your legs folded around him—forcing him to voluntarily slam down and dip his bulging cock back down home, juices welcoming him and kissing his length goodbye when he pulls back—but it’s so painfully good.
The way he’s back within your reach—caging you under his huffing, feral state where you can see the light color of his eyes sparkling as his body is electrified with life for the first time in months—and the way he’s stretching you out so deliciously.
Making you mewl out incomprehensible words that end up being letters melted into each other with no real meaning because your brain can barely form a real thought.
He’s finding the love you have for him in every crevice of you as your tongues mesh together again. Saliva on saliva as he connects his hips to yours without faltering once.
Begrudgingly, he pulls back. Your eyes fall down to his plush baby pink swollen lips that once shined with your release.
His breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling—occasionally shaking as a deep groan escapes him when you suck him in so greedily—for a second, you catch his stare falling to your bodies connecting.
Then he snaps back up—face levelling to you where you’re still giving him that fucked out doe-eyed look that he swears will have him falling over the edge sooner than he intends to.
“Baby?” He softly calls out, the four-lettered word spilling out of his mouth with ease that comes out of the habit he has of calling you that loving name.
You barely hear the sound of his voice, mind somewhere over the clouds. His tip is pushing past your cervix soo nicely. Kissing that little spot that makes your muscles start to spasm in uneven waves—your eyesight blur and the tears streak down the sides of your face quick.
Unbeknownst to you, Satoru is a lot more pleased with himself than he’d admit right now. Even after the noise, the trauma and the ashes—he still has it in him.
Still has it inside of him to unravel you with the simples touches, to have you with your mouth parted open and your eyes rhythmically rolling back as he plunges inside of you—searching for your release.
It fills his body with a tingling sensation—a lingering hot feeling right where his heart sits at the realisation that you’re his wife in every sense of the word.
That you’re still here and still so loving.
All for him.
“M-mhm?” He hears you barely make out, nails moving from his back and onto his forearms where your nails subconsciously dig into his tainted skin.
A cannined smile pulls on his handsome face, almost resembling one of his characteristic smirks that has you knowing—even in your haze—that something is coming.
“Remember the promise I made you?”
Instantly, you scramble around your mind to try and filter to the thousands of promises you’ve offered each other and that he has yet to break.
There are so many, and you don’t have enough mind to run through them all.
“Which—ngh, ‘toru!” In the middle of your attempt to speak, he shifts, hooking both legs over his shoulders. Drawing his chest down, the strong surface of his chest weighing down on your smooth skin.
“—right there! Oh—“
You’re loud. Too loud for someone on a sunbed in a public place. Satoru probably knows it. Yet he makes no effort in shutting you up—he doesn’t muffle your real moans with a kiss, doesn’t silence your babbles with his hand. He lets them pour out into the open.
He lets the world know you’re his.
And that he’s back.
Either way, you don’t make any effort to stop the shore from knowing your lover is back.
His calloused hands, detailed with resilience and his unmatched strength, go delicate as he tries to wipe the stream of tears on the sides of your face.
“C’mon baby, you know which one.”
Seeing the way you fall quiet—half losing the fight between yourself and climaxing too early as your orgasm holds you by your throat, and half winning over the chaos of your mind—he “aids” you just a bit as his left hand drops and finds your clit with soft circles.
He’s teasing you, worsening the internal struggle he’s putting you through—setting every nerve in your body on fire as he pulls your release by the reins.
“What do you want from me?”
His words find a place in your disoriented head, clicking with his previous question.
A baby.
You wanted a baby with him before the fight.
A family.
Something to remember him by
Every night before that godforsaken day.
You tried.
Clung onto his body with a different—more painful kind of desperation than the one you have right now.
Tried for a baby.
Tried to leave a part of him within you just in case he—
The answer spills out of your mouth before your mind dips to darker places.
“A family.” You breathe out, eyes clamping shut for a second.
He muses, face dipping to press soft kisses to your pulsing temple. “Yeah?”
“Y—yeah!”
Your voice pitches higher at the last second as he presses down on your clit.
“Please—please, ‘toru—don’t leave me. Give me a baby.”
You don’t realise just how your fear is spilling through the cracks as you beg to finish and for him to never be done with you.
And Satoru goes soft.
Pace stuttering, abs tightening—he’s so close, you’re so close too.
With slow strokes, already high off demolishing you the past moments—Satoru rides the last moments of the roller coaster as he reaches his end.
“I’ll give you everything, honey.” He whispers, the bed creaking less beneath the both of you as he takes you to the edge.
And you titter to your orgasm that crashes over you twice as strong the second time once he completes his sentence. “Just take it all.”
He places a soft kiss to your lips as he buries himself inside, ropes and ropes of white milky cum filing your womb—overflowing right out of your walls while he remains inside, twitching and unwilling to leave.
A choked sob is muffled as Satoru’s lips catch it, right hand caressing your cheek.
Everything falls quiet, the smell of sex in the open air quickly settles back into the horizon as the sea overtakes the atmosphere and your ears hear the waves crashing against the sand.
The birds sing a song that relaxes your muscles. Your husband goes limp inside of you before pulling out—no longer having anything left of his to give that’s not love.
He plops down to you, the bed dipping in two sides now—but it quickly goes back to only one spot when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you over his warm body, letting you hear his heartbeat underneath the layers of skin.
Thud thud thud.
The sound goes straight to your veins, travelling through arteries and shifting your own heartbeat till it follows his.
He’s home.
Your Satoru is home.
And you fall asleep in his arms.
Safe, the way you both deserve to be.
Three hours later, Satoru walks over to the rim of the sea, stares off into the distance as the sun kisses his pale skin.
He’s uncovered, letting the salty breeze greet his open and slowly healing scars.
But he’s real.
And you join him when he goes inside the water.
Because this is just the first step out of the trenches.
And you’ll be there with him every stretch of the way.
Please excuse the way this turned out, tumblr has been deleting my completed drafts and not saving anything I write and it has been killing my motivation to write. Nonetheless, thank you to the 800 of u who have been patient w me, satosugu x reader and suguru x reader smut coming soon so lmk if u wanna get tagged~ bye loves. More <3
Not proofread cause im scared it will get deleted.
♡ summary: after two terrible days, all you want is to use your boyfriend as a mattress. unfortunately for you, gojo satoru is very easily distracted.
♡ warnings: 18+ mdni • explicit sexual content • established relationship • oral (f!receiving) • multiple orgasms • piv sex • praise • possessive language • dirty talk • creampie • fluff
♡ author’s note: this was inspired by a post from @silentlunarkiss based on this fanart 😭 i screenshotted it immediately because i knew i wanted to write it, then somehow lost the original post before i could tag them. finally found them again!! ♡
banner by @pixopix
The apartment is quiet when you finally drag yourself through the door, your work bag feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Your feet are killing you, your brain is fried, and all you want is to collapse into bed and not move for approximately twelve hours.
You kick off your shoes and shuffle down the hallway, already pulling your hair out of the bun you'd done up that morning, now mostly falling out on its own. The bedroom door is cracked open, and when you push it wider, you find exactly what you were hoping for.
Satoru is sprawled across the bed like a starfish, still wearing his teaching clothes—black pants and a rumpled button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His blindfold is tossed carelessly on the nightstand, and his white hair is an absolute disaster, sticking up in every direction like he's been running his hands through it all day. His eyes are closed, one arm thrown over his face.
He looks as exhausted as you feel.
"Rough day?" you ask, and he groans without moving.
"The first years tried to fight a curse three grades above their level because Yuji said it 'looked easy,'" he mumbles into his arm. "I had to bail them out. Again. Then Megumi and Nobara got into an argument about mission protocol that somehow turned into a full-blown screaming match about who ate whose leftovers from the fridge. I had to separate them like they were toddlers."
Despite your exhaustion, you snort. "Sounds about right."
"And then," he continues, finally moving his arm to peek at you with one brilliant blue eye, "Yaga cornered me about paperwork I was supposed to file last week. Do you know how much I hate paperwork?"
"I'm aware." You're already moving toward the bed, unbuttoning your work pants. "You complain about it literally every time."
"Because it's the worst. I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I shouldn't have to file incident reports."
"Mm-hmm, very tragic." You shimmy out of your pants and leave them in a heap on the floor—a problem for future you. Your blouse follows, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. "My day was also shit, for the record."
"Yeah?" He's watching you now with lazy interest, too tired to even sit up but still tracking your movements.
"My boss is an idiot, the coffee machine broke, I had to sit through a two-hour meeting that could've been an email, and Janet from accounting passive-aggressively cc'd the entire department on an email about someone stealing her lunch. Which, for the record, I didn't do, but she definitely thinks I did based on the way she was glaring at me."
"Want me to hollow purple Janet from accounting?" he offers, completely serious.
"Tempting, but no." You crawl onto the bed and without ceremony, flop directly on top of him, your full weight pressing him into the mattress. You bury your face in his chest with a long, dramatic groan. "I'm dead. This is me, dead."
"Hi, dead. I'm also dead." His arms come around you automatically, wrapping you up even though you're both too tired to really move. "We're both corpses now. This is our life."
"Our death," you correct, muffled against his shirt.
"Our death," he agrees solemnly.
For a moment, you just lie there, breathing in sync. He smells like his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the training grounds—sweat and grass and something distinctly him. It's comforting in a way you can't quite articulate. This exhausted, collapsed-together moment feels like home.
His hand starts moving on your back, slow and gentle, rubbing up and down your spine. It feels incredible, and you make an embarrassing sound of contentment that you'll deny later.
"You're tense as hell," he murmurs, fingers working at a knot between your shoulder blades.
"You try dealing with Janet's accusatory emails and see how relaxed you are," you mumble, but you're already melting into his touch.
"I'd just block her."
"You can't block coworkers, Satoru."
"You can if you're powerful enough." His hand slides lower, still rubbing your back, and you feel some of the day's tension starting to ease. "This okay?"
"It's perfect. You're my favorite human pillow."
"Just human pillow? Not devastatingly handsome boyfriend who you're lucky to have?"
"That's implied," you say, but you're smiling against his chest.
His other hand joins the first, both of them working at your tired muscles, and you honest-to-god almost start purring. This is exactly what you needed. Just this—him, the quiet apartment, his hands on you, the weight of the day slowly lifting.
But then his hands start to wander.
It's subtle at first. His fingers drift from your back to your sides, tracing the curve of your waist. Then lower, skimming over your hips. And then—
He grabs your ass. Both hands, full handfuls, squeezing appreciatively.
"Really?" you ask, lifting your head to look at him. "We're both dead, remember? Corpses don't grope."
"I'm a very motivated corpse." He squeezes again, shameless, and there's a grin tugging at his lips now. "Can't help it. You're lying on top of me in your underwear. What did you expect?"
"Self-control? Restraint? Basic human decency?"
"Baby, you know me better than that." His hands are still kneading your ass, and despite your sass, you can feel heat starting to pool low in your belly. "Besides, you love it."
"I love that you can't even wait until we've recovered from our respective terrible days before getting handsy?"
"Exactly." He's fully grinning now, that cocky, insufferable grin that makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time. "Your ass is the best stress relief. It's science."
"That's not science, you idiot."
"It's my science."
You snort, but you're not moving away. His hands are warm and familiar, and honestly, after the day you've had, this isn't the worst thing in the world. You let your head drop back to his chest, eyes drifting closed.
"Comfortable?" he asks, voice softer now.
"Mmm," you hum in agreement. "Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it."
For a while, it's just quiet. His hands keep moving—sometimes squeezing, sometimes just resting there, thumbs drawing lazy circles. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear, steady and strong. The tension in your shoulders is almost completely gone now, replaced by a different kind of warmth, something slower and heavier.
You're half-asleep when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against your hip.
"Satoru," you mumble, not even opening your eyes.
"Hmm?"
"Are you seriously getting hard right now?"
There's a pause. Then he says, "...Maybe."
You lift your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He has the decency to look slightly sheepish, but there's heat in his eyes now, that familiar hunger that never really goes away when it comes to you.
"We were having a nice moment."
"We still are."
"You've got a boner."
"I do…That doesn't cancel the nice moment."
You stare at him for another second before letting out a laugh.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"I come home exhausted, use you as a human mattress for ten minutes, and somehow I'm the problem?"
"You are absolutely the problem."
"I literally haven't done anything."
"You climbed on top of me, got all comfy, made that little happy humming noise, and then fell asleep on my chest."
"I hummed?"
"You hummed."
"I don't hum."
"You do when you're really comfortable."
You narrow your eyes. "I've never noticed that."
"I have."
You glare at him.
"…Baby." He exhales dramatically, like he's carrying the weight of the world. "You're makin' me so hard."
You snort. "You're unbelievable."
"I'm trying to be respectful."
"Are you?"
Silence.
"…No." He grins without an ounce of shame. "Not really."
Despite yourself, you laugh again, dropping your forehead back against his shoulder.
"You're ridiculous."
"I know."
His arms tighten around you just a little. "But you look so comfortable."
His voice is quieter now. "So happy."
You burrow your face further into his shoulder.
"…I like when you're like this."
You feel yourself smile before you can stop it. "You're such a sap."
"Only for you."
There's a comfortable silence. Then his hands drift just a little bit lower again.
"…Okay," you mumble. "Now you're definitely not being respectful."
"No." He gives your ass another shameless squeeze. "I'm definitely not."
Before you can respond, he's sitting up, keeping you in his lap, and capturing your mouth in a kiss that's hungry and demanding. You can taste his desperation, feel it in the way his hands grip you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.
When he pulls back, his lips are already swollen, his eyes are dark with want. "I need to taste you," he says, and it's not a request. "Get up here."
"Up where—"
But he's already moving, sliding down the bed and pulling you with him. "On my face. Come on."
"Satoru—"
"Please." And there it is, that needy edge that makes your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about this all day. About you sitting on my face, riding my tongue until you come. Please, baby. I need it."
How are you supposed to say no to that?
"You're ridiculous," you say, but you're already moving, letting him position you. He's lying flat on his back now, looking up at you with such raw want that it makes you shiver.
"Not ridiculous. Desperate." His hands come up to grip your thighs, pulling you forward. "Now stop stalling and sit on my face."
"Bossy," you mutter, but you're lowering yourself down, and then—
"Oh fuck," you gasp as his tongue makes contact, sliding through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke.
He groans under you, the vibration going straight to your core, and his hands tighten on your thighs. "That's it," he mumbles against you. "Right there. Don't move."
But you're already moving, you can't help it, grinding down against his mouth as he licks and sucks and devours you like a man starving. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, holding you exactly where he wants you, and when you try to lift up, worried about suffocating him, about being too much—he just pulls you back down harder.
"Satoru—"
"Stay," he demands, voice muffled. He pulls his face back to look up at you. "Fuck my face. Come on, baby, I can take it. Give it to me." Then he lowers his mouth to you again.
It's obscene, the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the way he's completely lost in it. His tongue circles your clit, then dips inside you, then back to your clit, and you're already shaking, already so close.
"That's it," he encourages, and you can hear the smugness in his voice even now. "You're dripping, baby. such a mess on my face."
"Shut—up," you gasp, but there's no heat in it because he's right—you can feel how wet you are, can feel it on his chin, his lips, and it should be embarrassing but it's just hot.
"Make me," he challenges, and then he's sucking your clit into his mouth, hard, and you cry out.
Your hands fly to the headboard, gripping the edge to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. You start to really move now, riding his face with purpose, and he moans underneath you like this is exactly what he wanted all along.
"Fuck, yes," he groans against you, the vibration making you gasp. "Just like that. Use me, baby. Take what you need."
His hands guide your hips, encouraging the rhythm, and his tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, pressing flat against you in a way that makes your thighs shake. You can feel yourself getting closer, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.
"Satoru, I'm—fuck—"
"Do it," he demands, voice rough. "Come on my face.”
His tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, pleasure rolling through your entire body. You're grinding down against his mouth, riding it out, and he's groaning underneath you like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.
When you finally come down, shaking and oversensitive, you try to move off him, but his hands tighten on your thighs.
"Not yet," he mumbles, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, anywhere he can reach. "Just—give me a second. You taste so fucking good."
"You're gonna kill me," you pant, but you're smiling.
But he's already diving back in, and you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. Your whole body jolts at the sensitivity, but he doesn't let up—he's relentless, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he works you over. The pleasure is almost too much, bordering on overwhelming, and you're already moaning his name.
"Satoru—fuck—it's too much—"
"I know, baby," he groans against you, the vibration sending another wave through you. "But you can take it."
He's eating you out like he's starving, like he can't get enough, and your whole body is shaking. Your hands grip the headboard tighter, your hips moving against his mouth almost involuntarily. The pleasure is building again, impossibly fast, and you're gasping and moaning as he works you toward another orgasm.
"Oh god—Satoru—I'm gonna—"
"That's it," he encourages, his tongue flicking faster.
Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, even more intense than the first, and you're crying out as pleasure crashes through you. Your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up, and he's groaning underneath you, clearly getting off on how much he's affecting you.
When you finally collapse, completely spent and oversensitive, he finally releases you, and you fall onto the bed next to him, breathing hard and trembling.
"And I'm dramatic?" He's grinning like he just won the lottery, his face wet, his hair a complete disaster. "That was—fuck. I love you, baby."
"You're insane," you say, but you're pulling him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.
"About you? Absolutely." His hands are already roaming again, cupping your face, then sliding down your sides. "But I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh really?"
"Really." He's kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. When he pulls back, there's something vulnerable in his expression beneath all the confidence. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Then show me," you challenge, and his eyes darken.
"Oh, baby."
He's fumbling with his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers, and his cock springs free—flushed and hard and already leaking. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, and he hisses.
"Fuck, baby—"
"What?" You stroke him slowly, base to tip, and he's already trembling.
"Your hands—shit—they're so much smaller than mine. Look so good wrapped around my cock."
"Yeah?" you tease, giving him another slow stroke.
"Yeah." His voice is strained.
He gently removes your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, and then he's pulling you against him. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip possessively. You can feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, and he's just... holding you there.
"Satoru—"
"Give me a second," he murmurs, his voice already rough. His breathing is uneven against your neck, and you can feel the tension in his body—the way he's trying to maintain control. "Just—fuck—you feel so good.”
His hips shift slightly, and you feel the length of him drag against you—not entering, just the pressure of him sliding through your wetness. The friction makes you gasp, and he groans.
"There it is," he breathes. "That sound. The little gasp you make when I—" He does it again, a slow roll of his hips, grinding against you. "When I touch you just right."
"Satoru, please—"
"Please what?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. "Tell me what you want, baby."
"You know what I want."
"I do." Another slow grind, and you can feel how wet you are, how easily he slides against you. "But I wanna hear you say it. Love the way your voice gets all breathy when you're desperate for me."
"You're killing me—"
"Good." He's kissing your neck now, teeth grazing your pulse point. "You've been killing me all day. All week. Every time you look at me with those eyes, every time you smile at me like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, baby, you have no idea."
His voice is shaking now, and you realize he's not teasing anymore—he's barely holding on. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, and you both freeze.
"I can't—" His forehead drops to your shoulder. "I can't think straight around you. Can't control myself. You just—you exist, and I'm gone."
"Then stop trying to control it," you whisper, and you feel him shudder.
"Fuck." He shifts, lining himself up properly, and then he's pushing in—slowly, so slowly. The stretch is intense, pleasure edged with the sweetest hint of pressure as he fills you inch by inch. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good. So tight. So perfect."
"Satoru—"
"I know. I've got you." He's only halfway in, taking his time, letting you adjust. His forehead is still pressed to your shoulder, and you can feel how much restraint this is taking him—the way his muscles are tense, the way his breath comes in short gasps. "You're taking me so well. You always take me so well."
Finally, finally, he's fully seated inside you, and you both just breathe for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being completely connected.
"Okay?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you.
"Yes baby," you manage. "You can move.”
"Thank fuck." He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you gasp, and he groans. "That sound. Fuck, I love that sound."
He sets a steady rhythm, deep and deliberate, each thrust making you feel impossibly full. His hands are everywhere—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, gripping your hips—like he can't decide where he wants to touch you most.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, watching your face. "All flushed and breathless. The way your eyes get all hazy when I'm inside you—fuck, it drives me crazy."
"Satoru—"
"I love you so much." His voice is rough with emotion now, not just desire. "Love everything about you. The way you feel, the way you look at me, the way you let me have you like this—"
"I love you too," you gasp, and his hips stutter.
His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, there's something raw there.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
"Fuck." His pace falters, becomes less controlled. "You can't—you can't just say it like that when I'm inside you. You're gonna—shit—"
"You feel so good," you tell him, cupping his face. "So perfect. You always make me feel so good."
His breath catches, and suddenly he's kissing you desperately, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, less measured.
"You're everything," he gasps against your mouth. "Everything to me. The way you trust me, the way you look at me like I'm—fuck, baby, I can't—"
"You are," you insist, and his composure cracks completely.
"Fuck—" He's moving faster now, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Love how you fit around me. Like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other."
"We were," you gasp, and his eyes flash with something fierce and possessive.
"Damn right we were." He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust is devastating. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it?"
"Yes—fuck—right there—"
"I know, baby. I know." His voice is breaking now, emotion and desire tangled together. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna watch your face when you—fuck—when you come because of me."
The pleasure is building so quickly you can barely breathe. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, his back, trying to anchor yourself as he drives into you again and again.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face like he's memorizing it. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're close, aren't you? So fucking close."
"Don't stop—"
"Never." One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see you."
The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot and his thumb on your clit is too much. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your whole body tense and shake. You're clenching around him, and he groans at the sensation.
"Fuck, yes," he breathes, still moving, fucking you through it. "That's it. That's my girl. You're so good. So beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much."
When you finally start to come down, gasping and trembling, you expect him to follow you over the edge. But instead, he slows his movements, pressing soft kisses to your face.
"Satoru—"
"Not done with you yet," he murmurs against your lips.
Before you can respond, he's pulling out and lifting your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The new position opens you up completely, and when he pushes back in, he's somehow even deeper than before.
"Oh fuck—" you gasp, and he groans.
"There we go." He starts moving again, and this angle is devastating. Every thrust feels impossibly deep, hitting places that make your toes curl. "How's that, baby? That good?"
"Yes—fuck—Satoru—"
"I love you so much," he says, his voice rough. "You know that? I'm never letting you go. You're mine. Always gonna be mine."
"Yours," you agree breathlessly, and something in his expression goes even more intense.
"That's right." His thrusts are harder now, more purposeful. "Gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna love you for the rest of my life."
His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down, and suddenly his eyes go wide. He can feel himself inside you, the bulge of his cock with each thrust, and something feral takes over his expression.
"Holy shit," he breathes, completely mesmerized. His hand traces the outline, feeling himself move in and out of you, and he starts fucking you even harder, unable to look away. "Look at that. Look at you taking me so deep."
You're already building toward another orgasm, the intensity of this angle and his words and the way he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen—it's all too much.
He's transfixed, watching his cock disappear inside you again and again, feeling the movement under his palm. His breathing is ragged, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Can you feel that, baby?" he asks breathlessly, his voice completely wrecked. "Fuck—I'm so fucking deep—you feel that?"
You look up at him with half-shut glazed eyes, your mouth parted open, completely fucked out. "Yes—fuck—yes, Satoru, I feel it—"
He groans at the sight of you—at how thoroughly wrecked you look, at the way you're falling apart beneath him. "You're so hot. So fucking hot. The way you look right now—fuck—I'm obsessed with you."
He's fucking you harder now, more urgently, his hand still on your stomach feeling himself move inside you with each thrust. The visual seems to drive him wild, and his movements become almost desperate.
"Come for me again," he demands, his other hand finding your oversensitive clit. "I know you can. I know you've got one more in you. Come on, baby. Give it to me."
"Satoru—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." His thumb presses harder, circling your clit. "You can, baby. I need you to.”
The pleasure is building impossibly fast, almost painful in its intensity. You're so sensitive from your first two orgasms that every thrust, every touch feels magnified.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face. "I can see it. You're right there. Just let go, baby.”
His voice is breaking, his control completely shattered, and then something raw escapes from him.
"I want you—" His hips snap forward harder. "Fuck—want all of you.”
His composure finally snaps.
"They've been on my ass my whole life about the bloodline. About heirs. About duty." Another hard thrust, his voice is cracking. "And I never—fuck—never wanted it."
He's breathing hard, almost gasping between words.
"Not until you."
His forehead drops closer to yours, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Only you. Want to marry you—want to wake up to you every day—want to call you my wife and—ah—know you're mine—"
Your orgasm crashes through you even harder, triggered by his words, by the desperation in his voice, by the sight of him completely undone above you. You're clenching around him so tight he gasps, your whole body shaking with the intensity.
"Fuck, yes—" He's just… staring at you, still moving, still feeling himself inside you. "So beautiful—The way your face—the way you sound—fuck—"
The sight of you completely wrecked under him, the feeling of you clenching around him, the way you gasp his name—it pushes him over the edge.
"Ah—fuck—fuck—fuuckk—" He buries himself as deep as he can go and comes hard, spilling into you in hot pulses. His whole body shudders with the intensity of it, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel the warmth spreading.
He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you but clearly boneless. For a while, you just breathe together, sweaty and satisfied.
"Holy shit," you mumble.
"Yeah." He's pressing kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He can’t seem to stop touching you, his hands running over your skin like he needs the contact. "You're amazing. Incredible. Best girlfriend in the entire world."
"Best girlfriend, or best pussy?" you tease, and he pulls back to look at you with mock offense.
"Both. Definitely both." He's grinning now, that soft, genuine smile that he only gives you. "But mostly you. I love you. Like, so much. An embarrassing amount."
"I love you too, you needy disaster."
"Your needy disaster," he corrects, and he's still touching you, hands running over your skin like he can't bear to stop. "Mine now. No takebacks."
"Wouldn't dream of it," you say softly, and you mean it.
He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat starting to slow. The exhaustion from earlier is creeping back in, but it's different now—satisfied, content, the good kind of tired.
"We should probably shower," you murmur, but you're already half-asleep.
"Later," he mumbles into your hair. "Right now I just wanna hold you."
"Clingy."
"Yep." He doesn't even sound ashamed. "You're stuck with me. Forever. Hope you're ready for that."
"I think I can manage," you say, smiling against his chest.
And as you drift off in his arms, you think that yeah… you can definitely manage. This ridiculous, needy, perfect man is yours, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
the happiest you've ever seen satoru gojo is when you told him he could fuck you without a condom for the first time.
it's not like he minded using them, in fact he still thinks it's responsible to use protection, even if you are on the pill. he just thinks he's lucky he gets to touch you at all.
but he has always wondered what your raw pussy would feel like, how your velvet heat would contract around his cock, no barrier separating the two of you.
you dragged him to your dorm after class and got right to the point, shoving your tongue down his throat and straddling him. not before long, his jeans were shoved down to his ankles and he was hovering over you, obviously very nervous.
"toru– just put it in" you groaned in annoyance, trying not to just fuck into him yourself.
"m'sorry..." he whined, pushing his glasses up with one finger and glancing down at where his dick sat against your glistening folds, throbbing and twitching with anticipation. just the sight pulled a little whimper from him. he's always cum a bit quicker than some of the other guy's you've dated, but he just can't help it! you're the first girl he's ever been with, probably the prettiest he's ever talked to.
"okay..." he took a breath, trying to calm himself down before reaching down and taking his cock in his hand, lining the leaking tip up with your entrance.
when he finally does push in, he's panting, grip on your hips so tight you know you'll have little finger tip shaped bruises there afterwards. "oh– fuuuuck–" he moans whorishly once he buries himself to the hilt, clenching his eyes shut and breathing so heavily you think he might pass out. your pussy is just so much more warm like this, he can feel every ridge of your gummy walls fluttering around him, begging him to move.
"m-move some" you breathe out, not used to how different his cock feels like this. your hands are braced on his broad shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin when he doesn't move a muscle.
his eyes are still closed, his glasses nearly falling off of his face. you can hear him whining faintly, body so stiff it's making you uncomfortable for him.
you decide to take matters into your own hands, bucking your hips up so his dick slides further into you. apparently, that was a bad idea when his reaction was an immediate iron grip on your hips, and loud, pathetic moan. "fuck!" he buries his flushed face in your neck, jaw slack and breath fanning against your skin.
he came. he came having not been inside you for even a minute. you can't help but huff a suprised sound, that soon turns into a full body laugh.
he lifts his head from the crook of your neck at that, eyes wide and glassy like he was going to cry. "don't laugh! s'not funny..." he's mortified, he came like a virgin just because of the lack of a little piece of plastic. "m'sorry baby..." he seems genuinely apologetic, he hates that he couldn't make you feel good.
you shush him, reaching up to card your fingers through his silky white hair, scratching his scalp lightly and watching as he leans into the contact. he's convinced you're mad at him, that you think he's pathetic. "i don't mind, toru" you coo, which earns a relived sigh from him in return. your voice is soothing when you speak, "let's go again, yeah?"
⌗ 𝓼atoru gojo coos you over the edge ! (˶˃𐃷˂˶) based off this (not a p!link), unprotected p in v, whipped!gojo, praise, pet names (baby/babygirl, sweetheart, angel)
the sounds in the once quiet room are obscene— breathy moans, loud squelching with each precise thrust of gojo's hips, and the bed frame thunking against the wall.
he's so deep inside you, you feel him in your throat. all you can do is claw at his broad back desperately, leaving angry red marks in your wake. "toru– ohfuck--!" you're struggling to catch your breath, "s'too much!" his pace is unrelenting, so the least he can do is talk you through it.
"m'sorry, babygirl, i know" his breath fans over your skin as he coos at you so sweetly, a direct opposite to the way he's fucking into you. "s'big, huh?" he's practically cradling you, holding you so close to his chest that you feel his heart beating a frantic rhythm against yours.
he pulls your face from hiding in the crook of his neck all to press gentle, reverent kisses over your flushed skin. "my precious girl," he praises, "doin' so good for me, my perfect baby" he moans softly when he feels your pussy flutter around him at his sweet words.
"there you go, you like that?" his voice isn't teasing in the slightest, all genuine loving words, all reserved for you.
that familiar heat is growing low in your belly, his cock hitting your g-spot only intensifying the pressure. "m'close– g'na make me cum--" you manage to breathe out some resemblance of a sentence, through his overwhelming affection and each word coming out as a moan, talking proves to be a bit difficult.
"yeah?" his voice is low and smooth, "y'can't help it, i know sweetheart," he rubs your arm tenderly, "gonna help you, okay? can i do that baby?" you can tell just how enamored he is by you, speaking to you and loving on you like you're the only person in the world, gazing at you like you hung the stars just for him.
you nod dumbly, not caring to ask what he means with how fucked-out you are, brain a pile of mush. before you can compute, he snakes his hand down between the two of you and finds your puffy folds, spreading them. you gasp, hands squeezing at his biceps. "s'okay" he reassures you, thumb finding your sensitive clit and rubbing tight circles on the bud.
it's enough to make you cry out in pleasure, enough to make you gush around his cock. gojo groans at the feeling, watching your expression in pure awe. "i know, baby" his pace never falters, so close to the edge himself. "there you go, let it all out–" his balls tighten up as he hits his peak, still holding you close, wanting there to be no space between the two of you. he fucks into you a few last times while spilling his warm release deep inside of you, a heady feeling.
he nearly pants, not bothering to pull out when he flops down beside you and pulls you to lay on his chest. you're worn out, and thoroughly satisfied. "did so good, sweet girl" he's smiling, cooing at you and scratching your back soothingly. you simply hum in response, words failing you.
he lets out a chuckle, "my sleepy angel..." his cheesy words could make you laugh if you weren't so spent, so you settle on curling into the comfort of him further, letting him pamper you with his voice.
as you both doze off, you swear you can hear him whisper a little "love you", and you know he means it. because you're all his, and he's all yours.
people always told satoru had the hands of a pianist—long fingers and elegant bones made for gliding across ivory keys. whenever the elders or casual acquaintances brought it up, he’d just lean back, flash his signature, self-satisfied grin, and say "i always put them into good use."
now, those same lengthy fingers were stuffed inside you, flexing and spreading your cunt into a brutal V-shape. he already has three fingers buried past the knuckle, hooking them hard against your front wall with every furious pump. meanwhile, his other hand drifts down, thoroughly coating his thumb with your sweet juices to sink the wet pad into your puckered asshole, fingering you on both ends until you can't do anything but sob out his name.
♯ nerd!satoru who was beyond irritated. you’d spent the entire night whining and demanding his attention without an ounce of shame, leaving him running on zero sleep before his final the next day. and who would've guessed? your actions have consequences! twt link
satoru didn't look like the class genius right now. his glasses were pushed up haphazardly on his head, his white hair a mess, and his eyes, those piercing, crystalline eyes, were narrowed with a cold, focused irritation. he stood over you, his silhouette looming large against the living room light, while you lay sprawled on the couch, completely exposed and trembling.
he didn't waste time with gentleness either. the moment he snatched you into his dorm room, he had grabbed your thighs, hauling your legs back with a sudden, forceful jerk. your knees were shoved up toward your chest, satoru pinning your lower body in a position that left you wide open and utterly vulnerable.
"a seventy," he spat, his voice low. "i have never seen a number that low on a piece of paper in my entire life. do you have any idea how pathetic a seventy is for me?"
"t—toru— i’m—"
"shut up," he groaned, his voice thick with a mix of anger and lust. "you spent the whole night distracting me! every time i tried to focus on the molecular bonds, you were touching me, whining for attention, making sure i couldn't think about anything but how much i wanted to fuck you dumb."
there was nothing rhythmic or sensual about his thrusts. it was a pounding, punishing pace. he hammered into you, his hips colliding with yours with a loud, wet slap that echoed through the room. each thrust was designed to drive the point home, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that made your vision blur.
"i— i'm s-s—" you tried to choke out an apology, but as he lunged forward again, the force of the impact snapped your head back. the words died in your throat, replaced by a high-pitched, broken moan.
"you’re what? you’re sorry?" satoru sneered, leaning down so his face was inches from yours, though he didn't stop the brutal assault of his hips. "sorry doesn't fix my gpa, baby. sorry doesn't erase the fact that i failed to maintain my perfect streak because you couldn't keep your hands off me."
he gripped your thighs tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, bruising you as he held you locked in that folded position. he accelerated, his cock sliding in and out of your soaking pussy with a violent friction. god, the sound was graphic; the squelch of lubrication and the heavy thud of his body slamming against yours.
"aww, look at you," he cooed, watching your face contort in a mix of pleasure and overwhelming intensity. "you love this, don't you? you love knowing you ruined my grade, and now you get to take my big dick for it!"
you tried to speak again, your lips trembling, wanting to tell him how much you loved him, how sorry you were, but every time you opened your mouth, he delivered another blow. you voice was reduced to incoherent whimpers and shattered breaths. you were shaking, your muscles twitching under the onslaught of his pace.
"i’m going to make sure you remember this every time you think about distracting me again," satoru groaned, his pace becoming frantic, almost feral. “you're going to take every inch of this, yeah? you're going to feel exactly how pissed off i am."
he let out a low, guttural growl, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, and more violent. he was bottoming out inside you, stretching you to your limit, driving you deeper into the couch. you could only cling to the fabric of the cushions, your fingers clawing at the material as you were bounced relentlessly.
"tell me," he commanded, his voice straining as he neared his peak. "tell me you're a distraction— fuck!— tell me you're a little brat who deserves to be fucked like this.”
you tried to scream it, to give him what he wanted, but a particularly deep thrust hit a spot that sent a jolt of electricity through your entire spine. your eyes rolled back, your jaw dropping open in a silent scream of ecstasy as your walls clamped tight around. as he slammed into you again, the impact sending a shockwave through your core, you managed to find a sliver of your voice.
"t— toru— please," you whimpered, your head tossing from side to side on the cushion. "slow— slow down— mmmh! please, just a little—“
satoru let out a small scoff, his cock buried deep in your soaking heat. he looked down at you, seeing your flushed face, your blown out pupils, and the way your body was trembling under his weight. a slow, smug grin spread across his lips, and he let out a soft laugh that vibrated in his chest.
"slow down? y’want me to slow down, angel?" he echoed, his voice a raspy, dangerous purr.
he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, and let out a small, needy moan that shifted into a pathetic, high-pitched whimper. the sound was jarring coming from him, a brief lapse in his control that only highlighted how much he was enjoying this.
"you think i’m done with you already?" he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.
"i’m just getting started,” he snickered once more upon your disheveled appearance, “a seventy is a disaster, and you're going to feel every single point i lost."
without warning, he gripped your thighs even tighter, hauling your knees even closer to your chest until you were practically folded in half. he didn't slow down, instead, he shifted his angle, driving back into you with a renewed, savage intensity.
the sound of his hips slamming against yours returned with a violent slap, the wet squelch of your pussy gripping his thick dick echoing through the quiet room. he began to hammer into you again, faster than before, his movements relentless.
“satoruuu!—” you yelped, crying out, “you’re so— nnghh!— so big— don’t stop! pleasepleaseplease—”
"beg me to slow down again— i dare you," he whimpered, his voice thick with arousal as he pounded into your cervix.
"i wanna hear you beg while i fuck the apology right out of you."
second post of the day because i just HAD to write for this man 👅👅👅 he is irresistible.
18+ your husband might be getting a little too excited about his #DomMommy
the exact milisecond your knees settle on either side of satoru's hips to secure him down, his entire demeanour undergoes a massive transform. the languid arrogance he usually cloaks himself in evaporates on the spot, giving way to a boyish giddiness that makes him look like a maniac.
you are genuinely trying to maintain a semblance of gravity, though. your fingers dig into the dense meat of his shoulders, channeling every ounce of your body weight to keep him pinned, your features pinched into a fierce, domineering scowl meant to force him into compliance. it was supposed to be a coup—to flip the script and pressure your smug husband into a compulsive submission.
but trying to intimidate the satoru gojo is a fool's errand, akin to trying to catch a torrential downpour with your bare hands.
“ohmygod” he squeals, the sound bubbling out of his throat in a high-pitched, breathless rush. his palms slap over his cheeks, a sudden rush of blood bringing a rosy, ecstatic flush to his otherwise pale face. “are you taking charge? right in front of my salad?"
your nails bite harder into his shoulders—a feeble attempt to inject some sting into his skin and reclaim your lost authority. “shut up, satoru. lay back and don’t move.”
the command only makes his behavioural devolution tenfold worse. he lets out a delighted, muffled shriek into his palms, his ridiculously long legs instantly lifting off the bed to kick his feet back and forth, heels thumping repeatedly onto the mattress like a high schooler who just got invited to prom by their crush.
“i can’t help it!! you’re just so cute when you’re being bossy!” he giggles, throwing his arms back over his head and clawing his fingers into the pillows as his toes curl with pure enthusiasm. his baby blue eyes blow wide behind his white lashes, hellishly bright with downright glee as if you just handed him the entire cosmos on a silver platter. he is practically vibrating at this point, hips bouncing up and down against your cunt with an uncoordinated yet very much eager lurch that derails your rhythm before you can even guide his thick cock inside you.
“do it, then! ruin me! i’m all yours, captain!”
any ever-present illusion of dark romance bursts into a million pieces. you let out an exasperated groan, forehead dropping hard against his chest as he continues to wiggle beneath you with shameless joy.
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