ストーリー synopsis: forced into a semester-long partnership, you and your effortlessly brilliant academic rival, satoru gojo, are stuck surviving late-night library sessions together. but as the caffeine crashes and the bickering turns into something softer, his armor drops—revealing that the intense competition was never about the top grade, but the only way he knew how to get you to notice him.
cw: academic rivals to lovers, forced proximity, tutoring and late night study sessions, mutual yearning, secret crush, soft satoru gojo, nerd satoru gojo, gojo satoru with glasses, hyper-fixation, academic stress, height difference, banter, witty dialogue, bickering, fluff, light angst, exhaustion-induced confessions, slow burn, idiots to lovers, protective satoru gojo, reader-insert, library basement settings, caffeine addiction, color-coded highlighters, coding and physics talk, background romance, holding hands under the desk, first kiss, foreheads resting together, confession scenes, soft domesticity disguised as studying
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ surpriseeee — this is 3 parts now hehe. satoru is still our lovingly annoying sweetheart here, but this part does have a bit more angst than the last. nothing too wild though… just a whole lot of yearning and our poor reader being very committed to denial. i hope you enjoy! part 3 will be the last one. (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
<<< part 1 - main masterlist - part 3 >>>
part 2
“Ma’am, may I interest you in our menu?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in with a practiced smile.
"Oh—um. Yes... thank you."
The thick, cream-colored menu lands in your hands a second later, and you settle into your seat just as she disappears down the aisle. A seat that is far too comfortable for the current state of your life. But that’s the thing about first class — it makes it very hard to be appropriately miserable, and you are trying to be miserable right now. You are committed to it.
“If you need recommendations… I recommend the wagyu.” Satoru leans in, close enough that his breath feathers warm against the side of your neck. “It’s to die for.”
He grins, blue eyes glinting behind snowy lashes. And unfortunately, the wagyu isn’t the thing currently putting your life at risk. Because a shiver moves through you before you can stop it.
“O-Oh…” your head jerks away, quickly. “Uh-huh… sure.”
Refusing to turn, you keep your eyes stubbornly on the cabin — denying him the satisfaction of seeing what his closeness does to the treacherous, backstabbing organ inside your chest. But you catch him in your periphery — leaning back, entirely unbothered, reaching for his own menu with that pleased little hum that means, of course, he notices.
Ugh.
This is going to be a long-ass ten-hour flight. And first class, as it turns out, is only roomy when you aren’t seated beside the exact person currently making your pulse act deeply unprofessional.
…
Wait. When did your pulse start doing that?!
Miserable, you remind yourself. Yeah. Miserable.
With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.
…you’d booked economy.
Economy.
But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.
“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”
…
Don’t worry about it?
You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.
But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.
Your family.
“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”
“—what do you like to eat?”
You blink, lips parting.
“I—sorry…what?”
“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”
Your brow furrows as you stare at him.
…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.
“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”
“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”
Brow knitting, you frown.
He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.
“That—that can wait. We need to—”
“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”
Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—
“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”
Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.
…when did he get so comfortable?!
“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”
Your lips purse.
“I dunno. Being…” But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”
His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.
“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”
You sputter into your water.
“Baby?”
You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.
“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”
As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.
…asshole.
Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”
The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.
You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.
…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—
“Hey.”
Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.
“Are you… nervous?”
“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”
Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.
Fuck.
It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.
“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”
His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.
It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.
Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.
By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—
“…better?”
His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.
“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”
He smiles. “Sure.”
That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.
Oh…
He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.
Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…
Ten hours was a long time.
Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.
It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.
“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”
You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”
He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”
And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.
“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”
Later… yeah. Later.
But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.
So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.
Now.
“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"
“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”
The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.
Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.
“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.
No.
No, no, no.
“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"
It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.
…why the hell is she here?!
You were supposed to have more time—
“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”
Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”
The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.
Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.
…great.
Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.
“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”
She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.
Oh, right.
So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.
…good to know there's a line somewhere.
“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”
Your body goes rigid.
Oh no. Fuck no.
Anything but that.
Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.
“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”
Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…
“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”
…
Wait.
Did he just say Gojo?
As in—
Your boss’s family?!
No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.
Nothing comes out.
“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"
Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”
“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”
And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.
You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”
Fuck...
Get it together.
Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.
“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”
“—sorry ma’am, no.”
Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.
“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”
There’s a hitch in your breath
Oh.
So… you’re not invisible?
As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.
He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.
“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”
Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.
The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.
“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”
And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.
By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.
It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.
…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.
But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.
“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”
“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”
He blinks.
“Huh?”
Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.
“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”
Oh...
Right. That.
“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”
And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
Yours doesn’t move.
“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”
You don’t say it like a question.
…is it a question?
Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”
You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.
He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”
Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”
He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.
So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.
“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"
“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”
And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”
You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.
Damnit.
You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.
…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?
“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”
His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”
The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.
And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.
Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.
Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.
Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.
All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.
“Goodnight.”
You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.
…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!
With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—
“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.
“Making myself comfortable?”
…
That explains absolutely nothing.
Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”
“Yup. I do.”
He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.
Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”
Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.
“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”
And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.
For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.
“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.
You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.
…
Or trying to.
You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.
Ugh…
Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.
Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.
“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.
“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”
“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”
Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”
You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”
He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”
The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.
…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?
He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.
Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.
“Come up here,” you blurt.
…
Silence.
“Wait… huh?”
Your eyes squeeze shut.
As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.
“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”
…
He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.
“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”
You cover your face with a groan.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”
“—yes ma’am.”
He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.
…too still.
All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.
“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”
Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”
He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”
Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.
A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”
The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.
“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.
The mattress dips.
“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”
…
Fake.
Fake boyfriend.
The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…
“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”
He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”
“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.
You blink into the dark.
“Wait. Sorry… what?”
A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.
Is he… pouting?
The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”
Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.
“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.
“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.
As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.
Beautiful.
“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"
The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.
…yours.
And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.
But…
Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.
And his frown is instant.
“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”
The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.
His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”
“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”
“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...
Why?
Why does he have to look at you like that?
You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”
Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.
Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.
a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭
Summary: Heartbreak was something Gojo experienced for the first time at age six, when his best friend disappeared without so much as a goodbye. Twenty years later he had to kill his other best friend with his bare hands. No matter how far he travels, shadows from the past keep clinging to him. Imagine his surprise when one day he can feel something beneath one of those shadows.
Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Ten Shadows user!reader
Tags/Content Warnings: mdni/18+ only, alternating POVs, regret, denial, angst, hurt/comfort, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, rebuilding of trust, mentions of killing someone, a shit-ton of flashbacks, mutual masturbation, 69, unprotected P in V sex, breeding kink, creampies (obviously), pussydrunk Gojo, mating press, tummy bulging.
Word Count: 32.3k
A/N: dividers by @/pixopix and @/cafekitsune art by @/_3aem on x. I kinda got the timeline wrong, so I know technically Digimon wasn't a thing yet but details details. Slight whiplash near the end, you've been warned. Yes I did proofread it, but because it's so big I'm sure I missed some things. Hopefully you guys enjoy because it took me way too long to write this one. 🤍
Leaning against the fence, Gojo’s looking at the kids train—though it’s more like the second-years beating up the first-years.
Snow softly falls from the sky, casting the world in a blanket of white. Little flakes are clinging to his blindfold, hair and attire. He could turn on Infinity, not deal with the cold, wet spots they leave behind, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to feel this—the nostalgic feeling.
It bubbles up somewhere behind his ribcage, that feeling of loneliness. It’s always worse in winter. The snow a cruel, harsh reminder of what happened twice, two decades apart.
The first one being when he was merely six years old, snowflakes never touching his fluffy snow-white hair. He’d been playing outside with you just the day before—you, his best friend, that first love that he didn’t know was love back then, mistaking it for the feeling of the two of you just being close to one another.
He didn’t have anyone else back then, completely hidden from the world because he was the Gojo heir who inherited the Six Eyes. Banished to a life behind locked doors, away from people who might’ve wanted to hurt him.
That is until he found you one day, at merely three years old. You were playing with dolls—ripping off their little limbs and beheading them, giggling at the sight of what you’d done.
When you noticed him, you extended one of your still intact dolls. Didn’t look at him like he was something forbidden to touch. Didn’t scurry away like most of the others in this place—both adults as children alike—just extended a doll because that seemed normal to do.
He didn’t know where your parents were, nor cared to know. He was but three years old himself, but banished to such a lonely life only months after he was born, this seemed normal for him.
So he sat with you and started to play with you. You kept ripping up your dolls, doodling on them with crayons you got from god knows where (there were obvious chunks missing out of the crayons, and he had no doubt you actually ate them), and generally being messy.
Gojo, however, took a completely different route. He brushed the hair of the little dolls with the provided brush. It kept tangling and tugging at the synthetic fibers that was the dolls hair. But he wanted her to look pretty again, so he kept huffing and puffing trying to smooth out the hair. His little tongue sticking out in concentration.
The contrast between the two of you was stark. You were all chaos while he was the calm itself. The dolls a perfect representation.
The playing together was moreso done separately but in close proximity — parallel play is what he found out when he was older, was a term that described it the most. It’s also something he sought after when he was a teenager. The feeling of being alone was absolutely suffocating for him, so he always wanted to be with someone, even if they were doing something else.
After he’d finally untangled the dolls’ hair, he felt something soft and gritty on his arm. Looking down you were drawing on him. Laying on your stomach, little feet swinging in the air, tongue poking out of your mouth—much like his had been doing just moments before.
He’d blinked down at you, his tiny brain not fully computing that you were touching him—well, technically the crayon was, but whatever.
You were in your own world, drawing… what even was that? You had a brown crayon in your hand—his caregiver had praised him to the sky when he was able to correctly identify his colors—and were drawing a circle with little lines around it.
“What’s that?” he’d asked, blue eyes wide. Genuine.
Blinking up at him, you smiled for the first time. Tiny teeth on full display. “‘s the sun, silly!” you’d giggled at him, as if it was funny that he didn’t know.
Gojo’s white brows furrowed together. Confusion written all over his face. “The sun is yellow.” You’d merely shrugged at that, as if it didn’t matter.
“Now it’s green,” you simply said, continuing doodling on his arm as if he was a blank canvas for you to put your art onto.
“It’s not green, it’s brown,” he pointed out, little finger pointing at the—very obvious—brown crayon in your fist. Yes your entire fist is around the crayon.
You’re scowling at him now, like you’re offended by the fact that you were wrong about the color — not about the fact that items are supposed to have set colors — and that he did know it.
“Nuhuh,” you shook your head at him. “Yuhuh,” he countered.
There was a silent stare-off. Then you sneezed. One of those open-mouthed not bringing your hand up to your face to shield it type of sneezes. Wiping your nose with your sleeve you looked at him once more before continuing to doodle on his arm. This time a brown flower.
Well, okay then. Gojo picked up one of the other crayons— a blue one that kind of looked like his eyes, though his eyes had multiple shades of blue swirling in them. Not that his little mind was able to grasp that just yet. He just knew that his eyes were blue and so was this crayon.
He started doodling on your arm, a little dog. (It did not look like a dog.) The room silent except for the heavy breathing of the two of you and the occasional sound of the crayon on skin.
That was, until his caregiver found him—and you—sitting there like that. The gasp that she let out startled the both of you, little crayons making a line on skin that ruined the doodles the two of you were making on each other.
Looking over with wide eyes, both you and Satoru are met with the woman that’s taking care of him—not that you know that—while he’s here at the estate. Her expression turns from shock to confusion to barely contained anger real quick.
Her eyes scanning the room—the ruined dolls, limbs strewn everywhere, the intact dolls, and lastly how both you and Gojo were covered in crayon marks.
She stomps over then, Gojo thinking she was there to drag him back. He did kind of sneak away after all. But instead of going to him, she goes straight to you.
Grabbing you by the arm, she hauls you up to your feet. “You cannot touch the Six Eyes, young lady,” she scolds you. Your eyes welling up with big, fat tears. It’s quite clear you had no idea who Gojo was.
As the lady tries to haul you out of the room—muttering something under her breath about unsupervised children—Gojo tried to stop her. Planting his tiny body in front of the door he crossed his arms. It took the caregiver by surprise.
“What is it, Gojo-sama?” she questions, hand still tightly gripping your arm so you don't run off. Gojo huffs at the sight. He had only known you for approximately fifteen minutes—though it felt like an eternity at that point—but he’d already told himself you were his friend.
“She’ll stay here,” he stubbornly says, his foot stomping onto the tatami floor once for emphasis. You’d looked up at him then, fat tears still streaming down your face, nose running. But your eyes were so hopeful then.
And that’s how the three years of friendship begun, just you offering up your dolls for a stranger.
The two of you were always seen together whenever Gojo didn’t have training. Out in the garden either looking at flowers or stomping into small puddles resulting in the two of you getting scolded for getting yourselves dirty.
He’d learned you weren’t someone from the Gojo clan, but rather from a different, smaller clan. The day the two of you met you were at one of the Gojo estates because your parents were negotiating, but to this day he still hasn’t found out what.
The first winter spent together felt like a fairytale. It was snowing outside, making the entire garden white. You’d giggled at him and told him it was as white as his hair! (Yes, you finally knew your colors. He’d beamed at you when you finally started differentiating them.)
And it did. Pulling you outside the two of you ran around in the garden, the snow crunching under tiny feet, leaving behind small footprints.
At one point you’d collapsed onto your bum, pants getting wet from the melting snow under it. Not that you cared. Breathing hard since you were laughing the entire time.
Gojo sat down next to you, knees pulled up to his chest, staring ahead of him. But when he turned back to you, you were laying on the ground, moving your arms and legs.
“What’re you doin?” he asked, because why would you flail around in the snow? Looking over at him you smiled, “making a snow angel. Mama told me how to.”
Gojo followed soon after—he always did. Wherever you went, he went. Whatever you did, he did. Not always in the same way you did, take the dolls for example, but it was always just being together.
That year he had a lot of firsts. Making his first friend, which became his best friend. Playing—with dolls, toy-cars, just drawing. And making his first snow angel.
Two winters later it was snowing once again. It was his sixth birthday, and at the time he claimed he was aaalll grown up now! (He wasn’t, but he liked to tease you because ‘grown ups are tall, dummy. And since I’m taller than you, that makes me a grown up.’)
The day was filled with sweets, cake, and, of course, making snow angels together. There wasn’t really a birthday party for him—only you, your parents and his caregiver were there—but that didn’t matter to him as long as you were by his side.
You’d given him a Digivice. Maybe not completely suited for a six-year-old but you were only six yourself. Smiling at him, one of your front teeth missing. And you’d never looked more beautiful, but that of course was only because you were his bestest friend—and only, but alas.
Digimon was something you’d introduced him to on one of the play-dates. It was a rare occasion, because he was over at your house. Normally the two of you were at the Gojo estate.
Going up to your room you just had to show him something so cool! It was an manga about little creatures. And oh boy, did Gojo immediately fall in love with Digimon. It’s not like he got to do these types of things back at the estate, for the estate was cold. Everything was focused on him training and keeping away from others.
So you’d gotten him a Digivice. ‘A pet!’ you’d told him when he looked at it quizzically. then you dug around in your own pocket and pulled out a similar looking one. ‘So we can match’ you grinned at him. He grinned right back, two of his own teeth missing.
And you explained to him that he had to keep the pet alive and all the other quirks your mom told you about the little virtual pet.
He’d been so happy. Going to sleep with a smile on his face and the little device tucked right against his chest. That smile, however, vanished the next day.
The two of you had a play-date scheduled, which, honestly, was a daily occurrence at this point. But you never showed up. No call. No letter. No nothing.
When his caregiver rang your mothers phone, it immediately went to voicemail. Though he had frowned and felt sad, he didn’t think anything of it, simply waving it off as a one-time occurrence.
But one day turned into two turned into three turned into weeks, until, eventually, it was months since the last time he saw you. Winter had turned into spring which gradually turned into summer, but he hadn’t seen you even once.
You’d simply… vanished from his life. From the earth, it seemed. He’d thrown a tantrum one evening, missing you greatly. And his caregiver had asked around to see if anyone knew something, but it’s like you simply packed up your life and left.
Your house sat abandoned, neighbors having heard nothing about where you moved to nor were given any other ways of contact.
The only thing Gojo still had from you were a few drawings of the two of you together and his Digivice. He never once let the little pet die. Nurturing it to keep it alive.
Blinking away the snow that have fallen on his lashes, he sees Yuji laughing about something while Nobara is scolding him. A small smile forms on Gojo’s face. At least his kids are happy, that’s all he could ask for.
Feeling around in his pocket, he finds the familiar plastic device. He’d never gotten rid of it; keeping a part of you close to him despite disappearing. It never fails to put a smile on his face.
Winter used to be his favorite season, but he hates it now. Having lost both his best friends in winter. The first one being you, of course. Just disappearing. The second. Well… he swallows once, his eyes flitting to the side of the school.
It’s been only a year. Just one. Where he had to kill his only other friend—best friend.
The thought weighs heavily on his mind. The way Geto’s body just sagged to the side after he… Gojo shakes his head once, he can’t afford to think about it again.
So yeah. Now winter is his least favorite season. He also doesn’t really like summer, because that’s when Riko lost her life to Toji. Just one bullet. One kid. Fated to him.
He should’ve seen it then—the change in Geto. The way he started talking about non-sorcerers after that. But he didn’t, not until it was too late.
Swallowing once, he looks back at the kids. A full-blown snowball fight is going on now. Nobara is targeting Yuji, who runs away with incredible speeds. Toge is cheating by telling Panda to stop. Maki pelts a snowball at Panda at light speed.
Gojo winces when he sees the way Panda’s body gets flung across the courtyard. And Megumi… well Megumi is sitting in the snow, both of his dogs summoned. The black one laying next to him, head on its paws, while the white one is rolling through the snow.
A small, almost indiscernible smile forms on Megumi’s face, though he would deny it if someone brought it up, of course.
Gojo smiles down at the sight. This is how it’s supposed to be, the kids having fun, letting them be kids. Something he didn’t really get after you were gone from his life.
Nobara throws a snowball at Yuji, who dodges. She’s yelling at him to just stand still, not that Yuji would. He’s having too much fun running in laps around her. The white Divine Dog runs after the snowball. An innocent little wolf thing.
It prances toward the treeline. The forest that spans most of the Jujutsu High school. There should be nothing there, the veil from Tengen supposed to reject curses. But right there, a little further into the forest, he sees it—cursed energy.
That doesn’t make sense, though. No one is there. He doesn’t see someone standing. But still, there’s cursed energy right there, in the ground. Blinking, he rubs his eyes once. Maybe the snow is fucking with his sight. Six Eyes malfunctioning or something.
But once he focuses his eyes, it’s still there. It almost looks like someone is in the shadows, looking at him. And as if they can sense his gaze, it darts away, further into the forest.
Pushing himself off the railing he was leaned against, he teleports himself into the forest. There are trees everywhere, ground not fully covered with snow. The branches on the trees blanketed with snow, making shadows everywhere.
Looking around, he sees it, about 200 meters away, someone is running away from him. Hood up, clothes fully black. He quickly closes in on the person, they aren’t that fast after all. (Or maybe it has to do with the fact that he is fast. Eh, whatever.)
Grabbing the person by the shoulder, he tugs them to a stop. They try to wriggle out of his grasp without succession.
“Y’know, unless there’s new faculty I’m not aware of, you are not supposed to be here,” he says, voice still playful, but underneath he’s already calculating the risks. Someone who snuck onto the Jujutsu High grounds without anyone knowing. Hell, if he didn’t have Six Eyes he probably wouldn’t have known there was someone there.
The person doesn’t speak, just tries to get away from his grasp. Tightening his hold on their arm he tugs them back. The stranger stumbles back with a squeak of surprise, arms flailing slightly. It’s then that the hood falls from their face slightly.
Gojo sucks in a breath, because there’s no way. This is just his mind playing tricks on him. It just isn’t possible. A name falls from his lips before his brain even processes it—yours.
It makes the person still, no longer tugging to get away, just standing there, still not looking at him.
Releasing your arm, Gojo takes a step back. He shakes his head. There’s no way. It just simply isn’t possible. He’d searched for you everywhere. Looked into registries, looked if your name or face was somewhere, anywhere.
But you were never admitted to Jujutsu High—neither Tokyo nor Kyoto. Though if you were in Tokyo he would’ve known, obviously. There was no trace of you in the sorcerer world. He’d one day strolled into the headquarters. No one stopped him physically, but there were shouts of confusion. Not that he cared.
Going through the database he sought for you, but it seemed like you never became a sorcerer. All of his searches leading to a dead end. And that’s exactly what he thought you were—dead. Though his heart never wanted to believe it, his mind constantly whispered at him that that was the only logical explanation.
So how are you here, twenty-two years later, standing in front of him?
Does that also mean you never searched for him? Everyone knew who he was, after all. His name a beacon in the sorcerer world. And even if you weren’t in it, you still knew his name. So why is it that you’re only here now, and not earlier—preferably years earlier.
There are so many thoughts running through his mind, but they get cut off when you whisper. “You weren’t supposed to see me.”
That gets a laugh out of him. Surprised. Bitter. Heartbroken. Angry. All these feelings tangling up inside of him to a point he doesn’t know how to differentiate them from one another.
“Weren’t supposed to see you, so what, you just—” he gestures with his hand wildly, “sneak up on people. Watch them from a distance and then leave again?”
You turn your face even further from him, to the point where he’s looking at the back of your head, half of your hair visible, the rest still covered by the hood that’s half up.
“Kinda,” you shrug at him, as if that isn’t weird. Creepy even. Because why would you just watch. God he missed you. Yearned for the moment you would just step back into his life. He would let you in without a second thought.
He remembers the way he would grip his Digivice in his hands at different stages in his life. Always wishing you could be there with him, like you were when the two of you were kids. He missed you in every stage of his life.
When he was a kid, lonely in the Gojo estate. He avoided the rooms the two of you frequently were in, the thought of you not being there with him hurt him too much. Despite that, he still peeked inside, just to see if you really weren’t there. Always clinging to a tiny bit of hope that he’d dreamed you leaving him. But the room always stayed empty.
When he was a teenager, he’d learned to accept that you simply were gone. That didn’t mean he didn’t look at empty places whenever he was with his friends—Geto, Shoko, Nanami and Haibara—just to imagine you were there with him. Laughing at the dumb jokes he made with Geto. Probably annoying the shit out of Nanami.
Because you were chaos. Beautifully destructive in the way only you seemed to be. And he knew that would push Nanami’s buttons.
You’d probably love Haibara in the way one does a little brother or sister. Naturally drawn to the innocent smiles of the guy, only to trip him up when he wasn’t looking. The way you sometimes did when Gojo did something you disliked.
But you were never there with them. In his mind you would always be six years old. A tiny thing compared to how tall he grew up to be. He really did look like an adult with the way he was towering over everyone.
And he’d tease you for your height, because surely you wouldn’t be taller than he was. You’d scowl at him, poke him in the chest. Probably eat all of his sweets just to spite him. He would let you, of course. He always shared his sweets with you when he was younger, even if they were the last ones.
He’d think about how you wouldn’t look at him like he was a god or a weapon, but simply just Gojo Satoru, the boy he was when he was with you. How you wouldn’t abandon him to shoulder all of the responsibilities of the Jujutsu world.
But that’s exactly what you did, didn’t you? You had abandoned him without even a second thought. Didn’t tell him anything, just simply vanished to the point he thought you were dead.
And now here you are, telling him you prefer to look at people from distances in a way that they didn’t even know they were being watched.
“You didn’t notice before—” you start, but he cuts you off.
“Look at me when you talk to me,” he demands. Voice low. No longer playful. And he’s refraining himself from shouting at you. You didn’t notice before. So you have done it before.
He can see you take in a deep breath before turning around. And this time, Gojo can see your entire face. Can see the way you’ve grown from how you looked when you were younger. How the years have shaped you. Sculpted you into who you are right now.
It knocks the breath right out of him. All your baby fat is gone—obviously it is. Still, you look like you. The little kid he remembers.
“You just… didn’t notice before,” you swallow your words at the end. His blue eyes piercing yours, the same ones as when you were younger. It almost seems like he’s trying to stare through your soul.
There are so many questions running rampant in his head. How many times have you spied on him. Why were you just looking at him? Trying to sell information? When did it start? Does this mean you didn’t miss him? Why not just walk up to him?
And he thinks back to all the times he had the feeling that he was being watched. But by the time he turned around, nothing was there. Just now it looked like you were underneath the ground. In the shadows.
…In the shadows. Surely not.
He can feel all the cursed energy signatures from the kids on the field. Can feel the way they’re shaped, when they get used. And more importantly, he can feel one particular Cursed Energy signature. Megumi’s.
The one that uses shadows. The one that produces shikigami from shadows, that can store things in shadows, that can hide in shadows.
But that can’t be. Ten Shadows is a hereditary technique from the Zen’in clan. Neither your mom nor dad are from the clan, so surely it can’t be that.
Still, looking at you, he can see the way your CE flows. Can deduct the way your CT works. And his Eyes don’t lie to him, never have.
His jaw sets before he grabs you by the arm once more. Sees the way your brows furrow. You open your mouth—probably to ask what he’s doing—when Gojo teleports the two of you away.
The room he teleports to is familiar to him, unfortunately. Dimly lit by multiple candles and thousands of talismans spanning the walls of the room. He pushes you onto the chair without a second thought.
“Wait, Satoru what—”
“You have no right to call me that,” he speaks in a low voice. He hates how his heart rate picks up. How it makes his heart skip a beat.
You always called him that when the two of you were younger. Not Gojo. Not Gojo-sama. Just… Satoru. And it had made him happy back then, because you were the only one who called him by his name. Though it was always more of a ‘S’toru’, he didn’t mind.
Oh, and lets not forget when you started calling him ‘Toru just before his sixth birthday. It made his chest constrict in a way it hadn’t before. Made his cheeks warm up—though they did that often when you were around—which made him turn away from you.
Tying the ropes around your arms, he steps back slightly. The snowflakes are now fully melted, dampening the fabrics of his jacket and pants. Walking to the other chair in the room, he hears you struggling against the bindings.
“Seriously, what is this,” you ask now, a bit more agitated. Gojo just hums, pulling the black blindfold out of his pocket and putting it on. A deliberate act on his part.
When the two of you were kids you loved his eyes. Not in the way most people loved it.
You didn’t look at them like they represented power. No you rather just looked at them with the innocence of a kid who likes a color. ‘It’s like watercolor spilled into your eyes!’ you’d giggled at him then, watching the different shades of blue swirl around in his irises.
Always fascinated with his eyes, you, beautifully chaotic you, just grabbed his face and tilted his head in this and that way just so you could examine the colors. Like he was a mere toy you were playing with.
You loved his eyes the way you loved all of him, from the way his hair was white—though most people’s hair was white within the Gojo clan. Not that you cared, you only had eyes for him—to the way his eyes were impossible shades of blue and the way he smiled, even when he started losing some of his baby teeth.
Sitting down onto the chair, Gojo leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. He watched you squirm around a bit.
“Sa— Gojo why did you bring me here?” you ask once again.
He sighs then. “Why are you here?" he asks. And he wants to ask more, of course he does, but that’s not something that’s going to happen right now.
“I- what?” you falter, sitting completely still now.
“Why are you here?” he repeats. And you blink up at him, the same way you did when you were younger. It makes his heart hurt so incredibly much.
“Just wanted to see you,” you mumble, eyes casting off to the side.
The words echo around in his mind. Just wanted to see you; Just wanted to see me??? You had twenty-two years to do so. Gojo scoffs, “sure you did. Just tell the truth. Who sent you?”
Your head whips back to where he’s sitting. “Sent me? No one sent me, Gojo. Why would anyone send me here?”
“Well, why don’t you tell me. You just told me you spy on people from a distance,” he replies, voice growing agitated.
You bite your cheek, swallow once before looking up at him again. “Not a great way to start the conversation, huh?” you whisper.
It isn’t. Definitely isn’t. That is something people who get sent out on missions say. Stalk the person, prey on them, learn their patterns before striking.
Rubbing a hand over his face he stifles a groan. He should let someone else examine you. Knows he’s too close to you to properly do ‘his job’. But what would he even say?
‘Hey my childhood bestfriend was watching me from the shadows. What— ah yeah, guess I never told you guys about her. Anyway I haven’t spoken to her in two decades so it’s shady as fuck that she infiltrated the school.’
Yeah, no, not happening.
So instead he continues, despite the way his heart wants to crawl out of his ribcage. Present itself to you in the way it has yearned to these past few years. Spilling onto the concrete floor along with the feelings he’s held for you for so long.
“Then why are you here now,” he asks once again, in hopes you’d give him a different answer. One that satiates the voice in his mind, whispering that this is all a setup. To lure him in.
“I already told you, I wanted to see you,” you struggle a bit against the ropes binding you to the chair once again. There’s faint desperation creeping into your voice. The same way it did when you were younger. When Gojo accidentally broke something—it happens, the two of you were kids after all—but somehow you always got blamed. No matter how much you tried to convince that it was Satoru who broke it.
“Sure. Okay lets go with that,” he starts, voice full of doubt and mistrust, “why now? Why more than two decades later?”
He sees the way you swallow. Sees the way you can’t quite look him in the eye—well, blindfold. Same thing, really.
“I heard what happened last year,” you whisper. And his heart that was previously beating so fast fucking stops in its tracks. Last year.
Vivid images burn through his retinas before he can stop them. The thousands of curses. The curse users. The people who got wounded. His ‘kids’ almost all dying. The face Geto made before… yeah.
His jaw sets. Grinding his molars together to keep from snapping. To bark out what about last year made you finally want to show up after twenty years. Twenty years of loss, grief, heartbreak and all other sorts of feelings he’s had.
“Just wanted to see if you were doing okay.” you finish. And that, more than anything, pisses him off. If he was doing okay? No, he wasn’t doing ‘okay’, he was far from okay as could be. Both his best friends disappeared out of his life. He’s been lonely for most of it, even if there were people around him.
People could just never understand what he went through. What gets expected of him for simply being born with a trait that gets praised as if he’s a god. They often forget that he’s a human being, with human feelings—that get neglected to hell and back.
He’s no god. He, too, needs sleep like normal people. But alas, the higher-ups send him to missions one after another like he doesn’t need rest. Like he isn’t some guy that sometimes yearns to be understood.
But he does what they ask of him anyway. Goes to every single mission. Loses out on sleep. Loses out on the fact that he doesn’t really have an identity of his own anymore. It’s just molded to fit into the expectations that were placed upon him.
That, however, doesn’t mean he doesn’t try to have something of his own. In a way he adapted your chaotic little self into himself, just a little. It made it easier, not letting people see the side of him that made him feel vulnerable. Stripped down to his bare self, where he looks out over the Tokyo skyline and wishes that he wasn’t Gojo Satoru, even for just a few minutes.
So no, he isn’t doing okay. He hasn’t been. Not since you left. And yes, sure, he thought he was okay when he met Geto. But that, just like everything else in his life, didn’t last long.
Now he just drowns himself in sweets whenever possible. What was once a love for him, back when the two of you were just kids, is now a coping mechanism.
He’d read once, somewhere on a forum, that eating sweets constantly could be due to psychological factors rather than him just having a sweet-tooth. He’d skimmed it briefly, but he remembers enough that counts; The brain craving sweetness because it’s stressed. The fact that foods, especially sugary ones, temporarily raise serotonin and dopamine levels in the brain can make you addicted… or something like that anyway.
“I haven’t been okay,” it comes out harsher than he meant to, a crack starting to form in his composure. You flinch at the tone slightly, eyes downcast.
“Right, yeah no, of course not,” you mumble, still not meeting his eye. He can see the way your fingers are fiddling with each other behind your back, the same, tiny movement you always did when you were younger.
The silence hangs awkwardly in the air. He doesn’t quite know how to continue, and neither do you by the way you sometimes open and close your mouth.
“You know I didn’t want to leave, right?” you whisper, and it sounds true. He wants it to be true, so fucking badly. But how can he believe you when you never reached out even once. You knew he was alive, he is The Strongest after all. His death would be a grand thing within the Jujutsu world. But then again, were you even in that world?
“Then why did you?” he asks, keeping his voice steady to not show any inner turmoil. You look up again, the candles casting soft amber lighting on your face. And you look so earnestly.
“I- where do I even begin?” your hands are still fiddling behind you. And it must be torture, because he know, he knows how expressive you are with them.
Whenever you told stories, you didn’t just tell them with your voice, you used your hands. Like, a lot. Sometimes they added things to the story, visual cues almost, while other times they were just flailing around because you were so happy.
Satoru had to always dodge your hands—having been smacked with them on multiple occasions before he learned that lesson.
“At the start,” he replies. And you laugh at that. A self-deprecating little thing. Swallowing you open your mouth once more.
“The day after your birthday I got woken up by dad,” you begin, and the images immediately flood your mind. You’d clutched your little matching Digivice to your chest when you went to bed. A small smile gracing your face, because ‘Toru was so happy with his gift.'
The dream you had was you and Satoru running around inside the Digimon universe. Little creatures left and right. It was like you were transported into the manga. And god, the smile on Satoru’s face was priceless. His gap showing from where his first baby-tooth had fallen out.
The dream was full of colors and little creatures. Which is why you woke up with a gasp when your father had shaken you awake, voice panicked. He told you that you guys ‘had to go’. There was no further explanation, just him and your mom running around the house, collecting essential items.
You’d gotten out of bed, rubbing your eye with one palm while the other still clutched the Digivice. Your pajama pants had ridden up, one pant leg above your knee while the other was shoved somewhere half over your shin.
“He was in a rush, like pulling me out of bed and telling me to get in the car.”
“What’s going on?” you asked your parents, but neither really had an answer. All you were met with was ‘we just gotta go somewhere else for a little while, sweetie’ and you didn’t understand. Didn’t understand why your dad picked you up and almost sprinted to the car. Didn’t understand why only the essentials were being grabbed.
All you knew was that you had a play-date with Satoru later that day. “Okay. But we’ll be back in time for Satoru, right?”
Your parents had shared a glance between each other. One that you now know said how are we going to explain to her that she won’t get to see her best friend anymore?
“After that we drove off to an airport. Got onto a plane to some foreign country in Europe and completely left behind the life we had built here.”
You’d fallen asleep in the car, the gentle rocking of the car lulling you to sleep quite quick. When you woke up, you were in your dads arms. But more importantly, you weren’t in the car anymore. No you were somewhere crowded.
Suitcases everywhere, overhead speakers crackling to life. Some people panicking while others were sitting and staring ahead of them. There were tiny shops everywhere.
“I didn’t understand at the time,” you smile bitterly thinking back on how child you sat on a plane, looking out the window in awe. You’d whispered to your parents how you wished one day Satoru was able to see the world from above the clouds as well. “That I wouldn’t see you for the next twenty-two years.”
The silence hangs in the air after that. Heavy. Awkward. And you wish you could just sink back into the darkness. Maybe you shouldn’t have come back. It was selfish on your part. While it wasn’t your decision to move away, it was to enter his life again— though obviously this wasn’t your intention.
Gojo looks at you. Really looks. Looks at the way you’re picking at your cuticles behind your back. Arms still tied. At your eyes. At the way you didn’t look away even once. And he doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know if he should trust you or not.
“So why did you guys leave?” he asks, because that’s something you haven’t told him. Though he could probably guess.
You pull your knees up to your chest. The position is awkward. Knees pulled up to your chest, arms bound behind you. But you don’t care. Biting on your lip you finally look away from his face.
“They found out I was a Zen’in, I guess,” you shrug, as if it’s something normal to say. As if it doesn’t go against everything he believed in since he was three years old.
He remembers your house. It was a normal house. Not one from the Zen’in clan. Your mother and father never saying anything about being a Zen’in, either. He remembers them, too. Your mother with gentle eyes and careful hands while your father was more strict, but never around enough to really know him.
Gojo’s eyes narrow behind his blindfold. “A Zen’in, huh?”
You nod your head. “Yeah, uh… Dad apparently isn’t my biological dad. It was one of the Zen’in clan members. Mom never told me the whole story, but I do know dad killed the guy. So… yeah, I dunno, guess they found us or something.”
That, honestly, doesn’t tell him a lot. But at the same time it explains almost everything. “So that’s why you inherited the technique.”
Your head snaps back toward his, eyes wide with panic. “What?” you whisper, voice trembling slightly. It makes him snort. How do you not realise he knew. “Whole hiding in the shadows was a thing, but in case you forgot, I’m the Six Eyes bearer.”
It’s not a gloat. He’s merely stating a fact. Making you realise what you’re actually dealing with. And before you can even open your mouth, he’s already behind you. Fiddling with the ropes infused with hundreds of talisman.
Maybe he’ll regret this decision, because he still isn’t sure if he can completely trust you, but guess that’s something he’ll find out soon enough.
Letting the ropes fall, he steps back. You immediately begin rolling your wrists, bring them up to your face with a slight scowl. They’re red from where the ropes were cutting into your skin. Huffing you begin rubbing them, soothing motions to get rid of the irritation.
“Well then. c’mon, show me,” Gojo taps his foot against the foot of your chair. A bit of impatience shining through. Because, yeah, he is curious as to what you can do. Swiveling in your chair you look up at him. “Show you what?”
“One of the Shikigami, duh, you have the dogs right? Every user has the dogs,” he says while bringing his hands behind his head. He walks back over to where his chair stands—right across from yours.
You grumble something under your breath, before lifting your hands in that all-too-familiar motion Megumi always makes. Two dogs form from the shadows. One black, the other white. Almost identical to Megumi’s.
The black one sits down, tongue lolling out of its maw. It doesn’t move, just sits there. Golden eyes trained on him, probably to assess if he’s a threat or not. (He isn’t… not really.)
The white one, however, is the one that shocks Gojo a bit more. It immediately runs a lap around your chair. Chaos all around. You snap your fingers once and point toward a spot next to your chair. The dog immediately trots over and just lets itself fall onto the ground.
Then it shifts it’s eyes toward Gojo, and he has to blink. Once. Twice. Because he’s staring right into blue eyes. That isn’t something he’s seen before. Not that he has much experience with Ten Shadows shikigami from the past— he only has Megumi as an example.
Megumi’s divine dogs both had yellow eyes. Your black one does, too. But the white one is… different. The blue eyes almost seem… seem like they have watercolor spilled into them . Like he’s staring at himself in dog form.
“You noticed, huh?” you mumble, hand coming down to card through its fur. The wolf lets out a happy little noise before it rolls onto its side, paws in the air, presenting its tummy toward you. It pulls out a small laugh from you.
And the sound almost makes him want to wrap his arms around you and laugh with you. Or cry. He’s not sure which of the two. He does know you seem less… chaotic like this. Toned down. You were loud as a kid— chaotic, not afraid to express yourself.
“They came to me two weeks after we moved,” your hands are still rubbing the wolfs belly. Its tail making soft swishing sounds on the ground, completely content with how you’re petting it. “The black one just… sat there, as if it was keeping watch. But this little one over here—” you nod toward the white wolf “—trotted up to me and licked my face.”
That gets a small huff out of Gojo, because he can already see it. You sitting on your bed, wide-eyed because you got two wolves in your house, and one just licked your face.
You always had a thing for animals when you were younger. Chasing after butterflies, petting dogs, feeding stray kittens. You once pulled him toward one of the Koi ponds in the Gojo estate, completely happy that they even had one. You sat there for hours on end, just playing with the Koi.
The wolf suddenly stills. Sniffs the air, its black nose twitching and glistening under the amber lighting and then rolls back over, paws underneath it now.
It pushes itself up, stretching, shaking its fur—before walking over to where Gojo is sitting. He stays there, looking into the blue eyes that almost reflect his.
The wolf tilts its head at him, as if it recognizes him. It shouldn’t be able to, since Gojo has never met them before, but something in his chest pulls as the wolf stalks forward, head dipping lower, eyes narrowing in on him.
Gojo instinctively strengthens his infinity. It was already on, it always is, but he has to keep it up with you around. Years of separation apparently do nothing to his heart, whispering to his cursed technique that you’re not dangerous.
The wolf sniffs once more, before it walks back toward you, stands in front of you like some sort of guard dog. And technically it is. But it is clear that right now you’re not commanding the dogs, this is their own free will.
It lowers itself slightly before baring its fangs, glinting in the soft candlelight like a threat. Next comes the growl, a low thing. It comes deep from its chest. Why it decided that Gojo is something to growl at is something he himself questions.
He can see the way you stiffen on your chair, eyes widening in pure disbelief. As if the wolf has never done that before, or maybe it has. Whatever it is, it doesn’t prepare his heart for what comes next.
“Toru stop that,” you scold the wolf. The growl dying out as if you blew out all the candles in the room. The only sound left is breathing and the soft whisper of fire in the air.
Not that Satoru can focus on that. All his mind can focus on is what you just said. Toru stop that. Toru, toru, toru— it loops in his head like a broken record. And it makes his stomach churn, because there is no way you called your shikigami after him.
Not after everything. The twenty-two years of silence; ten years of thinking you were dead. And here you are, with the Ten Shadows technique, telling him your dad isn’t your bio dad, and letting it slip that your shikigami is named after him.
“You named him?” his voice feels thin, like his vocal cords were stretched taut, a moment before snapping. And that’s all he wants to do—snap at you. Tell you you can not do this to him.
He remembers all the times he sat in the dark, looking at his Digivice, and hoping you were thinking about him as well. The soft, blue glow illuminating his face in the dark, casting soft shadows across his face.
He remembers wishing to something—anything—to bring you back to him. To bring back his best friend, because you were his joy. His chaos. His.
You look up from where you’re scolding the dog, who is now looking at you with puppy eyes, whining slightly. The black dog presses its wet, shiny nose into your side. Maybe to stop you from scolding its sibling, maybe to calm you down.
“Not exactly,” you say sheepishly. There’s a faint flush on your cheekbones, as if you’re embarrassed about it. “I uhh, well.. I used to cry at night thinking about you, whispering to myself that I would one day come back to you, and well… I used your name. Like. A lot. I guess the dog heard because every time I whispered your name—just not to forget it—he responded. Well… not to ‘Satoru’ but he would listen to ‘Toru’.”
the entire story makes his chest ache. Makes him realise that you really did not want to leave him behind. And maybe, just maybe, you really are here for him. Not because someone sent you, but because you wanted to be. Because you missed him.
It makes his chest flutter, ascending toward the sky, and it almost feels like he has to grab it and pull it back. It feels like a high after having a low for so long.
“That’s… unusual,” he voices, as if you don’t know that already. As if they aren’t your dogs. Your technique. You nod at him, just once.
“I don’t understand one thing though,” the little thought keeps nagging at the back of his mind, like a little demon whispering in his ear. Do not trust her. She’s not the same. “Why only now if you missed me so much?”
Your eyes change, too many emotions running through them for him to decipher all of them. But there’s one that’s bright and clear. Sadness.
Huffing out a self-deprecating laugh, you look away from him and start carding your fingers through both wolves mane, they lay their heads onto your lap, tails stilling, ears flat against their head. You mumble something under your breath. Something so soft, he can’t hear it.
“What was that?” he leans forward, tugs his blindfold up just a little, as if that can make him hear better. You mumble it again, a bit louder this time. While he still doesn’t catch all of it, he can make up most of it.
“Didn’t think you’d want me around.”
And that, more than anything, breaks his heart. You thought he didn’t want you around? Didn’t mourn his best friend leaving him all alone in that giant, mindless estate to grow up under the scrutiny of every gaze he received.
Of course he would want you around, keep you close to him, so close that you couldn’t leave him again. Couldn’t let his mind fester on all the nasty thoughts that run rampant through his mind once he’s alone—in his office, his apartment, on mission.
No he would keep you close. Pull you in, wanting to let his soul fuse with yours, to make sure you couldn’t leave him again. He’d set up his guest bedroom for you to stay in, just so he knows you’re there. Would talk to you about everything that went down from the moment you left.
He wants to lay his head in your lap, staring up at you while you tell your wild dreams to him the same way you used to—gesturing wildly, eyes bright and shining, carding your fingers through his hair absentmindedly.
Would finally bake sweets with you, the way you two promised to when you were younger. Set up a bakery; Is that still something you want to do?
He remembers it like it was yesterday. The two of you had stolen some sweets from the kitchen, cheeks full, laughs bubbling up in your throats while Satoru grabbed your hand with sticky, powdered fingers and began running.
You laughed at him, telling him to shhhhhh, your other hand coming up to your face, finger pressing over your lips, like you yourself weren’t full on giggling. It was the heist after all. The sweet, sweet promise of mochi was something the two of you couldn’t resist.
He’d overheard it from one of the estate maids, that there was an important meeting between clan-heads later that day. Not that he remembered that part, no his five-year-old self wasn’t quite interested in grown-up business.
His ears perked up when he heard about all the things that would get prepared for it. Most importantly, mochi. It was a delicacy you and Satoru enjoyed all too much, to a point where multiple grown-ups were scolding the two of you for eating so much, too much, of them in one sitting.
The sugar-high the two of you were on after that could only be described as destructive chaos. The maids looking on in horror as you and Satoru almost destroyed the playroom. So yeah, the two of you had been banned from eating sweets.
But when he heard the words self-made mochi fall from the servants lips, he instantly formed a thought in his head. One he was sure you also would enjoy.
So when you came over later that day, he told you about all the things he heard. That the chef would be making mochi along with other things. And the way your eyes lit up made it known to him that his plan was something you’d enjoy as well.
The two of you snuck into the giant kitchen, giggling, tiptoeing and telling the other to be quiet despite not being quiet themselves. And there, right on the counter, was a plate of what felt like a forbidden fruit.
Satoru and you looked around the kitchen once more before both grabbing multiple of the sweets, before stuffing your faces, cheeks bulging with how many the two of you ate at once. You’d pointed and laughed at him, garbling something incoherent.
He giggled as well, liking the way you looked so cute. Like you were a little hamster stuffing your cheeks with food before it burrows itself for the winter. Not that he would say that to you.
And then the two of you heard it—footsteps. They were coming down the corridor, slow and heavy. Not one of the caretakers, but it could very well be one of the chefs, coming to look for the sweets. The giggling instantly stopped. Looking at each other with wide eyes, Satoru grabbed your hand before pulling you with him.
Later, back in the playroom, when the sweets were finally fully eaten you’d flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. Satoru was drawing on your arm again—just like he did the first time the two of you met.
You’d hummed then, head lolling to the side where he was sitting. Your hair falling like a curtain over your eyes. “Hey S’toru?” you asked. He’d hummed, tongue peeking slightly from between his lips while concentrating on the drawing.
“What if we became chefs when we’re older?” That certainly grabbed his attention, crayon stilling on your arm, his eyes finding yours. He thought it over a few times, becoming chefs means you could make aaaanything in the world!
So he quickly nodded his head, the idea sounding sweet in his mind. And you’d smiled at him, nose scrunching up slightly.
“And— and we could be like, chefs that only make sweets!” you exclaim, eyes lighting up at the idea. Because that’s something the both of you absolutely love. Having a sweet-tooth yourself, you always indulged into his cravings.
“I will buy us a house with a big kitchen,” Satoru adds, because that means the two of you could always be together. Not having time limits for playdates anymore, but rather making up your own time. Being able to be together wheneeeverrr he wanted?
That sounded like a dream come true to him. He can already imagine it, a big house with a big kitchen where the two of you are making sweets together, laughing. You’d probably get distracted, the kitchen messy, like a whirlwind went through it.
Blinking the memory away he looks at you. You’re still not looking at him, the flush on your cheeks now going down to your neck. “Of course I would still want you around,” he says, incredulous.
That’s when you finally look at him. Brows furrowing slightly, because you’re not sure if he really means that or if he just says that to be nice. Even though you know he doesn't have any reason to be nice to you. You left him behind twenty-two years ago.
“Really?” it’s barely above a whisper, your heart clinging onto that last small part of hope. Because you want to believe him, really you do, but it’s so hard when you’ve convinced yourself that he didn’t want you in his life. Didn’t need you.
When you were fourteen you begged your parents to go back to Japan. Asked them why you couldn’t just go to Jujutsu High, surely they wouldn’t kill a teenager. But they always told you that they couldn’t do that. Didn’t want to bet on the uncertainties that brought with them.
Because what if the Zen’in clan went after your father for killing a Zen’in. They’re revengeful people your mother had whispered one evening.
What if they didn’t just go after your father, but after your entire family?
What if, god forbid, they would drag you back to the Zen’in clan because you’d inherited the clans’ technique.
So they never went back to Japan, rather staying far, far away from that country. And it made your heart hurt so incredibly much. Because you just wanted to see Satoru, even if he didn’t want to have anything to do with you. You’d take the fact that you could just be close to him as a win.
That’s all you wanted, after all. Get your best friend back. Here, the place that’s now supposed to be home, you have no friends. Never bothered to make any. No one could replace that one boy that had hair like snow and eyes like sea glass.
So you spent your days in isolation, woke up, went to school, got home, did homework, went to sleep. And the cycle repeated. You of course had your dogs to keep you company. Didn’t mind that they drained your cursed energy—it’s not like you used it otherwise anyway.
That’s one thing your parents made very clear to you; under no circumstances would you ever become a sorcerer. While in Japan the sorcerer population was the highest, that didn’t mean that there weren’t any here. There were, just not as many.
That, however, didn’t mean you didn’t tame some more shikigami, even if you never used them. Just having them reassured you to no end. Because god forbid you came across a curse one day that was too high of a grade for your demon dogs to take out and you didn’t have anything else.
Yeah, no. So you tamed other Shikigami. You have almost all of them now, obviously aside from Mahoraga. But you don’t mind that too much, you wouldn’t be able to tame him anyway.
Once you were eighteen you were a legal adult. Moved out of your home, got a job, and started college. The thought of returning to Japan, alone, drifted through your mind more often than you were willing to admit.
But by the time you even had money to visit Japan, you were already twenty-two. And the thoughts started to plague you. What if he didn’t want to see you— or worse, didn’t remember who you were.
All this time you’d been hoping to reunite with your best friend, but what if said best friend didn’t even remember you. What if he would just walk right past you. He’s a busy man after all. Word travels, and even the name of Satoru Gojo was whispered here.
The Strongest. The Six Eyes bearer.
And suddenly you were afraid. What if he did remember you, but resented you for leaving him all those years ago. Condemned to an isolated life away from society just to keep him safe. One you yourself curated because you couldn’t bear the thought of spending your life with someone other than him.
It’s silly, it really is. Holding one to such high regard when the two of you were mere kids. Only knowing each other for 3 years. But you still remember the promises the two of you made. Broken. All of them.
“I pinky promise to never leave you behind.”
“Pinky promise to become chefs.”
“Pinky promise that you’ll always be my best friend!”
So you stayed. Never returned to Japan, even if you wanted to so badly. He was Satoru Gojo after all. You’re sure he has a good life, lots of people around him who cherish him, who didn’t go back on their promises.
Until that one fated night, just after Christmas. Word had somehow traveled in the sorcerer world that more than a thousand curses had been released. Something about a cult leader. And, of course, Gojo’s name falling from everyone's lips like they were praising him.
That’s when you decided to go to Japan, even if it was only for a month. But you didn’t have the necessary funds, so it had to postponed.
“Why wouldn’t I want you around?” he asks, genuinely confused. It makes you swallow, once, twice, before forcing the answer out. “I just thought you didn’t need me anymore. We were only kids back then—”
“So? That doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you almost every day for the past twenty-two years,” he cuts you off.
And it hits you with full force. The fact that he did want you around. That you could’ve came back six years ago. Could’ve searched for him.
“Oh…” you whisper. Because what else can you say? How can you tell the guy that just told you he thought of you almost every day since you left that you wanted to come back earlier. That you had the funds to do so, but thought better of it. Thought he didn’t want you around anymore, so you didn’t come back.
How do you tell someone that it was your own insecurities that held you back from seeing him again.
You don’t have time to think about that, because the white divine dog —Toru—whines and nuzzles more into your palm. His nose wet against the palm of your hand. The cold, wetness snaps you out of your thoughts and make you look down at the two dogs.
Toru was always chaos incarnate. He would steal snacks from counter tops, eat food like he didn’t eat curses for a living—well he was supposed to, anyway. But maybe that was just it. Since you didn’t fight curses, it had an appetite of its own. One that involved sugary snacks and sugar highs a few minutes later.
You’d gotten loads of noise complaints from your neighbors about the dogs being loud—which was quite unfair to the black dog, Kuroo, as you named her. Kuroo was calm, almost lazy. Her golden eyes full of scrutiny, narrowing in on her brother when he, once again, was running around the tiny apartment.
Toru had a habit of knocking things over with its tail when he was running around. You can’t count the countless of items he’d knocked over over the years of living with him. He always looked apologetic when he did so, though, so you couldn’t be too mad at him.
Especially not when he looked at you with those eyes. They weren’t just the classic puppy dog eyes every dog seemed to master. No it was the fact that they were so incredibly blue, it made you think of a certain someone back in Japan. Someone you never seemed to be able to get mad at, no matter what he did.
So each time you sighed, told Toru it was okay and petted his head. Toru, in turn, barked at you, tail wildly swishing on the ground. It always made Kuroo huff out a breath through her nose as if scrutinizing you for once again not scolding her brother.
So yes, Toru was loud and chaos incarnate—and maybe an incarnation of your best friend in shikigami form—while Kuroo was the calm herself. Just laying around, soaking up the sun in her black fur while watching Toru sneak food from you when you weren’t watching.
The noise complaints never stopped. But every time the landlord came over to look at the said dogs, there weren’t any. And you were damn lucky he wasn’t a window, because how else would you explain the dogs that couldn’t be seen by others.
The landlord had told the residents that put in complaints to stop because clearly there weren’t any dogs in your apartment. It caused quite a tiff with you and some of the building residents, because they swear they could sometimes hear dogs bark or run around in your apartment. And it’s true, they did do that, just not normal dogs.
They have been with you all your life, summoned wherever you could; mostly at home. Your mom, at first, said you shouldn’t do that. Back then she hadn’t explained why you even moved to a different country—hell, to a different continent. So you shook your head and told her that you wanted to keep the puppies.
Because they were puppies back then. Small…well, for the dogs that they are now, for your child self they were quite big—yipping in a high pitch that lowered over the years, and tiny paws. They were, quite honestly, adorable.
Your mother told you that you couldn’t afford to raise the puppies. They would need food, and drinks, and to be walked outside every day, multiple times a day, even when you wanted to sleep. Puppies were very high demanding things, after all.
All of that was true, to an extent. If they were real puppies, all those things would’ve applied to them, but they weren’t ‘real’. Shadow constructs were just that. Shadows. Even though they yipped, played and felt real, they weren’t.
Which meant that they didn’t need actual food. Didn’t need to go outside to do their business. Didn’t need to play—though Toru did love to play, running around your room, stealing socks, pants, toys; anything he could get his paws on.
And your six year old self felt pretty smug once you found that out. Almost gloating to her how you didn’t need to do all of that, since the puppies didn’t need it.
You felt less smug a day later, when the puppies disappeared. You had no idea how you called the dogs on in the first place—didn’t even know it was you who summoned the dogs in the first place—so you were confused as to where they had gone.
That’s when your father finally stepped in and told you about a few things of the sorcerer world. Not everything, but just enough so that you didn’t have any more questions. He told you about the dogs, why they were there, and why they were gone.
Six year old you looked up at him with big eyes while he carefully explained the shadow puppies to you and cursed energy. That was something you apparently needed to summon the shadow puppies, which ran out the longer you had them summoned.
It made you quite sad. The puppies did kind of distract you from the fact that your best friend was currently thousands of kilometers away, even if only for a day. But you were happy when you could summon the puppies again a few days later.
So they were always with you, just like how they’re with you now. Toru’s wet nose pressed against your palm and Kuroo simply having her head on your lap.
Satoru is still staring at you like he expects you to say something—anything, probably. You haven’t said anything after your little whispered ‘oh’. So maybe you should say something.
“I thought of you too,” you reply, and it sounds fucking cheesy. It makes you wanna clamp your mouth shut, try to go back in time and say something different. Because what is he gonna do with that information. Probably nothing.
You can’t see his eyes—still hidden by the blindfold—but you can almost feel how his eyes are narrowed. He lets out a sigh and stands up, long limbs stretching out before he jerks his head to the side. “Well, c’mon then.”
Without a word he starts walking to a door—was that always there? He doesn’t look back at you. Doesn’t try to confirm that you’re walking after him. Doesn’t say anything else. Just puts his hands in his pockets, opens the door, fluorescent lights spilling into the room in harsh light that contrasts the soft amber lighting from the candles—the ones that are snuffed out in an instant after the door opened—and walks out.
Standing up you walk after him, dismissing your dogs with a final pat to their head.
After stepping out into the hallway, you have to blink a few times to get your sight adjusted to the harsh lighting. The hallway is a stark contrast to the buildings you saw from the forest. Jujutsu High seemed to have traditional Japanese buildings.
The walls are slightly damp and it’s cold. A shiver running up your spine. The only sounds down here are the footsteps and the buzzing noise from the overhead lights. Rubbing your arms you walk a bit faster, not beside Gojo—you know you don’t deserve to walk beside him as an equal—but two steps behind him.
“Where are we going?” you finally ask him. Gojo doesn’t reply, just walks ahead, up some stairs and finally opens a shoji screen to the outside. Snow blankets as far as the eye can see. Tree tops are white, the black shingles are now nowhere to be seen, the stone paths are buried beneath a thick layer of the powdery substance.
Okay, outside. Maybe he’ll escort you off the property. Send you home. Tell you not to come back. The thought hurts more than you’re willing to admit. Sure, you never meant for him to see you in the first place, but after finally reconnecting you’d hoped he would maybe want to keep you around.
Gojo walks on top of the snow. His feet don’t sink into it. He doesn’t leave behind any boot prints. It’s almost as if he’s hovering over it. You, however, aren’t as lucky. The first step you take almost makes you fall over. Snow is almost up to your knee.
Hearing you yelp, Gojo finally turns around, and the sight almost makes him smile. You’re trying to wade through the thick blanket of snow, having to pull up your legs to sink into the snow yet again. The sight is almost comical.
A huff pulls from his chest when you nearly wipe out, which makes you look up at him. Wrong choice. Because of the sharp movement, you fall straight onto your butt. Wetness starting to seep through your winter coat.
Closing your eyes, you breathe through your nose. Count to three, before pushing yourself up with a pout. “Seriously, why do you get to float like a fairy while I have to—” grunting you take your first step forward again “—tire out my legs like this. Why is there even so much snow to begin with?!”
You’re irritated. almost your entire backside is wet. Snow that wasn’t melted yet is starting to melt. You feel cold, and wet, and sad, and guilty—but mostly mad that the fucker is just standing there, on top of the snow, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
And before you even realise what you’re doing, you bend down and grab a handful of snow. Throwing it at Gojo, it merely bounces off him. Fuck him and his Infinity.
Throwing your hands up in the air you let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh come on,” you whine, the last syllables dragging on. “Lemme at least hit you with some snow if you’re going to be like that.”
Before you can even blink he’s in front of you. With just a little tap to your shoulder you fall backwards, straight onto your ass. Blinking up into the sky, a face comes into view. One blue eye peeking out from under the blindfold, an amused smile on his lips, white strands cascading down. “Oops.”
You glare at him from the snow, still sitting on it. He knows your ass is getting cold—and probably wet—but oh well. And then you reach for his arm, and for a second, just one, he forgets to keep up his infinity. Your hand clamps down on his forearm before you yank him into the snow next to you.
His face is obstructed by white. And he hears you laughing from beside him. And it puts him right back to when the two of you were five years old, playing in the snow, making snow angels and getting into snowball fights. He also remembers you eating a handful of snow and getting scolded for it.
He huffs a breath through his nose before pushing himself up and wiping his face. You’re still laughing, rolling around in the snow, clutching your stomach—not watching him. Which is good. He grabs some snow and throws it straight at you.
It stops you right in your tracks, laughter dying out immediately, replaced by a gasp. “You did not,” you accuse him, voice mock-serious. He only shrugs his shoulders before he’s hit with some snow—straight in the face.
You gasp out. “Shit, sorry I didn’t mean— no. wait! wait!! no please!” you’re scrambling back, hands sinking into the snow while Satoru sloooowly stands up and stalks over to you, a giant heap of white in his hands. You put a hand up while still apologising, “No— Gojo wait! I’m sorry! I didn— oompff.”
You’re cut off when he lets the snow fall—straight onto your face and upper chest. You’re completely buried. It makes him laugh, doubling over. And for just a moment he forgets he is Satoru Gojo and is just ‘S’toru’.
The little fight continues for a while, snow gets thrown around. The two of you keep tripping over in the snow, though you do more so than him—curse him and his long long legs. Until you stop giggling and gasp, eyes wide. “Stop. Stop— wait, just a sec.”
You’re feeling around in your coat pockets and pull out a little device—your Digivice. It makes his heart lurch to his stomach. Did you really keep it all those years—hell, did you keep it on you this entire time? His hand brushes his own pocket, his own Digivice snug in it.
He sees your hand sink into the ground, before you pull it out again, empty-handed. “Didn’t want it getting wet,” you say while looking up at him.
There is a small silence between the two of you, before he clears his throat. “Right, yeah. Okay, well…” he trails off, it suddenly setting in that he isn’t five years old running around in the gardens of the Gojo estate with you, but rather twenty-eight with responsibilities. (Not that he takes any of those seriously, but he does remind himself that the two of you aren’t suddenly best friends again… right?)
He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s go.” With that he turns around and starts walking again—this time only after he hears you trail behind him. The walk takes wayyyy too long, what normally would’ve been a fifteen minute walk took you almost thirty. The snow not only making it difficult to navigate through, but also slippery
Satoru can only hope that the kids are still training. It has been some time since he left them to chase after you, after all. Turning the corner he sees Maki absolutely overpower Nobara before they let go. Panda and Inumaki are nowhere in sight, only the three first-years and their upperclassman left.
Clapping his hands once he grabs the attention of the kids. “I’m backkk~” he sing-songs. Megumi mutters a ‘didn’t even know you were gone’ under his breath that Gojo decides to ignore, while Yuji waves. “And I brought a little something with me.”
Stepping aside with a flourish, you come into view to the students. They immediately furrow their brows. Yuji’s hand immediately shoots up “Gojo-sensei, who is that?” Clicking his fingers, Gojo makes finger guns toward the cotton-haired boy.
“Great question, Itadori. This, over here, is your new teacher!” He hooks his arm around your shoulder and tugs you into his side. You look over at him with wide eyes. “Wait— wait wait wait, what? Gojo you can’t just decide that?!”
He pays you no mind, just looking at the three first-years while Maki walks away. She mutters something under her breath, but doesn’t look back. Pushing you to the front slightly, he claps his hands. “So, who wants to spar with her first?”
“She’s wet,” Megumi deadpans, looking over your form. And you are— well it’s more damp now. “And freezing,” Nobara adds, noticing how much you’re shivering.
For just a moment Gojo considers that maybe he should’ve gotten you—and himself—a change of clothes after the snowball fight. Ehhh oh well. Nothing to be done about now. “So spar her faster so she can go warm up inside.”
With a sigh Megumi is the first to take up on the offer, calling on his Divine Dog Totality. You don’t notice though, turning toward Gojo with a frown. “You can’t make me spar with them, look at them! They are teena— eekkk,” the dog lunges at you. Your make a quick hand sign. Hundreds of gray rabbits being summoned at once.
It takes the students aback slightly, all of them eyeing the swarm. Gojo only crosses his arms.
“Dude, Megumi, I thought you summoned your dog,” Yuji says, still in disbelief at the sight of the rabbits. The Divine Dog merely claws its way through the swarm, destroying rabbits at light speed. “I did,” Megumi mutters back, brows furrowed.
Half of the rabbits are gone when you suddenly emerge from behind Megumi. Putting him in a headlock, both Nobara and Yuji turn around, eyes wide. All three of them freeze in place.
Pointing your finger at Satoru you continue, “Like I said, they’re teenagers, you can’t just let them fight me. That’s mean.”
And Satoru? Satoru just smiles at that. Because Yuji and Nobara are whispering to each other, not really discreetly, but you don’t notice because you’re checking over Megumi to see if you hurt him in any way while still scolding Gojo.
And it brings him right back to when you were telling him how to ‘correctly’ play with the dolls. (Which you were wrong about, so, so wrong.)
He walks over to where you and the kids are standing and puts an arm around you—half because he wants to and half because he doesn’t want you to escape, were you planning on it. Ruffling your hair, which is absolutely freezing, he realises, he chuckles.
“Well then, kids meet your new teacher. Now say goodbye while she goes take a long, hot bath and hopefully doesn’t get sick.” Not letting the kids even say goodbye, he teleports the two of you straight to his apartment.
It shocks you a bit, the teleportation making you feel… floaty? for a few seconds, the room spinning slightly, before your feet touch the ground.
When the room stops spinning, and your balance is back, you take note of where you’re standing. The apartment in front of you is huge. It’s a big, open floor plan. The living room has a big L shaped couch, with a wall-mounted flatscreen in front of it.
There are floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the downtown of Tokyo, the city underneath blinking to life like fireflies behind glass.
But that’s not what catches your eye, no, your eyes wander to the massive kitchen. It really does look too big to have for just one person. It brings you right back twenty years, where you said you would become a baker which only made sweets.
While you didn’t become a confectioner, you did learn how to make most sweets you ate when younger. The most important one being mochi, of course.
Though the first time you made a successful batch, you cried. At first they were happy tears, but they turned sad really fast after that, because it made you miss Satoru even more.
Back in your cramped apartment, you didn’t really have the luxury to bake, so this kitchen really brings out something in you, and you wonder if Satoru ever uses it.
Following your gaze, he chuckles slightly. “I don’t really use it,” he says, as if he read your mind. Looking back at him, he’s still looking at the kitchen with a small smile on his face. Nodding your head you look back at the kitchen, and suddenly wonder what your world would’ve looked like if you stayed in Japan when you were younger.
Would you be in the kitchen with him, singing your heart out and yapping about everything and anything while making food together? Well, it’s not like you can go back in time, so that’s a question you don’t dwell too long on.
Gojo puts a hand on your shoulder and steers you to the other side of the apartment—hell, it’s a whole ass penthouse. Rich boy, huh.
“Spare bedroom is over here, there’s a connected bathroom as well. Go take a shower, you’re absolutely freezing,” he’s already turning away from you, presumably to go to his own shower. He did let go of his Infinity during the snowball fight, resulting in him getting wet and cold as well.
Nodding your head you open the door, and freeze for a heartbeat. The bedroom is almost as big as your entire apartment combined. A massive King sized bed stands at the far wall, there are floor to ceiling windows even in this room, and two doors at each side of the room.
Other than the bed, curtains and a nightstand, the room is rather bare. Walking over to the left door you open it, only to find a walk-in closet. Yeah okay, definitely your entire apartment combined.
Walking back out, you open the other door to the bathroom, and that, too, is massive. It has both a bathtub and shower, and your eyes light up at the sight. God, how long has it been since you last had a bath? Too long, that is.
Turning on the faucet, you let the tub fill up, and just pray Satoru wouldn’t mind it too much. You aren’t quite sure what he has in store for you, but given the fact that he just decided that you would be a teacher, you suppose you won’t go home for quite some time.
Stepping into the bath, you’re instantly met with the hot water, skin tingling because you haven’t properly warmed up yet. Ignoring that, you let yourself submerge in the water, let your head lean back against the edge of the tub, and close your eyes.
Maybe it was a mistake coming back after so long, but it’s something you’ll definitely find out along the way.
In the other bathroom, Satoru is standing under the spray of the shower. His head leaning against the tiles of the wall, water cascading down his back and dripping from his hair over the bridge of his nose.
You’re really here. Not an imagination, not a dream, just… really here. And he isn’t sure what to make of it. And maybe he acted too fast, telling the kids you would be their second teacher.
Maybe he shouldn’t have introduced you to the kids, he’s supposed to keep them safe after all. But his heart tugs against his sternum when he thinks back on how you were looking Megumi over after the supposed ‘spar’.
That didn’t seem fake, or maybe you’re just really good at pretending to care. Well, whatever it is, he’ll find out in the next few weeks.
He’s going to keep you close. Keep you in the spare room. Keep you close to him while teaching (though… he doesn’t really teach, so maybe it is smart that he ‘recruited’ you as a second teacher.)
All he can hope is that he didn’t make a mistake keeping you here instead of putting you on the next flight back to wherever you came from.
The first thing Satoru notices when he wakes up is the sound of pans clattering and the low hum of the furnace being turned on. There’s slight humming coming from the kitchen. Utensils scraping against pots, and the faint smell of food wafting through the apartment.
Walking out of his room, he scratches his stomach with one hand while trying to tame his bed hair with the other. Unruly tufts of white visible between the gap of his shirt and sweats.
The kitchen is a flurry of motion, the fridge being opened and closed constantly, the low rhythmic chop chop chop of someone cutting up ingredients on a chopping block. Sounds Satoru isn’t used to, considering he isn’t one to cook, nor has anyone over that does.
So when he walks into the kitchen, he freezes for a second. You’re there, chopping away, occasionally stirring the pot with a wooden ladle—he didn’t even know he owned one, let alone had enough food in the fridge to make something fulfilling—while humming under your breath.
But that isn’t what does him in—though it does slightly, he has dreamed of this many, many times before—no it’s the fact that your cursed energy feels off. It doesn’t feel like you, well rather, it feels like a copy of yours.
It doesn’t flow through you so much as it is you. Your shape is completely filled with cursed energy in a way that he’s never seen before. It’s unsettling, to say the least.
Calling out your name softly, you look up with a small smile on your face. “Goodmorning,” you hum, before resuming your task. The low sizzle of bacon in the pan snaps him out of his stupor.
He watches you for a beat longer. Watches the way you move—nothing out of the ordinary, though he only has yesterday to compare. Watches the way you hum under your breath. It looks correct, the gait, the motion, but there’s something off.
He can feel it in his soul. And his Six Eyes also tell something is wrong with your cursed energy. So he looks around the apartment, just because he can’t shake off this weird feeling of something being wrong.
And when his eyes go toward the hall of the guest room you were occupying, he can see it. Cursed Energy. It’s faint, but it doesn’t escape him.
Furrowing his brows he walks over to the door, steps cautious. Did you have someone over? Is there someone in your room that was supposed to take him out when he had his guard down?
Turning the knob, he opens the door. There in bed is you. Wait, what?
He looks back to the kitchen once more. Yep, definitely you, though that you feels off in a way. Looking back to the you in the bed, he lets his Six Eyes feed the information to him.
Your cursed energy flows like it’s supposed to, like it did yesterday. He can see the way it favors the side of the shadows, crawling back from where the light of the hallway hits the bedsheets in soft yellow light.
You’re asleep. Nose red and runny. Tossing and turning in your bed, sweat on your forehead, hairs plastered flat against your temples.
With a groan your lashes flutter open. Blinking a few times, you look over at the guy that’s standing in the doorway. “‘Mornin’,” you croak out, voice raw and nasally. You cough immediately after. That nasty, nasally type of cough.
Satoru just stands in the doorway for a few more seconds, words failing him in the first time since… well, last year, he supposes. When he finally speaks up, his voice is full of confusion. “You’re here…” he finally says, slowly, like he’s still trying to make sense of the world.
You hum, closing your eyes once more. Wiping some of the sweat from your brow, you cough once more. “Sure am, did you forget you took me home with you yesterday?” the words feel like sandpaper against your sore throat.
The lights spilling in from the hallway—though mostly blocked by the massive frame of Gojo—only hurt your eyes more. You want to tell him to at least close the door if he’s gonna talk to you like this, but then again, you’re a guest and it would be rude to tell him what to do in his house.
Hell, he probably doesn’t even appreciate it that you’re coughing and sweating all over his clean sheets.
“I- no, ‘was surprised, though,” he mumbles the last words under his breath before continuing, “What the hell is in my kitchen right now?”
You rack your brain, trying to find out what he’s talking about. In his kitchen? Did Toru come out without you calling him on again? He does that quite often, little brat that he is.
Then you finally remember. “Oh! ‘s a clone,” you say, as if it’s normal. As if having a literal shadow clone is just a normal Tuesday. Then again, for you it probably is. But Satoru isn’t you, so he stares at you for a few beats.
“A clone,” he starts slowly, “from your technique?” You laugh at that, then immediately cough again. “Yeah, what else would it be?”
Satoru stares at you for a few more seconds. Looks at the way you’re struggling to keep your eyes open, the sweat beating down your neck, the way you keep coughing.
And then he feels someone—or rather something—approach from behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he’s met with you, or well, rather, your shadow clone.
She looks exactly like you, the same little frown between your brows you’ve had since you were little kids and were focusing on something. Hair, eyes, lips, nose—it’s all the same. It’s quite unsettling, honestly.
Your clone is carrying a tray—seriously, where do these things keep popping up from? he didn’t even know he had half the things ‘you’ were using for cooking—with a bowl of soup. Stepping aside, he lets the clone inside the bedroom.
It sits down next to you, and you go to sit in an more upright position. It’s like you don’t even register just how weird all of this is, your own shadow clone is feeding you soup.
“Wait- wait wait wait. Let me get this straight,” he finally manages to gather his thoughts again. “You can make shadow clones, and command them to do what you want?”
You take one more sip of your soup, slightly burning your tongue because you were too impatient to just blow on the hot liquid a few seconds longer, before finally answering Gojo. “Mhmm, well… it’s more like they’re semi-sentient. I just have to tell them how to make soup, and they can get the steps in themselves.”
Gojo’s mouth slowly falls open. That’s… really fucking cool actually, not that he’s gonna voice that, though. He’s still wary of you. If you can just conjure shadow clones from cursed energy, he might actually be fucked.
It makes this so, so much harder. Because that means you can catch him off-guard. Or well, try to catch him off-guard. He can still sense when people are behind him. Six Eyes never lie to him, so he’ll have to rely on them way more than normal, now.
He thinks bout the Ten Shadows technique, tries to recall if there was anything mentioned about shadow clones, but he comes up empty. Megumi hasn’t said anything either about trying to clone himself. And in a way, Satoru is happy about that.
“That’s fucking scary. Kinda cool, but definitely scary,” he finally says, eyeing the two of you. If he didn’t have Six eyes, he would definitely have thought that it was your twin you never told him about. Not like you told him much about yourself, anyway.
Being a Zen’in for one. Though, you also didn’t know about that, so he can’t really blame you for that. But your mother definitely could’ve told him. He was the clan head of the Gojo clan after all! Nevermind the fact that he was a mere six years old back then.
He would’ve protected you whenever needed, told the rest of the members to protect you and him. And he would try to protect you, as well.
You, the chaos to his normal, boring life. The one who kept him sane those three years you were with him. Kept him from doing the mindless, affectionless clan. God he hated it there after you left.
Everyone kept ushering him to do things. Train with those huge dudes who told him ‘again’ and ‘again’ and ‘again’ and not to cry, because he was a Gojo after all. Something you would’ve never told him.
You would’ve probably cried with him, if you were there. Not because you were hurt, or anything of the sorts—though your feelings did get hurt quite easily. So you were a crybaby, buuuuttt then again, you got over it fairly quickly as well. Swiping those small fingers under your eyes and declaring you were ‘all done’ and going back to doing whatever task you were doing previously—but because you didn’t like seeing Satoru sad.
It was something he noticed. He wasn’t sad often in your presence, you were the highlight to his days, after all. But on the rare occasions he was sad, you always immediately tried cheering him up. Tried to tell him everything would be all-right, because you were there!
And it felt like his sadness was suddenly cured—or you were being… well, you. And distracted him from being sad—in your presence once more. Gummy smile returning to his face, only for you to fling your body towards his, tackling him in a happy hug that was more limbs clashing together than a real hug.
Blinking, he looks at you once more. Your bowl of soup slowly getting more empty by the second. Then your eyes find his. “There’s food for you in the kitchen, by the way,” you’re still blowing on the spoon when you tell him.
Furrowing his brows, he pushes himself from the doorpost and makes his way over to the kitchen, where one plate of bacon and an omelette sits. There’s a small ketchup smiley drawn on it, making him smile in turn.
Only for it to be wiped off his face the second after. His eyes flit towards the open bedroom once more. Grabbing another bowl, he quickly fills it. Walking back to the bedroom, he goes to sit down next to you.
You eye his bowl of soup, furrowing your brows slightly. Turning your head away from him, you cough in your elbow, before speaking up. “Omelette not to your liking?”
Gojo hums around the spoonful of soup. “Not a big fan of eggs,” he says dismissively. You just hum and close your eyes once more. The sweat has finally stopped beading down your forehead, though you still feel fucking hot. (ehhhh slayyyy)
Dismissing your clone with a wave of your hand, you grab the tray and put it on the bedside table. There’s still soup in the bowl, but you feel like you’re going to throw up if you eat any more right now, so you’ll keep it for later. There’s always a chance to heat it up again.
Going to lay down again, you burrow yourself under the blanket. “Will sleep a bit more. Wake me if needed,” you slur out slightly, before sleep finally takes you under once again.
Gojo stays seated next to you. Spoon in his bowl, not touched after he’d taken the first sip of soup. Once he confirms you’re asleep—your breathing getting heavy, the occasional snore slipping past your lips, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones—does he move.
Leaning over you, careful not to wake you, he swaps the two bowls around. Eating the rest of your soup, he hums in content. It was very good soup, even though it was made by a clone—something he still can’t wrap his head around.
Sure, he knows you’re sick. He isn’t stupid, he knows you can’t fake it like this. So eating out of your bowl—though he had swapped the spoons around, he’s not that stupid—might not be the smartest plan. But he’d rather get sick than get poisoned or something.
Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? You came back in his life, really came back in his life, after twenty-two years. Half of those were spent thinking you were dead. And now here you are—still—twenty-two years later with a dog that’s named after him and even looks like him, and a shadow clone that can make food and probably do many, many other things.
Leaning back against the headrest, he rubs a hand over his face and sighs out through his nose. This really is going to be harder than he thought would be.
With that, he gets out of the bed and goes to the kitchen. Cleaning the counter while scowling slightly. This is why he hates cooking—well, it’s part of it. He hates the cooking itself as well, though he loves eating.
It’s just something he could never get the hang of. Every time he tried, his thoughts would wander back to a girl that would forever be six years old in his mind, telling him the two of you would live together, making food together, because the two of you liked sweets.
Promising to live off off sweets alone. A true kids dream, if he ever heard one. But still one that wormed its way back into his mind even after all the years you were gone.
With that, he always burned the food because he would zone out trying to picture you next to him being a tornado of chaos. Probably having sugar all over you, even if the recipe didn’t call for sugar. Or eating the ingredients before they went into the dish, leaving the both of you with too little to cook with.
Or he would be irrational with knives—Geto and Shoko having taken away knives waaayyy too often. Not that they could ever hurt him, but still. If he didn’t have Infinity, he would’ve lost all his fingers ten times over already.
So he never cooked, which also meant he never had to do the dishes, though he has a dishwasher, which he’s trying to figure out how to work right now. He mutters faint curses under his breath and things about ‘clones not being able to clean up after themselves’.
When he finally has the dishwasher loaded, he just… stares out over the living room. This really is his life now, huh? Him having to be on guard, even at home, moreso than usual. Normally he has Infinity to protect him against strangers, but you’re no stranger.
Well… his heart certainly doesn’t think so with the way his Infinity automatically gets lowered around you. He has to consciously put it up, because his technique, unfortunately, loses against his heart whispering that you’re no threat.
Yeah, this is going to take a long time before he can get used to this.
The next few days are spent at home. You’re still sick, so you let the clone do everything for you—cleaning, making food, and even doing the laundry. Gojo had asked why you wouldn’t just let him do those things, and with that he means people he hired to do the jobs.
He had to send away his cleaners after his place was spotless before they could even begin. Your clone having done everything already, so there was nothing left for them to do. He still paid them, of course.
And if it wasn’t your clone walking around the place, it would be your dogs. You’d asked him on the third day of you still being sick in bed. Something about letting the dogs ‘out’—when he asked what you meant with ‘out’ you meant out of the shadows because they were getting restless. Which confused him, because as far as he knew, Megumi never said anything about any of the Shikigami while they were not summoned.
He’d agreed. His apartment is big enough, after all. And it’s not like he used the space often. But he quickly came to regret that decision.
Toru is a heap of chaos that only reminds himself of you, only with his aesthetic. The white fur was something he was used to quite easily. But it were the eyes that still unsettled him.
Toru was just him in dog form. On one hand, it absolutely melted his heart, on the other hand it had sent a small pang through it. He thinks about how you probably only had Toru with you while hoping that you could have the actual human next to you that you named the dog after.
Kuroo was at least calm. Letting her body flop in front of the giant windows, soaking up the sun with her black fur, becoming a small furnace. She was judgemental as fuck, though. Always huffing through her nose when her brother did something stupid. Or when Satoru himself did something silly.
It had made him side-eye the dog a few times, checking to see if the dog really was huffing at him and not at her brother. And, yep, the dog was eyeing him again. Raising a brow at the dog, he murmurs a small ‘what?’ only for the dog to turn her back to him.
He’s not sure what he expected the dog to do, but it still sent a small spark of irritation through him when he got ignored by a dog, like helloooo??
Now you’re finally better, sitting next to him on the couch nursing a cup of tea, watching Toru play with one of the dog toys you grabbed from your shadow storage—yes that’s how you called it.
Satoru had laughed the first time you’d pulled out the toys, but the laughter quickly died out in his throat the more you kept pulling from what felt like infinite storage.
At first it was toys—squeaky toys, tug ropes, balls—but it quickly became dog beds, yes you heard that right, dog beds for shadow dogs. Shikigami. With dog beds. And not just one for each, noooo they had multiple.
“Seriously,” he had muttered, eyeing the dog beds that were in the living room now. He’d already spotted two in your room and another two in his home gym. Why they were there, he had no idea, but alas. You’d merely smiled at him, not even trying to defend yourself.
“He really is something,” you murmur, eyes still on the dog. “Sure is,” Gojo agreed, but with a bit more disdain in his voice. If you noticed, you don’t call him out on it, only sip on your tea once more.
“Soooo…” you begin, setting your cup down onto the table. Leaning back once more your eyes find Gojo’s. “What about the kids?”
Right, the kids. Satoru had to tell them he had to stay home to take care of something and that they shouldn’t expect him to be at the school often. Nobara had just walked off, Yuji had grinned and put his thumbs up. Megumi, however, side-eyed him. One that felt fully judgemental.
“She’s sick, isn’t she?” he had asked, not even naming you, but Satoru knew who he was talking about. He’d merely hummed, sticking his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on the ball of his feet. “Maaaybe.”
Megumi had sighed, muttering something about snow and being soaked to the bone in those cold temperatures, but never asked anything further. Just started walking back to the dorms without so much as another glance toward Gojo.
You’d asked Gojo if he didn’t need to be with the kids after he came home not long after that, and he had merely grinned towards you. “Naaahhhh, they can take care of themselves,” he had drawled towards you. Luckily you were too sick to really question it, having gone to bed after that once again.
It kinda fucked with him, though. He had to be on his toes at all times. Whenever you slept, your oh so lovely shadow clone was awake, making food or cleaning up, and it made him paranoid as shit. Constantly checking over what it did, while also checking if you were still asleep.
It’s not like he could tell you to stop doing it—he had done that already, well more like asked… okay fine, he told you you didn’t have to do it, since it was draining your cursed energy. You had just smiled at him and told him it was fine, since you didn’t use it anyway.
When he insisted that you should just let it rest, you’d stubbornly told him that this was the least you could do for being here, in his house. That is something he didn’t miss (he absolutely did), your stubbornness.
He’d honestly forgotten all about how stubborn you used to be. How you could hold onto things without fail, puffing out your cheeks, crossing your arms over your chest, not once looking him the eye, lips forming a small pout.
Yeah, you weren’t just chaos, you were stubborn chaos, which made it so much worse. So he let it go, knowing you weren’t gonna give up on it.
So now he was walking behind a clone for days on end, watching its every move. He was just so so tired. And only when you finally started feeling better did you dismiss the clone, muttering something about doing the chores yourself.
Which, once again, he wanted to argue about. He truly didn’t need you to do all that—plus he still doesn’t trust you, but what can you do about it?
You’re still looking at him, the question hanging in the air. The kids, right. Humming, Gojo leans further back into the couch, which groans under his weight. “Well, Yuji and Nobara have been asking about you. Megumi hasn’t voiced anything, but I know he’s curious as well.”
“I mean, you did tell them I was gonna be their teacher and then I just didn’t show up for a whole week,” you comment, looking him in the eye.
Yeah, that’s something he is regretting telling them. He should’ve just asked Yaga for you to be an assistant at the school—his personal assistant, so he can keep his eye on you, of course. No other reason at all.
But he did tell them, unfortunately. Which means you have to come with him to the school and interact with the kids. The same kids he’s vowed to keep safe ever since the beginning of the school year started.
“Don’t you worry your pretty lil head about it,” he assures you, playing with his blindfold slightly. (slut)
Scowling you look away from him. Reaching over to grab your tea, you down the last of your drink before abruptly standing up, making Toru pause where he was playing with one of the toys. “Well then, I’ll get ready and we can visit the school, I guess.”
You’re already walking away before he can say anything. Staring at your retreating figure, he looks over at Kuroo. “Your mom always like that?” he sighs out, and Kuroo huffs once through her nose, and he swears she rolls her eyes with it a little.
Thirty minutes later the two of you arrive at Jujutsu High. You’d dismissed the dogs with a quick pat on their head, and a belly rub for Toru, before leaving the apartment with Gojo.
The school honestly looks deserted with how massive it is. There’s no student or faculty in sight, though that isn’t that weird, considering it’s snowing outside.
Satoru walks two steps in front of you, deliberately slowing down his pace to match yours, but just a little too quick for you to comfortably stay right beside him.
Snow crunches beneath your boots and white plumes of smoke form in front of your mouth with each exhale. Burrowing your face further into your scarf, you finally speak up. “What are we gonna do today anyways?”
Gojo just hums, eyes hidden by his blindfold once more, hands in pockets. “I want you to spar with Megumi, give him some more tips on the technique.”
Furrowing your brows, you try to recall which of the two is Megumi. When you dub the spiky, black haired boy as Megumi, you hum slightly. “Why him?”
That makes Satoru stop in his tracks, just slightly. “You didn’t see?” When he sees you furrow your brows, he lets out one long, deep sigh. “He also has the Ten Shadows technique. I thought you realised when Totality attacked you—well tried to.”
“That thing was a part of the Ten Shadows technique?” you ask, thinking back that the giant beast that tried to claw your throat out last week. It was massive, even bigger than Kuroo and Toru. “Mhmm, Is when your two lil Demon Dogs get merged.”
“You mean to tell me he lost one of his demon dogs?” Your voice is small, kind of like you’re fearing the answer. Satoru only nods his head once, and a shudder trails up your spine.
Poor guy, being only… fifteen? Sixteen? and losing your first companion like that. You cannot imagine living your life without Kuroo or Toru. God, you would bawl your eyes out if anything happened to either of the two.
In a way you’re glad you never became a sorcerer, because there would be a big chance you would lose one of the dogs if you weren’t careful.
You don’t have much time to think about it, because Satoru steps into one of the buildings, opening the door for you. Bowing slightly—something that feels foreign to you, considering back ‘home’ people didn’t do that, nor did you ever bow towards Gojo whenever the two of you were younger—you walk inside.
Taking off your shoes, you look around the building. You’re met with a spacious common room. Multiple couches are in the space, along with some chairs and a few beanbags. A tall bookshelf spans the entirety of the wall, filled with different manga's.
There are a few students lounging around, some familiar—Yuji with his pink hair and Nobara with her bob—and others not. Your eyes trailing over the students when— hold the fuck up, is that a panda?!
Sure enough the panda waves at you. Nodding your head, you turn towards Satoru with questions written all over your face. Chuckling he leans in closer to you, voice low enough for only you to be heard. “That’s Panda. He’s a cursed corpse. Sentient. Kinda like your shadow clone, but even smarter.”
Right. Okay, sure. Sentient cursed corpses, because why the fuck not, it’s not like sorcery was weird enough already, just add in more bullshit to the mix.
Yuji is already on his feet the moment he spots you and Satoru, a beaming smile on his face. “Hey! You’re finally better. Gojo-sensei told us you got sick, but like— I had soooo many questions before he whisked you away the last time.”
Blinking, you’re looking at the boy. Right, okay, that energy wasn’t there the last time, but then again it was snowing, Gojo had told them to spar you and you had sunk into the ground and put Megumi in a headlock withing three seconds flat.
He kind of reminds you of younger you. You’ve since lost that spark, but it does ignite something in you that makes you want to bounce on the balls of your feet. “Of course you can ask!”
Gojo watches you get tugged into the common room by Yuji, who is already firing off questions, one after another, before you can even try to answer him. Nobara is scolding him for being too excited, and the three third-years are watching you with wary glances.
Exhaling, he lets his shoulders drop a little. Although this isn’t what he wanted, it is nice to see you interact with his kids. With that he walks towards the room he knows a grumpy teenager is in.
Opening the door with a flourish, he throws a thumbs up. “How’s my favorite student?” he all but teases, making Megumi groan into his pillow.
“What do you want,” he scowls over at Gojo, not even trying to hide the disdain in his voice. That’s nothing new,though. Having spent years with the boy, Gojo knows that Megumi loves him. Deeeep deep down. But it’s there …somewhere.
“Your new teach is here, come say hi,” he grins before turning around and walking back to the common room.
Walking back into the common room can only be described as chaos. Yuji is backflipping (why?), Nobara is showing off her nails—the steel ones she uses for her technique, not the keratin ones that are on fingertips—while Panda is punching the air.
Inumaki and Maki are just sitting there watching the chaos unfold while you are trying to divide your attention to all three of the kids that are begging for your attention.
What happened between him going to Megumi’s room and coming back, he’ll probably never know, but he’s here now.
The chaos continues for a while. Every student shows you their technique when you ask, even the second years, though you had some trouble understanding Inumaki at first.
Megumi finally has joined everyone, going to sit down where he deems safest—next to Maki. It’s definitely deliberate on his part, considering Maki is the most calm in this entire group of chaos.
Then questions start flying towards you, about your age, what you did before this, how you did that thing with Megumi last week. Until the final dreaded question comes from no other than Nobara: “So, you haven’t told us your technique yet.”
Swallowing you look over at Gojo, who nods at you. Wringing your hands together you look at the eager expressions of the students, even Megumi seems to perk up a bit at that. You never had to tell anyone your technique—apart from Gojo—and it was drilled into you that you should never reveal it.
But then again, that was because your mother was afraid they would simply kill you if they found out. That’s not gonna happen, you think. Plus Gojo is right beside you, surely he would protect you if something went wrong?
“Ah it’s the Ten Shadows technique.” Silence. Utter and absolute silence fills the room. A few students are blinking, like they’re buffering in real time. “Yeah right,” Maki scoffs, “that’s a hereditary technique, and if you were a Zen’in with the clan’s technique I would’ve known.”
That makes you pause, just a little. “Are you a Zen’in, Maki?”
She only narrows her eyes at you, not confirming nor denying the question. The rest of the group is silent, looking between you and Megumi.
Sighing you summon your demon dogs. Toru immediately licks your hand, while Kuroo just sits in her place, watching every student with a scrutinizing gaze.
There’s a blur of motion when suddenly the tip of a spear is right between your eyes. Maki’s. “Gojo, explain.”
And he does, as best as he can. You fill in some of the gaps, about leaving the country, never becoming a sorcerer, just living a normal, boring life. Neither of you brings up the fact that you and Gojo have known each other since the age of three.
The tension slowly dwindles, Maki lowering her spear while still looking at you with narrowed eyes. Yuji is petting Toru throughout all of it, hands sinking into the fur while Toru wags his tail, making the occasional swish sound on the floor.
You show the kids some of the things that can be achieved with the Ten Shadows technique, starting with the fact that you can completely sink into the shadows, since Yuji asked how you teleported last week. It’s clear that Megumi is taking mental notes of everything you do.
The rest of the day is spent like that, just chatting, occasionally showing off—not just you, the kids do as well—and getting to know one another. It’s quite sweet honestly.
While you didn’t get to spar with Megumi, like Gojo originally wanted you to do, you did show him important things that would definitely help him if ever needed.
The next few days are spent with the kids, sparring, telling them how to better themselves, just watching over them. And then there was the fact that Yaga found out Satoru had ‘hired’ someone without even telling him, let alone consult with him.
You had to watch Gojo get scolded by the principal, and honestly it was funny as fuck. How does a thirty year old let himself get scolded like that? You almost wanted to tell him to stand the fuck up for himself. Embarrassing, really, but then again, that is the Gojo you know.
Though he wasn’t the one that got scolded when the two of you were younger, that one was you. So maybe this is just karma. Ehhh, that isn’t fair on Gojo, though. He always tried to stick up for you, trying to tell the maids it was him that did said thing, but they just brushed him off.
Still a funny sight, and something you’ll probably tease him about until the two of you are all wrinkly and gray.
After that you got introduced to some of the other staff. Nanami was apparently a year younger than Gojo, and definitely over his shit, throwing out a quick ‘good luck’ when he heard that you would spend most of your days with Gojo here at school—no people didn’t know you also ‘lived’ with Gojo.
The next was Shoko, the school’s …nurse? healer? You’re not sure, all you know is that you learned yet another thing about sorcery: RCT. Apparently some people can heal themselves? You knew your deer could heal you, but you didn’t know that some people could also do that.
And lastly there was Ijichi. Nervous guy, eyes constantly flitting everywhere but Gojo while wringing his hands together and bowing a good ninety degrees when he first saw you. He’s an assistant at the school, mostly there to chauffeur people around and put up veils.
Yuji, at one point, had popped up out of nowhere, scaring the shit out of Ijichi. But when he finally saw who it was, he instantly seemed calmer?
You’re not sure what happened between Gojo and Ijichi for him to be so nervous around the guy, but you’re sure to find out one day. Or maybe you’re the anomaly, standing so casually beside The Strongest, but then again Nanami and Shoko weren’t nervous. At all.
After that it was just training the kids, constantly. Gojo would stand off to the side, watching everything go down, and snickering every time the kids would win. Yeah, you’re absolutely shit at hand to hand, never having been taught how to, while these kids train for things like these.
Like right now, you’re sparring with Megumi, who’s absolutely getting one in on you. Gojo can only smile at the sight. You might not be good at hand to hand, but you gave so much valuable information to not only Megumi but also Gojo about the Ten Shadows technique that’s surely handy to know.
There’s a small smile on Gojo’s lips when he sees your feet get sweeped out from under you, only for you to sink into the shadows before your back hits the ground. It’s smart, really. You might not be an experienced fighter, but you’re smart. Adapting to everything that gets thrown your way.
He isn’t sure when Yuji and Nobara creeped up on him—too occupied by watching the spar that just doesn’t seem to end—but they’re absolutely grinning while eyeing each other.
“Soooo,” Nobara begins, only for Yuji to cut her off completely. “How long have you had a crush on the new teacher?” Nobara elbows him with a scowl and mutters something only Yuji can hear.
Gojo blinks a few times behind his blindfold. A crush? On you? No way, he’s just watching you to make sure you’re not up to something. The feelings he had for you when he was younger surely have dwindled by now.
Putting his hands in his pockets he looks down at the two menaces that are still eyeing him with sweet smiles that don’t match their eyes. Fucking gossip vultures is what they are. “I don’t have a thing for your new teacher.”
“Bullshit! You’re always watching her,” Nobara scowls while folding her arms in front of her chest. “It’s been weeks, Gojo-sensei, and you’re always watching her. Even with the blindfold on, we can feel your gaze on her, like a compass trying to find north.”
That… was a weird thing to say, especially coming from Yuji. Gojo’s eyes flick towards the mat once more, just to make sure you can’t hear the three of them. You and Megumi have sat down, all three demon dogs—Toru, Kuroo and Megumi’s black demon dog—playing with each other while you and Megumi are talking.
“Duhhh, I have to make sure the three of you don’t absolutely destroy her in the hand to hand spars,” he retorts. Nobara is already getting her phone out of her pocket, “But you even look at her outside of the spars— here, see! In this picture you’re looking at her even though she’s just talkin—”
The brat really has taken pictures of him without him noticing. He tunes the two of them out, because he already knows that they aren’t gonna stop until he ‘confesses’, which isn’t gonna happen because he isn’t into you.
So why do his cheeks feel so warm when even thinking about nursing a crush on you?
It’s been four months since you came back to Japan. Four months of being back in Satoru’s life. Four months of him constantly hovering behind you, like he’s afraid you’ll leave again if he isn’t watching. You’re not sure if he knows you know he’s checking in on you, but it’s quite sweet, honestly.
The two of you are sitting on the couch, two bowls of strawberry ice cream in front of you, with a plate of mochi on the table—Satoru’s idea, of course.
Gojo had put on a show to watch while eating, but you’re not quite focused on that. The bowl of ice cream forgotten in your lap while you’re hunched over your phone, thumbs flying over the screen to send messages back.
You’re just about to send the text message when an incoming call comes through.
Mom
Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Why now.
Satoru looks over, spoon in his mouth, eyebrow raised while he looks over at your phone. You’re about to decline the call when Satoru reaches over and clicks on the accept call button. Looking over with wide eyes, you mouth a ‘what are you doing?’, and he only shrugs.
It’s then that you hear your mother’s voice come through the line, calling out your name. “Hello, are you there?”
The bastard had put it on speaker as well. Scowling you look back at your phone. “I- yeah. Hi, mom,” you awkwardly say.
Your mom immediately starts berating you, asking you how you could go to Japan without letting anyone know, and for four months at that!
Shoulders pulled up to your ears, cheeks red, you keep opening and closing your mouth, but before you can even get a word out your mother is already speaking again.
“Seriously, Japan? I’ve told you so many times not to go back to that place. And now I have to find out through your work that you’ve been gone for four months already? You said you were going on a two week vacation, not move to another country!”
Right, you did say that. Back when you first got here in December, you’d told your mother that you would take a small vacation to the Maldives—not Japan and definitely not for four months. She’s probably worried sick.
Swallowing you finally speak up. “Things just… didn’t go according to plan—”
“Are you still in Japan in hopes to find that boy? God, how many times have I told you to get over the guy. You two were friends when you were kids. It’s been twenty-two years for goodness sake! He probably doesn’t even remember who you are.”
Well fucking ouch. And how are you going to tell her he’s sitting right beside you? Yes, that’s right, you haven’t even told her that you found Gojo, but then again, you also didn’t tell her you were in Japan out of all places.
She continues her berating. “On that topic, you should start living your life. I found someone for you, he’s sweet, and tall, and a true gentleman—and before you say anything, I don’t care that the only guy you’re willing to marry is Gojo Satoru, that excuse is getting real old.”
You’re spluttering out replies, but all Gojo can focus on is that one sentence. The only guy you’re willing to marry is Gojo Satoru. Only guy. Willing to marry. Gojo Satoru. You. Marry. Him. You want to marry him?
And by your reaction it’s clear that you did say that and it wasn’t something your mother made up on the spot. You’ve talked about wanting to marry him? Despite the two of you not having seen each other for more than two decades?
The information just refuses to compute in his head. Why would you want to marry him? Was it because of the name or wealth that came with it? The protection from the Zen’in clan, maybe? Or was it because you just really liked him when the two of you were younger?
But then again, you haven’t seen him in ages, surely you would’ve found someone else you liked during all of those years.
It just doesn’t make sense in his head.
It would be one thing to not make any new best friends, reserving that spot for him somehow, but it’s a whole other thing to tell your mother you didn’t want to marry anyone other than him.
And from the discussion that’s still going on beside him, it’s clear you’ve talked about him. A lot. And not just when you were younger—that part you did tell him, the fact that you cried over him and manifested a Shikigami that looked like him, the same way he cried over you for all of those years—but also when you were older.
He doesn’t know what to do with the information he just got handed on a silver platter. Sure, he could tease you for it, but that would still not help with his questions that are floating around in his head.
Fuck, you just keep throwing curveballs. From coming back in his life after twenty-two years to showing him that you inherited the Zen’in clan’s technique—and subsequently telling him you’re of Zen’in lineage—to the fact that you manifested a dog that looked identical to him.
Never in his life would he have thought that you coming back into his life would lead to all of this.
But one thing he can say for certain now—and even before, but the logical part of his brain was still on edge. Plus he wasn’t quite ready to forgive you just yet for being gone for so long, and even admitting to the fact that you could’ve came back earlier—is that you’re not here to take him out.
You really came here just to see him. Even if you didn’t know if he would let you back in his life. It was a gamble you took because you missed him the same way he has missed you for all of those years.
Fuck.
He hasn’t even noticed that you hung up the phone. It’s only when you turn to him with wide eyes that he finally looks at you again.
“You shouldn’t believe everything she said, like— yeah, sure I didn’t tell her I was going to Japan, but that’s only because I knew she wouldn’t approve. I tried to when I was a teenager, but she shot that idea down every time, because she was too scared to be recognized by some random Zen’in clan member—”
“You wanted to marry me, huh?” he smirks down at you, because honestly it is adorable, even if it doesn’t make sense.
Putting your hands out in front of you, you wave them around. “It’s not what you think—stop looking at me like that, yes I can feel the way you’re looking at me, Gojo, It doesn’t matter you have a blindfold on. It’s not like I told my mom ‘Heyyyy mom, just so you know, I won’t ever marry someone except for my childhood best friend’, it was just that she kept trying to set me up for dates that I didn’t want to go on.”
Raising his eyebrows he lets the silence sit for a few seconds, just to watch you squirm a little, let it sink in what you’ve just told him, because he’s a dick like that. “So the first thing you came up with is that you wouldn’t date because you wanted to marry me?”
“I- well… I mean,” you trail off before huffing a breath through your nose and crossing your arms over your chest, not daring to look him into the eyes. “You were, like, my only friend ever, so it was the only excuse I had.”
That sends a small pang through his chest. He was your only friend, ever? That’s actually incredibly sad. In a way it reminds him of himself, of all the years he had to stay at the Gojo estate where he was spoken to like an adult and treated like one.
It was incredibly lonely, even if he was constantly surrounded by people. But it wasn’t like they were there to just let him be a child, no. He had to train, to be on his best behaviour, had to learn so many things a child shouldn’t have to learn, only because he was born with the Six Eyes.
Luckily he had Shoko and Geto back when he started high school. They were always there for him, though they weren’t quite you, they were absolute crackheads in their own way. And he loved them for it.
After high school it went quite different, obviously. Losing Geto to his ideals and Shoko being more reserved in nature—sure he could still go to her, but she also changed. A lot. And he just doesn’t want to burden her even further.
So it’s been just him since the second year, too. And yes he can still annoy people—such as Ijichi, Yaga and Nanami—but he never got quite close to anyone, either.
So the fact that you didn’t have any friends either sends a small pang through his chest. Trying to alleviate the mood, he chuckles a bit, “What, like, people didn’t wanna be friends with you because you stole their food and drew on them?”
“No I just… I mean in the beginning I was missing you so incredibly much, I was constantly crying, not even trying to make new friends because, y’know, you were my friend and I had just lost you in a way. After that I kinda became the ‘transfer who cried the whole time’ so people avoided me.”
If he didn’t feel bad before, he certainly does now. He can’t imagine how hard it is to have your life completely turned upside down at the bright age of six, only to not have any friends either.
“Not that it really mattered back then, it’s not like I spoke the language, so even any attempts of having a friend flew out of the window. And after that I just, I dunno, didn’t want any friends, I guess.” You shrug your shoulders, trying to be nonchalant about all of it.
Well that’s fucking sad, isn’t it? Here you are, trauma dumping onto the one person who has offered you a place to stay while you’re in japan—sure he kinda roped you into it by immediately giving you a teachers position, but still—being generous even while he didn’t have to.
“But don’t worry about it, I’m completely fine this way!” you quickly add, hoping that he didn’t feel too sorry for you. That’s not something you want.
Looking down, you see that your ice cream has melted into a sad puddle of pink goo. Standing up, you can see Gojo startle a bit, you reach over to pluck his bowl right out of his lap. He was almost done eating it, so there isn’t much melted ice cream left in his bowl.
“Well, this looks fucking sad, I’ll clean these up!” You practically sprint toward the kitchen to get away from the awkward tension that’s in the air.
Setting the bowls down in the sink with a clank! you close your eyes for just a second. Of course this would happen right where he could hear. He probably thinks you’re a freak for even being like this.
The days after are awkward to say the least. You’ve noticed Gojo hovering less and less around you, often times choosing to actually just do things for himself, instead of watching you.
He hasn’t made any comments on your excessive cleaning, either. You’ve cleaned the kitchen three times in the past two days, and even when you were on your hands and knees, scrubbing the floor, did he only look at you for a second or two before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and going back to whatever he was doing before.
Whenever the two of you go to the school, he also doesn’t watch you spar anymore. He either gets to sparring with one of the students himself, or he bounces off to his office, telling you that he has some paperwork to catch up to.
While you don’t doubt he has paperwork—he definitely has, a lot of it too—he has told you he absolutely hates doing it. Most of the times he would just tell Ijichi to do it for him while he did other stuff. So it’s glaringly obvious that he’s avoiding you.
Gojo, in the meanwhile, can’t get over the conversation the two of you had a few days ago. He really has been your only friend all of your life, and here he was mad at you for abandoning him, and only thinking you were back in his life to off him.
In a way he feels fucking guilty for it. Not trusting you for four months, despite you never giving him any reason not to. The only thing you ever did was move away, but that wasn’t your decision, so why was he so mad at you?
Sure, you could’ve came back earlier—much earlier—but you had been doubting he even wanted you back in his life, which he can understand.
So he has been giving you some space for yourself. Stopped hovering around you constantly, watching your every move. Stopped doubting that you were in his life for bad reasons.
And apparently the students noticed as well, because not ten minutes after he went to sit down in his office chair, the door slams open. A very irritated Nobara and a more enthusiastic Yuji standing beside her in the threshold.
“So you finally realised that you’re in love with her or something?” Nobara asks, while stalking over to claim the only other seat in the office—a big, luxurious chair that swallows her whole.
Yuji calmly closes the door and walks over to where his classmate is sitting. “You’ve been kinda avoiding her these past few days, sensei.”
Seems like his personal business can’t stay personal with these two. He should’ve expected as much, honestly, from the moment they asked if he had a thing for you. Though they never asked him anything about it afterward, he’s sure they still watched him like a hawk.
Rubbing his hands over his face, he lets out a long, suffering sigh. Because what the fuck is he even supposed to say to that? They don’t even know that the two of you are childhood best friends, by his choice, really.
“I’m just trying to find her a birthday gift,” is what he says instead. Which definitely was the wrong thing to say, seeing the way Nobara’s eyes light up. Shit.
“You could’ve just said so, now move—” she plucks the iPad right out of his hands, screen lighting up on the last tab he had open. “—what the fuck, Gojo?”
That certainly attracts Yuji’s attention, looking down at the screen, he furrows his brows. “Why are you trying to buy Tamagotchi’s?”
“It’s a joke gift, you guys wouldn’t understand— gimme it back,” Nobara holds the iPad out of reach, tapping things into the tablet without once looking at Gojo.
“Well, whatever, if you want her to be turned off by your gift, go for it. As for a normal gift, what about this?” She turns the screen back toward Gojo. Looking it over, he sees two dog beds for a ridiculous price, not that he cares much about that, he has more money than he can ever spend, but still.
It’s thoughtful, to be completely honest, and not something he would’ve came up with himself. With the way there are multiple dog beds that are strewn all over his apartment, he would’ve never thought to get you new ones. But when he thinks about the beds, they are quite old, torn in some places, stuffing flat.
“Oh, oh! And maybe you could get like a small gift basket filled with sweets. She likes those right? She’s always snacking on something,” Yuji adds, bouncing slightly in place, faded rose tufts moving with the motion.
Yeah that does sound good. And something you would absolutely love, considering you still have the same sweet-tooth you had when you were younger.
“Okay, okay. I’ll get her that, now go back to whatever the two of you were doing before coming here to lecture me on gifts,” he shoos them out of the door. Just before he closes it, he can hear Nobara yell a ‘Don’t fuck this up’ over her shoulder.
Closing the door, he lets his head rest against it for a few seconds. Yeah, this is absolutely going to be either a fail or an absolute win, and he has no idea which of the two it’s gonna be.
Two weeks later, he's anxiously sitting at the dining table—somewhere he never sits—fiddling with the plastic wrap around the gift basket, the sound of it crinkling is the only sound filling the room other than the dogs their breathing and occasionally shifting.
Toru had been trying to play with him earlier, dropping a ball in front of his feet, only for Satoru to not even notice it. He’s so nervous—and for what? It’s just your birthday. Twenty-nine. No big deal. Not your ‘milestone’ thirty everyone keeps talking about.
So why is he so nervous right now?Maybe it has to do with the fact that this is the first time he’s spending your birthday with you since you turned five. Yes, you were there on his sixth birthday, but you were only five—almost six—back then.
He’s done breathing exercises. Him. Gojo Satoru. The Strongest. Had done breathing exercises because he was nervous to give gifts to his best friend… childhood best friend? just friends? Whatever.
He’s never, and I mean never, been this nervous before. He’s had to face death when he was merely sixteen years old. He had to kill his best friend when he was twenty-eight. But none of those made him as nervous as he is right now.
Bouncing his knee while sitting, trying to sit still until you finally woke up. He’s been sitting here since the bright and early hour of five a.m. Getting the gifts ready for you, but right now he’s regretting that decision, because it means having to wait god knows how long for you to wake up.
It’s ridiculous, really. Trying to keep calm while he still has to actually give you the gifts, and what if you don’t like them? What if you laugh at him? Or maybe scold him?
He’s spiraling, but luckily not for long because a wet nose presses itself against his palm. Looking down, he sees Toru staring at him with narrowed eyes. Scratching him behind the ear, Satoru tries to focus himself on the dog.
He rolls the ball into the living room, the dog prancing after it, nails making soft click click click sounds against the hardwood floors. Coming back, he drops the saliva soaked ball in Satoru’s awaiting hand.
With a grimace he throws the ball once more, wiping his hand on his sweats. The fabric darkening where he wipes off the drool. You’d think for shadow constructs that they wouldn’t have any saliva, but they do, apparently. Which is interesting, because they don’t really have any other ‘normal’ dog things.
They don’t need to eat nor drink—though you insist on feeding them occasionally and putting out water bowls that just… sit there and never get used—nor do they have to be walked. Sure they love to run around, Toru moreso than Kuroo, but that’s something they already do in the apartment.
Speaking of, the black dog stands up, stretching herself, hairs raising slightly. “Oooohhh, biiigg stretch,” the words leave his mouth before he even realises it.
He has to blink a few times when he realises he said that. It’s something you tell the dogs when they stretch out, acting as if they’re actual dogs and not just Shikigami.
Looks like you’re rubbing off on him.
When Satoru finally hears your door open fifteen minutes later, he sits up straight. You’re walking out, one hand in your hair, scratching your scalp slightly while still yawning.
“G’morning,” you mumble, walking directly to the kitchen. But Gojo doesn’t even hear it, because all he can focus on is your pajamas, if you can even call them that.
A tank top that has ridden up dangerously high, so much so it’s bunched around your ribs—something you seem completely unaware of—and the shorts. God, can he even call them shorts? Your ass is nearly hanging out of the thing.
There’s so much skin, which definitely doesn’t help when you bend over to grab a pan from the cupboards. His entire brain just… shuts off. It only seems to turn back on when the pan clanks! onto the furnace.
Clearing his throat he stands up. “Morning. I- you- fucking hell, happy birthday to you!” he almost fucking cheers. You look over at him, eyebrows furrowed, still fiddling with the knob to turn on the furnace. “That’s today?”
That makes him sweat just slightly. Did he remember the date wrong? Fuck, is today even your birthday? He’s sweating over here, trying to figure out if it really is your birthday, while you’re whispering under your breath.
Did you really forget your own birthday? Surely not. Then again, you don’t really celebrate it. Your parents send you a text and come over whenever they can with some gifts, but other than that, you don’t really pay any mind to it.
Patting your shorts, you’re trying to allocate your phone, whichhhh is probably still under your pillow. Giving up on trying to get the furnace to work, you run to the bedroom, trying to find your phone, hand wildly patting underneath your pillow.
When you finally find the thing, you swipe it open, only to be met with two texts from your parents. It is your birthday!
Going back inside, you see Gojo stand a bit awkwardly in the middle of the room. Kuroo brushes her head against your bare leg, the soft strands of her fur tickling you slightly.
“Thank you, Gojo,” you thank him, though it’s slightly awkward after running out of the room after he congratulated you.
“I got you presents.” Stepping to the side, you finally see that there are a few boxes on the table—one massive one, a smaller one, and a basket wrapped in plastic wrap. Blinking, you’re trying to process the fact that Gojo had bought you presents.
Is this why he has been avoiding you? When the two of you were children he was terrible at keeping secrets. Whispering all excitedly to you about what he had gotten you, only to clasp a hand over his mouth, eyes widening, when he finally realised he shouldn’t have told you your present.
It always made you laugh to see those blues widening significantly. You didn’t care much for surprises, as long as you knew the gift came from Gojo, it would be all right.
“You didn’t have to,” you say softly, still eyeing the gifts on the table. Gojo just grins and walks behind you, nudging you slightly. “Go on, open them.”
Looking back at him, he gives you a small encouraging nod. Walking forward, you start with the big gift. Opening it, you’re met with two new, luxurious dog beds. The quality feels like it’s expensive. They’re big enough for the dogs to comfortably sleep in, and the bedding itself is soft as fuck.
Gojo sees you carefully lift one of the beds, turning it this and that way, inspecting it, before putting it on the ground. Toru, of course, prances over and sniffs the bed once before tilting its head your way. When you nod, he lets himself flop onto the bed, white fur splaying out against the gray fabric.
A small smile graces your face. Grabbing the other dog bed, you lay it down for Kuroo, who is a bit more careful. She steps onto the bed, makes a small circle, before finally going to lay down. She doesn’t huff when doing so, which Gojo considers as a win.
Then you go to grab the gift basket. There are multiple snacks in there, along with a few things he’s seen you buy over the months you’ve been living here or have been mentioning. A small bracelet you saw during one of the missions with the kids. Perfume you always wished to have, but never had the money for. Some scrubs he sees you buy from time to time.
Smiling, you rip the plastic away. “This is so sweet, Gojo, thank you,” you smile all cute at him over your shoulder, before looking back down to the gifts. Opening the box with the bracelet, you fucking gasp.
“I can’t accept this, do you know how expensive that thing was?!” you turn around, box still open with the bracelet neatly laid out for you.
“Yes you can, c’mhere,” he murmurs, moving forward to pluck the box right out of your delicate fingers.
Grabbing the bracelet, he angles your wrist down a bit so he can put it on for you. The sunlight hitting the silver pendant just so that it glints. You touch the bracelet with reverent fingers. “Thank you,” you murmur, looking up at Gojo through your lashes.
His throat bobs when he swallows, looking down at you—having to keep his eyes from wandering lower, because he can look riiiight into your top from this angle—stepping back slightly. “You’re welcome.”
After a few more seconds of eye-contact, you sift through the basket again. All the sweets he got you were really what you liked, and not necessarily him. Fuck, it’s really thoughtful.
Opening a box of strawberry mochi, you hold one out for him to grab. His long fingers brushing yours in the process. “Sweets for breakfast?” it’s not like he cares much, shoving the sweet right into his mouth.
Laughing you take a bite for yourself. Dusting your fingers off, you grab some of the snacks and put them on the table. “Be right back.”
He sees you walk to your room, which makes him smile. Sure, you were chaos—and there are times where it shines through even nowadays—but if it’s one thing you did, it was cleaning up your gifts. Whenever you got a gift, you put it in its rightful place before continuing to open the rest of them.
It never made sense to his young mind, but then again, many things you did didn’t.
When you come back, you eye the small gift left on the table. Grabbing it you unbox it, only to be confused. In the box was a tiny egg-like device.
“You got me a Tamagotchi?” you ask him, turning the thing around around a few times to really confirm it is in fact a Tamagotchi. Gojo grins, putting his hands in the pockets of his sweats, rocking on his heels a little. “Mhmmm.”
“Why?” you ask, finally looking at him, and that grin on his face tells you he’s up to no good. “You remember when your mom called you?”
Of course you remember that, she had said some things you’d rather not have Gojo known, but alas, the damage was done already. Nodding your head he continues.
“Well, since you wanted to get married to me sooo bad, I just wanted to make your wish come true!” He pulls out a similar looking device from his pocket, dangling the little keychain from his finger, grin widening and eyes crinkling with the motion.
You stare at him for a few more seconds, completely dumbfounded. “Let me get this straight. You got me a Tamagotchi because you heard my mother say that I had told her that I would only ever marry you—so she would stop setting me up for blind dates—so our little Tamagotchi’s can get married?”
Gojo gins and nods his head, the hairs on his head bouncing with the motion. “Mhmmmm, I just wanted to make your dream come true.”
One second he’s grinning down at you, the next he gets a pillow to the face. When the fuck did you even get a pillow? And one from your bed nonetheless. Blinking disorientated, he looks at you for a few seconds. Then sees Kuroo sitting next to you, her tail wagging onto the ground.
Oh. Oh, it’s so on. A small chuckle escapes him, “Oh sweetheart, you have no idea what you’ve done.”
With that he moves towards you faster than you can even process. Wraps his arms around your waist and carries you to the couch. You keep hitting him with the pillow, over and over and over, squealing slightly while you kick your legs in his grip.
“Satoru Gojo, put me down right now!” you demand, still hitting him with the pillow.
“As you wish!” He all but throws you onto the couch. Bouncing slightly you blink up at him, questioning what he’s even gonna do, when you see his fingers start to creep towards your sides.
“Don’t you dare— Satoru I’m serious,” you warn him while pointing your finger at him.
He thinks it’s adorable, honestly; your little finger wagging in his face like that’s going to stop him from tickling you. It’s one of the weaknesses you’ve had since you were young. Ticklish as fuck, whereas Gojo could be tickled and he would not react. At all.
Your laughter echoes through the apartment, trying to squirm away from his fingers digging into your sides. Gojo chuckles at the fucking torture he’s putting you through, there are tears gathering in your eyes and your sides are starting to hurt.
“Ah- okay okay, enough,” when he still doesn’t stop, you call in for drastic measures. “Kuroo, Toru, attack!”
The dogs immediately ‘attack’ Satoru—Toru biting on the fabric of his sweats, trying to get him away while Kuroo tries to, delicately, grab ahold of Satoru’s wrist to get his hand off you.
The tickling finally stops. Taking greedy gulps of air, Satoru slumping over you, pulling a small groan from your chest. “That’s cheating,” he whines. Then looks over at the dogs and whispers: ‘betrayal, after all I did for you guys’.
Nudging the tall, white-haired guy that’s still half sprawled over your torso like a corpse, you smile at him. “Thanks, for the gifts. And remembering.”
“Always.”
You open Satoru’s bedroom door without knocking. It’s something you really should start learning to do, because if you did, you probably wouldn’t be met with this sight.
You’re not sure what reaches your brain faster, the way Satoru is laid out on his bed, all naked. Fist pumping his ridiculously large cock, with a pretty pink tip and multiple veins running along the shaft. Pre cum is beading out of the head, which he smears down with each pump of his hand. His head is thrown back slightly, teeth sunken into his plush bottom lip, eyes hooded and focused on his phone.
Or the way his phone is cradled in his free hand, screen facing him, the light illuminating everything you can see. The speakers letting the pornographic moans echo through the space.
Satoru looks over at you, still frozen in the doorway, mouth open—not sure if it’s because you’re shocked or because you were on the verge of saying something and the words never made it out.
His hand never stops stroking. up and down, up and down, up and down, up and— stop looking at it. You shake yourself out of your stupor, feeling your cheeks heat up completely.
“Sorry!” you squeak out, ready to turn on your heel and go back to your own room. You feel so stupid.
Should’ve knocked. Should’ve closed the door the moment you saw what was happening. Should’ve just waited until next morning.
You’ve taken one step back when Satoru call out. “Wait. Stay, please?” his voice is breathy, a groan tears from his throat next when he thumbs over his own slit. Looking over your shoulder, you try to keep your eyes on his face.
The way his mouth is slightly parted, chest heaving with every ragged breath he takes. The flush on his face continues all the way down to said chest. Eyebrows furrowed slightly.
Swallowing you take another step back. leave leave leave, just leave. You must’ve heard him wrong. just. leave. Reaching for the door handle, you want to shut the door behind you. Once again Satoru speaks up, eyes still completely fixed on you. “Please?” he pleads.
Chewing on your lip you contemplate it for a second before you step into the room. It feels wrong. It is wrong. This is your friend—your best friend. You shouldn’t do this, having read too many stories about people losing their best friends after hooking up with them.
But… are you hooking up with him? Technically you’re watching him, not that that’s any better. Watch the way his hand slides up and down his shaft, occasionally squeezing at the base. Watch the way his pupils are blown wide with lust.
“Good girl,” Satoru breathes out, and your thighs clench on instinct. Fuck. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought this would actually happen.
Without realising your hand finds your clit over your sleeping shorts, a small gasp leaving your lips at the contact. Then you freeze, eyes blown wide.
Were you really about to touch yourself while looking at how your best friend is jerking himself off? Fuck you’re a perv.
Gojo groans at the sight, throwing his head back slightly. His hips lift from the matrass, meeting his hands with desperate thrusts. “Fuck, touch yourself for me,” he almost whines the words out, pausing the porn video he was previously watching and throwing his phone somewhere on the bed. He pats the bed next, inviting you in.
Gulping you walk over, tentatively putting a knee on the matrass. Then your other, before you’re seated on the bed on your knees. Feet under your butt, hands laying limp in your lap. Gnawing on your lower lip, you look at Satoru.
From here you can clearly see his face, illuminated by the sliver of moonlight the curtains let through. You can see his eyes fully now. See the way there’s only a small, thin ring of blue left. Pupils completely blown out and focused on you.
His eyes travel from your own face down to your pajamas—a small tank top and shorts that shouldn’t even be able to be classified as shorts—eyes lingering on the way your nipples poke through the top. He licks his lips at the sight, fucking his fist a bit faster. More pre spilling out.
Fuck, how he wishes he could just wrap his lips around them. Teeth grazing the sensitive nubs—have you cry out in pleasure. Another groan leaves his throat.
“C’mon, sweetheart, touch yourself for me,” he repeats. Because god, the way you were about to do it from watching him jerk off, it turned him on so incredibly much more than the amateur porn he was watching on his phone.
He had a bad habit of searching up videos where the girl resembled you. It was the only way he could cum after you came back in his life—he realised that after trying to search for one of his favorite videos, and just couldn’t get hard. At all.
Until he stumbled upon a video where the girl vaguely resembled you. His dick instantly twitched at the sight, reminding him of how embarrassingly hard he got whenever you bent over to grab something from the floor, or the lower cupboards. Or when you’d come out of your room in sleepwear that really shouldn’t be called sleepwear.
Seeing you hesitate makes him speak up again. “Want me to beg? I’ll do it— please touch yourself—fffuckk—for me,” he squeezes his tip, before returning to pumping his shaft. And that snaps you out of it.
You shyly put your legs in front of you, thighs slightly parted. And Gojo can see the small, wet patch starting to form on the crotch of your short’s fabric. Next you shimmy out of them and— “Not wearing any panties? Dirty girl.”
It makes your skin heat up even more, because you never thought that not wearing any panties would lead to this. Putting your middle finger on your clit, you apply slight pressure. Gasping out, your hips lift slightly.
Your finger drops down to your soaked entrance next. You circle it with the pad of your finger, not once daring to dip inside, just circling it, catching your slick on your finger before bringing it back up to your clit.
Circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, you suck in a shaky breath, chest stuttering with it. Your thighs close slightly, before you force them open again. Looking over you can see Gojo’s eyes transfixed on your fingers.
You can feel your hole clench around nothing, more slick gushing out of you. And how you wish it were his fingers on you—on your clit, on your thighs, inside of you. Your free hand travels up to your breast, pinching your nipple through the fabric.
Whining out you throw your head back, before your fingers glide from your clit to your entrance. Sinking one finger in, you bite on your lower lip. Gojo groans at the sight of your finger disappearing into your tiny hole.
How he wishes it was his finger being hugged by your tight, wet, warm, walls. He wishes he could feel them clench on his digits, wish he could scissor you open—make you cry out at how much thicker and longer his fingers were compared to yours.
His hand matches your rhythm, the way you’re thrusting in and out. In and out, in and out, in and out. He can feel his lower stomach starting to contract. Abs tensing up. But he wants to wait for you to cum as well. Wants to cum at the same time.
“Add another finger,” he groans out. And you do just that, adding a second finger with a small gasp falling from your lips. It almost tips him over the edge. The two of you work in tandem, hands and fingers moving in the same speed. Hoping—wishing you could feel the other.
The room fills with sounds—ragged breaths, the shlick shlick shlick from both your fingers plunging into your wet pussy, and from Gojo’s hand pumping its shaft. The knot in your stomach tightening with the seconds, getting warmer and warmer.
The hand that was pinching and rolling your nipple between your fingers falls down to your pussy, circling your clit. “Close,” you gasp out. Gojo doesn’t reply, just moves his hand a bit faster, until finally white spurts of cum dribble down his hands.
You follow him seconds after, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. The knot in your stomach finally snapping, sending you into an blinding orgasm. Legs snapping shut, trapping both your hands between them and your pussy. Thighs trembling.
Coming down from your high, you look over at Satoru, who looks utterly blissed out. There’s cum on his hand, thighs, abs, and even some on the matrass. He’s giving himself a few more strokes, cum dribbling down from his slit with some after spurts.
Removing your fingers from your heat, you look around awkwardly. There’s cum dribbling down your fingers, but you don’t want to just wipe them off on Satoru’s duvet.
Before you can even scoot off the bed to go clean yourself up, Satoru is suddenly in front of you— still in his full, naked glory. Skin flushed and shiny with sweat, still dragging in breaths like he sprinted a full marathon.
You open your mouth to ask him what he’s doing, but the words die out instantly. Satoru wraps his lips around your fingers and suuuucks your juices right off them. His tongue swirling around them. His eyes rolling to the back of his skull while he hums around your digits. You slightly jerk your hand back, before he grabs your wrist to keep them in place.
Once he’s done cleaning your fingers, he licks a broad stripe from your fingers all the way down to your wrist, where slick is dripping down.
You can feel your eyes go wide, mouth parting slightly. The sight is ungodly—or rather godly. The pale moonlight shining on Satoru makes his stark white hair stand out even more, his skin pale skin illuminated by the white light.
Satoru’s eyes find yours—pupils still blown wide, a bit hazy—while he licks one last stripe up your palm, collecting the last of your sweetness. The sight makes you feel parched, swallowing nervously you bite on your lip, unsure of what to do.
Pulling his head from your hand, he winks at you while his tongue swipes over his lips. Your eyes flitting to them like a moth to a flame. And you wonder—not for the first time—what it’s like to feel them on yours. What it would feel like kissing your best friend.
“You taste so sweet,” he rasps out, pulling you from your thoughts. Staring at him with wide eyes you open your mouth to say something—probably something stupid—when he beats you to it. “‘Wonder what it’s like straight from the source.”
You gasp at that, thighs clenching. You feel your pussy throb for him, as if it has a little heartbeat of its own. A fresh wave of sweetness dribbling out at his words. Gojo’s eyes immediately are drawn toward the action, a slow grin forming on his face.
“Oh? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweets,” he’s smug. His pearly whites catching the moonlight, making him even more attractive. Fuck. Yes, you would like that. Have him buried between your legs, staring up at you while he makes you feel good. Have your hands grip his hair. Thighs wrapped around his head.
He sees you nod your head, a shy, quick little thing. Your whole face is burning up from your cheeks to the tips of your ears down your neck toward your chest. It makes him wonder if it continues all the way to your tits, still covered in that damn tank top.
That wouldn’t do now, would it?
Leaning back, he goes to lay down onto his back, still looking at you. “What- what are you doing?” you ask him, voice fully confused. And god, if it doesn’t do things to him.
“Want you to ride my face,” he replies, looking over at you before grabbing your thighs and moving them for you.
You’re straddling his chest, thighs bracketing him, pussy dripping. The sight is absolutely filthy—something he could only ever dream of since you got back into his life.
The only thing that would be better was if that damn top was finally gone. Your pebbled nipples taunting him through the fabric.
Running his hands up and down your thighs, feeling you shiver, he runs his hands up to your waist, fingers brushing the hem. “Off,” he orders.
Gulping you comply with him, pulling it over your head and throwing it somewhere across the room. Your tits bounce with the motion, finally freed of the constricting fabric. A low, guttural groan pulls from Gojo’s throat at the sight. God, aren’t you beautiful. Fully naked on top of him, eyes blown wide looking into his own.
Yeah, he could get used to this. His hands travel up to your breasts, giving them a quick squeeze that has you gasping out, before they travel down and hook onto your thighs once more. He pulls you to hover over his face, your puffy, glistening lips right above his own. His eyes zeroing in on it, unconsciously licking his lips at the sight.
You grab the headboard behind his head, lowering yourself slightly when he nods at you—not fully seated, still hovering, thighs straining slightly. Which is apparently the wrong choice when a firm slap lands on your ass.
“Sit.” There’s no room for debate, no room for you to even stammer out a reply when Satoru pulls you down completely. You arch when you feel his tongue swipe one broad stripe from your fluttering hole all the way to your clit. “F-fuck, Satoru,” you mewl out, grip tightening on the headboard.
Both his hands grip your hips, keeping you slightly in place, before he begins to fully lap at your cunt. He wraps his lips around your bundle of nerves and suuucksss. Your thighs tightening around his head with a small gasp.
Satoru groans out, pressing his tongue into you. Your warm walls clamping down on the muscle immediately. Wriggling his tongue around, he starts slowly tongue-fucking you. The act so filthy, you can’t help but keen out.
One hand leaves the headboard, tangling into his moonlit white hair. It shimmers slightly in the light, making it all that more alluring to grab onto.
His own hand travels up from your hip to the underside of your boobs. His thumb resting there for a moment before continuing upward, fingers finding your hardened peak. Twisting and pulling at it, his tongue leaves your entrance, finding your clit again. He suckles and laps at the nub while still stimulating your nipple.
Your hips grind down onto his face, smearing more of your slick over the lower part of his face. A firm slap to your behind has you gasping out and tightening your hold in his locks. “That’s it, fuck yourself on my tongue. ‘S alll yours,” he mutters into your cunt, blue eyes finding yours.
The vibrations have you moan out. Hips resuming their grind on his face, your other hand joins his hair keeping his face in place for you. Your clit grazes his nose and fuckkkkk. Whimpering you throw your head back.
Closing his eyes, he savors the way you use him. Savors the way you grind down on his face. Savors the way you grip his hair, cock stirring where it’s resting on his stomach, pre beading out slowly, head fully flushed. Savors your taste, a forbidden type of nectar he already knows he won’t get enough of.
His hands grip your ass, encouraging the slow, filthy grinds on his face. So into it, he doesn’t notice one of your hands left his hair until it touches his abs lightly. Opening his eyes he sees you above him; breasts moving with the motion, lip swollen from biting down on it, eyes hazed over.
Then he feels your hand wrap around his cock, giving it a firm tug and he hisses into your mound. The grinds of your hips returning, timing it with the way you’re slowly starting to move your hand on his cock. “Fuck, baby,” he rasps out, hips thrusting up to meet your fist. “Wait—fuck—turn around.”
You still above him before letting go of his shaft and positioning yourself above him once again. Leaning forward you wrap your hand around him again while his tongue finds your clit once more.
Sticking out your tongue, you lick up the pre that’s slowly running down his shaft. From the base allll the way up to his slit. Wrapping your lips around the flushed head, you slowly begin to bob your head, up and down, up and down, fisting what you can’t reach.
Cheeks hollowed out his tip reaches the back of your throat, making you gag. Gojo’s hips lift at the feeling, making you take more of him in. Your throat constricts around him.
Pulling off him, a strand of saliva connects the two of you. Your hips grinding back against his tongue that worms itself into your heat once more. Moaning you go back to your own demonstrations, tongue slowly swirling around his tip, flicking against his frenulum, having him keen out into your cunt.
Taking him down down down, all the way until your lips hit the base, pubes scratching your chin slightly. Breathing through your nose, you keep yourself down there for one, two, three heartbeats before pulling back up again.
Spit gathers at the bottom of his shaft, slowly dribbling down his balls. It’s incredibly messy, your hand getting slicker by the second, jerking him all the way from his base up to his head, swirling your thumb around the slit a few times.
At the same time you feel two thick digits enter you, your hips bucking back on them, pulling a small chuckle from Gojo. “Oh fuckkkk,” you moan out once they start to move inside of you, reaching much further than your own had just minutes earlier.
Temporarily forgetting about the heavy weight in your hand, you begin to grind back, hips moving on their own accord. Never would you have thought you would feel this good from just having fingers inside of you—scissoring you open.
Your eyes roll back when he hits a particular spot inside of you. “There- there, please Gojo,” you all but moan out when he curls his fingers inside of you, trying to find the spot again. Your hips jump a bit when he finds it again, and his arm tightens on your waist draaagging you back down onto his face.
“Where are you going, baby? Can’t even give my cock any attention and you’re trying to run from my fingers?” He all but pulls you down on his face again, having you seated on there, nose nudging his fingers while his buttery soft tongue circles your clit once more, giving it a playful nip while lifting his hips.
It’s then that you remember to go back to your demonstrations, cock heavy and throbbing in your hand. Cheeks hollowing out while the tip prods the back of your throat once more. Your other hand coming down to fondle with his balls, slick with a mix of saliva and pre.
You can feel that familiar pressure start to build up in your lower stomach, chasing that feeling, you begin to suck harder, throating him completely.
“Fuck- oh fuck fuck fuck, thaaat’s it, take it all down that pretty throat of yours, letting me fuck you,” Gojo starts babbling into your cunt, vibrations sending you nearly over the edge.
You force yourself down here, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth and chin with the effort. Your eyes starting to get all teary, and throat constricting around him.
You’re gushing around his fingers when they hit that spot inside of you once more, sending you over the edge, liquid spraying down his face—which he drinks up with greedy gulps, pulling his fingers out of you only to replace with his lips, catching everything he can.
Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you move your mouth back up until only the tip remains in your mouth, lips stretched around his girth.
And it sends him over the edge, too. Milky seed filling your mouth faster than you can swallow, dribbling down his shaft, in white streaks.
Pulling off him, you cough a few times, cheeks red, a few tears finally running down your cheeks.
Gojo finally removes his lips from your cunt with a pop!, slapping your clit lightly once. “Good girl, did so good for me, c’mhere.”
He turns you around, and his lips find yours, and you want to protest—try to—that there’s still cum on your lips, but it seems like he doesn’t mind—in fact, he’s lapping it all up, tongue tracing your lips.
Fuck, that’s hot.
Parting for air you look at him, look at the way his hair is all messed up from where your hands were tugging at it, the lower part of his face shiny with slick, lips pink and swollen and his eyes completely blown out.
Shifting slightly, you feel it then— “You’re hard again, already??” Gojo just grins, pearly whites catching the faint moonlight that’s bleeding through the curtains. “Can you blame me? Your pretty cunt is addicting, sweets.”
Your hips roll down onto it, once, twice, head catching your clit with each movement. Small gasps leaving your mouth every time it does.
Gojo’s hands move to your hips, not moving you in any way whatsoever, just holds onto them and lets you use him. Have your way with him the way you want to.
Then he turns the two of you around, the sudden movement making you gasp out. Eyes widening while you look up at him. Your hair splayed out on the pillow like a small halo, framing your face so prettily.
He moves his hips a few times, tip catching your entrance once, making you moan out. “You sure you want this?” he breathes out, staring at you. “Mhmmm, want you inside of me s’toru.”
Fuck, that does it for him. Wrapping his hand at the base, he glides his shaft through your puffy lips a few times, before finally starting to push in. The stretch is obscene, even after having him scissor you open. After two orgasms.
Pushing in slowly, he has to stop a few times, forehead dropping to your sternum, letting himself rest there a little. He’s not even all the way inside yet, but the way you keep clenching makes his hips stutter.
Your hands claw at his back, leaving behind angry red lines in their wake. It feels like you’re being split in half with how big he is. You had him in your hand, in your mouth, lips stretched around his girth, in your throat, but it still feels different.
“Are-are you all the way in yet?” you breathe out when he stills, soft strands tickling your throat while he peppers your skin with kisses. “Naaahhh, nowww—” He buries himself to the hilt, hips flush against yours. “—I am.”
Pulling them back, he thrusts forward again. Moans falling from your lips at the feeling. One of your legs wraps itself around his waist, pulling him in even further. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head with the new angle.
Your bracelet clinks softly with each thrust, pendant catching the moonlight. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock, letting me use you.” he groans out, leaning down to wrap his lip around your nipple.
Climax building, you can feel that familiar feeling tightening in your stomach. “Close,” you gasp out, fingers digging into his shoulders.
Without any warning, Satoru grabs both your thighs and presses them aaaalll the way downnn until they’re flushed against your chest. The new angle has you gasping out, his tip constantly hitting your cervix like this.
your hands claw at his arms, trying to find purchase onto something, and he hisses out at the small, red lines your nails leave behind, his grin returning tenfold. “Thaaat’s it, wifey, mark me up, show them I’m yours.”
You blink at him, opening your mouth to ask him what he means when he thrusts in, reaching impossible depths no one has ever explored before, making you moan out instead. Your nails dig into his biceps, forming angry little crescents.
“F-fuck, S’toru, you’re so deep!” you whine, tears springing to your eyes when he finds that spongy spot inside of you, your walls clamping down on him.
He notices, of course he does, his eyes trained on where the two of you are connected and— oh! Following his gaze you can see your belly start to bulge every time he bottoms out, the sight ever so sinful.
“Pretty wife, taking me so good,” every word is accentuated with a thrust, hitting your spongy spot over and over again, making you keen out, the first tears starting to roll down the apple of your cheeks. And it’s like a switch turned on in his head.
Leaning forward, he plants his arms right next to your head, his chest caging you in completely, your thighs are stuck between your bodies, trembling and twitching with each trust.
Sticking his tongue out, he liiiicks up the tears that are collecting just at your jaw. Groaning he speeds up, the sinful sound of skin slapping together mixed with moans and groans fills the room completely.
Without so much as a warning, you come around him when he bottoms out once again, his happy trail grazing your clit so sinfully. Throwing your head back you keen out at the sensation, that knot finally snapping inside of you.
Gojo groans out at the sensation. “Coming for me already? Fuck, you look so pretty like this. So mine.” he growls, never once stopping his demonstrations. It makes you dizzy in the best way possible. He leaves open-mouthed kisses all over the column of your throat before he bites down.
The sensation has you gasping out, walls tightening around him once more. Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head, thrusts growing more sloppy with the second, teetering on his own release. “My wife, my pretty wife, you look so good, mine, mine, my pretty wife—”
He’s officially lost it. Not that you’re registering his words any longer, the overstimulation has you keeping out, trying to grab at whatever you can—his arms, shoulders, back, leaving behind marks you’ll have to look at the following morning.
Nodding your head at his babbling, you moan out when his hand snakes between your bodies, pressing down on the bulge of where his cock is buried inside of you. “Feel me there? Gonna fill you up so good, aaallll the way down here.”
You’re barely aware of the fact that you’re once again cumming, toes curling, tummy tingling at the feeling. But Gojo is, of course he is, he’s aware of everything you do. Aware of the tears that are streaming down your face, aware of the way your thighs are trembling under his chest, aware of your cunt trying to milk him for all he’s worth.
“Fffuuuck, yeahhhh you want that dont’cha? Wanna be filled up by me, pumped so full it’s spilling out hours later,” he groans out.
Nodding your head, you loop your arms around his neck. “Yes, yes, please! Please S’toru, wanna be filled. Cum inside of me, please,” you whimper out.
That does it, the next second he’s spilling inside your velvety walls, coating them white. His, his, allll his. Leaning forward, he connects his mouth with yours, tongue invading your mouth. It’s all teeth and tongue.
His thrusts come to a halt, last few drops of cum beading out of him inside of your walls. It driiips out with the amount he’s filling you with, creating a white ring around the base of his shaft, slowly dripping down your bodies—coating his balls, bedsheets and your ass in white.
Coming down, he can feel you play with his undercut, rubbing soothing circles with the other hand. You smile up at him, eyes red-rimmed from the tears, angry red blotches forming on your neck. You look so pretty like this; so his.
He can feel his cock stirring to life inside of you, and from your reaction, you can too, looking down at where the two of you are connected with wide eyes.
“What, thought we were done?” he grins down at you while he slowly rolls his hips into yours. “Told you I was gonna fill you up, ‘ya think I’ll stop after just one?”
Within a second he has flipped you around, his cock leaving your cunt for a second. You yelp, disoriented. Your cheek finds the pillow, arms holding yourself up while he has grabbed your hips. Ass up face down.
For a second he doesn’t do anything, just watches your hole flutter around nothing while his cum bubbles out of you. Then he slaps your ass before lining himself up once more, bottoming out in one swift thrust that knocks the wind out of your lungs.
The pace he sets is brutal; deep, harsh thrusts that make your whole body inch forward thrust by thrust. Luckily Gojo’s holding onto your hips though, pulling them back to meet his hips every time.
“‘Gonna fill all of your holes, have you leaking all day and night,” he grunts out, watching the way your ass ripples with every thrust, your other hole winking up at him.
Hunching over you, he kisses all over your shoulders before nosing the side of your face. Turning around, your mouth finds his once more.
His balls slap your clit over and over, each powerful thrust having you moan out into his mouth.
Disconnecting his mouth from yours, he leans back, quickening his pace. Looking down at you, seeing the way your hair caught the moonlight that’s slipping through the gap in the curtains, leaving a pale streak across your back.
It makes your skin shimmer slightly when it catches your flushed, sweaty skin. Catches the small marks he left behind, almost as if highlighting them for him.
With a particular thrust you whimper out, “There, there. S’toru, fuckk,” you mewl out, hips moving back to meet his thrusts. He focuses his thrusts to keep hitting that spongy spot inside of you, making him groan out when your slick walls tighten around him.
His hand leaves your hip, snaking up to your throat. Grabbing it he lifts your body, your back flush against his chest, his other hand snaking to the front, rubbing your clit. Your back arches, his hips smack smack smacking yours.
“Gonna make you a mommy, have you all round and full,” he’s babbling now, coaxing you through another climax. Your eyes rooollinggg to the back of your skull, drool escaping from your lips in a small, sinful line.
Satoru groans at the way your walls are spasming around him, creaming down his cock, leaving a small white ring around his base. Thighs shaking.
Your entire body is pliant now, melting into him, into the way his beefy arm is still wrapped around your neck, supporting your entire weight while he keeps trusting, not once letting his pace falter.
“You can do one more for me, can’t you,” he growls, and you’re barely aware of what he’s saying. But you nod your head, a small jerky motion. “Yeaaahhh you can. Knew you could, that’s my wifey.”
His hand snakes up to your breasts, kneading and pulling on the hardened buds. “Just imagine these swelling up with milk. Pretty tits leaking.”
He’s completely gone now, babbling to himself. You’re nodding along with whatever he’s saying, not that you’re hearing it. All you can focus on is the way the overstimulation is creeping in, letting you feel every single thing.
A few more thrusts have you thrown over the edge for the fifth time tonight, and it’s dizzying in the best way possible. Your cunt convulsing around him, clear liquid spraying down the bed, and it has his lashes flutter.
“Fuck- oh fuck. That’s it, milk me wifey. Mine, all mine,” he thrusts a few more times before stilling completely. Hot seed spills inside of you, coating your walls white one last time.
He lets the two of you fall forward, his body swallowing yours whole. Every ridge of his abs could be felt on your back, sticky with sweat.
His thumbs find your sides, small kisses on your shoulder. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, voice full of adoration.
You hum, all sleepy and boneless beneath him. Hissing when he finally pulls out, he watches the way his cum seeps from your swollen folds. Entranced by it, two of his fingers scoop it up and push it back inside.
Yelping, you jerk away from his fingers, pulling a small chuckle from his. “Sorry sorry,” He flips the two of you around, pulling your head onto his chest. He rubs a few circles on your shoulder. There’s a small, awkward silence between the two of you.
“Soooo, wanna talk about… that?” your voice is scratchy by the time it comes out. And he only sighs before kissing your temple, then your cheek, then presses a soft peck onto your lips, before finally sitting up. “Mhmmm, but first…”
He scoops you up in his arms, going to stand, and your body reacts to him, completely boneless and melting into him. Even if you wanted to move, you know it isn’t happening. “Where ‘r we going?”
“To the bathroom to get us cleaned up,” opening the door to the bathroom, he turns on the lights before setting you down onto the cold granite of the sink. The contrast between your hot, sweaty skin and the cold granite makes you moan out.
When his body warmth leaves yours—presumably to either turn on the shower or fill up the bath—you make a noise of protest, pulling a small chuckle from his chest.
He comes back not soon after, bath still filling up behind him. His big hands palm your sore thighs, pulling a groan from your mouth, letting your head fall forward against his chest.
“I feel sticky ‘n gross,” you mumble, words getting muffled by his skin. He kisses the top of your head, not once stopping his thumbs from rubbing circles into your thighs that are coated in both your cum. “I know, baby, the bath is almost ready.”
When the two of you finally step in—well he carried you over and lowers you into the water with him—you fully relax against him. He’s seated behind you, thighs bracketing yours, chest pressed against your back.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then he finally starts working on cleaning you up, small cloth in his hand, dipping between the apex of your thighs, carefully brushing against your skin.
You tense up slightly at the feeling, and he immediately stops, peeking over your shoulder at your face. “You okay?”
“Mhmm, s just sensitive,” you whisper back, trying to get your muscles to relax again. “So, wanna talk about what happened?”
Satoru doesn’t respond for a second, just continues cleaning your skin with reverent touches, completely focused on you, on your skin, trying to get you clean in the most gentle way possible—hell, you didn’t even know he could be this soft.
“Technically I didn’t say anything untrue,” he says, still not looking you in the eye. His touch is starting to get a bit more nervous now, like it’s sinking in what he’s said. “We have been married since we were five years old.”
Your head lolls against his shoulder, so you can look up at him. The words are still processing in your mind. Been his wife since the two of you were five? Did he hit his head? Or maybe he’s still so pussydrunk he’s babbling nonsense.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Satoru,” you ask the white haired man behind you—though he looks more like a boy with the way his bottom lip is jutted out and his eyes, that are finally looking back at you, practically sparkling with the way he’s giving you puppy dog eyes.
“You don’t remember the ring pop?” the way he says it, not quite hurt, but not teasing, either, makes you stop for a second. Then a small chuckle pulls from your chest that soon morphs into full blown laughter, the one that makes your sides hurt. “You- you mean the time you ‘proposed’ to me back when we were kids?”
The two of you were only five years old, playing around in the summer sun, chasing each other. There were a few birds that had been chirping, and you and Satoru had been playing for houuuurs on end already.
Sweat was beading down your flushed skin, the summer rays hot and heavy casting down upon the Gojo estate, where the two of you had been running around. At first the two of you had been inside, but then you’d gasped and told him the two of you could go swim!
Satoru obviously agreed with you, nevermind the fact that there wasn’t a pool in the estate—which, honestly, how does one have such a big estate and not have a pool, but alas—he thought the idea sounded so sweet in his mind.
His body was overheating inside, sweating through his tiny shirt. So the two of you went outside with no particular plan in mind other than ‘we’re going to swim’.
Only to be rudely stopped by his caregiver. She told the two of you couldn’t go swimming—and reminded Satoru he didn’t even know how to swim—and to go play in the garden. Sulking the two of you went to play in the garden.
Half an hour later, the two of you were sitting in the shade, gulping down the cold water the caregiver set out for the two of you, with some candy on the table as well. It was one of the few times the two of you got candy after being banned from eating it.
Among the candy, were two ring pops. Your eyes skimmed over the candy, favoring others that were laid out for you, but Satoru’s eyes were attracted to it, remembering something about people who gave each other rings were married. And being married means staying together forever and ever, and that sounded like such a sweet future with you.
Grabbing the ring pop, he slid it around your finger, and you looked quizzically at it before looking over at him. “What’s this, S’toru?”
“It means we’ll get married when we’re older!” He grinned, big and bright and completely boyish. And you had tilted your head at that. “Married?”
Satoru had nodded his head furiously. “Mhmmm, like… like… Oh! like your parents! It means we would live together and— and we can eat all the candy in the world!”
That was the grasp little Satoru had on marriage, and it wasn’t quite wrong, though it wasn’t quite right either, but alas, the two of you had gotten ‘married’ that day—technically it was the promise to get married, but details details.
A laugh pulls from your chest, rippling the water that was starting to cool down. “I do remember. You put a ring pop on my finger and declared we would get married when we got older so we could live together and eat all the sweets we wanted.”
Satoru’s pout turns into a smile, soft and private. Just for you. His fingers are tracing along your body, no longer cleaning you up, just touching.
“Mhmmm. And our Tamagotchi’s got married as well,” he murmurs down at you. And they did get married. At first you’d scowled at him when he ‘proposed’ the idea of them actually getting married, but soon enough you gave into him.
“Most people get down on one knee with an actual ring to propose, y’know. Plus they have been dating for a while before even thinking of marriage,” you tease him, eyes crinkling with how wide your smile is now.
“You want another proposal? Greedy lil thing, aren’t you,” his lips trail down to capture your own for a moment. Returning the kiss, you shift slightly between his legs, trying to get better access to him, only for him to groan out in your mouth.
Disconnecting his lips from yours, he’s breathing heavily, eyes lidded. “Guess we’re gonna have to go ring shopping soon, but first—” his fingers dip between your folds, having you gasp out, eyes widening slightly. “—we have something to celebrate.”
A/N: never, ever, let me make something this long again 😭 I know the jump from the birthday to the smut was quite drastic (yes there was supposed to be a small shock factor, but still), but I just couldn't make myself write more scenes in between. Like this story drained me in the best way possible 🙂↕️ Anyway, if you've made it this far, congratulations and thank you for reading 🫶🏼🤍
a selection of my gojo fics for your enjoyment! art from left to right is by @/to00fu @/aransmind @/thatsallitchief
CHOOSE YOUR ACTOR!
✰ only ones who know starring...SUPERVILLAIN!GOJO
✰ no. one party anthem starring...ROCKSTAR!GOJO
✰ snapshots starring...BEST FRIEND!GOJO
✰ pick your player starring...CHRONICALLY ONLINE LOSER!GOJO
✰ snowed in starring...YETI!GOJO
✰ true love waits starring...NERD!JO
✰ say you don't starring...ENTITY!GOJO
✰ the king's crown starring...EMPEROR!GOJO
✰ gender swapped + eating out starring...FEM!GOJO
✰ slimed starring...SLIME!GOJO
✰ prince charming starring...YANDERE!GOJO
✰ what's mine is yours (and what's yours is mine) starring...BODY SWAPPED!GOJO
✰ god complex starring...CULT LEADER!GOJO
✰ the aliens are cumming starring...ALIEN!GOJO
✰ dorky guys finish first starring...NERD!JO
✰ cut your heart in half starring...MAGICIAN!GOJO
✰ national anthem starring...PRESIDENT!GOJO
✰ divine dicking starring...PRIEST!GOJO
✰ sperm donor of the year starring...BEST FRIEND!GOJO
✰ call me anything you want + two princes starring...NERD!JO + FRAT!JO
✰ lost and found starring...SPIDER!GOJO
✰ who's your whore? starring...FRAT!JO
✰ cat-fished! starring...SNOW LEOPARD HYBRID!GOJO
✰ the one that got away starring...ASTRONAUT!GOJO
a/n: the way this isn't even half my gojo masterlist is lowk so funny to me it took everything in me not to add spider gojo on here lmfao. anywhoooo reblogs + comments are always appreciated adore you all :3
synopsis: Gojo Satoru could have anyone, but somehow he keeps coming back to you. One night at a party, one drink turned into two and he had you in his arms. After that night, you meant more than you should’ve to him. He says he loves you and says you’re his. But his pride and ego won’t let him have you properly. So you’re stuck somewhere in between wanted…but never chosen.
You told yourself you were done with Satoru Gojo. You promised Shoko you'd never speak to him again—so why?
Why were you on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his dorm, feeling completely spent?
You had convinced Shoko to attend the party Sukuna was hosting after Gojo hurt you for the millionth time. You swore you were moving on—at least, until you saw him at the party. One thing led to another and you ended up back here: in his bed, with him hovering over you, looking like he'd won the world.
Was it your fault? Maybe.
"Are you okay, love?"
That stupid nickname. You hated the way your heart fluttered despite everything. "Yeah, just tired.." you whispered, turning onto your side to meet those piercing blue eyes—the ones that haunted your dreams and your nightmares alike.
You loved them. You loved him. He met your gaze and offered that lopsided grin, the very one you'd fallen for in the first place.
"You can stay over," Gojo said, his voice a low drawl. "Geto's not coming back tonight."
"Isn't staying over what couples do?" The words slipped out before you could stop them. He looked at you, his gentle expression shifting into something unreadable. "You know I don't date, (name)."
You bit your lip, pulling away. It was always the same. Noticing the shift in the room, Gojo frowned. "Come on, pretty..don't be like that. You know I'm not into anything serious." He leaned closer, reaching out to touch your face.
You pulled back and sat up, scrambling off the bed. "Yeah, I get it. I can't stay over. Sorry."
Without waiting for a response, you grabbed your clothes and dressed in silence while Gojo lay there, watching you. His expression remained unreadable as you walked out the door.
He refused to acknowledge the sharp, unwanted pang in his chest as he watched you go.
You should have known better. He was Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew he didn't do relationships—so what made you think you were the exception?
.
.
.
"You promised." Shoko glared at you as you finished explaining the night's events. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, ashamed of your own weakness. "I didn't mean to! I regret it. He's an ass. I promise you, I'm genuinely done with him this time."
Shoko looked at you, clearly unconvinced. "You said that literally two nights ago!"
"Well, it's not my fault! I thought he really loved me. I guess I was wrong. Maybe he thinks I'm ugly and only cares about the sex.." A frown deepened on your face—doubt, cold and heavy, beginning to settle in.
Shoko softened. She grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to meet her eyes. "Okay, listen to me. He's an ass. You are absolutely not ugly. Hell, I bet half the guys in this school want you! You just need to realize it."
A determined look crossed her face. "I'm going to prove it. We're going out tomorrow."
You looked at her, stunned. "Sho..I know you want to help, but how can I ever get over him? It's Gojo. There's literally no guy hotter."
You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation, but Shoko only grinned. Without a word, she grabbed her phone. "Are you calling someone?"
Shoko didn't answer. Her eyes lit up. "Choso! Hey, remember that party you're hosting tomorrow? I'll be there. And I'm bringing a friend, bring one too yeah?" She smiled as she hung up.
"What the hell are you doing?" you asked, confused. Shoko hated parties—you were usually had to drag her to them. "I'm showing you how to move on," she shrugged.
A small smile finally broke through your gloom. You were so lucky to have a friend who cared this much. "Thanks, Sho." You leaned in to hug her.
"Of course," she murmured, hugging you back.
"Tomorrow we'll get outfits, yeah?" she added.
Your eyes lit up. "Shopping? Hell yeah!"
"Shopping freak," Shoko rolled her eyes, though her smile widened. She was about to say more, but your phone buzzed, followed immediately by another. You reached over to check the notification, and Shoko peered over your shoulder.
Toru ♡ 11:54pm: "Hey, are u still awake?"
Toru ♡ 11:55pm: "Sorry for earlier. You know I didn't mean it, right, love?"
Your heart stuttered. Shoko groaned as she read the messages. "Nope. No way. He does not have the audacity!" She snatched the phone from your hand.
"Hey, wait, Sho! Let me respond first." Shoko narrowed her eyes. "No! He has you on a leash, literally. You're going to sleep now. Tomorrow? Class, then shopping. No Gojo."
She shut your phone off and set it aside. Your lips parted to protest, but she silenced you with a single, sharp glare. "Ugh, fine. Night, Sho." You moved to your side of the room, climbing into bed. "Night (name)."
As Shoko turned out the lights, you lay there in the dark, your mind racing. Is there anything you can do to make him want to date you? Does he really only care about the sex? Why are you never enough?
You bit your lip, squeezed your eyes shut and tried to force your thoughts into silence until sleep finally took you.
.
.
.
"Satoru, what's gotten into you? You never go to Psychology class. Like, ever." Geto walked behind Gojo, who stopped just outside the lecture hall.
"It's time for a change, Suguru," he shrugged, stepping inside. Geto shot him a look before sighing and following his friend. Gojo's eyes immediately scanned the room, ignoring the professor entirely. They landed on your figure near the back, completely engrossed in your notebook. He grinned.
"Satoru and Suguru! This is the last time I will tolerate you two being late and interrupting my class!"
"Yeah, yeah, we're so sorry, Miss," Geto said with a wink. The professor's face flushed a deep red as she turned away, trying to hide her reaction.
Gojo made his way toward you, watching the moment your eyes met his. For a split second, he swore he saw a flicker of emotion in your expression before it turned cold and unreadable.
He slid into the empty seat beside you. "Hey, love. I texted you last night."
"I know."
He frowned at your attitude. "Uh, well..what are you doing later?"
"Why do you care?"
"I wanted to take you out. There's this party—" You looked up from your book and his heart skipped a beat. "Gojo, just don't. I'm going to another with someone else already."
Gojo's eyes darkened. Someone else? "Who?" he snapped before he could stop himself. "None of your business. Now, if you don't mind, I'm trying to pay attention."
You turned back to your book. Gojo kept his gaze fixed on your profile, shocked by the sharpness of your tone. A gloomy, bitter sensation coiled in the pit of his stomach. Did you really have a date? Was it someone who wasn't him? He gritted his teeth, refusing to call the feeling jealousy.
The bell rang, signaling the end of class.
"(name)..why are you being so bitchy?" he asked.
"What—you know what? Fuck you Satoru."
You packed your stuff and stormed off. He watched as you walked away without looking back. "Shit, she looks mad as hell," Geto noted, stepping up beside him.
"Shut up," Gojo muttered.
.
.
.
"Sho, I felt so bad," you whined, sitting with her on the bleachers. You had just recounted the psychology class confrontation.
"Why would you feel bad?" Shoko asked, taking a bite of her sandwich.
"I was so rude to him! I was this close to cracking and apologizing." You showed her the tiny gap between your thumb and index finger.
Shoko rolled her eyes. "Oh, please! You don't think he talks to his friends about you like that? Besides, he didn't even apologize for his behavior last night."
You frowned, pouting. She was right. You shouldn't be pitying him. But you did.
"Uhm..well, I lied," you admitted quietly. "I told him I had a date to the party."
"It's not a lie. You have me," Shoko shrugged. You laughed, rolling your eyes as you leaned back. "Sure. Be my guest."
"Okay, seriously though," Shoko said, her expression turning serious. "I need to find you a real date."
.
.
.
The party was everything you expected and better. The music was heavy, the crowd was massive, and the bar? The bar was actually well-stocked. To be frank, this was a massive upgrade from Gojo's usual parties.
You sat on the couch, punch in hand, feeling a bit adrift. Shoko had abandoned you fifty minutes ago the second she spotted Geto. You sank deeper into the cushions. It was the definition of a "good time," so why were you so bored? Your mind kept drifting to Gojo, which annoyed you. Unsurprisingly, Gojo hadn't shown up at all—which is expected considering he hated Choso.
"You look lonely."
You looked up, your eyes meeting Toji's. He sat next to you, his massive frame making the couch cushions dip heavily. You've seen him a lot of times around campus but up close, he was even more intimidating—broad shoulders straining against a black compression shirt, a faint, jagged scar at the corner of his mouth and those sharp green eyes of his. In reality, he was hot—like really hot.
"Uh..yeah. A little," you admitted, swirling the punch in your cup. Toji leaned back, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch behind you. He wasn't touching you, but the proximity felt deliberate. "Choso throws the best parties ever and you're over here lonely?"
You let out a laugh. "Fair enough."
"Name's Toji. You are (name) right?"
"Yeah."
"Ah. You're the one always running around with Shoko." You raised an eyebrow. "You've noticed me?"
Toji shrugged, taking a slow sip from his own drink. "I notice a lot of things. Especially when it's someone as beautiful as you who looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here."
You blushed at his compliment, a small smile taking place on your face. "Thank you."
Almost easily, you both fell into conversations quickly. You told him about the cycle you were stuck in with Satoru—for some reason, letting it out felt much better than expected. Toji listened without interrupting, just nodding occasionally, his expression never pitying you.
"Sounds like you've been dealing with a jerk," he says after you finished. "Guys like that are all the same. Think the world spins for them. They take until you've got nothing left to give."
You bit your lip. "Yeah..I guess so."
Toji's voice dropped, turning gravelly and serious. "Stop choosing him. It may not be it's easy, but staying stuck? That's worse."
You laughed softly. "You make it sound so easy."
"Cause it is," he replied with a lazy grin. "You just have to commit to it."
You guys spoke even more as he began talking about his own life. To your surpise, he did underground fighting matches to gain extra cash. Even more—you were surprised to find out you were actually enjoying listening about him.
"You're really easy to talk to," you said after a while, surprised by your own honesty. Toji chuckled at your words. "Don't tell anyone. I've got a nonchalant personality to maintain."
"Oh shut up." you smiled at him as the conversation continued. Eventually, the party started thinning out. Toji turned fully toward you, his green eyes locking onto yours. The teasing smirk softened into something more genuine.
"Look, I'm not gonna bullshit you. I like talking to you. You free this weekend? Let me take you out. A real date."
Your heart skipped a beat. Well he was certainly straight-forward. But for some reason, it felt different. Way different. You smiled, "Yeah..I think I'd like that a lot."
Toji pulled out his phone, his smirk returning. "Give me your number before you forget yeah?"
You both exchanged numbers the same time Shoko came back from wherever. You finally stood up to leave and he walked you and Shoko to the door, his hand resting lightly at your back.
"I'll text you later about the details," he said. "Don't make me wait, princess."
"Okay." You walked away with the biggest grin on your face. Shoko nudged your shoulder, a knowing finding her face. "Okay...that was smooth. And he's hot. Tell me everything!"
You laughed at her teasing, for the first time ever you realized, you had not once thought about Gojo. "Okay so..."
.
.
.
Unsurprisingly during the weekend, the news spread faster than expected.
Gojo was sprawled on the couch in his dorm, scrolling through his phone with one hand while Geto made coffee. Some guy had sent a message in the group chat earlier, casually mentioning how Choso's party went.
That's when Geto spoke. "Hey uh...your girl kinda hit it off with Toji at the party. Seemed really intense." Geto said casually. "Sho told me they were going on a date too..like..today."
Gojo froze mid-scroll. His usual grin dropped instantly. "Toji?" He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "That walking fool? She's going on a date with him?"
Geto shrugged. "Sounds like it. They exchanged numbers and everything. Choso said Toji seemed actually interested, which is insane since he's usually never.
Gojo sat up, jaw tight. That same ugly feeling clawed at his stomach—heavier this time. He stood up abruptly, grabbing his jacket.
"Dude, where are you going?" Geto asked, already knowing the answer.
"To remind that asshole who she belongs to."
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.
.
Toji had just finished working out. He places the towel around his neck while checking his phone. A smile finding his face when he sees a text from you.
Princess 10:34am: hii:) I just got ready! Can't wait to see you.
Toji responds immediately, telling you he's sure you looked beautiful. Toji turns to leave when he sees Gojo walking towards him, Geto trailing behind looking worried.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?" Gojo snapped, stopping right in front of him.
Toji raised an eyebrow. "Leaving the gym? What does it look like Satoru?"
"You asked her out?" Gojo's voice was sharp, eyes flashing filled with rage. "You really trying to move in on what's mine?"
Toji's expression darkened as he realizes what this is about. Geto flashed Toji an apologetic smile.
Toji tossed the towel aside and crossed his arms, muscles flexing.
"Yours?" he laughed, low and mocking. "Last I checked, you told her you don't do relationships. Not only that—she's a person, not your damn toy."
Gojo stepped closer, chest bumping against Toji's. "Stay the fuck away from her Fushiguro."
"Guys, come on this is really silly—" Geto trails off helplessly.
"Yeah? Or what?" Toji smirked, tilting his head. "You gonna cry about it?"
That was the last straw.
Gojo swung first, punching Toji in the face. A surpised laugh slips from Toji, blood dripping down his nose.
"Oh, you wanna go down that path?" Toji growled.
He grabbed Gojo by the collar and shoved him hard, slamming him back against the brick wall of the gym. Gojo grunted but recovered quickly, driving his knee into Toji's side. They wrestled each other to the ground until Geto and a couple of other guys rushed in, pulling them apart before it got worse.
Toji wiped the blood from his lip, breathing heavily. "You're pathetic. She deserves better than some insecure little shit who only wants her when you want your dick wet."
Gojo glared at him, chest heaving. "This isn't over."
"Yeah? Tell that to her while she's on a date with me," Toji shot back with a smirk before walking out.
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.
.
You've been waiting for twenty minutes for Toji who seemed to forgot. You sipped on a cold drink and checked your phone to see if he sent any messages. The waitress had already come by twice, asking if you wanted to order anything while you waited—which you politely declined.
A small pit of disappointment was forming in your stomach as you wait. Just as you were about to stand up to leave you spot Toji.
Toji jogged up the sidewalk toward the café, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. His lip was slightly swollen and there was a fresh cut near his cheekbone. His black shirt looked a little rumpled too. He spotted you immediately and his expression softened.
"Shit..sorry I'm late, princess,” he said as soon as he reached your table. He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, leaning forward You stared at the cut on his face, frowning as you look at him. "Toji..what happened to you?"
He touched his split lip and gave a lazy smirk, like it was nothing. "Nothing important. Gojo didn't like hearing I asked you out."
Your eyes widened. "You fought Gojo?"
"He started it," Toji shrugged. " Don't worry about it, I'm here now yeah?"
"I'm sorry," he said again, more seriously this time. The sincerity in his green eyes made your chest feel warm. You smiled at him.
"It's okay, don't apologize. I'm just glad you came."
Toji's smirk returned, softer this time. "Good. I've been looking forward to this since Thursday."
He waved the waitress over and ordered for both of you. You guys spoke for almost 2 hours. It wasn't your fault really, who wouldn't wanna talk to Toji?
He was straightforward and really funny. He teased you when you got shy, made jokes about campus life and actually listened when you opened up about stuff. You laughed more than you had in..forever with him. He had this thing about him that made you feel safe.
At one point, he leaned back in his chair, watching you with half-lidded eyes. "You've got a really pretty smile, you know that?" he said casually.
"Smile more often it suits you." Your face heated up at his words, feeling like a teenage girl all over again. Toji chuckled at your reaction, loving how easy it was to get you flustered.
After your date he took your hand leading you outside. "C'mon. I wanna show you something before I take you back."
You raised an eyebrow as you followed him outside. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
He led you back towards the older part of town—a place you normally heard criminal stories about. You got closer to him out of instincts as the streets got narrower, the buildings more run-down. "You're not killing me right?"
Toji laughed at your words. "Nah. You're too pretty for that."
Eventually, he stopped in front of an old abandoned warehouse with a faded metal door. He turned to look at you. "This is where I fight sometimes, the underground ground ring I told you about? I want you to show you..if you wanna of course."
Your felt your heart beat a little faster. He took you to his scared place? You nodded with a grin. "Are you kidding? Of course I wanna see!"
Toji's lips twitched into a smile. "Good. Stay close."
He squeezed your hand and led you inside. The air was thick with sweat, smoke and loud music. A large makeshift ring sat in the center under harsh lights. People were shouting, money was exchanging hands and two fighters were already going at it in the ring. Toji kept you close to his side, one arm protectively around your shoulders as he guided you through the crowd. Your eyes widened in amazement as you scanned the area around you.
A few guys nodded at Toji in respect. One older guy with a scarred face grinned when he saw him. "Toji! You fighting tonight or what?"
He found a slightly elevated spot near the back where you could see clearly but safe enough from the chaos. The fight in the ring was chaotic—the crowd even worse. You watched with wide eyes as Toji leaned down, lips close to your ear so you could hear him over the noise. "This is how I let everything out," he said. "You scared yet, princess?"
You looked up at him. The colorful lights from the ring reflected in his eyes. He looked rough and masculine in the most delicious way possible standing there. He stared at you in such a way, you felt butterflies in your stomach.
"Nope." He grinned at your answer. "Good."
After the fight ended, Toji decided not to stay long, especially with you there. He said his goodbyes to some people and led you back outside. Once you were outside, he stopped and turned to you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
"Was it too much?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
You shook your head. "No..I think it's pretty cool actually."
Toji's expression softened at your words. He loved that you were honest and didn't judge him for the person he is. He leaned down and kissed your forehead.
"Alright princess. Let's get you back to your dorm."
He walked you all the way back, hand in yours the entire time. When you reached your building, he stood infront of you. "Next Saturday. I have a match, do you wanna come?"
You looked up at him, biting your lip to hide your smile. "Yeah. I'll be free."
As you turn to enter your dorml, he caught your wrist. "Hey, I really enjoyed today."
A warm feeling spreads through your chest as you hear those words. As you looked at him, the biggest smile finds your face. "Me too. Thank you."
"Of course princess."
Toji waited until you were inside before finally leaving. As you enter, still smiling you were greeted with your best friend's gaze.
"Oh my god! You guys went on a date (name)! It's getting serious?" Shoko questions excitement clear in her voice. Your smile only gets wider.
"I'm not sure..I mean he invited me to his fighting match next Saturday."
"Girl? Are you serious? Toji never, and I mean never invited a girl there before—Choso told me all about it."
"Are you joking?"
"Uh..no!?"
You stared at Shoko, completely surpised. Learning this new fact about Toji made your heart flutter. You were the first girl he invited to watch his match? "See, I told you, getting over Gojo would be easy."
Right Gojo. He hadn't ran through your mind the entire time you were with Toji, nor the previous day. The mention of him now was the first time you ever actually thought about him. "Oh right. He got into a fight with Toji, can you believe that?"
Shoko laughed in disbelief, looking surpised. "No way? Tell me everything!"
.
.
.
A few days later you were lounging on the couch. Shoko had gone to visit family for a few days and Toji had been a bit busy. Just then, your phone buzzed. Picking it up you frowned at the message you saw.
Toru ♡: Hey love. I've been thinking about you. Come over? Just a movie night at my dorm. I miss you. Please?
You stared at the message for a long time. A part of you knew this was a bad idea—especially now that Toji was in your life, but the familiar ache in your chest won. Gojo had always been your weakness—even if you hated it.
You: Okay. Just a movie though.
Toru ♡: That's all I want. Door's open for you <3
When you got to his dorm, Gojo opened the door with that bright, charming smile—the one that always made your heart flutter even when it shouldn't, except this time there was nothing there. Not a spark or flutter. "See? Told you it'd be chill," he says, closing the door behind you.
"Whatever..let's just watch the movie."
"Sure, love."
For the first minutes of the movie, it was actually nice. You enjoyed the movie and Gojo kept his hands to himself. Was he finally changing?
However, just as you begin to think he had gotten better, his hand slid onto your thigh, squeezing lightly. Then it got higher. He leaned in, lips brushing your neck as he murmured, "You look so good love..I miss having you in my bed."
"Satoru.." you shift away, pushing his hand away. "I just wanna watch the movie."
Satoru however got bolder. He pulled you closer, hand slipping under your shirt, fingers tracing your waist as he kissed along your jaw. "The movie's boring anyway. Let me make you feel good. You know I can."
His touch grew more insistent—palm sliding up to your breasts, lips pressing harder against your skin. You felt yourself melting in his touch as guided you to lie back on the bed, hovering over you with that cocky little smirk.
"I missed this body," he whispered, voice husky as his hand moved lower. "Missed how you sound when I—"
You pushed against his chest. "Satoru stop."
He paused, but his eyes were dark with want. "You came over here wearing that..you knew what this was. Don't act like you don't want it too."
You frowned at his words. Usually, his boldness would really get you going but for some reason, all you could think about is how wrong it is. You had Toji, even though you weren't dating..it's Toji.
You sat up, pulling your shirt back down. "I came to watch a movie, not have sex with you. I'm trying to move on, Satoru."
Gojo sat back, running a hand through his hair. His expression twisted from frustration to something meaner. "Move on? With Toji?"
He laughed bitterly. "That's cute. Real cute. You really think he's gonna stick around for you? Some clingy bitch desperate for love and attention?"
Your breath caught. He'd never gone this low before. You and Gojo had your fair share of arguments but it never once got personal. He doesn't stop, instead he kept going, his voice getting meaner.
"You're so fucking attached, (name). Your dad dies and suddenly you need everyone to fill that void? That's why you keep coming back to me. Because I give you just enough to feel wanted, Toji can't give you that?"
Tears burned your eyes and your chest tightened painfully at his words. Years of pain you struggled so hard to bury began resurfacing.
"And be real with me," he continued, "Toji wouldn't want an insecure girl like you, always asking if you're good enough. Maybe that's why you spread your legs so easily—it's the only thing guys actually like about you.”
The words hit like knives. You raised your hand, slapping him across the face. "You're an asshole Satoru. Fuck you."
You stood up fast, grabbing your jacket with shaking hands. You slammed the door behind you, tears streaming down your face as you practically ran back to your dorm. The walk felt endless. Every cruel word replayed in your head on loop. Were you really only good for sex?
As you reached your dorm, you were a mess. You collapsed on your bed in tears. For years you've struggled with your body and father's death and he knew that—hell he comforted you. To have it used as a weapon by the same person who comforted you broke you even futher. You end up falling asleep from crying for so long.
Gojo on the other hand couldn't handle you leaving him properly. He sat on the floor of his room, surrounded by empty cans and a half-empty bottle of vodka. The argument played on repeat in his head—the way you looked at him before you left. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you with Toji. Every time he did, he drank more. Gojo had never gotten this bad before. He loved you. Of course he loved you, you were the best thing in his life but he just couldn't do it.
"Fuck this," he muttered, taking another long swig. The alcohol burned, but it numbed the ugly knot in his chest. A few hours passed and he had drank at least 4 bottles of alcohol. His hurt twisted into rage—hot white rage.
He opened his phone, having only one thought in mind. If he couldn't keep you to himself, he'd ruin you for everyone else. He started with texts in group chats—the ones that included half the campus.
Satoru: You all think (name) so sweet and innocent right? Lol she's a whore and has been riding my dick for months and still begging for more like a desperate bitch.
Satoru: Dead dad and she still needs someone to fuck the sadness out of her every night.
Satoru: Dumb bitch went on to Toji next thinking he'll pity her too.
He went into the hidden folders on his phone, finding photos you had sent him months ago. Half-naked selfies. One in just his shirt, another in lingerie you'd bought just for him and aa few more photos where you were topless or completely naked.
For a moment he paused, he wondered if he would be going too far but the thought in head kept saying: "She sends all of these to Toji. You're not special to her anymore, pathetic."
In his drunken haze, he doesn't hesitate.
He posted everything onto his story. Gojo laughed bitterly as he hit send, then passed out on the floor, phone still in his hand.
By morning, it had spread like wildfire.
The screenshots were everywhere. Group chats, Instagram stories, Twitter—someone had even saved the photos and posted them on a campus confession page with your name attached.
Each comment underneath the posts were brutal and mocking. Your phone was blowing up—waking you in a confused haze.
You checked your phone to see dozens of notifications. Unknown numbers sending the photos. You frowned as you opened one message. There you were, an unknown number sent you a picture of your naked body. The caption underneath it saying: "Are you that easy? If I tell you you're cute will you let me fuck lol."
Your heart dropped. You felt sick as you checked the groups you were in, photos and messages of you filling each groupchat.
Their words were even worse than the photos. You saw Gojo's story, each one another exposed photo of you. You ran to the bathroom, feeling sick, everything you ate from the previous day found it's way back up.
You were a mess, you sat against the bathroom wall after throwing up, crying and shaking at the horror. Years of built up confidence, acceptance and self-worth came crashing down as you sat there. The dark thoughts you hoped to once gotten rid of found its way back once more as you began drowning in hate.
Now you knew for sure, all your chances with love..or with Toji were ruined. He would never want a girl like you, not anymore. You were all alone.
Shoko was still gone for the day. You had no one left by your side as the dark thoughts began taking a hold of you.
.
.
.
Toji was in the middle of his class when his phone started blowing up. First it was Choso, then a couple other guys he was acquainted with. Toji got annoyed by the notifications and finally checked them. Opening Choso's chat, he expects to see something dumb, but instead what he saw made his blood run cold.
There you were, a half-naked picture of you being plastered everywhere with disgusting captions. Toji's grip on his phone tightened until the screen nearly cracked. He saw red. There was only one person he knew would do this.
"That fucking piece of shit..."
Without a second thought, he got up and left the class. Ignoring the professor who repeatedly called his name. He found himself at the Psychology lecture hall where he knew Gojo had class that morning. The professor was mid-sentence when he slammed the door open.
Toji's eyes immediately found Gojo sitting near the back, looking like complete shit. "Sir you can't just—"
Toji ignores the professor, "Gojo." Toji's voice was low and filled with rage as he marched down the aisle. "Get the fuck up."
Gojo smirked at first, but it faltered when he saw the pure rage on Toji’s face. "The hell do you want?"
Toji grabbed Gojo by the collar and yanked him out of his seat, slamming him against the desk hard enough for the wood to creak. "The hell I want?"
"You leaked her nudes. You posted her fucking body and mocked her dead dad? After everything you already did to her? You pathetic fucking parasite."
Gojo tried to shove him off, but Toji's grip was strong. Gojo laughed, his breath smelling like alcohol. "Whatever. Why do you care? You just want to fuck her too—"
Toji's fist crashed into Gojo'a face with a sickening crack. Gojo's head snapped back. Blinded by rage, Toji punched him over and over, despite the screams of the others.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Toji sneered. "She trusted you, you worthless piece of shit!"
Gojo tried to fight back, landing a couple weak hits, but he was no match for Toji, especially not in his drunken state. Geto and a few others finally rushed in and pulled Toji off, but it was already too late. Gojo was slumped against the desk, his face as bloody mess.
"If I see you near her again Satoru I'll kill you."
Then he stormed out, pushing past the security with only one thought in mind.
You.
He arrived at your dorm within a few minutes, not bothering to knock. He opens the door, calling out your name. He frowns when he got no response.
He heads towards your bedroom when he sees the bathroom door slightly open. He paused, opening it wider and stepping in. Toji froze for half a second when he saw you on the floor with the blade. "What the...?"
In an instant he was on his knees in front of you, taking the blade from your hand and tossing it across the room. He looks down at your wrists, faint marks already there from earlier pressure.
"Fuck—hey, look at me princess," he said, voice cracking as he cupped your face with both hands. "I'm here. I've got you..it's okay. You'll be okay."
He pulled you into a hug, gently whispering words of comfort to you. You began crying the moment he hugged you. Your body shook as he gently strokes your hair. He didn't leave.
He came for you.
"I saw what he did." he whispered against your hair. "I dealt with it. But princess, I need you here...Shoko needs you here, we all do okay?
Toji stayed there with you on the bathroom floor as you cried your heart out, thanking him for not leaving too.
"I'd never do that princess. What kind of man would I be?"
.
.
.
Shoko came back the exact day she received the messages. She stayed by your side every single day, slept next to you, sat on the toilet while you showered—even took notes for you.
It has officially been two weeks since Gojo leaked everything for you. Even with Shoko and Toji there, the first few days were the hardest for you. You barely ate or slept. Every time you closed your eyes, it felt like you were reliving the day all over again.
Thankfully, you weren't alone—ever. Choso showed up with snacks one day when Toji had to take care of an issue. He sat with you and watched whatever you wanted to. Once it helped to distract your mind from those hateful thoughts.
Geto's first visit surpised you. Afterall, he was Gojo's best friend. He apologized on Gojo's behalf and helped with whatever you needed.
Your biggest supporter however was Toji. Toji was there every single day—well almost. He never pushed you to talk unless you wanted to. He stayed by your side throughout it all, he even managed to get every single picture of you taken off the internet—of course he doesn't tell you how. It didn't matter. The fact he was there for you and did that was enough.
For the first time sinfe then, you were outside sitting in the park with them.
Shoko and Geto sat next to each other, debating which was the better lover. Choso sat across from you, sharing a bag of chips with Yuki who tagged along and Toji sat right behind you, his legs stretched out so you could lean back against his chest.
You felt at ease. You were eating regularly again. The dark thoughts had subsided once more and you did therapy twice a week (thanks to Shoko).
"You know," Shoko began, looking at you, "you're glowing (name). I'm so proud of you."
You smiled at her words. "I couldn't have done it without you guys. Seriously, I'm beyond grateful."
Choso shrugged with a small grin. "We got you, especially now that you're Toji's girl." He winks.
Toji's arms tightened around your waist from behind at Choso's words. Although neither of you had confessed yet, everyone knew there was something there—it was painfully obvious. Ignoring Choso's words he looked down at you.
"You're strong princess, don't ever forget that."
You leaned your head back against his shoulder, feeling safe in his warmth. "Thank you."
You excused yourself for a moment, wanting to take a small walk. You headed towards the lake, watching in awe at the swans you saw. That's when you saw him.
Gojo was seated on a bench near the lake, a spot you both used to meet. He looked horrible. You headed towards him, sitting next to him.
"You got my message, I'm glad. Can we talk?"
You hesitated for a moment. "Okay."
Gojo stared at his hands for a while before speaking. "I fucked up," he started, voice cracking. "I know that's not enough..of course it isn't but I need you to hear this."
"What I did to you, leaking those photos, saying all that shit about your dad, your body...it's unforgivable. I was drunk and hurt and jealous, which isn't an excuse, especially knowing I violated your trust."
He looks up at you, tears in his eyes. You kept silent. He surpised you. When he texted earlier wanting to meet, you expected something really bad. Not tears and sincerity. "I was scared. You were actually moving on with Toji and I was losing the one person I truly love and I didn't know what to do. I never deserved you. You gave me everything and I took advantage of that because I'm a coward. I'm so fucking sorry (name). I really am, for everything."
Silence stretched between you. You stared at him, not knowing what to say to him. He loves you. A month ago, hearing those words would have been the best thing that happened in your life. But now, it's not. It could never be.
"I hated you for a while," you whispered. "When everyone saw everything about me, those hateful comments..I really wanted to die. I almost did too."
Gojo's eyes widened at your words. You wanted to die? Because of him? His heart sank as he listened to you.
"But I'm better now," you continued. "Thanks to Shoko, Choso, Geto and Toji. Toji especially. I really do love him Satoru, he makes me feel seen..cherished..everything you haven't."
You took a deep breath before standing. "I forgive you, Satoru."
His head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. Tears streamed down his face at your words. He lost you completely.
"Thank you." he whispered, voice breaking as he stood. You smiled at him. "Well, I need to get back, take care Satoru."
"You too (name), he smiled sadly. "You deserve the world, I'm sorry I couldn't give you that. I hope Toji can."
"He does." You tell him honestly. "And it's time for him to know how I feel."
.
.
.
Shoko decided to stay the night at Geto's. Toji didn't want to leave you alone and decided to stay with you. You two had been watching a movie on your laptop, but Toji couldn't pay attention. He tried—he really did.
But you were curled up against his chest on your bed, his arm wrapped around you. He couldn't pay attention, all he could think about was the fact he loved you. He knew he did since the moment he met you—but now? You needed to know that.
He paused the movie and closed the laptop. He shifted so he could look at you properly. "Hey..come closer," he murmured, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap. His big hands settled on your waist, thumbs gently rubbing circles over your shirt. Your hands rest on his shoulders instinctively as you stare at him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he said quietly. "That's the thing, princess."
"These past few weeks..seeing you hurt, almost losing you, it fucked me up a lot," he admitted, voice
filled with sincerity. "I've never cared about someone this much before. I thought I was just looking out for you at first, but it's more than that."
His hands tightened slightly on your waist as he meets your eyes. "I love you, (name). I love how strong you are even when don't know it, I love how beautiful and honest you are, I love how you're just you. I'm not good with this romantic shit, but I want you."
Your eyes filled with tears at his words. Your heart felt so full you worried for a moment it could possibly explode. This was the best thing you've ever dreamt of.
"I love you too," you whispered, voice trembling. "I love you so much. You stayed when I was at my lowest. You saw all my mess—yet you still stayed, made me feel safe again.."
Toji gently wiped away your tears, being so gentle with you. "I'd never leave you princess. You're too good to me."
He pulled you into a kiss. It started slow and tender but the longer it went, the more hungrier Toji got. His hands slid under your shirt, caressing your skin like he was memorizing every inch. You tugged at his shirt and he helped you pull it off, revealing his toned, scarred torso. You ran your hands over his chest as he kissed down your neck, gasping in pleasure.
"Do you want this, princess?" he asks against your skin, making sure you're comfortable before he goes any futher.
"Yes," you whimpered. "I want you."
Toji was patient with you. He kissed every part of you—worshipped every inch with his mouth and hands. Both of you were soon stripped naked by each other, completely lost in passion.
"You're so beautiful," he growled softly between kisses. "Every fucking part of you."
He finally pushed into you, it was slow and gentle, making sure you could adjust to him before moving further. You moaned, gripping his shoulders as he filled you completely. Toji buried his face in your neck, groaning your name, pleasure filling him at your tightness.
"M-move..please, I need you." You begged desperately, your cunt gushing around him. The rhythm Toji chose was gentle, but he quickly grew impatient, his thrusts becoming meaner. His hips rolled against yours, hitting every spot that made you moan. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Fuck—I love you," he whispered again, voice strained as he thrusts into you, his tip hitting your cervix each time. "I love you so much."
"I—hah—love you too!" You cried out as pleasure built, tears of overwhelming emotion mixing with the sensation. Toji held you through it all—praising you for taking him so well. His fingers found your clit, rubbing in circles to drive you crazy. You came first, clenching around him with a broken cry, your back arches as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. He doesn't last long however, following right after, burying himself deep and groaning as he cums inside you.
Toji stayed on top of you, holding you as you both caught your breath. His fingers stroked through your hair gently as he slowly pulls out, admiring the mess you both made.
using you to get close to his target seemed like a good idea - until toji ended up the one with a bullseye on his heart instead
synopsis: you were paid to pick up after Satoru's messes. toji was paid to put a bullet in him. but doing his job is a lot more difficult when the lines between personal and professional get blurred. just how far will he go to get the job done without losing you too?
pairing: hitman!toji x f!reader
wc: 10.6k
content: smut, light angst, YANDERE TOJI, he's a hitman so murder lol, stalking, obsession, jealousy, oblivious reader, falling for each other, he's lowk crazy lol but he is hot!!, mentions of drinking, flirting, he wants us bad, semi-public sex, fingering in a bar bathroom, making out, shower sex, light spanking, pulling out, toji is a problem solver lmfao, comfort
a/n: toji art is by @ackshuallyvalerie !! this was a commission for the lovely @chewiebee
For a pretty penny, he could put a bullet in anyone.
Toji had been doing it long enough now that pulling the trigger didn’t bother him. The things that did were dulled with booze, gambling whatever he was given and riding on the high until he crashed and couldn’t afford shit anymore.
Then he did it all again. And again. And again.
“This one is-” Shiu started, and the hesitation in his voice irritated the shit out of him. Like he couldn’t fucking handle the same job he’d been doing for years.
“How much?” Toji interrupted, bringing a lukewarm beer to his lips, watching some boxing game on the bar’s tv. The sound was muted, but it wasn’t like anyone would be able to hear it over the rumble of drunken girls giggling and grown men arguing over which athlete was better.
Shiu slid over the contract, tapping over the amount being offered.
It was more than his past six jobs combined.
“I’m in.”
Shiu made a weak attempt to try and talk him out of it. Tell him he’d end up in jail at best, or buried six feet under at worst. That the target was high profile.
Toji didn’t care who it was a death sentence for. It wasn’t like there was much worth left in living anyway.
Flipping through the file, headshots of some smarmy-looking CEO, the kind of guy who made millions in a day just by existing, probably spending more time spinning around in his office chair than actually doing a shred of the work he was paid for. Blessed from the time he was born to be rich and beautiful, rolling around in dollar bills and women with big tits.
Satoru Gojo had never known a single day of struggle. Of suffering.
Honestly, he’d probably do the job even if he wasn’t being paid for it just to see the look on his face when the gun went off. Watch the life drain from him out and stain his custom-made suit.
He spent a few days doing research he hated. Copying down schedules and figuring out the holes in his security system. When he worked, who he spent time with, where he liked to frequent.
To find the answer to the question: how did a man who thought he was untouchable like to live?
Lavishly.
He went to the nicest gym in the city, the kind that probably cost more than Toji's rent did every month. Followed it up with treat shops, always leaving with a bag of desserts with enough sugar to give him cavities. No trips to the dentist though.
But the most interesting part of his routine was one that hadn’t been in any of the notes he was given. Not a blip on anyone’s radar, apparently.
You.
“I got you a coffee,” you offered, your short little pencil skirt riding up your thighs as you chased after your boss through the lobby of his fancy office building in the center of the city.
“Thanks,” he grinned at you, grabbing it just to place all the papers he’d been holding in your hands instead, pushing even more on top while you awkwardly opened and shut your mouth to stop yourself from saying anything.
He took a small sip, scrunched his nose up while Toji struggled not to scoff out loud from where he was pretending to read a magazine in the corner next to the other waiting clients, all of them eagerly hoping to meet with the not-so-great Satoru Gojo.
“It’s not sweet enough,” Gojo criticized, masking his attitude with playfulness, acting like a child while you apologized to him as if you’d done something wrong by thinking of him.
He wasn’t listening. Just kept moving towards the elevators, pulling his phone from his pockets to make a phone call to some other prick, probably.
You scrambled behind him, folders stacked up in your arms, the coffee cup precariously balanced on top of the pile.
God, what kind of fucking loser didn't carry his own stuff?
His pretty little assistant he used more like a pack mule.
It didn’t take long to find out your name.
From there, everything else was easy.
Finding out where you lived was as simple as following you from your car to your shitty little apartment, poorly paid and scraping by while your boss lived in his luxury penthouse on the opposite side of the city. Figuring out what foods you liked from what you spent too long looking at in the grocery store before you sighed and tossed a bag of rice in your cart instead. Snapping photos of you from afar like a fucking secret admirer through your window once you got back home, time stamped and saved to a special folder on his laptop, watching you shed your coat and clothes, trading them in for t-shirts and pajama pants.
Toji wasn’t a stalker though.
Of course not.
He was just doing what he was paid for.
And what easier way was there to get to Gojo than through his cute, clueless assistant?
You weren’t even aware when he trailed behind you on the street, head trained forward, always in a rush, scampering from place to place without stopping. Running errands for a man who couldn’t care less about you.
And in this city, you might be the only person as alone as him.
Toji couldn’t put his finger on when studying you had become less of a chore and more of a habit. Day four? Week two?
Watching and waiting for the right time to approach?
For all his expertise, his ability to move through the world unseen, unnoticed, it worked against him for once when you ran straight into him trying to leave your usual coffee shop, turning when he hadn’t expected it and smacking into his chest at full speed.
The coffee – something cold and sugary and sweet – splashed over both of you, your white shirt soaked through to see a pale pink bra underneath, your face flushing for the wrong reasons as you immediately started rattling off apologies.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you muttered, trying to use the few napkins you grabbed to dab at his t-shirt, rubbing uselessly despite the fabric already being black. “I wasn’t paying attention, and-”
“S’fine,” he grunted, yanking one from his hand to wipe off your shirt instead.
You didn’t stop him.
Just froze, standing completely still as he dragged the napkin over your chest while it heaved, listening to you suck in a sharp breath.
When was the last time you’d even been intimate with a man if him cleaning your shirt had you practically pressing your thighs together in that prissy skirt of yours?
Admittedly, there was a distinct disgust churning in him at the image of you being intimate with someone else, despite how quickly he rejected it.
It wasn't like you were more than a mark to Toji.
He squinted, eyes narrowing as his attention shifted to your face just to find you openly gawking at his broad chest, lips still parted mid-apology.
“Oh, um, thanks,” you practically squeaked, looking up at all with big, surprised eyes.
“Whatever,” he tch-ed, digging out his last ten dollar bill from his wallet and holding it out despite the urge to just toss it at you to see what you’d do.
You shook your head, oblivious to the fact he was well-aware just how strapped to cash you really were, biting your bottom lip. “I can’t, I mean, that was really my fault, and-”
“Don’t make me put it in your purse, doll,” he huffed at you, even if he almost said bra. Tempted to tuck it in, wondering if you’d let him.
Did you even have it in you to stand up for yourself?
How the hell did a pretty thing like you survive so long on your own like this?
“A-are you sure?” You stuttered, glancing back over him again.
His pride took a fucking hit at your uncertainty.
Did he seriously look like he couldn’t spare a ten dollar bill? Was it the sweatpants?
He showered this morning, bothered to spritz on cologne when he usually couldn’t give a shit. Toji ran his fingers through his hair, jaw locking as his eyes narrowed.
“You got a pen?” He grumbled, wagering that you definitely did. Maybe he hadn’t seen the inside of your purse, but he’d been watching you long enough to know what its contents were.
In a not creepy way.
“Yes?” You blinked, somehow cuter when you were confused.
Still though, you were obedient, anticipating him asking for it and just digging it out from your bag to hand to him. The tip of it had been bitten, another little hint of how nervous you were by nature.
He took it from you, his calloused fingers brushing against your much softer ones, a jolt of electricity traveling up his arm at the simple touch, the soft way your breath paused. You had to feel it too.
Toji scribbled his number down.
His personal cell.
You were beaming before he even finished writing the last number, standing up straighter, sticking your chest out more.
“I’ll buy you a new shirt,” he grunted, giving you the pen before the dollar, holding it out over your head, your stare flickering from his face to the money. “Text me.”
He wanted you to reach for it.
To chase him.
But three more days passed – and he hadn’t heard a peep.
Toji knew what you were up to, tracking you instead of his target, taking notes on everything you did instead of texting him. You stared at your phone at home though, left the dollar bill sitting on your kitchen counter, running your fingers over his writing as if you weren’t sure what to do.
He supposed he’d have to help you figure it out then.
Especially considering Shiu was starting to get on his ass about getting the job done.
Because that was what this was supposed to be about – a means to an end.
Faking a name tag was easy. Digging up the old utility overalls he’d seen some of the other maintenance workers wear at your office, the sort of position no one ever paid any mind to until they were needed for something. He didn't get much sleep, trading in his night shift watching you go to sleep for snooping around your office. And in the morning, after going back to his car to put on some cologne, he walked back in through the lobby like he was supposed to be there, not even getting courtesy nods from your coworkers.
Toji had memorized your schedule.
So he knew to be in the third floor break room at ten, pretending to fix something in the ceiling when you walked in to make a cup of coffee.
For yourself this time.
He was climbing down from the ladder he stole from a storage closet when you sighed and started cleaning up the mess the last person had left by the coffee machine. You didn’t notice, didn’t even turn until you went to grab a mug from the shelf, frowning when you realized they had all been moved to the top shelf.
A nice touch, in his opinion.
Setting everything up to be the one to take care of it for you, stepping behind you, close enough for you to feel his chest on your back as he reached up to get it for you.
“Here,” he grumbled, and you slowly spun around to face him.
Stuck between his sturdy body and the cold counter, frozen in surprise at him being here. He wondered if you’d be scared, suspicious.
It was funny to watch you get so flustered instead, completely frazzled as you tried to find the words to say.
“Um, you, uh, work here?” You finally managed, and he just raised a brow, the scar over his mouth twitching as he gestured towards the name tag on his belt.
You blushed again, your attention drifting to something else by it, the bulge he hadn't meant to be sporting.
“Mhm,” he hummed, a low drawl that made you smile at him.
It was sunny. You were. Bright, not bitter. Absolutely unaware that the world revolved around you.
“Sorry,” you apologized, even though you had no actual reason to. Maybe for not messaging him back. Maybe for stealing glances at his dick.
He paused, a weird strained feeling taking over his chest, constricting his lungs when you tilted your head to the side.
“I haven’t seen you around before,” you added, holding your breath.
“I’ve seen you,” he shrugged, and your entire face practically lit up at the idea someone had been paying attention to you.
You swallowed hard, trying to stifle it. To keep it contained, to make yourself smaller in front of him, like he wouldn’t like you if you weren’t soft-spoken.
“Do you think you could take a look at the phones in my office? Well, Mr. Gojo’s,” you corrected yourself, toying with your fingers before cringing. “Only if you're available, of course. I put in a ticket but-”
“Sure,” he grunted.
As long as the actual maintenance guy didn’t come, you’d never know the difference. After all, that was why he’d broken in last night. Disconnecting the phones himself, creating a couple issues with a few of the computers in the sales team downstairs that the real department would be too busy to handle any of your problems. If you ever pieced together he didn’t actually work there, it wouldn’t be until long after he was gone.
He'd prefer it if you never knew any better.
And Shiu never said he couldn’t have some fun first.
He followed you back to your office, not hiding his stare, enjoying how you were already squirming, nervously shifting and looking over your shoulder at him every few feet.
“You didn’t have to do it now,” you mumbled, embarrassed, but he shrugged.
Rolling his shoulders back to remind you how broad they were, catching the flash of you biting your lip before you faced forward again.
Everything about you was far more fucking adorable than it had any right to be.
Toji had never really gotten the appeal of stuffed animals. He never had any when he was a kid. No softness, no warmth, nothing small and sweet to hug. But you reminded him of one.
Or maybe that was just the urge to pick you up and squeeze you hard.
“What’s wrong with ‘em?” He gruffly asked, gesturing ahead as you hit the button for the elevator to take you both to the top floor.
“They just ring, and um, nothing happens,” you tried to explain, smoothing down your skirt self-consciously.
He nodded, like he knew what the problem could be, and he did, actually. Because he caused it.
The elevator doors opened, thankfully empty. There was something annoying about the idea of sharing you – even for a minute.
Toji told himself that you were just less irritating than other people. That it had nothing to do with you in particular, just how disgusting the rest of the world was.
But he was still observing how you pushed the button, how quickly you went back to fiddling with your fingers and picking at your cuticles. Clasping your hands in front of you, maybe just remembering the fact you forgot your coffee back in the break room. Left it by the pot you brewed, your lip gloss staining the rim from the single sip you'd taken and the drink inside growing cold.
Did you confess?
Admit you wanted to go back and grab it?
Nope.
He knew you wouldn’t. All that meant was another excuse to go back and get it for you himself, maybe make you a fresh one to cement his spot in your good graces, to get your guard down.
The elevator dinged, opening up to wooden floors and soft lighting. Wall art he had briefly contemplated stealing the night before, although he skipped since it’d be a bitch to sell.
Besides, he’d have more than enough money to cover anything he wanted to buy soon enough.
“Um, the phone’s over here,” you shyly said, leading him over to your desk.
Toji nodded, a low grunt of acknowledgement leaving his throat while he pretended to work on it, messing around with cables.
You were watching him, taking your seat and clicking away on your keyboard despite your eyes constantly flickering over to his.
He pretended he didn’t notice. Setting his jaw in a firm line while he unplugged stuff just to put it in different outlets. He considered tapping the lines, just to listen in to whatever you were saying during the day, but then he'd have to justify that expense to Shiu, and he really didn’t fucking feel like getting a lecture.
His handler would tell him just to take out the target already. Stop wasting his time getting close to a liability.
But of all the risks Toji had taken, you were the easiest one of all.
Would you let him find an excuse to get under your desk? Maybe catch a peek at whatever pair of panties you picked out today?
Your personal phone rang – and you were scrambling to pick it up and answer.
“Hello?” Your voice lilted up, all pure and sweet, and Toji immediately loathed whoever you were addressing.
It wasn’t anything he could control, just instinctual irritation, a cheese grater to his patience watching you sit up straighter in your chair while you listened to whoever was on the other end.
“Of course, sir,” you chirped. He had to stop himself from snapping the cord he was holding when he caught how you were subtly twirling your hair. Glancing down at your lap and sucking in a sharp breath before you mumbled, “Sorry, Satoru.”
Toji had to look down to make sure he didn't somehow electrocute himself when the edges of his vision tinged with red, annoyance rolling into a tight ball of anger. The hard kind that couldn't crack, just rolled around in the pit of his stomach, demanding something be done about it.
“Okay, see you in thirty.” You smiled. A soft one, biting it back before plastering a practiced expression of professionalism, probably remembering Toji was still here.
He scowled at the realization Gojo coming back meant he should probably skip bringing you that coffee. Didn't want to risk running into him too soon.
You hung up, and he shoved the last cord back in the correct place.
“Try now,” he growled, picking the phone up from the receiver and passing it to you.
You took it from him, your fingertips brushing against his again, all gentle as you cradled it between your shoulder and ear, nails clicking on the keypad. Relief flooded your face when it worked, looking up at him like you were thankful.
Gratitude wasn't something Toji knew how to receive.
He was used to the exchange of cash, of cold demands that ended in death. Your warmth was alien.
What had a guy like Satoru Gojo ever done to deserve it?
Was this jealousy? Bitter and begging to be addressed, his skin itching at imagining the man getting your company all day long, having you at his beck and call.
Whatever it was, Toji was going to fucking squash it.
“Thank you, it was really nice of you-”
“What are you doing after work?” He interrupted before you could finish rambling, making all the reasons why you were easy to take advantage of excruciatingly obvious. You were too sweet. Too nice. Acting like he was a saint for fixing your phone, unaware he was the sinner who broke it to begin with. Who'd break your boss too, the second he got the chance.
“Um, nothing?” You blinked. Your lips were still parted, but you didn't say anything.
“Wanna grab drinks?” He grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Toji wanted to lean across the desk, put his palm flat on top of your useless papers and peek at your cleavage, but you were the sort that scared easily.
The confusion on your face was cute.
“Like, as coworkers?” You were clueless. “Are other people coming or-”
Did you seriously fucking think you were just getting left out of some after work hangout?
“Like a date,” he clarified, struggling not to contain his urge to bend you over your desk and show you just how not-platonic his interest was.
“With me?”
You were gawking, but there was an unmistakable air of giddiness to your face, a grin you couldn't suppress even under all that shock.
“Did I stutter, doll?” Toji gruffly said, walking around your desk until your eye level was at his mid-riff. Your hand tightened around the armrest, slowly dragging your stare up like you could see the truth in his face.
“Um, sure,” you nodded, still unsure of how serious he was. “If you want to.”
“I want you,” he easily shrugged, making his point clear.
He wasn't delicate. Wouldn't skirt around shit like your Satoru did. Being blunt was the only way to get it through that pretty skull of yours anyway.
“I'll be waiting for you out front at six.” That was when you usually scampered out anyway, frazzled and exhausted from handling a man child's chores all day.
“Okay,” you spoke softly, betraying your feelings by covering your mouth with your hands, hiding a smile behind them.
He turned to leave, but he kept his eyes on you all the way to the elevator.
You watched him too. He might have a job to do.
Toji was just going to fuck you first.
Was this how it felt to have a crush?
Well, one that wasn’t hopeless and unattainable?
You’d been wasting years wishing Satoru noticed you. And in a matter of days, someone else had snuck up on you. A spilled coffee. A phone number. And now, a date.
When was the last time you'd even been on one?
You frowned at your reflection in the mirror, fingers working to undo another button of your shirt and hike up your skirt a little higher. Half of you was disappointed that he hadn't asked you out on a different night, or given you enough time to go home and get changed into something a little more sexy and less like you just stepped out of an investor meeting.
But the rest of you was just glad he wanted to go out with you at all.
You tried to tell yourself you had less time to overthink this way. That you wouldn't be distracted for days until the date, waiting for him to cancel.
But when you walked out of the building at six, leaving a sticky note for Satoru whenever he stepped out of his office letting him know you couldn’t stay late tonight, Toji was true to his word, waiting for you in a beat-up black car.
It wasn’t sleek, wasn’t shiny and freshly glossed like Satoru’s, but it looked fast. His window was rolled down, his arm resting on it while his defined jaw unclenched at the sight of you standing there and staring.
“You comin’?”
Was it wrong to hope he’d make sure you did by the end of the night?
You scampered over, glancing around to see a few of your coworkers looking your way before you pulled open the passenger door and climbed in. His eyes raked over you, that white scar that ran across the corner of his lips twitching up as he smirked.
He was broader than Satoru, stockier. All muscles, all man.
His dark hair was shaggy, not carefully styled, his sturdy fingers running through it as he measured you the same way you measured him. He must’ve gone home and changed, in a dark shirt that clung to his chest, made you take note of his biceps bulging underneath his sleeves, probably big enough to make them burst if he strained hard enough. Wearing jeans, no name tag hanging on his belt now.
But you already memorized his name.
Toji.
It had been on the forefront of your thoughts all day, right there with the rest of his words. He saw you. He wanted you.
Invited you out like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
You were so distracted by, well, everything about him that you forgot to buckle your seatbelt until he stretched across the center console and did it for you. There was something kinda funny about a gruff guy like him taking care of something so small like that for you, grunting under his breath as it clicked into place.
Maybe just an excuse to be close to you, to touch you again.
You didn’t mind.
His attention was nice.
You didn’t know what to say though, awkwardly glancing between him and outside the window, wondering what a typical conversation looked like on a first date.
“So, um, do you like your job?” You heard yourself ask, almost immediately wishing you hadn’t just from his soft scoff, the subtle arch of his thin brow while he pulled out onto the road.
“It pays the bills,” he shrugged, and you tried to nod sympathetically. You were about to spout out something polite, but then he opened his mouth to talk again, giving you that dangerous bit of side eye that made your heart skip a beat. “But it ain’t so bad. Gotta meet you because of it, didn’t I, doll?”
And there it was again.
Doll.
Satoru sometimes called you sweetheart, but that didn’t send a shiver down your spine, didn’t have that low rumble to it that gave you goosebumps. When he said it like that, you wouldn’t really mind being a pretty toy for him to play with.
“Y-yeah,” you stammered, blushing hard as you tried to swallow your anxieties.
You were overworked. Exhausted. Barely making it by on caffeine and four hours of sleep most days. But you were here. In a hot guy’s car being flirted with on the way to a bar.
He briefly looked at you before turning back to face the road, but you could see the satisfaction in the crook of his smile.
“Relax a little, baby,” he hummed, reaching over – and for a second, you thought he was going to grab your thigh. You hadn’t realized it was hope until he just turned up the radio instead. But with a second flash of that scar and that smirk, you were smiling back at him. “We’re gonna have fun tonight."
It still took two glasses of wine for you to start to unwind, a pleasant buzz floating around in your chest, coloring your world in warm hues as he leaned in next to you, his barstool dragged close enough for his muscled thigh to be constantly brushing against yours. A massive palm casually resting on your side, pulling you in every time someone got into what could be considered your personal space.
He didn’t talk about himself.
Or that much, really.
He’d ask a few questions, then let you ramble. Sometimes, his expression would shift, his harsh and blunt edges softening when you talked about the future, about how you wanted to quit someday, find a job that wouldn’t burn you out. But it hardened a few times too, scowling when you mentioned Satoru, glaring when a drunk guy bumped into you.
And yeah, you got it. Your boss was a bit of an…acquired taste.
It didn’t surprise you that he managed to piss off one of his employees, especially when you spent most of your days cleaning up the messes he made.
“When did you start?” You cleared your throat, trying to change the subject back to him. To get to know him properly. To be the best date you could be – or at least good enough that he might want to take you home.
“A while ago,” he shrugged, another vague answer as he polished off the last of his whiskey.
He didn’t even seem buzzed.
“I feel like an idiot for not noticing you there before,” you admitted, tugging down the hem of your skirt self-consciously, shyly looking up to meet his open stare.
“S’fine,” he grunted, unbothered.
You didn’t know what to make of him past the fact he was ridiculously attractive.
Toji was abrasive. The rough side of the sponge scraping up your silverware, the hard counter edge you bumped into when you weren't expecting it, the sharp rock that sliced open the soles of your feet when you forgot to wear shoes outside. But being around him left you hoping to get cut by him. Fingers crossed that he’d be interested enough to peel you apart and stay long enough to stitch you back together – even if it was sloppy.
After being surrounded by people who only ever plastered on fake smiles and feigned politeness, he felt like the first breath of fresh air you had in forever. Something raw and real in a world full of plastic.
He wasn’t polished. Wasn’t perfect.
But you’d never been either. And you were tired of pretending and playing along.
You took another long sip of your wine, the last drop lingering on your tongue as you pushed your empty glass forward too.
He chuckled, almost appreciatively. Snagging the drinks menu and sliding it back over to you, letting his fingers linger on top of it like he wanted to remind you how large they were.
“Pick your poison.”
“I think I should probably get a water,” you murmured, a little worried he might think that was lame.
He ordered you one anyway though, chuckling when you wiped away the ring of condensation from the counter after they took your glass away.
“Don’t wanna get drunk with me?” He taunted, butterflies in your stomach fluttering when he cocked his head to the side. “I’m hurt.”
He wasn’t, not really. But you got the feeling he liked teasing you.
“I just don’t wanna think this was all a dream tomorrow,” you laughed, forcing it to sound lighter than it really was. You really just refused to let yourself get so wasted that you might black out an entire date or embarrass yourself in front of him.
His eyes narrowed, like he was the one that couldn’t discern if you were being serious.
“You callin’ me dreamy?” He dryly mocked, and that pretty jaw of his clenched, like it was a joke.
“I mean, it’s just kind of hard to believe a guy like you wants to go out with someone like me,” you murmured, offering a small smile to the bartender when he pushed a glass of water over to you.
“A guy like me?” He challenged, and you cringed at your ability to stick your foot in your mouth. You didn’t know if you actually offended him, if that was even possible, but you slipped your hand over his.
“Y’know,” you drawled, tracing your fingertips over his veins, holding your breath. “Attractive and-”
He snorted.
“So what does that make you?” He raised a question you’d never really been able to answer. There were labels you assigned yourself, but all those really amounted to was what roles you played for other people.
Lately, all you felt like was Satoru’s assistant.
Barely your own person.
“I dunno,” you shrugged. “Just me?”
“I like you,” he easily said.
“You don’t know me,” you pointed back out, bringing your water glass up to your lips to take a sip. Maybe he thought you were pretty. Maybe you’d caught his eye. But there was a difference in that and knowing what your favorite-
“You stay late even when you’re exhausted. You think of everyone else when no one gives a shit. Show up with coffee and pastries for other people when you can barely afford to pay for your parking pass. You never take your lunch break-” He was listing facts like he was bored, proving his point with the overhead lights glittering back in his green eyes. You almost choked on your water, and he slipped his hand out from your other one to drag his thumb over your lips.
It felt scandalous. Like he was just waiting to commit some grave sin with how slowly he brushed it over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to make you wonder what his mouth would feel like, how his taste would compare to his touch.
But then he let go, dropped his hand down just to make you miss it.
“You kinda sound like a stalker,” you giggled, unable to stop yourself from grinning at being seen.
There was some faint alarm bell you knew should be ringing, but your head had been emptied out to make room for more thoughts of him.
He chuckled, and your chest tightened.
“What’d you think I was giving you my number for?” He sarcastically asked, dark eyes narrowing under the dim lighting as he brought his own glass up to his lips.
You stifled another smile. “To pay for my shirt?”
“I was thinkin’ about getting you out of it.”
Toji was shameless.
And every flirt, every searing gaze of his that stuck to your skin and stoked that fire in your stomach? You were falling for it. For him.
Would you be a whore for sleeping with him on the first date?
Maybe, but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it mattered.
You were about to suggest maybe returning to your apartment, but your phone started vibrating, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your disappointment.
“Hold on one second?” You nervously asked, and he nodded.
“Sure,” he barked, all gravelly, not helping the simmering heat still burning under your skin. You pulled your phone out, glancing around the bar for some semi-quiet spot to take the call.
You settled on a hallway that led to the bathrooms, heels clicking on the floor as you hurried over, grateful that Toji had chosen a hole-in-the-wall sort of place, one that wasn’t packed with people to navigate through.
“Hello?” Your voice waivered, face flushing at the mental image of what your boss was probably doing on the other end. Scowling down at the note you left him?
“The hell are you?” Satoru whined on the other end, apparently not happy at your absence.
“I’m on a date,” you whispered back into the speaker, just for him to scoff back. The sound of it, even tinny and crackling through the line, fucking stung.
As if it was actually so absurd that you could be with someone.
“I need you here,” he huffed. “We’re supposed to be preparing for tomorrow’s meetings.”
You tapped your foot, glancing back to the end of the hallway, picturing Toji sitting on the stool waiting for you.
“I already prepared all your slideshows. Anything you need should already be labeled and on your desk,” you muttered, doing your best to still sound professional. Collected. Calm. Put-together instead of just a weak-willed pushover.
Toji wasn’t wrong. You spent all your time thinking of Satoru when he really couldn’t care less. You were just convenient to him. That was what he paid you to be.
“I can’t find it,” he grumbled. Lied.
“I also emailed everything to you,” you added, and he didn’t bother to hide his whine of annoyance.
Irritated that you had a life outside of him. That your existence wasn’t solely devoted to making his easier.
“Who are you even ditching me for?” Satoru was pouting. You could hear it in his voice.
“If you really must know, he works in the maintenance department and-”
He laughed at you.
“Leave that loser.”
Was that what he thought? That the best you could get was a fucking loser?
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Satoru.” You hung up on him. Slipped your phone back in your purse, looking up just to see Toji leaning against the wall across from you.
Startled, you stepped back, blinking and trying to figure out how someone as big and broad as him managed to sneak up on you.
“He botherin’ you?” Toji grunted, gesturing towards your purse.
“No, um, just work stuff,” you lied.
You didn’t want to tell him the CEO of the company basically called him a loser. It felt mean, and you were worried he’d somehow think you shared the same impression.
“Yeah?” He angled his head down to look at you, and his proximity made your pulse race, wild thumps roaring in your head as he took two steps closer.
“I hung up on him,” you admitted, even though he hadn’t asked. Feeling bold just by being with him, as if you were already getting away with something.
“You wanna give me all that attention instead, baby?” His voice was deep, a gruff purr that had you nodding.
Your obedience earned a pleased hum.
And even better, a kiss.
The kind that knocked the air from your lungs, his calloused hands cupping your face as he claimed your lips for himself. You kissed him back just as hard, craning your neck up into it, tethering your fingers through his dark locks while you sucked on his lower lip.
He tasted like whiskey. But his lips were soft enough to make you overlook the feeling that came with wondering if this was a mistake.
If Satoru would fire you for wanting to get fucked instead of running back to fuss over him.
Toji wasn’t the sort of guy who’d let you linger on silly worries though. No, his canines were already tugging at you, nipping at the spots you’d bitten out of stress, one of his rough palms travelling down your body, settling on your waist to pull you flush against his hard body.
You wanted to touch him.
To pull off his shirt and trace your fingers over all his muscles, map them out and drag your tongue over them. His was busy, already in your mouth, muffling your surprised gasp when his grip on your side suddenly squeezed tight.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, an intangible thread in your stomach pulling taut at the sound.
He dragged you back inside the bathroom, the employee one, like he wanted the thrill of fucking you in public with less of a risk of being walked in on.
It was sleazy.
But the exhilaration of his hand now on your hip, the way his fingers dug in and wrinkled your skirt as he pulled you through the door, your back being pushed against the cold sink as his mouth latched onto your throat next, it outweighed any rational thought your brain could conjure up.
You wanted him.
The world could wait.
This was more real than anything else your reality had to offer. His tongue licking a clean line up from your collarbone to your jaw, going back to leave messy hickies, claiming you as his. For tonight, at least.
Hopefully longer.
But you kept that thought to yourself, only letting small whines escape as his hand ventured under your skirt, toying with your panties underneath, slipping two fingers underneath it, testing how much the band could give.
You didn’t want to scare him off. Push him away before he'd even put his dick inside you.
He seemed like he specialized in one-night-stands. Like he was used to getting who he wanted when he wanted. And really, you were just so fucking sick of being single.
Of being lonely.
The hand that had still been on your face moved back, suddenly cradling the back of your neck, squeezing enough to make your head tilt back and give him easy access to more of you.
There was a vulnerability to it, letting him sink his teeth into your throat, marking you up enough that the bruises would bleed through your concealer tomorrow.
But then Toji was tearing your panties off, easily rolling the flimsy fabric that you truthfully paid too much for, shoving what was left of it in his pocket before prying your thighs apart.
You spread them further, your lungs freezing half-full of air as you watched him drag his eyeline down to your exposed cunt, already embarrassingly wet after just a couple hours spent in his company.
He hiked your skirt higher, appreciatively admiring it, clicking his tongue as he shoved a thick finger inside you. Clearly, he’d taken note of how much you noticed them.
You were gasping before he even made it down to the knuckle. Eyes widening, your hands immediately shifting to claw at his shoulder blades for some stability when you tried to contain your reaction.
But Toji wasn’t going to let that slide. Refused to let you hide every lewd reflex – shoving another finger inside to join the first just to force out a strangled moan at the feeling of him stretching you open.
Scissoring you at a tempo that bordered on lethal, only pausing his onslaught of kisses to watch your face when you said his name, all pitchy, almost pathetic. Putty for him with just a couple fingers.
“Ya’ like that, pretty?” He grumbled, fraying with impatience, already itching to add another – or maybe trade his fingers out for something bigger.
“Mm, mhm,” you murmured, nodding as you reclined your head back, the cold edge of the counter digging into your skin as he pulled you closer to him just to make you jolt again at the next pump of his fingers.
“You wanna tell me why you’re runnin’ from me then, doll?” He dared, his eyes dark, his lips pulled into a thin line as you shook your head the other way.
The intensity he came with was a double-edged sword. Drawing you in one second and threatening to spear you the next. Chasing the high of being fucked full just to run from the burn, the stretch, the pleasure when he pushed you right on the edge of a cliff the next. Finding yourself teetering a tightrope you never meant to walk on.
“S’too-” You sounded slurred, even though the only thing you really felt drunk on was him.
“Hm?” He waited for you to finish, stalling his next thrust with his fingers buried deep enough to reach a spot that was a little too sensitive, knowingly swirling against it while you squirmed.
You were a wreck and he hadn’t even managed to make you cum yet.
The too much that had been about to leave your lips replaced with a desperate plea for more.
Your skin was hot, sweat sticking to your brows as he dug his fingers deeper, felt the sinful way you squeezed them, panting as tears started to form in the corners of your eyes.
There was no running. Being spread and stuffed on a bathroom sink by a handsome man who might as well be a stranger, fingers poking and prodding at all your sensitive spots, readjusting his hand so his thumb could rub over your clit.
“Thought you had something to say?” He wryly mocked, and you were pretty positive you’d forgotten everything except his name.
“T-Toji,” you whined, body stuck, all your muscles wound too tightly, hips arching up to meet his hand.
He kissed you again, harder, rougher. Crashing into you like a tidal wave, dragging you under, lost between him and the pleasure, being tossed around with each thrust of his fingers. Climaxing without even meaning to, not even a conscious choice, just being pulled into the motions as he massaged rough circles over your needy bud.
And then you were sucking in air, his fingers pulling back out with a filthy pop! before he brought it up to his mouth and took a taste. Sucking on them and groaning at the second-hand flavor of you on his tongue.
“Do you wanna come back to my place?”
You should’ve known making you cum once wouldn’t satisfy him.
Or twice.
He had you up against the wall of his shower, your face pressed against the cool tile as his hips smacked against your ass, pounding into it as he continued to leave more hickies.
“That’s it, pretty,” he grunted, his thick cock throbbing inside you, swollen tip nudging and grinding against your cervix like he owned it. Dragging himself along your walls, making sure you felt every vein, every ridge, warm water pelting both your bodies. “Look how good you're takin’ me.”
His hand ran over the curve of your ass, softly patting it. It wasn’t a spank, but you wanted it to be.
You shivered as he bottomed back out, leaning against him, mostly held up by him by now. “M-more.”
“Greedy fucking girl,” he chuckled, but his voice was raspy too, running his hand back over your ass. “You want me to spank you?”
You nodded, embarrassed to admit it.
“Say it,” he groaned, and you squeaked. Surprised at the sudden stall of his cock, feeling yourself squeezing and squirming for him to keep going.
“Please?”
His hand came down, leaving a harsh smack that made you clench around him more, a moan escaping that echoed in the cramped space.
Toji rubbed back over it, his fingers still damp, murmuring something low you couldn't make out under the shower running. But then he was back to thrusting, faster now, like he wasn't finished imprinting the shape of him into you.
It was all moans, all skin-on-skin, lewd sounds and heavy pumps, his strokes only getting sloppier when his hand slipped over your clit. Intent on making you cum for him again, his jaw clenched when you tensed up. Planting kisses up your throat, teeth marking you with an unspoken mine when you shuddered and finished, white splotching across your vision as your limbs threatened to go limp.
Toji pulled out, finishing on your back just for the water to wash his cum away. Down the drain with the soap suds.
He whispered your name into your neck, soft lips tracing back over the mess of hickies he'd left. You were in a haze, brain foggy and chest still full even after your cunt was empty again, leaning against him when he cleaned you up.
You never would’ve guessed he used the same brand of shampoo or conditioner as you. It was funny how many products you mutually had. Even the hand soap was a familiar bottle, new too, hardly used.
He dried you off with a patchy towel, wrapping it around you and shutting off the shower. Pulling you back to his bed, half-made navy blankets in a mostly-barren room. The lamp by his bed was crooked, but there wasn't all that much personal stuff laying around. No posters decorating his wall.
Nothing else to learn about him from his possessions.
“Tired?” He grumbled, tossing you a t-shirt of his.
“Mhm,” you yawned, dropping the towel to pull it over your head. No panties, but you figured you didn't really need any to sleep in anyway.
You still felt nervous getting into his bed, waiting for him to get in with you. He hesitated, staring at you strangely before he grabbed a pair of boxers from the top drawer of his nightstand and pulled them up his thick thighs.
Toji got in next to you, stiff, awkward, before holding out his arm, like he was waiting for you to snuggle up beside him.
Maybe he wasn't as much of a man whore as you initially thought.
He was acting new to this, holding his breath when you scooted closer, laying your head on his arm.
You wondered if he’d ever been soft before. If he was capable of it.
Even now, you were left with the vague impression this…tenderness wasn’t exactly that. An impression. A mask, maybe, something he wasn't used to wearing.
But the afterglow was warm. Wrapped in the heat his body radiated, his strong arms sheltering you from the rest of the world as you sighed in contentment, resting on his bicep as you looked up at him.
Your phone started buzzing inside your purse on the floor, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Sometimes I wish he’d just fucking disappear,” you mumbled, sighing as you tried to push off his chest to answer it.
“Stay,” he growled, grabbing your waist to keep you in place.
You pressed your palm flat against him, pushing your lips together in a pout. “I have to answer him.”
Or he’d throw a fit and make tomorrow hell for you.
Toji begrudgingly let you get up, glaring when you bent over to fish your phone from your bag, his scar twitching down as he frowned. “You ever think you’d be better off if he dropped dead?”
You laughed, staring at the name on the screen as you shrugged.
“All the time.”
You were trouble.
Fucking you was supposed to make it easier. Satisfy the stupid urges he’d been plagued with since he saw your face. Since he heard your voice and felt your fingers on his skin.
Instead, it sealed his fate.
Yours too.
Because laying in bed the morning after, watching the subtle rise-and-fall of your chest, finding himself tracing shapes on your skin for the excuse to keep touching you, a fuzzy feeling he couldn’t snuff out was suffocating him.
Smothered in the scent of soap and sex and your sweet perfume. Sniffing the shampoo in your hair, sighing at the way his heart beat faster every time you tossed and turned.
How long had it been since he slept next to someone?
Shared more than a fast fuck? A quick make-out session that never made him feel anything?
He snuck out of bed first, readjusting your head to rest on the pillow and pulling up his blanket to cover you before he caught himself.
What the hell was he doing?
You weren’t his girlfriend.
But maybe you could be. If he played his cards correctly.
And really, was there anything better than making a bet he knew he’d win?
He found his phone in his jeans, a few missed calls from Shiu waiting. He deleted them. Walked out into the kitchen, opening the door to his mostly-empty fridge, staring at the eggs in there, the few cans of energy drinks, before moving to the pantry. There wasn’t much there either. Rice. Ramen.
Stuff for a single guy who didn’t give a shit about taking care of himself.
“What’re you doing?” You yawned behind him, all sleepy and sweet, and he glanced back over his shoulder to see you walking over, clutching his blanket to your chest.
“Lookin’ for something to make you breakfast,” he grunted, folding his arms across his chest.
You giggled, like it was fucking cute.
“Got any coffee?”
He made it a week of pretending to be a normal guy in a normal relationship before the fractures started forming.
Donning his fake uniform and driving you to work and to your place, narrowly avoiding being spotted by your boss and undermining all those pesky security systems to set up for what he was really planning. Using a couple of his contacts to get his hands on something that couldn’t be traced back to him. Moving all the pieces into place while playing boyfriend.
He might’ve dragged it out longer – went another few days, pushed back Gojo’s death date again – but Shiu wouldn’t shut up.
Toji was supposed to be waiting for you outside, wishing for a cigarette and reading your message that your boss was making you help him with one last thing then you’d be down to get lunch with him when his own handler called.
“The hell is taking so long?” Shiu scoffed over the phone, almost as annoyed as he felt.
“Covering our fuckin’ asses,” he growled back.
There was no way he was risking his fucking neck this time. He wasn’t going to jail for this shit – and he sure as hell wasn't going to let you either.
“The client expects this done-”
“I’m handling it,” Toji interrupted him, a gruff growl from the back of his throat.
He had the stuff with him, everything he needed to make you his – and send Satoru Gojo to an early grave.
“Take care of it.”
Shiu hung up on him.
The soles of his boots were heavy on the ground, tapping his foot as he checked the time again. Two more minutes, and he'd call you. The seconds tended to drag by without you there.
He heard your voice, faint, still far away, but he turned anyway.
You were walking out the main doors of the building, Gojo walking close behind you, his brows drawn tightly together, scolding you. He grabbed your wrist, but you shrugged him off, Toji’s blood boiling at how handsy that asshole was, touching something that didn't belong to him.
All the stares of people passing by, coworkers or not, shifted towards the two of you.
Your sad little pout, your chest puffed out and trying to stand straight, while he glared at you.
“Maybe I should just fire you,” Gojo scoffed at you, and you flinched. Toji could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing, fist clenching while you did your best to bite your tongue.
But then you surprised him – and Gojo – by beginning to speak up, “I’m-”
“You’re replaceable.”
Your face crumpled at how sharply he cut you off. Struggling not to cry, to hold yourself together while he turned on his heel and stormed back inside. Other people pretended to not be eavesdropping, avoiding eye contact when you walked away. Head hanging low, rubbing your eyes, barely paying attention to where you were going until he caught you.
You didn't even say anything when Toji pulled you in for a hug, squeezing you against him as you automatically hid your face in his chest.
He was shit at comforting people. Had never really known what to say. How to make anyone feel better.
But you didn't seem to mind, a few muffled sobs snuffed out when your mouth was pressed against his broad muscles.
“H-he said he’s gonna-” You tried to choke out, but Toji just softly patted your head.
“Don't worry about him,” he grunted.
He wouldn't be alive long enough to actually fire you.
Toji didn't say that though. He let you cry in his car, listened to you vent about your latest argument, wiped away some of your tears with the calloused pad of his thumb.
And when your break ended, and you were supposed to go back to finish off your shift, he walked back in with you. Made up some excuse about putting off taking care of the next maintenance ticket, like he hadn't already disabled all the cameras in the building earlier.
Usually, he preferred a bullet and brute force. Didn't see the point in a delicate touch and careful preparations. But he'd make an exception for you.
This one time.
“I think I'm gonna make him some coffee,” you murmured, still sniffling as you grabbed the stuff you needed for it.
Like it would be a truce instead of a death sentence.
You didn't know any better. Just scurried around the break room, not noticing when he poured a little packet of powder into the cup the moment your back was turned.
“You’re too good for him.”
You glanced back at Toji, smiling even though it didn't reach his eyes. Not really believing it, but still appreciating the sentiment.
“You're probably the one person that thinks that.”
You picked up the cup of coffee, pouring a ridiculous amount of sugar in, enough to cover the slightly bitter powder. You even snagged a can of whipped cream from the fridge, swirling it on top as if your efforts would be appreciated.
Two birds. One stone.
Or really, two fools and one cup of coffee. That was all it'd take for you to be his and both your problems to be solved.
And if it didn't?
Well, his gun was still tucked inside the band of his jeans.
“Are you sure you're not going to get in trouble?”
Toji had gotten on the elevator with you, his hand still slung too low on your waist to be purely polite, brow arched up at your concern for him slacking off.
“Just wanna make sure you're alright,” he grumbled, huffing and looking back at the buttons lit-up on the elevator.
You weren't really sure what he was to you.
A boyfriend? A lover?
But you didn't mind. His proximity was nice. His presence in your life was welcome.
Even if it was causing problems with Gojo – who had made it clear he couldn't stand sharing your attention at all. Hated you having a life.
You weren't delusional enough to think maybe he'd change his mind if he met Toji.
But your fingers were still unsteady as the elevator dinged and let you off on the top floor.
Gojo was sitting at your desk, legs propped up and feet on your paperwork. He was pretty as always, white hair tousled, one of those sharp brows of his casually raised as he glanced between you and Toji. “Is this seriously the guy?”
He laughed like it was an insult. Ignoring your frown when you walked over to hand him his coffee. He took it though, bringing it up to his mouth but not before scoffing again.
“Satoru,” you hissed out his name, a low warning that he was rolling his eyes at.
He took a long drink, whipped cream sticking above his lips like a mustache before his face paled. The next few seconds slowed, crawling by as you watched him drop the mug, ceramic shards shattering as he choked.
You were staring, your brain refusing to process what you were seeing, Toji’s voice registering behind you but the words not making any sense.
What the hell was happening?
Somewhere, the vague thought hit you that something was seriously wrong, that Satoru was dying, but nothing would connect, your body refusing to respond to even the notion of it.
Your mouth fell open, but your scream was muffled by Toji’s hand. Knees buckling, just for him to catch you in his arm, one arm wrapped around your midsection to hold you up.
“Hey, hey, I'm here,” he gruffly muttered, and you clung to that.
“W-we need to call someone,” you stammered, your panicked gasps turning into hyperventilating. This was bad. Really, really fucking bad.
“It’s okay,” he soothed in your ears, turning around so you couldn't see Satoru anymore. Wouldn't have to look when-
You couldn't even finish the thought.
“Just breathe, baby.”
“I-I can't.” You were trying, but no air would enter your lungs, throat constricting more with each attempt.
Toji paused, his palm pressing harder against your back before he stiffened.
“We need to go.”
You let him lead you back out, his hand on your spine still guiding you forward. One step, and another. Focusing on the rhythm in them, the pattern of the elevator carpet, a crack in the sidewalk, whatever was beneath your feet to stop the image of Satoru from flashing in your head.
Was he dead? What could even cause it? An allergic reaction? Poison?
Oh God no.
He led you back to his car.
Toji had parked it further down the street than usual, opening the door for you to get in and buckling you in again. It didn't feel quite as romantic as the first time.
“Where are we going?” You asked, voice cracking as you forced the words out. All you really wanted was to sleep, to go somewhere that you didn't have to think anymore.
“Don't worry about it, doll,” he casually said, shutting the door behind him and walking around to the driver’s seat.
“Is he-”
You couldn't get the question out, and he didn’t answer.
“The cops are gonna think-” You started, only just starting to swallow the bitter pill that you were screwed.
“They’ll frame you for it,” he scoffed, and you recoiled. Surprised at yourself for forgetting what you already knew about the man in front of you.
He wouldn't sugarcoat it.
Make fake promises to you that this would be fine.
“But I-”
“Do you want to spend the rest of your fuckin’ life behind bars?” He growled, and you hated how much of a point he had.
You shook your head, fingers trembling as he stilled them with his own.
Gojo had a lot of enemies. Any one of them would be happy to let you take the fall.
All you'd done was give Gojo a fucking cup of coffee – and now he was dead.
“There’s cameras,” you murmured, ones that would catch you running away from the scene of the crime.
“They've been down half the day,” Toji grumbled, and you had no idea if that was even a relief.
Your feelings were all jumbled, guilt, horror, disgust, regret, even affection and adoration tangled up in there with Toji trying so hard to keep you safe.
You stared at him, still shaking, and he leaned across to spare you a heated kiss. Grounding you here with him, his calloused palm caressing your cheek as his pretty eyes narrowed.
“I'll protect you.”
Toji meant it.
The motel was shitty, far enough from the city you dozed off on the drive, but there weren’t any cameras.
No one to watch him carry you from his car and no one to care after he tossed enough cash to cover a room at the strung-out receptionist.
You woke up still in shock. Reeling from what you’d seen – or rather what you’d done.
“Someone’s gonna come-”
“No one’s gonna find you, baby,” he promised, and it was one he intended to keep.
You curled up on the bed, and he crawled in next to you, letting you bury your face in his chest to muffle the faint sounds of crying. Stroking your hair at first, eventually untucking your shirt from your skirt to trace soothing patterns over the bare skin of your back. Maybe you were scared right now, that was natural.
The first kill was always the hardest.
Once you were somewhere safe, once you knew he wasn’t going anywhere, you’d relax. After the news cycle covering your former employer’s death died off, and the investigation went cold, you'd realize that you wouldn't get caught.
And if you adjusted better than he hoped, maybe you could be his assistant.
Or if not, maybe he could leave this life behind. Find something more stable. Part-time work, or something he could do from home to spend more time with you.
You fell back asleep on him, lashes fluttering as he ran over his next steps.
He'd gotten rid of both your cells and tossed your wallet on the drive, slipping the sim cards out and destroying them when he got gas and paid in cash. Someone had probably found the body by now. He'd need to switch cars to pick up the payment from the drop off point, but that wouldn't be a problem.
There was a payphone outside, one he could see from the window. He'd call Shiu from it in a few minutes, let you dream on him for a bit longer.
The pay for this would be enough for fake passports, to buy some place off grid – and install a state of the art security system. To keep intruders or officers investigating out.
And more importantly, keep you inside.
There was nothing better than a bonus for a job well done - especially one as pretty as you.
Satoru Gojo has been obsessed with Suguru's older sister - you - since he was old enough to even remember, and it's only gotten worse since he's grown up. Yet you still see him as 'little toru' when nothing on Satoru Gojo is 'little'. Now you're coming off a terrible breakup with your long term boyfriend Hiromi, and visiting Suguru's family for spring break. What better time to try to make you feel better by having you squirt all over his fingers!? But can you really ever fuck your brother's best friend?
pairings - Fratboy! gojo x Sugu's big sis! reader
warnings -reader is 28, he's 22, your ex is Hiromi hehe, masturbation ( m and f) yandere Gojo, fingering, squirting, oral sex (m receiving) tons of tension, a teeny bit cracked out, Toru is shameless - no one in Sugu's fam is safe from this man
wc-6.4k - NGL it's prob gonna have a pt 2 and maybe 3 lol
art creds here!
Satoru Gojo has been obsessed with you for as long as he can remember – his best friend Suguru’s older sister, watching you right now as you’re by the side of the pool. Suguru hops in and splashes you, making you jump up, your pretty tits bouncing as if to fucking torture him even further.
You’re sweet – achingly sweet, but you don’t look at him that way. You smile all cute like he’s a kid when he’s six-foot-four and you have to look up at him, since you’re six years older than Suguru and him, that’s just how you see him. Satoru thought when he graduated college surely you’d notice he’s a man now, but you treat him the same as ever.
“Little Toru!”
What the fuck on Gojo was little!?
His cock throbs underneath his swim trunks as those drops of water slip down your pretty tits, the sun glimmering off your skin. You came back to visit for the summer with your family, even though you’re twenty-eight you still come to spend time with the family, and Satoru makes sure he’s there too.
You had a nasty break up with your boyfriend, this damn lawyer you used to bring around at Christmas and Thanksgiving, Satoru cheered right in the middle of fisting his cock when he got your text. You all were close after all, he loved to make you feel better in any way he can, put a smile on your pretty face, though he’d love much more to make you fucking drool.
“You got all my sunblock off!” You huff and Suguru sticks his tongue out, your parents are in there with him along with all your annoying little cousins that visit, you’re so cute with them he can’t help but wonder how good of a mom you’d be.
Well, he’d make you one some day.
“I got you sweets,” Satoru walks over and you smile at him, trying your best not to eye fuck your little brother’s best friend – but fuck were his shoulders broader, was he more cut, what the fuck was he eating? He’s impossibly tall these fucking days like he got another inch.
Ovulating around twenty two year old Satoru after a breakup with Hiromi was fucking horrible. You clear your throat and hand him the bottle, you can ignore how his blue eyes flicker across your tits in your bikini, can’t you? Satoru had some cute crush on you, you weren’t immune to it, but he’s too fucking young for you.
“Thanks little Toru,” he laughs softly, sitting behind you and squeezing the sunblock into his palm, gliding it down your back slowly, watching the white lotion meld into your skin, wishing it was something else entirely.
“Little Toru huh,” his voice is soft behind you as his huge hands work across your skin, fingers drifting across your skin and making your lashes flutter shut for a moment, you lean right into the touch as his lips brush near your ear. “What on me is little?”
“I um…” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your parents and Suguru and children are in the damn pool and you’re over here pressing your thighs together, feeling your cunt throb and ache.
“You always called me that,” he chuckles a bit, huge body pressing up against you, casting a shadow as his fingers work the lotion into your shoulders thoroughly, his touch sinfully good. “Do you need more on you?”
“Y-yes please,” you damn near arch with him on your lounge chair, his thighs spread wide, gliding it down your arms.
“You didn’t answer me,” his huge hands take over your arms as they glide them all down your skin. “What’s little?”
You look back at Satoru, biting your lower lip. How fucking mad would Suguru be if you fucked his best friend!?
You can’t go fucking doing that.
Right?
No!?!?
Just because Hiromi hurt you doesn’t mean you can suddenly go and act on impulse, thinking with your pussy rather than any sort of brain cells. It’s simply that you’re comfortable with him, that he’s gorgeous, that for the past few years the way he looks at you makes you feel so pretty – how he talks to you all low and soft, teasing with his big smile.
It’s just that, and the fact that his body is hard, that his skin is hot – his perfect form is present right behind you. You’re fine, just remember it’s friendly, he’s just teasing you like he does. You can’t look at ‘little toru’ who just so happens to be six-foot-four and getting thicker in the chest every time you see him – how does he keep getting more fucking muscles?
Was football really doing all of this?
“I um… just call you that,” you murmur softly, breath caught in your chest, heart hammering so quickly you’re dizzy, especially with the heat radiating down against your skin, his hands brushing more lotion, pausing at your mid back.
“Move your hair to the side, it’s drippin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs lazily, you bite your lip so hard it leaves little teeth marks, pulling your hair to the side and smiling over your shoulder at him.
“There,” you murmur, eyes locked with his.
Fuck you’re pretty.
God he wants to drag you right on his goddamn lap, slide his cock to the hilt – he bets you’re so fucking tight, but he also bets you’re so wet you could just take him. When his hands slide up the curve of your spine, you can hardly stop your cunt from dripping down the damn lounge chair, his hands rubbing all that cream into your skin ever so thoroughly.
“Then why do you call me that, huh sweetheart?” He asks now, you sigh, glaring back at him just a bit. “I’m way fucking bigger than I was when you met me.”
“Well yeah, you were like a kid, Toru.”
“Now I’m way bigger than you, hmm?” His tone echoes in your ears – way bigger… you already know the sheer size of Satoru Gojo, but to think of just how big he is makes your cunt pulse.
“Ahem…” You clear your throat now, rushing up and laughing nervously, ignoring the evident bulge in his light blue swim trunks. “I’m gonna get in!”
“With your sunblock on?” He teases, you can’t answer him – can’t even look at him, no you hop right into the cold chill of the pool, trying to cool your ovulating ovaries the fuck down.
*****
It’s hard to be around you.
Literally hard.
Satoru finds himself heading into the house while you and the family are still splashing around in the pool – he certainly can’t just palm his cock when the whole family is around. He had to rush off into the damn bathroom, shutting the door behind himself, leaking so much pre he’s sticking to his trunks.
"Mnh," Satoru can’t help but tug at his drawstring, those trunks still dripping wet with the faint scent of chlorine clinging to them, he shoves the waistband down, cock springing free, slapping his flat belly button. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Was there a better word for what you do to him? Satoru’s barely biting back a moan, wrapping his hand around that thick base of his shaft, sucking in a breath, he usually has a little more fucking self control but he doesn’t right now. Not when he got to smooth that white cream against your skin and watch it melt into it, fuck imagining rubbing his cum all over your body instead has him pulsing.
Imagine every inch of you covered in him – he’s gone truly psychotic, wanting to fucking mark you like you’re his, he was tired of seeing you with that dumb fucking lawyer. What did you need him for when you could have Satoru? What, because he’s in his thirties, Satoru Gojo was fucking filthy rich, and he’d make sure you never had to lift a pretty little finger.
“I’ll take care of you – hah, b-baby,” he’s whining out, eyelashes fluttering shut, picturing you vividly.
The way those water droplets were glistening on your skin, how your pretty tits bounced when you hopped up and Suguru splashed you. How the little bikini showed beauty marks on your tummy, a couple lines on your hips where they’ve spread just a bit since you were his age – all to spread to have his baby, he’s so sure of it.
Breedable fucking hips that he’d love to hold in his big hands, arching your back for him all pretty like a good girl – he could practically hear the moans that you’d give, they’d be much louder than the soft little sounds you made when he touched your back earlier. He can’t help but want to hear it, hear how fucking loud you get, would your sounds get all muffled as he pressed your head into the mattress?
He’s been jerking it to you since he found out what his cock even did, back when it was honestly terrible to do so, but he has no sense of guilt when it comes to you. Watching you, stealing those panties, practicing just what he’ll say as he fucks his fist devotedly to any picture he’s snuck of you, fuck he took photos from your goddamn family album he was so pathetic.
“Stop teasin’ me sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his cock, slowly at first to just savor the feeling of his precum smearing his reddened tip – all drooly already. He spits right down on his cock, a long trail of gossamer saliva swirling down, using it as lube while picturing how wet you’d get.
He bets you were wet with his hands running across your skin, he could feel heat that couldn’t just be from the sun, surely it was not the rays shining and warming you, it was Satoru’s nearness. He ached to taste the sun right off your skin, your cunt tasted so good on your panties, surely it would taste even better right from the source.
He starts to stroke his cock faster, fucking desperately, imagining your much smaller hand instead of his. You probably couldn’t even wrap those fingers around his girth, you’d have trouble taking him, tummy would just bulge as he moves in and out of your hole. He whimpers at that vision, imagining you looking at him with need, with hearts in your eyes.
Anything but that fucking sweet ‘big sis’ affection.
"Little Toru," he mumbles under his breath, a little laugh escaping him as he strokes his nine inches that would ruin your cunt for anyone else. “Fuck, sweetheart, you really have no idea, do you?"
Satoru’s strokes became more erratic as he imagined lifting your pretty ass up, bending you over the poolside, pulling that bikini aside and finally showing you exactly how ‘little’ he was. Fuck would you scream out Toru when he busted his load inside? When he filled you with all those creampies you deserved and he fingered it inside so it took?
It starts to feel too good, he’s so sensitive he’s leaning against the bathroom counter, groaning out, right about to cum when he hears it.
Someone jiggling the handle.
“I’m… hah, in here,” he manages to bite out, freezing when he hears your voice on the other side of the door.
“Toru I really am freezing, can I just come in real fast to grab a towel? I won’t look or anything,” you’re shivering, water dripping on your parents floor. “All the other bathrooms are taken by the kids and Suguru even stole the one in my old bedroom.”
“Oh… ah…” Your voice is making him pulse, he’s stroking faster, laughing just a bit.
“Are you laughing!? I’m freezing you little brat!”
“Brat, hah – you’re the brat baby,” you blush on the other side of the door, jiggling the handle again. “So eager to see my dick?”
“Oh you’re ridiculous – like I haven’t seen all you have before.”
“That was years ago, I’ve changed,” he murmurs, biting back a whimper unsuccessfully. “Not little Toru anymore.”
“Will you hurry up then? I am so fucking cold, ugh,” you’re shivering in your soaked towel – all the splashing got it so bad it’s fucking useless. “Satoru Gojo!”
“Fuck, fuck just… one sec, you’re impatient,” he strokes his thick cock one more time, whimpering out when his white ropes start spilling on the sink, his eyelashes fluttering, cheeks all flushed in his reflection.
“What the fuck are you doing in there? Did you hurt yourself or something!?”
“Hah… no…” He’s moaning now, the relief felt from his balls not being so goddamn tight and full of cum, he quickly starts wiping down the marble counters littered with his milky strings. “Hold on, okay? Fuck…”
“Fine,” you cross your arms, trembling like crazy, Satoru hastily opens the door after he tugs his swim trunks on, opening it and forcing you to look up at him, so damn tall you’re right there with his chest.
Little Toru indeed.
He’s a giant now.
“Finally,” you mumble, he leans one of those long ass arms over and grabs a dry towel, wrapping it around you and taking the wet one, hanging it up. “Oh thank you.”
“Made ya wait that long, can at least dry you up,” he murmurs, wrapping you even tighter, hands massaging the terry cloth covered arms that are covered in goosebumps. Your breath catches, looking up at him, far too close, you can feel that heat just radiating off his skin. “There, any better?”
“Um yeah, I’m sorry I was so impatient,” you mumble nervously, looking down and seeing the way his abs tense as he breathes, further down to the slutty little happy trail he has.
That’s when you pause.
Is that… is that… cum!? On his fucking belly button!? Is that his tip peaking-
“Satoru!” He blinks curiously as you push at him, his hands still firm on your shoulders.
“What, are you on your period? Acting all moody one minute, sweet the next.”
“You can’t ask me that!? Were you…” You lean close, whispering. “Jerking off, really?”
He smirks.
“I had to freeze so you could finish? Couldn’t you wait till you’re back in the room to do that?”
“Aw, did you wanna watch, sweetheart?” He asks, tilting your chin up, his lids getting lazy over those curved up blue eyes of his. You swallow then, your throat dry from his fingers caressing your jaw. “I would have let you if I knew.”
“Of course I didn’t…” You can’t even speak, not when you’re looking at his abs again, he leans back and laughs a bit.
“Ah, didn’t tug them up enough,” he hides what looks like a pretty blush tip, smiling like he’s fucking embarassed, he is flushed but it’s for an entirely different reason. “Is that better, sweetheart?”
“It’s… on you, god,” it’s your turn to blush, he hums a bit, stepping back lazily to drag his fingers across his own cum, putting them to his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks his own release off them.
Oh fuck.
You swallow nervously, the sight of it is utterly filthy, his hum as if he tastes so sweet, fluffy lashes fluttering. “Mmm, I guess I missed a spot when I cleaned up. My bad.”
“Your bad!? You’re such a…” you trail off now, you’re aching and he looks too fucking good, psychotic ass blue eyes all lit up as they study you. You can't even finish the sentence, your face burning with a blush that has nothing to do with the sun you took in.
"I'm such a what?" he presses closer to you, until your back is against the door, it closes behind you, leaving the two of you alone in the little guest bathroom.
“Such a…” you clear your throat, feeling him against you, you should pinch his ear or smack him in the back of the head like you did when he was younger – but you can’t even move.
He's all warm against you, the sticky remnants of his own release splayed across that pale skin, a hand on the wall beside you. The way he’s looking at you and his sheer proximity are doing things to you that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.
“Such a pervert,” you glare and he chuckles, cupping your face with a hand now – that’s not how a twenty two year old frat boy should look down at you, should act, with his arm fucking raised and the little thatch of hair still damp underneath them. His silky locks are falling in slick little strands across his brow. “A total pervert.”
“Me? No, sweetheart,” he smirks down at you like the little shit he is. "I’m just taking care of a problem you caused."
"I caused it!?" you squeak out the words almost embarassing, pushing at his chest half heartedly – he’s so built and muscular it’s like pushing against a brick wall, his heart thudding under your palm. You barely manage a glare. "How is any of this ridiculous behavior my fault?"
He catches your wrists in one of his big hands, thumb brushing over the delicate network of veins, right over your frantic pulse. “How is it your fault?”
“Yes, you psycho.”
“You exist," his words confuse the fuck out of you then, breaths faster until your tits are rising and falling in the top just a bit too small, his gaze drops to it when your towel hopelessly falls. He exhales and traces his hand over the curve of your tit, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches. “That’s how it’s your fault.”
‘B-because I exist?” You whisper, shaking your head now. “You’re just fucking with me, what does that even mean?”
"You wore that bikini,” he murmurs, a thigh coming between yours, instead of tugging away you shamelessly arch your hips, earning his soft little exhale. “You let me put sunscreen on you, didn’t you? Let me touch your skin, while you’re fucking looking like that." His eyes – those impossibly fucking bright blue eyes – drag down your body, like he’s touching you
“That makes no sense, you’ve always seen me in swimsuits, Satoru. You may have had some little crush when you were younger, but you’re an adult.”
“And so the fuck are you, a whole woman, hmm?” He whispers, you hate how good it makes you feel. “Fuck you must be ovulating, swear I can smell it.”
“You cannot freak!?” You shove again, but your hips move, heat emanating even from your soaked bikini bottoms, the scent of chlorine mixing with the sweetness of his breath, the musk of that slight sweat underneath his arms.
“Bet your body wants a baby in her,” he smirks, his hips dragging you down on his thigh, a trail of slick glittering on it. You whine out, biting your lip and shaking your head. "What did you expect to happen, you lookin’ like that, after that man was dumb enough to leave you?"
"I expected you to act like a normal person, even if y-you somehow think I’m hot or something, you can’t just… act like this, all psychotic. What do you mean babies inside me!?”
“Oh you don’t wanna be bred?” You almost whimper goddamn this little brat.
“You’re a little fratboy.”
“A little fratboy?” He repeats, you bite down on your lower lip and nod. “You want me to act normal, huh?”
“Y-yes go back too… whatever it was um… before. Go fuck your little frat girls at your parties, girls your age," your voice is weak, breathless and fucking pathetic – you hate whatever the hell was happening, the fact that you’re aching for him to do just that – pump cum right inside you.
"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs softly, leaning in and letting his lips hover until they’re almost touching yours. "I haven't been normal about you since I was twelve years old."
“That’s insane,” you hiss, shaking your head again, his thigh pressing up and you feel your body respond, his hands tugging at your waist, thumbs right underneath the swells of your breasts.
"You really have no fucking clue, do you?"
Your heart is hammering in your chest as you drink him in, half naked and still glimmering with the pool water.
This is Satoru.
Annoying, bratty, little Toru – who used to follow you around like a lost puppy, then grew to just annoy the ever loving shit out of you. Suguru’s best friend who has spent more time with your parents than you have in the past ten years – he’s ‘Toru’ and that’s that.
Right?
He can’t be the man who sucks cum off his fingers.
You should push him away – walk out and lock yourself in your room for the entirety of the rest of your stay, you should do anything but let his lips brush the corner of your lips, do anything but whimper. Anything but moan softly when he tugs down your top, groaning at the sight of one of your pretty tits bare, with the faint lines the sun left on your skin.
“Oh my fuck,” he whispers, he didn’t know you’d be that fucking beautiful, he had snuck so many glimpses but to see that pretty nipple in person? “Look at you.”
“I… we… even if you’re not Suguru’s best friend, even if you weren’t six years younger – I literally just broke up with-”
“A dumb fuck?” You glare at him. “He’s stupid to ever leave you.
“You don’t know him, and… even if we um… did something-”
“What!?”
You sigh, shaking your head. “Satoru-”
“You wanna do something!? With me!?” You snort a bit at how suddenly cute he is, before he gathers himself, hand trailing down your tummy, it trembles underneath the surprising roughness of his fingertips. “Want me to make you cum, pretty?”
“Fuck,” where’d he learn to talk like this!? Hiromi could eat pussy – and that man could fuck, but something about Satoru’s utter desperation and devotion had you gushing and pulsing around nothing. “I… you can… can you…”
“Can I make you cum?” He chuckles, finding your elastic, slipping his fingers underneath so his finger grazes your clit, your hips buck at it, whining out weakly. “Yeah, sweetheart, I can make you cum until you’re squirting right on this fucking floor.”
“J-just… fuck, just…” You should push him off – but instead, you find yourself shoving his hand down further, eyes fluttering shut, your head back ever so slightly against the door. “There, my clit, please… please, fuck…”
It’s happening.
Satoru’s dreamt of this moment since he even knew somewhat was a pussy was, and yours was soaking goddamn wet, so messy it’s loud, echoing in the bathroom, he swirls it in little circles as you rock your hips, still straddling one of his thighs. He pulls it back and picks you up, making you gasp, sitting you right on the sink and tugging your bottoms to the side.
“Toru, I…”
“Fuck yes, god call me that,” if he hadn’t already jerked off – he’d be cummin’ again just eyeing your needy, puffy cunt. “Fuckin’ perfect lil cunt, god, just look at you, soaked.”
Your lashes flutter shut, expecting a finger and then shocked when you feel a glob of saliva right on your needy clit. “Ah!”
“Mmm,” he’s humming, spreading his own spit around, smirking at the sight of his bubbly, gossamer saliva coating your cunt. “Perfect just like that… Do you need them inside? Bet yours couldn’t hit.”
“Shut it, Toru,” you’re yanking on his wrist, making him moan with how you take over, he’s used to girls just a little too shy, not that it was a bad thing – but you knew what you wanted, grabbing his fingers and sucking them.
“Oh my… f-fuckk…” He almost does cum watching your cheeks hollow, seeing you suck him down to the knuckle, your pretty pussy just drippin’ right down the counter as you arch your hips more.
“Hurry b-before they notice,” you whisper desperately now, guiding his hand down to your needy hole, whining out softly. “Two, put two in, please.”
“Sure you can take it?” You just nod eagerly, he swirls them and then buries them to the fucking hilt inside, you have to smack a hand on your mouth, drool spilling across your palm as he starts easing them in and out. “Fuck, took em s’good just f’me, huh? Just like that, needy lil cunt wants me.”
“Sh-shh,” is all you manage to mumble, lifting your hand and yanking him down, hand entangled in his silky hair. “Once, just once and… we can’t…”
Hah, as if Satoru would just touch you once, when he’s rocking his fingers up and down, making a squelching fucking mess, your eyes roll back in your skull as he works them faster, until the clicking is just echoing obscenely. “Once, huh?”
“You finger me, I’ll s-suck you.”
“Slutty girl,” you can’t stand how he says that, how his long digits press on your puffy lil cervix, barely able to formulate a fucking thought as he works you so much you’re desperately trying to get a breath. “That’s it, gonna cum that easy? Just f’me, hmm? All me?”
You can’t answer, so you drag him down for a kiss – and that’s when you lose it, kissing Satoru wasn’t normal – not the way he moans like a little slut, desperately taking over your mouth. His hands dragging every bit of slick from your cunt as impossibly more comes down his thick fucking fingers.
“God,” he whispers, hardly able to catch his breath. “You’re so tight, fuck…”
“Mnh,” you can hardly manage to speak, think of anything but how good it feels, his fingers going even faster now. “So much… too much I…”
“You can take them baby,” he whispers – in a way ‘little toru’ sure the fuck shouldn’t, his eyes black with their blown out pupils, kissing down the side of your jaw and curving his fingers right up against that soft spot on your front wall. “Look, you’re doin’ s’good already.”
“Ngh,” you’re so goddamn close, your head falling back for him to work you quicker. “Gonna cum… gonna…”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Fuck,” you hiss the words, but Satoru doesn’t pull his fingers back, he moves them slower, to edge you, to torture you.
Isn’t it what you’ve done all these years?
“Act normal,” he murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, sharp teeth nicking it as he eases his fingers out, rubbing your clit back and forth so quickly you’re about to scream out loud. “If you wanna cum, you’ll just act like I’m not here.”
“H-hey, yes?” You barely manage to squeak out, Satoru smiles against your neck, pinching your clit and making you bite down hard on his bare shoulder, leaving glittery teeth marks.
“Sis, we’re about to grill out – I can’t find Satoru,” you found him all right – he’s tugging your hair at the roots so you look at him as he’s about to make you squirt all over. “Have you seen him?”
“Hah I d-did,” fuck, he’s rocking them faster, smirking cruelly at your plight. “I saw him um… upstairs dancing to some t swift.”
“You brat,” he hisses in your ear, Suguru chuckles.
“Yeah, sounds like him.”
It’s not even!?
Satoru shoves his fingers in against that cervix and makes you whine out, grinning all evil as you glare at him. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing, Sugu! Um… I’m getting freshened up, then I’ll meet you guys outside, okay?” You bite back a moan when Satoru’s kissing your neck, tongue lapping up a little vein underneath your skin he traces, free hand plucking your nipple and twisting it. The dual stimulation is too fucking much.
“No worries, sis, I’ll throw some chicken breast on there for you,” now you feel guilty – great!
“Thanks Sugu, you’re the best,” you murmur, he’s walking away now, leaving this psycho who’s fingering you faster. “I’m gonna… cum, fuck, fuck…”
“Aww you’re easy f’me,” he whispers, eyeing you as you’re about to fall apart, fingers shoved right back inside your needy hole. “I’ll make you forget him, forget anyone but me.”
“Psycho, what!? Just… ah!” He slams a big hand over your mouth, chuckling dark and fucking sadistic as he makes you squirt all over, it’s spraying against his hand and even hits his tummy, making him moan.
“God, look at that,” he’s pulling those fingers out of your pulsing walls in wonder, peering at the mess you made. “You’ve got me covered, sweetheart, you’ve got such a slutty lil pussy.”
“Fuck…” You’re so weak, when you hop off and shove him against the wall, kneeling and tugging at his waist band.
“Oh my god…” THIS IS HAPPENING.
The girl of his dreams is on her knees, her squirt all on his fingers, he’s sucking it off them as he grips your hair, letting out a desperate whine when you kitten lick his drooly tip.
“You’re already hard again for me?” Your whisper is diabolical, he barely manages a fucking word – all his braincells gone when you stroke his cock, sucking his tip and swirling the flat of your tongue.
Oh you’re a pro at sucking cock – and he’s mad about it.
“Wish you never had one but mine in your m-mouth,” he’s huffing, pressing on the back of your neck so you take impossibly more of him in your mouth, fucking into your throat needy and desperate. “Do you have n-no gag reflex!?”
“Hmm,” you’d smile if your throat wasn’t blissfully full of his pretty cock – you’d feel bad about that later, not right now, when your fingers are pumping inside your quivering hole, still sensitive from him. When his fingers tighten in your hair, bucking his hips and whimpering out
“Can you take all of it, huh? Doubt you can – oh my f-fuckkk.” You suck him deeper before he can think, your nose brushing against the soft white hairs nestled at his base as you look right up at him. “Oh my… fuck your throat it’s so goddamn slutty… mnh…”
Satoru’s supposed to make you whimper, not the other way around, but how can he do anything other than stutter, bucking them so that he slips his tip right past your uvula, you have tears in your eyes, sniffling a bit, but aside from that you’re bobbing your damn head. He can’t even imagine that lawyer got this, got you sucking him so deep and choking on his cock and left that shit.
Your eyes are so pretty he’s stunned, he dreamt of them looking up at him like this but really nothing could prepare him for what it’s like to have the girl he’s jerked off to forever taking him in between her lips.
"Fuck, your mouth... god, your mouth is better than I ever..." he trails off into a strangled little slutty moan, those pink lips parted as you pull back.
You have strings of saliva and drool just dissolving, he can hear your messy little pussy as you shamelessly overstimulate it, sucking him till he’s dizzy. “Mmm, you like it, huh? You’re so wet for me, Toru.”
“Oh fuck you,” you giggle and he almost laughs – but it turns into a choked little moan, you’re swirling your tongue around the sensitive ridge of his tip, tonguing that slit where all his pearly cum is slipping. “God, your fucking mouth.”
“Mhm,” you murmur, before plunging down again, slurping him the fuck down as you look up at him through your lashes.
The sight almost makes him lose it right there, busting from less than two minutes of your pretty lips stretched around him, the sight of your pretty tears at the corner of your eyes the only tell that it took effort stuffing his cock in your throat. Tight, needy throat that reflexively swallows around him as he cups your face to hold it in place, fucking your face harder.
“Gotta finger your cunt again? Needy, messy lil slut – all f’me, isn’t it?” You can’t help but whine out around him – yes, it’s all for him, and he knows it. Even as he’s whining out he’s dominating you, fucking your throat raw – you won’t even be able to talk tomorrow. “I can’t wait to drink that pretty pussy, f-fuck… god, when i pump you full of cum I’ll lick it right out.”
Satoru Gojo is absolutely fucking insane.
And you’re about to cum again just sucking him and fucking your own pussy with your much smaller fingers.
His hips are already jerking off rhythm now, meaner with it as he’s fucking himself back into your willing mouth. "Such a fucking tease for years... ah, shit, don't stop, b-baby please – m’gonna-”
One moment fucking your throat so hard you’re choking, the next murmuring your praises – pretty girl, needy slut, fuckin’ tease, my sweetheart – he’s a babbling mess, and you can’t help but feel so sexy doing it. Hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard as you pull back, feeling his hands tremble as they tug at your hair.
“Gonna swallow all of me? Hah – god just wait, I’ll fill all your fucking holes,” well that just fucking sends you, when he’s not gentle and he’s slamming his cock mean in your throat, heavy balls smacking your chin as you drool down them.
He murmurs your name when you feel him pulse and thicken, before he does just that – fills your throat with all that sweet, salty mix of his cum, hitting the back of your throat. You swallow it all, every last drop fucking greedy as you cum again, spasming and gushing down your own fingers.
You don’t stop licking him – not even after you’ve sucked his milky seed in your throat, you’re sucking his sensitive cock after, until he's whimpering your name.
"Jesus Christ," he whispers, finally letting go of your hair to gently stroke your cheek, you pull back with a messy pop and he struggles to even find a word for what just happened. “You’re so…”
“Good at it?” you tease, standing with his help and giggling, but it’s all shut off when he tilts your chin, kissing your swollen lips and lapping his own cum off with the tip of his tongue.
“Mmm, was gonna say beautiful,” your eyes locked.
Oh fuck.
It’s not just ovulation – you know it then and there.
Before you can have an entire mental breakdown, oh and a quarter life fucking crisis, you both hear everyone laughing outside. “Shit we…”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, fucked out and spent by you.
Satoru wasn’t innocent – but with you he felt like it – there’s never been anything like what you just did, fucking up his goddamn mind.
You rush out to the cookout after getting dressed like nothing happened – acting all unaffected and infuriating him to no end.
But it was just that, an act.
One he calls your ass out when Suguru is flipping burgers on the grill, and he’s handing you a beer with a little curve of his lips. “Oh, thanks ‘little toru’.”
“Hah,” he chuckles a bit, tilting his head. “Your sore throat tells me there’s nothing little about me anymore, hmm?”
“Shh!?” you look around wildly, as if someone could hear. “It was… just… I was…”
“Aching for my cock in your throat?” He leans low now, where no one in your family can hear him. “I’m a gentleman, sweetheart, I prefer to eat my meals first.”
“Eat your…” you blush now. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” he sighs, aching to brush your hair back, but knowing at that moment how many people were around. “Gonna let me return your favor?”
Before you can answer, your mother's voice – all fucking bright and peppy – cuts through the relaxed atmosphere of the pool party, making everyone look over at her curiously. Oh, except Satoru – he’s stuck looking at you underneath his fluffy damn lashes.
"Look who's here! Hiromi, darling, over here!"
Fuck.
Hiromi!?
You turn and there he is. Your ex who broke your damn heart – Hiromi Higuruma, looking all handsome in a dark linen shirt and shorts, his hair just a little bit of a disaster as it always was. He has this polite, almost apologetic smile on his handsome face, the one you used to ride until he drowned in you.
You almost could forget how bad he hurt you until he was right here.
He's holding a bottle of wine and awkwardly greeting your father, who is clapping him on the back all friendly, steering him directly toward you.
"Hiromi, so glad you could make it!" You wanna die. Satoru’s tense as fuck right next to you.
He wants to kill this man.
He would kill anyone that’s ever even touched you, truly, if he could really get away with it.
Your mother is right behind Hiromi, smiling at you and making you scowl. "I just told Hiromi we were so surprised you two happened to be in town at the same time! It's a sign, don't you think, to reconnect? Even as… friends to the family, right?"
Oh, god.
Your fucking parents.
Higuruma's dark brown eyes find yours, and you feel all that pain all over again, mixing with the drink in your system, the pleasure from Suguru’s best friend – and the heat of the sun. Dizzy, you barely feel Satoru’s warmth against you.
It was not just sucking dick – and that terrifies you – but now, Hiromi is here and confusing the ever loving shit out of you. You thought you’d never see him again.
"Hey," he says softly to you, peering over at Satoru for a moment, before his gaze is back on yours. "Your parents invited me here, I didn’t want to be rude but also… didn’t want…”
He sighs then.
“I just really wanted to see you again.”
Satoru’s pretty blue eyes narrow – there’s no fucking way he’s letting anyone touch the girl that just deep throated his cock, the girl who he’s about to put babies inside. No, he’s not sharing – and Hiromi needs to fucking go – he has a girl he needs to make his.
hehe do we wanna pt 2 bc I can't help myselfff - </333 I was actually inspired when i read @revolvingsaturn's fic about Sugu's mom, ngghhh go check it
Synopsis. A jester marrying a princess? Not even in the most terrible joke.
Gojo Satoru has loved you ever since the first time he made you laugh, he’s loved you since you appointed him as your personal jester—and he’s loved you even when your royal engagement was announced.
But if only a prince can marry a princess…maybe a jester can wreck it.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, jester!Gojo, royalty AU, forbídden Iove, yearning, PLOT, hurt, best friends to Iovers, betrothaIs (not to Gojo), he’s so siIIy, and so in Iove, sad backstorìes, vìoIence and bIood (not to or from Gojo), rhymes, pranks, Naoya’s awfuI, hidden schemes, makeovers, masquerade baIIs, masks, somewhat CindereIIa-Iike, oraI (fem rec.), tongue f, fìngering, he’s PÚSSYDRÚNK, p taIking, pínching, bíting, spítting, ínappropriate use of the jester hat, he’s FÉRAL, raw, matíng presses, first times (for both), he’s BlG, making it fit, talking you through it, pushing down, dirty taIk, rhymes whilst he’s INSIDE, creampíes, cúmpIay, royal weddings, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 16.8k
A/N. TO THE LOVELY BABYGIRLS THAT HAVE BEEN BEEEEGGING FOR THIS TROPE- and inspired by the very talented @/karolineprihodko on Tiktok <33
“A fool may sleep. A fool may sneer. A fool may ask why the princess is crying here?”
It’s so sudden that it stops your tears.
Crouched in a small passageway near the royal court. Between the gleaming armors upon display of Gakuganji the Great and Kashimo the Fierce. For a brief moment of madness; you think you must have imagined the lilting voice—almost melodic. Marvelous.
It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard - even more so than the music wafting from the open doors of court, brought by the travelling circus that your palace was entertaining.
And then you’re hearing him again.
“Sob sob sob—for my princess is a crier. Dear Gojo here, shall set Yaga’s stache on fire—!”
That makes you finally lift your head out of your arms, with a laugh that is full-chested and unabashed. For the first time in a long…long time.
“What might your name be?” You ask the boy with the bright blue eyes, and an even brighter smile.
And that was the story of how you met Gojo Satoru - when you were eight, and he’d been merely ten. Though he didn’t look ten—he might’ve looked even younger than you.
White hair. Winks of dimples upon each cheek. His face was chalk-white from the make-up typical of jesters, even young ones, supposedly.
He was drowning in a faded red and blue jester outfit that looked as if it’d been dragged through multiple shows a night. It looked far too big to have been his originally. Even through the patched-up collar, his collarbones showed, and from the too-wide sleeves; his pale, near-skeletal limbs stuck out oddly.
His face was pretty, however, with eyes too large for his head.
Gojo’s cheeks were sunken in, yet his smile wasn’t the slightest bit smaller. That, too, looked too large to be his.
And you…
Crying outside the royal court, after your parents had declared you far too young to see the travelling circus. The acrobats. The sword-swallowers. And one little jester…that had gone missing during the processions.
Though, in time, Gojo took delight in weaving in additional parts of fighting off dragons and two haunted knight armors—enraptured courts that clapped and laughed as he sang of a white-haired fool and his crying princess. He’d whisked you off your feet and made you swoon in ways a princess utterly shouldn’t - and then produced you before your horrified father, His Majesty, as the sole suitor that made you laugh.
At least according to him.
Though one thing was true from that fairytale: Gojo had been the only person to make you laugh. The only one.
Previous jesters and palace acts wavered between confusing you with their overly long ballads, or enraging you - all because they assumed some little princess couldn’t handle humor. And maybe that was why - Gojo hadn’t underestimated you - that you’d gone right up to your father in the middle of a particularly splendid fire-breathing act, stood in the center of the lavish floor, and declared—
For Gojo to be released from the circus to become your personal jester.
As a royal jester he would be clothed, bathed, and tutored alongside you - so long as he kept you entertained with his rhymes (to which you had no doubt that he wouldn’t falter).
Not minister nor royal guest should lay a hand on him. He was to be treated as an equal member of the court, and should have titles bestowed upon him in due time—but for now, he will grow up as your best friend. Your only.
And whilst declaring this in about as much royal haughtiness as you could have managed, you looked over at Gojo. You don’t remember for what reason. You don’t remember what you were looking for.
All you remember is that Gojo’s eyes seemed brighter in that moment, like the night’s cloak of stars. There were tears in his eyes.
And he flashed you his crooked grin.
You grinned back.
His Majesty and the advisors didn’t take long to mull over the thought before asking the circus master to name his price for the boy. And Gojo had been small then - oh-so-small - a mere waif of a boy. He was clearly the youngest amongst these adults, and the circus master hadn’t even remembered he was part of the troupe.
He’d demanded two crowns and a bag of wheat.
To which The King had obliged with a simple wave of his hand—before freeing the other circus members, as well. He was merciful…most of the time.
And you’d been so overcome with joy that you ran to the jester and took his hands then and there.
Had it been in the little passageway where you’d met, then you might even have embraced him.
But perhaps you’d given the ministers enough conniptions for the day?
“Follow me.” You breathlessly whispered to the little jester that seemed far too shocked for words. “I shall summon the royal tailor whilst you take your bath- we have every fragrance in the land, and more than enough botanical springs.”
But the longer he stayed speechless and unmoving, the more self-conscious you grew.
Your fingers loosened around his, “That…that is if you wish to-”
“I do.” He stopped you from slipping away - he clasped your hands even tighter. Tight enough to nearly hurt—but you didn’t stop him. “I-I’d be honored, Your Highness.”
“You shan’t have to call me that.”
And though a few eavesdropping court ladies and gentlemen gasped at the destruction of long-held social etiquette, Gojo had merely smiled and nodded. And then you’d been the one to whisk him away.
You.
Gojo shared little about his upbringing that first day in the palace, and even less over the years. You knew that he’d been born into an average family just a kingdom over - Gojo itself was a fairly used name - but tragedy struck and his parents both passed away—although you never asked how, and he never shared why. It almost…seemed as if he didn’t remember. A part of him that had scrubbed out most of those years, like a bloodstain.
And he’d lived in the same lifeless home as them for five days. Trying to wake them.
No one listened.
No one arrived.
No one helped.
No one helped.
No one helped.
Driven by hunger and loneliness, Gojo finally left the house after those five days. And just his fortune, he hadn’t walked long before encountering the travelling circus—so many jugglers and jesters and acrobats and fire-breathers. And one master leading them from the front.
He’d been both enraptured and scared.
And hungry. So…so hungry.
Even the smell of the lion food was appetizing to him.
One acrobat passing by had spotted the boy watching wide-eyed from the side of the road, and seeing how desperate he was, shared her lunch and invited him to join. It was the biggest act of kindness he’d felt in five days.
And so he taught himself to rhyme. To joke. To smile.
And two years later was when you saved him- you told Gojo that it wasn’t so much as saving him than him saving you. But he denied.
“Thank you.” Gojo had whispered to you, almost fearful, during his first night in the palace. The Princess’s jester had been granted quarters right across the hallway from your own chambers—and yet, the first night was always the scariest, wasn’t it?
He’d given you quite the fright sneaking into your royal chamber after all the candles had been snuffed and your attendants had left. Soundless as a mouse—and looking just as unwelcome inside the gilded bedroom. But eventually, you welcomed him onto the lavish mattress far too large for even two.
Let alone two children.
Laid a fair distance apart, you faced each other.
“I forbid you to say those words again, Gojo.” You smiled. “And just for the one night, I trust?” You meant the bed-sharing; should your attendants walk upon this in the morning, then Gojo would be thrown into the dungeons faster than he can rhyme.
Gojo nodded, somewhat flushed. “Just for the one night.”
.
.
.
“Satoru-”
“Mmmm, puff pastries and wagashi.”
“Satoru.”
“Huh? Ohhh, sweet cheesecake.”
“Sato—” The exasperated call of his name doesn’t land before the kick does - square in the middle of Gojo Satoru’s broad back.
Sometime in the last few years, after he’d taken up training with General Yaga to keep himself fit for his dances, Gojo had started sleeping without his upper garments on.
And you couldn’t deny that it was a sight for sore eyes; his sun-freckled sun, the dips and curves of his muscles shifting as he did. The roundness of his deltoids. The sensual curve of his spine. The patterns of his scapulae, and lash marks that he wouldn’t explain. They moved like waves of an ocean, and they peaked and fell just as much. Some mornings you dared to trace every single one—just with your eyes, of course.
But of course, he was just your best friend - socially, your jester, at that.
Which is exactly why you’re kicking him off the bed the second you hear your morning attendants heading down the corridor. As soon as he’s out of sight, the double doors to your bedroom open—and they’re floating inside with steaming-hot trays of breakfast and new fragrances for your skin.
One of the attendants sets the breakfast tray down on your bedside table, and you sneak him a few of the blueberry-spotted pancakes. Though have to slap Gojo’s hand away from swiping the syrup, too, before one of them sees.
“Such a beautiful day, isn’t it, Your Highness?” Your head attendant, Utahime, trills as she throws the curtains open to let soft morning sunlight flood inside. “The perfect morning.”
“It is.” You’re nodding. You slap Gojo’s hand away from the syrup again.
“And we have no more than an hour to get you ready, Your Highness. So I beg you to finish your tea quickly.” Another attendant hands you your morning tea - just how you liked it. It smelled of something floral that reminded you of the royal gardens, and something else so utterly appetizing that you could feel Gojo huffin’ and puffing about beneath you.
Served him right for sneaking in again, you think.
You slap Gojo’s hand away again. Utahime continues speaking onwards obliviously, “—prepare for the guest.”
“A guest?” That piques your interest.
This time, Gojo steals the syrup. And it creates a loud clatter that draws the attention of all the attendants sweeping and scurrying about to pick out your gown for the day—you’re unceremoniously coughing to cover it up. You’re not sure it works.
Utahime crinkles her nose, “Nasty little ailment, isn’t it?” Her intelligent eyes dip down to the bed - though she keeps it discreet. Utahime, as well as being your head attendant, was one of your closest friends as well.
Close to you in age, you’d hand-picked her to be what was essentially your right-hand woman.
And she knew of the rather…close friendship that you and Gojo had; perhaps improper for court etiquette, but just right for the two of you.
From underneath the bed, Gojo snickers.
You bounce on the mattress, whilst Utahime kicks the bed post.
“Ah…this ancient bed.” You’re commenting once the other attendants look at you with raised brows, “Honestly, sometimes I believe it to be haunted.”
“Wake up to a mysterious figure at your bedside, do you?” Utahime eyes you. You avert your gaze from hers. “Well, we should do well to rid your chambers of that before the Prince arrives, Your Highness.”
“The Prince?”
“Prince Zenin Naoya, of course.”
Gojo knocks his head on the bed frame.
.
.
.
Prince Zenin Naoya possessed many titles; the latest one being the most unpleasant royal you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.
Which was saying rather a lot.
You’ve met many a-princess that were appalling to her attendants, and many princes that boasted their numerous wars. Your father himself fell into the latter group. And many, many more dukes and duchesses and marquis—and whatever other title had surfaced over the last few centuries and gotten latched-onto with rabid, golden-ringed claws. Had it not been for your duty to maintain a peaceful political climate, you would have forgone those social gatherings altogether.
Though your father was particularly careful not to repeat the border strife that had occurred not too long ago in your kingdom…some violence-seeped dispute over power.
And so you lifted your head and plastered a smile.
You managed to clamor through even the most painful of social obligations.
But this one…this one might just force you to rewrite all the royal rules that had been drilled into you since you were younger.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You nod in acknowledgement as the Prince bows. His coronet was made of pure gold; a simple band with a blood-red ruby in the middle.
It flashed at you menacingly.
And so did his pearly-white smile.
“The pleasure is all yours, Your Highness.”
You’re taken aback at his choice of words. You meet Gojo’s eyes a little ways away from the court- and his read the same confusion. He shakes his head imperceptibly. Then Naoya turns to the King seated on the throne beside you instead. His smile leers, “My utmost gratitude for this invitation, Your Majesty. My parents send their regards.”
“Good people, good people.” Your father nods, “Their assistance during…those times of trouble shall forever remain in my memory.”
“Who are we if not united against the face of the radicals, Your Majesty?” Naoya graciously bows once more.
“Well said.” And then the King makes a sweeping gesture in your direction. “And in the future, it seems we shall be united once more.”
Naoya throws his gaze at you again, and the way he looks at you…it makes you hug your arms to yourself.
You’re unsure why your gaze had been upon Gojo at that very moment - they always did seem to find him - but you watch as his expression darkens. Darkens. Darkens. In a way you’ve never seen before, and then it’s hitting you—
“Father?”
But he ignores you, “Satoru—!” In the years that you’ve brought Gojo to court, your father had become rather fond of his rhymes and riddles as much as you were. So it wasn’t exactly surprising that he had been called upon, and Gojo’s expression switches instantly into one of foolish mirth. “Why don’t you share one of your amusing rhymes with our guest?”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He bows deeply. As he makes his way to the middle of the court, where Naoya and his entourage were gathered, the bells upon his blue-and-white garments jingle.
And before you know it, Gojo clasps onto Naoya’s shoulders and ensnares him with his words. “Naoya o’ Naoya, with your great riches and gait.” The corners of his lips twitch - something sharp. Gojo covers his mouth in a faux-whisper, though his words reach every single corner of the vast chamber. “Every lady here knows you take potions to compensate~”
Naoya’s face turns green then red. A furious red.
As if fearing the Prince would swing, Gojo jumps back- just in time for the hay-blond man to whirl around. “But oh, no potion shall make Prince Naoya’s rooster big—the most you ladies get will be the size of a fig~”
The jester laughs maniacally, and so does much of the court; you yourself can’t stop from letting out a startled laugh or two.
Your best friend never did hold back - perhaps because he was the only one allowed to do so without fearing the threat of the dungeons.
And Gojo watches as a giggle slips past the hand you’d brought up to cover your mouth- and his grin widens as he takes it as a challenge. Dancing around Naoya, he continues—
“Naoya is hated by the ladies of the court. Naoya is hated in his medical reports~” He trills gleefully, darting a hand out and knocking Naoya’s coronet off. “And all the ladies and all the healers, have never seen a cock this short~”
Red face now turning almost…a sickly yellow, Naoya attempts to fist-fight the jester. Though Gojo was far more agile than he looked, and he was dodging each hit with ease.
“Oh—have I offended you, Your Highness? Perhaps a change of pace…” Gojo crows. “For all Naoya hates women, he might as well court men-”
“You- you—”
“Easy, son.” Your father chuckles to himself as well, “You should do good to familiarize yourself with the Princess’s jester if you are to marry her.”
Gojo stutters- and his rhyme pauses. His eyes widen.
You feel the red, red carpet give out beneath you.
.
.
.
“I simply must…apologize for Sato- my jester, Your Highness.”
The clinking of silverware fortunately masked the waver in your tone. It was insincere and unapologetic.
Naoya maintains an expression as if he’d just smelled something unpleasant, perhaps as if it was on his very plate. The Prince cuts into his bird with far too much force than necessary, “Apology accepted.” Rather short.
Though you yourself didn’t care—you shoot a look at the ministers that were currently attempting to meld into the royal portraits on the wall.
With nervous smiles, they urge you to continue.
It was a poor imitation of a romantic dinner - as romantic as a political marriage could get.
The royal dining room had a table that sprawled nearly from one end-to-end. Polished mahogany. Intricately-carved legs. So thick that they didn’t buckle under the hundreds of dishes piled on top: soups to puddings to heart-shaped wagashi to those you couldn’t even name. Woven in-between were flickering candles and vases of red, red roses—sprouting confessions of love.
Some of those petals were even scattered across the floor.
Though the dining room could seat about four-hundred guests, right now it only seated him and you. You and your future husband.
Your future husband.
Your future husband.
Your future husband.
It still hadn’t sunk in, and you didn’t want it to.
Zenin Naoya takes a bite of his roasted bird and spits it back out. From his entourage, one of the Zenin ministers darts out with a dish to collect it.
You wrinkle your nose in distaste.
Two courts were watching this fallacy of courtship.
From your side, it was the entirety of your court save for some of the outer ladies-in-waiting and some gents, and your parents. From his side, it was Naoya’s entire entourage at his every beck, call, and swallow. Just waiting for the opportunity that their beloved Prince didn’t like anything.
Which seemed to be…everything.
You yourself can only pick at the delicacies on your plate - they’d done well to include favorites of both you and His Highness. And yet…
And yet, in the past eighteen years you’ve never sat through a dinner without Gojo at your side.
Always at your right-hand seat. Always chomping through his dinner with overexaggerated noises that made you laugh, and the ministers grimace.
How could you feel so alone surrounded by so many people, and yet lacking one?
You’re biting back a sigh.
“Pssst.”
Confused, you look up at Naoya- but he seems just as morbidly indulgent in his food as he was before. He was spitting out even more.
And so you look around—but none of the ministers nor advisors catch your eye, either.
“Psssssst.”
There it was again. Somewhat irritated and feeling your confusion growing - this dinner certainly hadn’t put you in a good mood - you’re about to excuse yourself from this social hostage-situation. Someone must be attempting to make a fool out of you. You’re resting your hands on the polished table and about to push off—
When you feel something…touch your wrist.
You’re about to scream-
“Tamper your screaming, please.”
Oh, well if they asked so nicely…
Wait-
Who?
Without making too much of a spectacle, you slide your fork off the edge of the table.
Naoya grumbles at the metallic ringing—and muttering a dainty apology, you’re leaning down to pick it up. Or so it seems.
Instead, you’re crouching yourself down and lifting the tablecloth ever-so-slightly. It’s a purple velvet, one of the finest in the land, and it opens up to reveal one of the greatest treasures this palace held. At least, in your opinion.
Gojo Satoru brings a finger up to his lips and winks. His make-up crinkling handsomely as he did so, “Do you frequent these parts?”
“I should ask the same from you.” You hiss, glancing around to make sure that no one was looking. “Satoru, what do you think you’re doing-”
“Exercising my culinary skills, my princess.” And he raises up a little velvet packet in one hand, shaking it around tantalizingly. He answers your question before you can voice it, “Just a little horseshoe, just a little wool from Yaga’s sweater, and perhaps the Prince that swallows this shall be a little sweeter~”
Your jaw drops. “You cannot be serious-”
“Never in my life have I been more serious.” Gojo replies solemnly, then with an innocent flutter of his lashes- “Forgive me for not sharing, my princess. But perhaps you would favor it as well?”
“It shan’t suit my palate.” You answer firmly.
“It’s far more palatable than what I did to the wine, trust me.” Gojo smirks.
“You rouge.”
He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but Naoya’s tone grates through the little bubble of mirth you’d formed—in less than a minute, no less. “Wife- wife.”
You and Gojo stare at one another in shock.
Wife?
One of your ministers coughs pointedly, and with a final glance at Gojo, you’re straightening in your chair. “Were you perhaps addressing…me, Your Highness?” And any smart man would have quickly backtracked at this opportunity to change their answer.
But you never claimed that Zenin Naoya was particularly smart. “My eyes don’t perceive any other woman here?” He scoffs, taking a bite of a chicken leg and then immediately spitting it out—“As for the engagement plans- eugh.”
You’re biting back a laugh as he drags out a string - seemingly from a wool…sweater…of Yaga’s - from his mouth and looks at his ministers in bewilderment.
“Th-the chef must have been in a state of pioneering.” You cough out.
Another bite he takes.
And another wad of wool he spits out.
You bring a hand up to your lips, “Perhaps you should wash it down with the wine, Your Highness? It had been brewed specifically for this occasion.”
And so he does - eyeing you all the while.
Naoya takes a big swig of his goblet and—shrieks as he finds half of a shoe inside.
One of Gojo’s very own.
That shriek is loud enough to make the walls of the dining chamber rattle; and Gojo shoots out from the side of the dining table, unable to keep his laughter in control, and dances away. “Twiddle dee, twiddle doo—Naoya coughed up a shoe~” Those double doors are still swinging as it sinks in what just happened- and your ministers and guards take a menacing step towards where the colorful intruder had disappeared.
You raise your hand to signal them to halt.
“This insolent—” Naoya was spitting with fury- unable to even formulate words. His mouth is a downturned slash, and he shoves the plate off the table. It shatters vociferously.
You notice that he’s turned a little green in the way he only seemed to do when Gojo was nearby. “My first order as King shall be to rid this incompetent kitchen-” He spits. “-and that godforsaken jester-”
Your fork clatters to the floor once again. “What’s wrong with Satoru?” You didn’t care if you sounded rather too offended by such a question. “Is it the practical jokes? I shall request that he ceases such-”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Naoya cackles to himself. “Woman, what is there not wrong about that goddamn fool? He’s- he’s—a fool.”
“For that is his duty, is it not?” You narrow your eyes at him.
“I suppose.” Naoya leans back in his chair, “But his duty is to the crown, and when I am King-”
“His duty is to me.” Before you know it, you’re standing. You’re breathing hard. You’re ignoring the ministers that attempt to hold you back. “He’s my best fri—jester.”
And you repeat…though you don’t know whether it’s more for yourself, Naoya, or the boy with the blue eyes that was once underneath the table.
“He’s mine.”
Those words fall like the blade of a guillotine.
Naoya’s eyes were spitting fire. “He’s…yours, is it?” He throws his cape back and stands, “Your Highness…I fail to understand why you entangle yourself with a mere jester?” Though the sentence itself wasn’t one particularly barbed, his distaste bled through every syllable.
“He- he is my best friend-”
“He is a jester.” Naoya says with a tone of finality. He pushes back, letting the chair clutter behind him- the brings up a palm to stop his ministers from righting it. “And a jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.”
Those footsteps of his resound louder than your heartbeat. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
On the way to making his exit, he stops before the entrance and speaks. “We are to be engaged in six moons, and when you are my wife, I expect you to act like one.” Naoya’s gaze is deadly as he grips the door open, “My family earned our titles bringing down entire households- a mere jester is nothing to me.”
Another guillotine: this time, it’s the closing of the dining room doors.
“Your Highness-”
But you’re following Naoya out, and tears burn behind your eyes.
Just as luck - or perhaps fate - would have it, who else had been standing behind the doors listening to every word? None other than Gojo Satoru.
Though his face is downturned, and you can’t make out his expression, your heart soars at the sight of him. He’s pressed against one of the walls closest to the doors, and he clenches his fists at his sides. And you’re just about to reach out- to tell him that Naoya’s words didn’t matter- to tell him that Naoya didn’t matter—
But before you could, Gojo sharply turns to you and bows. Those bells atop his hat jingle as he does so, and he stays bowed as he asks, “This fool begs to be dismissed, Your Highness?”
Your Highness? “You…you may…” Your brows furrow, fingers trembling towards him. “But Satoru-”
And yet, he’s gone.
And you didn’t get a single look at his expression.
You wondered what you would see. You wondered what you would be hoping to see.
But no matter what it was, you knew that all you wanted to see - whether anger or mirth or irritation - was Gojo himself.
Your engagement was in six moons.
.
.
.
To your dismay, Gojo Satoru was avoiding you.
You should have realized that something was off that moment after the disastrous dinner—or perhaps when he didn’t join you to sleep, or perhaps when he hadn’t joined court in the following days. According to one of the palace staff, the jester was ill, but every attempt at a visit to his quarters ended up with you being rebuffed or diverted.
And how many opportunities for diversion there were.
The palace was a-flush with florists, and bakers, and candle-makers, and mask-designers—and orchestras upon orchestras practising for your engagement waltz.
One of those times you’d been dragged away to floral-picking for the grand engagement ball - the one that would announce your union to the entire kingdom. Another time it had been to pose for a portrait with Naoya (a particularly taxing endeavour). And another time it was to pick out the colors for your mask- this was to be an extravagant masquerade ball after all. And another time it had been to get fitted for the ballgown you’d be wearing for the night—like exactly right now.
This time, you’d gotten just past the guards stationed upon either side of Gojo’s chambers (both on his word, and to prevent the Princess from getting into any…scandalous affairs before the engagement).
And you’d cracked open the door - ever-so-slightly - only to find that what was inside…made you halt.
Gojo’s room was completely and utterly empty.
Not just of himself, but of his literature books, his shoes, his bells, his flower vases. Anything and everything that made the chamber so utterly Gojo’s, was gone. Even the braid of friendship you wove for him when you were twelve - that he kept at the very top of his jewelry box - and the flower crowns you made for him that he dried and hung from his windows—you made them rather often, before…Naoya.
He had intruded upon your idle dance between love and friendship - and you were still feeling bitter and confused as Utahime fitted you. As she wound up the hip springs of your corset- and tightened, and tightened—
“I just fail- hah, fail to understand.” You’re muttering, slightly out-of-breath.
Utahime looks up from the knots of your corset, “Your Highness?”
The royal tailor had just stepped out to aid in bringing the imported silk and cloth of gold up to your bed chambers, and in the meantime your attendants were helping tighten your numerous layers underneath. Your ballgown - engagement dress, more precisely - would be fitted on top of the base linen undergarments and the crinolines.
Tonight, you will be engaged.
And to a man that has never made you laugh once-
“Your Highness?” Utahime repeats, snapping you out of your little reverie.
“Oh- forgive me.” You nod at her in acknowledgment. “What I meant to say was, I just fail to understand what he’s thinking.”
She nods back - you didn’t have to specify who. “It is precisely as I have told you, Your Highness.” Utahime tightens a few more knots- knocks a few more breaths out of you. “That ol’ nuisance has not a single thought in his mind. You must not worry yourself too much about him.”
“Oh, but Utahime…how can I not?” You’re sure the flurry of other attendants surrounding you were listening in - smoothing down your layers, preparing your jewelry. But you didn’t care at the moment, if you did say so yourself.
“I believe it is just a little ailment, Your Highness. I fear I am not blessed enough for such a thing to prove fatal to that jester-”
You gulp. “I believe Satoru may be avoiding me.”
At that, even Utahime’s brows furrow. “Pardon?”
“His chambers have been emptied of even the flower crowns, and I haven’t even the faintest glimpse of him these past few days.” Speaking these words aloud seems to make them too real. “I believe I told you of how he overheard the conversation between Naoya and I?”
Utahime nods.
“Naoya had uttered some things- balderdash, if you ask me—” Your fists threaten to clench, but two attendants were working on your nails. Another was double-checking the measurements for your mask. Mask. “Yet I fear Satoru may have misconstrued some things…and I haven’t laid eyes on him ever since.”
There’s a silence.
Her fingers finish their final knot.
And then Utahime stands to look you squarely in the eyes. “This is Gojo Satoru we speak of, is it not?”
Slowly, unsure of where this was going, you nod.
“Then you have naught to worry about, Your Highness.” She flashes you such a beautiful smile, looking over your corset for imperfections - of course, there were none. “It is most likely that he’s skulking about these palace walls, looking for a minister to scare or a prince to embarrass.”
You’re letting out a soft huff of laughter.
“Or even…a princess to adore.”
Your eyes widen- and you’re snapping your gaze to hers. There’s a knowing expression that Utahime wears - one she often gets whenever she notices Gojo hiding in your room, or watches the two of you sneak out during royal balls.
This one, in particular, was about to be the most crowded and convoluted yet.
And you’re meeting her smile, eventually. “I thank you, Utahime…” You then look down as you hear the doors of the dressing room fly open, “But adoration cannot stop a royal engagement.”
Three sharp claps sound as the tailor gets the attention of your attendants.
“That will be all, ladies. Thank you.” And his own attendants and apprentices flood the room to take over the fitting stage—Utahime squeezes your shoulder as she leaves.
Though she doesn’t reach her bed chambers for a much-needed rest, as she might have wanted to. Instead, she’s halting right outside the entrance-
“You.”
And making sure you were occupied by the tailoring, Gojo bows dramatically. Holding his little bells so they don’t jingle- “At your service, Madam Sour-face.”
“Cease it.”
“No, I said Sour-face-”
“Forget it.” Utahime could feel a migraine coming on already at the mere sight of his impish grin.
“Sour-face Utahime with her pressure so high, one more joke and she’ll make me cry~”
Why - oh why - couldn’t the universe take as kindly to her and forbid her from seeing this man, too? She continues, “First, enlighten me as to why you’ve been giving Her Highness the cut?”
A too-innocent expression crosses his face. “Pardon? I fear I have no recollection of ever-”
“I will kill you with my bare hands and feel no ounce of guilt.”
Gojo clicks his jaw shut.
“I…” And it’s under the pressure of her unwavering glare that he finally cracks- letting out a deep sigh and dropping his head. “I plan to leave the palace.”
“Pardon?” Even she sounds utterly shocked. “When-”
“Tonight.” Gojo has never sounded more serious to her. “I have spent the past few days gathering my possessions, everything…she gifted me. As the ball starts tonight, I shall take my leave.”
“But your duties-”
“I have informed His Majesty of my decision. It seems though he shall miss the rhymes, he is keen for an amicable marriage between Her Highness and Prince Naoya. A jester can be replaced, trust in a marriage cannot—especially not one of political nature.” Utahime is almost shocked at this simple foresight, but then again- everyone always did underestimate the fool.
She watches his reaction, “And…the Princess?”
Which seems to make him flinch - as though struck. Perhaps a part of him was. “…I shall leave her a letter before I depart. Her Highness does not deserve to see such cowardice-”
“And yet you still remain.” Utahime’s words make his blue eyes snap to hers. She crosses her arms in front of her, and lets a smug smile take over her lips. “For what reason were you spying outside Her Highness’s fitting, if not to see her?”
“I—” He takes a desperate step closer. “It was simply in passing-”
“For what reason did you empty your bedroom of the flower crowns Her Highness made especially for you? Surely they shan’t prove themselves too useful on the road?”
Gojo’s eyes widened. “I…the memories-”
“For what reason have you waited until the last minute to leave? Until the last minute she shall not be yours, and yours only?”
He snarls, “She was never mine.”
“Because you believe the Princess does not deserve to base herself- being the lover of a fool yes?” When Gojo does not answer, she continues. “The fool seems to believe he knows what the Princess deserves. But does the fool know what he deserves?”
There’s a prolonged silence—of which is only punctured by the awed gasps from inside the dressing room, as the tailor and his apprentices comment on your beauty.
Gojo has the sudden, mad thought to open those doors just a little wider and see you for himself. Just one last time.
One last time.
What was he thinking?
He laughs to himself bitterly, “A jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.”
“But a princess can be everything to a jester, yes?” Utahime asks. “More importantly- who are we to dictate what a person is to another person?”
The answer was as obvious as it was painful.
Gojo Satoru loved you.
Loves you.
Something of it must show on his face, because Utahime throws him a pitiful look she’s never shared before—“You may leave if you please, I shan’t stop you.” And then she reaches out and presses a hand against the doors- they part, unlocked. “But if you wish to stay and stop acting a-fool…then follow me.”
She brushes past him.
Meanwhile Gojo looks inside and catches a glimpse of you - and he’s never seen anything more beautiful.
He runs after Utahime, bells jingling.
.
.
.
“You look…”
“How odd.”
“How startling.”
“What a change!”
Utahime crinkles her nose, “The only thing this proves is that your face is more tolerable when it is covered.” She turns to the brown-haired woman next to her, “And that my Shoko is a goddess when it comes to handiwork.”
Shoko smiles sweetly, “I have much practice making death masks.”
“I’ll say.”
As the other few attendants pendulate between laughing to themselves, and admiring Shoko’s quick work - she’d been requested just a few hours before to make a mask befitting a royal ball, and she’d finished it just in time - Gojo leans closer to the mirror.
He reaches his trembling fingers up to touch his face, “This is surely…me?”
“Unfortunately.” Utahime sighs, and she gets elbowed by Miwa.
Utahime had gathered the most trust-worthy attendants she led: Miwa, Momo, and Kugisaki from tailoring. Along with the impeccable royal healer, Shoko, who she knew would be the only one that would be able to create a mask for the ball with her expert hands. And they’d gotten to work fixing up perhaps their most difficult case yet—none other than Gojo Satoru.
The royal jester was rather fussy at first- insisting that the powder puffs and cloth wipes tickled.
Before Utahime put her foot down and announced that they weren’t going to present a ‘half-assed’ (forgive her language) marriage-wrecker to the Princess just yet.
That reminder of you kept him quiet for the rest of the make-over.
And Kugisaki had even commented, “Perhaps we ought to invoke the Princess’s name every time we need to keep the jester in line?”
“Do not tempt me.” Utahime had replied.
Gojo had shuddered.
But it really was true: he sat through the rest of the next hour or two without so much as a single rhyme or peep.
Not even when they told him to ‘pucker up’ in order to douse him in rouges and lip stains. That likely saved five years from Utahime’s life…
Gojo himself helped them scrub off his stark-white jester’s make-up. The vampiric base. The teardrops of black paint. The red, red lips—a few of his little troupe openly stared as they’d never seen the Princess’s jester without his make-up.
And Gojo himself knew that he wasn’t all that bad looking - he had noble features. A strong nose. A high set of cheekbones. A pert, pretty mouth that always looked to be on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t.
Or, at least, that was how you described him.
You were the only person that got to see Gojo without his court-deemed make-up; and you always did say he was handsome. To which he’d always bat his long, white lashes dramatically and compose you a sappy sonnet about your eyes. He supposes he knew he was decent, but…handsome?
He never saw it.
But these girls seemed determined to make him.
Cloudy hair. Delicate features. Blue eyes like a painting.
They replaced his make-up with something simpler. Gone was the cast of white, instead replaced by just a bit of rouge and shimmer. His pale brows were tamed and so was his hair - braided to the side using fragrant rose oils, with a few pieces falling handsomely over his face. All thanks to Momo, of course.
Kugisaki had dug up something from that ol’ tailor’s trunk—a snow-white cloak and doublet, along with the associated tights he often made fun of. It was a suit fit for a prince.
And it was exactly the type of suit he’d made fun of a prince for.
But here he was now - not a single difference between him and them. Or at least physically.
Gojo’s training sessions with Yaga had kept him fit; and he fit the suit perfectly. His broad shoulders were outlined against the clean cut, and his trim waist fit snugly into those damn tights—even through the suit, it was obvious he was well-built, in a way those baggy jester’s outfits never did show. Polished shoes. Silver buttons. Silver belt. Heavy silver chains and pendants that arrived with the robes.
He might even have passed for a battle-hardened Prince like this…
Momo helped him into his equally as white gloves - it seems they were sticking to a theme for him. All the better to help his eyes and his crown stand out.
Oh yes…the girls had somehow bribed Yaga into letting them sneak down to the royal treasure. For just a few minutes.
All the spoils of war and generations of wealth—and they’d come out with a crown.
It was Utahime who’d dug this one out, deciding that that would make him stand out far more than the usual hats.
Made of pure silver; the design itself was rather simple, or so it seemed at first. Only when one looked closer…when one ventured further…could you see that what seemed like a simple band was actually a wreath of silver branches and floral vines twisted into one, with sapphire-studded flowers blooming along it. One more thing had been taken from the treasury - a signet ring with a ‘G’.
“It felt proper.” Miwa, who had found the ring, beamed. “Names and titles are lost to time. And though I may not know what the ‘G’ once stood for, at least for tonight, it can mean ‘Gojo’, can it not?”
Gojo felt it getting slid onto his left hand, and he stares at the ring with furrowed brows.
He stares and stares.
He’s never felt more worthy of you.
By the time they had finished, the strings of the orchestra had started playing their opening sequence - the ball was commencing.
Utahime turns to the rest of them, “We have done well.” Then, ultimately, back to grumble at him. “…You have done well.”
And though Gojo could make up a rhyme to rile her up, though Gojo could comment that they could have done better and bask in the ensuing chaos, though he could do his mask and his mask—
He simply looks at each and every one and smiles. Sincerely. “Thank you.”
They smile tenderly back.
The final component of his outfit for your engagement ball was the mask. Though there was no set theme, Shoko had gone above and beyond to craft his in the shape of the upper-half of a snow leopard’s face. The feline gaze. The sharp ears. The faint outline of rosettes against the white mask. It was mastery.
Gojo dons it and smiles to himself. He really did feel handsome, as you had always said.
His blue, blue eyes twinkle from behind the mask.
.
.
.
“You look absolutely riveting, Your Highness.”
“I thank you.”
This was a royal ball that looked gilded. There was no other word to describe it—gilded.
Polished floors. A thrumming orchestra. Golden chandeliers had every single candle lit; and they crept halfway down to the ballroom floor as if gifted from the Sun itself. Just for you.
And that was in addition to the numerous other decorations that made even the most high-titled of guests gape in awe: the shimmering fountains that looked as if they were sprouting liquid gold, golden-dipped gardenias wreathed around the hallway, and the long table of foods were most lovely. All sorts of sweets and champagnes in honor of the union.
Guests upon guests upon guests being announced as they entered. They were dressed to impress, and there were more aristocrats gathered for this one ball than you’d seen in your entire life, perhaps.
Had Gojo been here with you, then you two would’ve had the most amusing time coming up with stories for each one.
There was Sir Gakuganji who held a secret liking for abstract dancing, here was Lord Todo whose son had fallen in love with a thousand-year-old portrait. No one would be spared. The two of you would have tucked yourself into some alcove and watched as the lavishments flew by, and when everyone was appropriately drunk you’d sneak out to the stables or to star-gaze.
Your heart clenches.
Satoru…
You attempt to shake your head free of him.
It most certainly was a beautiful ball. And if you imagined that this was one of no particular purpose, then you really could see it.
The ball was decorated to match your dress, you see.
Floor-length silk. Gold-threaded bodice.
Celestial layers upon layers.
Your uppermost skirts had gold dusting atop it; and they dazzled as you floated across the ballroom.
Your attendants had decided that going for a more simple look with the jewelry was appropriate - it would accentuate the simple gold circlet atop your head. A single sapphire embedded into the middle of it.
Naoya had sneered at the choice, of course. When doesn’t he? But this time, he was particularly offended at the presence of a sapphire rather than the Zenin family’s signature blood-red rubies.
You refused to make your attendants change it. You donned your cat-like mask with pride.
Perhaps that’s why he seemed keen on ignoring you in favor of a group of other beautiful court ladies in attendance—though you honestly couldn’t imagine anything different happening had the two of you been married, as well. You sighed inwardly.
You’re nodding in acknowledgement as Prince Okkotsu Yuta nears with a man beside him.
He looked older - about your father’s age, if not a few years older. Tall. Toned - in the way of someone that had one been corded with muscle, but had since lost it to age. Bearing an ice-white beard and a row of silver medals proudly lining his chest—he stands before you in his off-white uniform and bows. It was obvious that the man was rather handsome, drawing eyes from around the ballroom.
But what catches your eye the most were his eyes.
Summer-sky blue eyes.
They reminded you of—
“My uncle, Michizane, Your Highness.” Yuta introduces him. “This is his first time in the palace since…”
Your voice drops into something hushed. “I understand.” Turning to the general, you’re half-bowing once more. “I am rejoiced to welcome you into my home, any troubles that we may have had in the past-”
“Have naught to do with the present, Your Highness.” Michizane graciously nods at you. “And most certainly have naught to do with the beloved princess.”
You manage a smile.
“And if you can excuse my being so impudent…it is precisely what I sought this occasion for, Your Highness.” He looks over the bustling crowd, now getting ready to waltz- and seemingly catches the eye of your father. Your father who now looked as though he’d just seen a walking dead man. “I hope to bury the misunderstandings between my family and your father, and understand what happened to my younger brother and his family. It had proved itself to be both a blessing and a curse that I had been on an excursion during those troubled times. And I seek a resolution for the sake of my inner peace, if nothing else.”
You’re nodding in agreement. “It is most tragic what happened. For the sake of borders…nothing is worth so much. And I cannot ask for your mercy enough-”
“It is not something I shall ever be able to forgive. But you are not at fault, dear princess.” Michizane smiles conclusively, but not unkindly.
“And yet, I have been wracked with guilt ever since.” You ultimately reply.
Though you hadn’t met Michizane previously, you had learned that the history between your families was a long and bloody one. His family had been of a royal bloodline, of kingdoms now lost and eviscerated into neighboring ones - including yours. And you knew it was partly the fault of your kingdom. And although royal tutors justified and justified away your father’s actions—you could see past them
“Perhaps…” Michizane is the one to break through your whirlwind of thoughts. He reaches his gloved hand out, a silver signet ring on his middle finger. “-a dance to commence the burying of our animosity?”
“But of course.”
As the orchestra starts up a lively tune, Michizane whisks you away onto the dance floor. Much to the horror of some of your elderly ministers, of course, who gaped at the mere presence of the man.
And at the fact that your first dance wasn’t with the Prince.
But laughter bubbles to your throat as Michizane twirls and swirls you—sways you smoothly around and around the dance floor. He was one of the best dancers you’ve ever encountered, and you’re smiling appreciatively at him once the song comes to a close.
From the corner of your vision, you spot the black-and-red-clad Naoya storming his way over to you. And you hurry to beg a second dance when-
A title is announced - louder than all the rest.
A prince.
Prince…you don’t hear the name.
But you don’t need it.
Because you’re looking up at the grand staircase from which guests made their entrance, hand-in-hand with their partners or followed by their entourages. This one had neither. This one was one of the most beautiful men you think you’ve ever seen.
He looked like something from a story.
Snow-white mask. Snow-white suit. He was tall and clearly toned - but there was something in his demeanor that made him seem almost…dainty. He gripped the balustrade of the landing and looked over the glistening ball- barely even breathing, it seemed like. And he looked content to remain there in awe, before the chief butler reading out the named coughs- pointedly.
The man startles.
He looks over at the chief butler, and then nods jerkily to himself. In self-assurance.
Cautiously, he makes his way down to the ball.
And the closer he gets, the more of his details you’re taking in: like the traces of signature silver on his suit, and the way his fingers trembled ever-so-slightly.
He looked just like the princes you’d read about in fairytales - the ones you imagined as a child before you happened to meet a real-life prince.
Curls of white could be seen behind that snow leopard mask of his. They contrasted oh-so-beautifully with the blue, blue sapphire atop his crown.
Just like his eyes.
Your breath hitches-
“I believe I may have been monopolizing you, Your Highness.” Michizane whispers as the Prince nears.
“Pardon?” You look at him- but he merely smiles.
Before you know it, the mysterious guest has neared enough to give the two of you a jerky bow. His tone tremors ever-so-slightly as he asks, “P-permission for the next dance, Your Highness?”
Michizane nods at you reassuringly.
“I would be delighted.” You breathe, and then he’s taking your hand in his—gently. A touch even softer than the fabric of his tender, tender gloves.
“I bid you a good evening, Your Highnesses.” Michizane tips his hat, “And do take care of the lovely princess…” Before turning to the younger man…his brows furrow the longer he looks-
But a lady-in-waiting taps Michizane’s arm for a dance—and he’s made to turn away.
And you’re left alone.
With him.
Naoya stuck with some other lady-in-waiting as you put your hand…tentatively on the other man’s right shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath, as if your mere touch was replenishing his soul—and he doesn’t move away. Then you let your second hand get grasped - gently - in his own.
Backward with your right foot.
Sideways with your left foot.
Backwards.
Sideways.
Backwards.
Sideways.
It’s halfway into the song, pressed closed to his thundering chest, that you finally break the silence. “The crown suits you…Satoru.”
Gojo flinches, “You discovered-”
“You did not seriously think you could fool me?” You smile. He mirrors it- albeit sheepishly. “Gojo Satoru, how could I possibly be gulled? You have been my dearest friend since I was eight-”
He twirls you in the middle of the ballroom.
And you continue. “-and the one I hold closest to heart.” Looking deep into his blue, blue eyes.
Gojo sighs, “Words cannot describe how beautiful you are, my princess. The least this fool can do is but dress to impress.”
“You look particularly dashing this evening as well, Satoru. You always do.” Surprise makes his lips part—and you’re leaning in. Though they do not touch, you hear gasps from the onlookers. “You look like a Prince.”
“And you look like my dreams.”
The two of you dance for a second song, and a third, and a fourth. Without letting Naoya gain any entryway between you two - that non-existent space - you two dance the night away—dizzy with nothing but the proximity.
The realization that you could be so…close as long as no one found out. That you couldn’t be closer.
That you could.
That you needed to.
By the time that most of the guests had well and thoroughly indulged themselves in the bubbling champagne and wine, the clock had struck midnight—and you and Gojo disappear into the night once no one’s looking. Through the small passageway where the two of you had first met, then up a few flights of staircases, breathless and giddy, you’re lucky there were no guards stationed outside your bed chambers as the ball raged on.
And you’re opening the door and falling into the vast bed with him.
Your hands on his lapels. His hands on your waist.
You’re both letting out synchronized grunts as your back hits the springy mattress, and Gojo’s letting out a scorching breath that fans your face. That sets your skin searing.
“We ought not to…” You whisper- and then you’re pressing your lips down his neck. Illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows.
“I am of the same thought.” He responds, in an equally hushed tone - as if anything louder would shatter this fragile dream. It most certainly must be a dream, yes? This was all you’ve ever wanted- and him. “And yet—”
And yet, Gojo places a hand on the back of your neck, and guides your mouth to his.
He kisses you loooong and deep- and inexperienced. You both are.
You’re chuckling as you tug his lips open with yours - letting Gojo’s sultry tongue slide inside your wet cavern. He drags his tastebuds inside and moans—
And after kissing you and kissing you as if starved for eons—
Until your lips were buzzing.
Until his hot hips were crushing into yours.
—you let your fingers fall to his silver buttons. Rapidly undoing them.
“My princess.” The jester wrenches deep from his chest - guttural and gone. There was a crazed hint in his tone already. “Allow me…”
And before you know it, he guides your hips to rest back on the king-sized mattress. Sapphire eyes boring deeply into yours- Gojo hands you his crown to hold, as he hovers himself down and unravels the first few layers of your gown.
His fingers are quick- nimble.
And it takes him far shorter an amount of time to rid you down to your undergarments than it takes your careful attendants. Desperate. Depraved. Soon enough, you’re feeling goosebumps prickle across your skin at the bite of cold midnight air; your chemise and undergarments were much too thin.
And soaked.
Utterly, utterly soaked.
But Gojo’s face flushes - almost hard enough to warm your skin through sheer proximity. He admires your sopping cunt through your panties, he leans down and presses his nose right where your clit would be. And then he sniffs—
“Fuck.”
He almost jolts. Reaching in and tearing through your undergarments with his teeth.
“Fuh-fuck.”
The noise that expels from him is almost unbidden- and its primal tone is enough to make your toes curl. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he stares at your swollen folds. He stares at your glossy slit.
He stares and stares as slick beads out of you in a pretty stream—and before Gojo’s own mind seems to register, he’s muffling a hot moan between your naked legs. Immediately shoving himself nose-deep.
His chin thwacks! the top of your sopping slit, and his tongue wastes no time darting inwards.
Your entrance is so wet that he has no trouble easin’ his thick muscle inside- despite its impressive girth. And then immediately zig-zagging his sensual inches fucking in—aaaaaaall along your walls and driving the curvaceous tip of his tongue into every little ridge and cranny. Fat. Trembling with need.
“Yes, my princess.” Gojo’s managing between husky breaths- each scorched out against where you were most sensitive. “Yes, my princess-”
“S-Satoru—” Your hand’s reaching down to twist your fingers into his snow-white locks.
You’re giving him a particularly hard pull and he groans-
“My princess…” That ocean gaze of his is half-lidded and hypnotized, flickering right up to bore into your eyes as he gluttonously propels his tongue even deeper. “I cannot live if I do not make you mine.”
Your feet plant on either side of his shoulders- a steadfast pedestal. For you to buck your hips and shove your drivelling cunt against his mouth, “Then what deters you, jester?”
Gojo’s chuckle is dark and deepened with lust. “Nothing, Your Highness.”
He’s moving his tongue in and out of your hole at such a frenzy.
This was the night of your royal engagement, and you’re here getting eaten out by your jester—
“Does it vex you that this lowborn jester has finally gotten his hands on the princess’s pretty pussy?” He gurgles out into your arching core, the wads of your sap slipping between his lips—and then back out as he licks. “Perhaps not you…but surely those godforsaken ministers that must have hoped for a more…royal touch….”
And licks and licks and licks—“Y-you keep running that mouth, Sato-”
“Jester, remember?” He grins. “Pray tell, Your Highness, am I the first?”
He must know the answer. He surely must- he’s been at your side for the past eighteen years…and you yourself were aware that you were his first, too.
Yet you find your lips moving before your mind does. And you whimper, “Y-yes…”
“Pardon, my princess?”
“Yes-”
Gojo drags the doughy patches of his fingertips across your clit.
“Then you grant this lowly fool the deepest and most precious honor.”
It was an honor.
An honor to eat your pretty core—to press his puckered lips against your folds in such a sensual kiss- one that would make even the most scandalous of court ladies faint. To part those tender pussylips and dive his tongue inside- every single inch that thrusts away at a vigorous pace. Stuffing you from the hilt of his tastebuds, to that flexible tip that swirled to n’ fro-
Gojo had his face pressed up so closely - so deeeeep - that parts of his features were rubbin’ red. Covered in slick. Dripping with it.
And yet he was only scouring deeper- deeper- fucking deeper until your pelvis was crushed against his hungry maw. Crushed. “And this fool is grateful- so very, utterly grateful.” His tastebuds were going in nearly till those sweetened soft spots you loved so much in those solitary moments in the privacy of your baths, yet he flares his tongue till he’s stretchin’ you out even more. “I shall do anything for you, my princess- anything—I live to serve you-”
Gojo’s honed canines nip at your clit.
“And this pussy.”
And serving you, he is.
With every fibre of his being. With every part of him that could reach you—he’s eating you out like such an animal, as if he was going fucking frenzied on your cunt.
The tip of his nose massaging your clit. That left hand of his fastening to your waist and dragging you right back n’ forth even deeper.
“And th-this fool deserves not such a privilege-” He whispers, mostly to himself. Though his wide, lust-glazed eyes maintain contact with yours, “This fool deserves nothing. And yet…yet, I care not if they happened to enter this chamber right now- I would gladly get thrown in the gallows for this greed, for a second taste.”
Wide-eyed - almost crazed - he tugs his wet tongue uuuuup the middle of your slit, and almost up to your navel. “In fact, I beg of it.”
And his other hand…
Oh, Gojo’s other set of fingers smear the puddle of slick that spreads from your core- all along your inner thighs and making its way down your calves. He collects it all.
Every single drop.
And then, like the most precious of mead, he brings those wettened fingertips up to his mouth and sucks. Savors. Gojo’s eyes flutter closed and his Adam’s apple bobs with ecstasy - “She tastes like she yearns for more.”
“You understand?” You’re asking, half-bemused.
“I speak seven languages, Your Highness.” Gojo replies, “One of which is pussy—” Then with his flattened tongue, he laps up the rest of the satiny ribbons escaping you- before flicking his eyes to the mountain of pillows piled behind you. “My princess, might I request that you procure a little treasure I have left underneath your favorite pillow?”
“A little treasure…?” Almost dazed, you reach underneath and your fist closes around something soft and bell-decorated. One of his jester’s hats.
“A long, long night beside the princess left this poor fool forgetting—the hat bestowed upon me by the princess, I should be getting~” Gojo trills- whilst he still lavishes his heated, horny lips across your swollen cunt. “But if the princess puts it upon my head, she can be as pushy- as she wishes as I eat this royal pussy~”
Your jester is speaking rhymes between your legs?
“Oh, sometimes your mouth is overworked.” You’re harrumphing at the overjoyed jester - once you’re unceremoniously dumping the cap n’ bell onto Gojo’s head.
Grinning, he bites down on the expensive tip of his right glove and tugs it off.
He makes quick work fastening that behind his ears, before nudging your hands to grasp onto the floppy ‘ears’ on top. Your sole source of balance as he leans in and eases one of his long fingers inside- then two—then teasin’ a third.
As he shovels in oblong inches into your sopping cunt, pushin’ apart your tender folds and letting his padded tips find their way inside. And inside.
In and out.
“Please-” You breathe heavily as he quickens the pace after a few squelching thrusts. His middle finger was the longest, and it was spreading you apart the deepest—fuck, it was just so soft inside. So welcoming. So tight that you were clenchin’ around him almost hard enough to make his poor digits snap- and the mere thought makes Gojo hard enough in his trousers that he wants to cream them right away-
You’re clamoring onto your elbows suddenly, “Y-you cannot be serious, Satoru…”
Oh, had he said that out loud? It seems he’d said that out loud. And yet, without even a hint of regret in his grin- Gojo hums. “A jester shan’t ever lie to his princess.” Those kiss-bitten lips of his purse with a wad of spittle that lands gently between your pussylips, “Or his pussy.”
“Your pussy?” You ask- before the breath’s suddenly knocked out of you as he starts driving a third finger in this time. Properly.
Stretching you out to the maaaaaximum.
The globular ends of his fingers edging in, in, in—he doesn’t just remain pistoning them vertically. Gojo’s rude in the sense that he’s hooking them right below where you needed him the most.
Throbbing, thumping; your g-spot was most certainly aching for him.
But that was exactly the problem- and Gojo’s smile grows wicked as he keeps thrusting his three fingers into your cunt. “J-just the slightest bit…fuck, to the left, jester.”
“If the princess may still utter a sentence, then this poor jester must go harder on her entrance~” He croons. Swabbin’ into every good spot except for that one - your favorite - he suckles on your sensitive nub. “What deters you from claiming what you seek, hm? Use me, Your Highness.”
Your teary eyes snap open. When had you even closed them? “Use?”
“Use me.” Less of a demand- more of a live-saving plea. Gojo was so far gone by this point that his hardened hips were ruttin’ against the luxurious mattress with every swipe of his tongue, “Claim what you wish. Use me- use me—”
And as he wishes, you’re lightly tugging on the points of his jester hat to keep him pressed against you-
But that wasn’t enough for him.
“I beg of you—this lowly fool begs…” As his right hand shapes out the tight, tight channel of your cunt - Gojo reaches his other hand up to grasp your own- to make you clutch his cap n’ bells even tighter. Hard enough for his fingernails to leave marks- and he needs you to be just as rough. “Fucking use me like the princess you are. The princess that saved me.”
He ruts even more suddenly- he must be painfully hard now.
“Claim my lips. Claim my tongue- claim every fibre of my being to be used by you…” A low snarl snatches from the back of his throat. “-just claim me as yours, as I have claimed you, my princess.”
And then you’re knocking that stupid little hat off his head- and fisting your hands in his hair once more to crush Gojo’s pretty, pink lips against your cunt. Arching off the mattress, you were just bucking and bucking your treacly pussy all over his face.
Stringing yourself through the shockwaves of pleasure that kept pouring up your legs - like warm water. Gojo was just salivating in-between them.
He doesn’t even have the time to breathe—and you’re getting the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to. Couldn’t even make himself think of anything else but dragging four - now four - fingers between those swollen-shut lips and thud-thud-thudding into your g-spot. “Good princess.” He hisses between clenched teeth, “Gooooood princess-”
“Keep quiet, jester.” You’re feeling yourself get slowly overcome by primal desperation.
“As you wish, mistress~” And Gojo’s never been happier- lashing and lashing those ridged tastebuds inside until your walls buzzed with the texture. “Mmmm.”
And soon enough, you’re feeling your legs start to twitch- in the way they did whenever you had your fingers stuffed deep in the baths- “Oh.” By this point, Gojo was aiming to intrude four fingers and his slippery tongue between your pussylips.
Swirlin’ and swirlin’ it—tap-tap-tapping it over that first tight ring of muscle.
His greed sickened you- and made you even wetter. And with a forceful tug of those angelic strands of his, you’re staring deep into Gojo’s eyes - fluttering desperately as he fights not to detach himself with your wet pussy. He doesn’t.
And he’s accelerating his fingers hitting the bullseye—
“I-I feel I shan’t last very long, Sato- jester.” You’re hissing, eyes threatening to shut as the white-hot pleasure keeps wracking through you.
With his spit-glossed lips wrapped around your clit, he hums. “Mmm?”
“Oh.” You hunch into him. “Repeat that.”
“Mmmmm—” Gojo elongates his nearly-feline rumbles, and then his lips quirk up- into a grin you recognize as being a signature of when he gets a devious idea.
One sure to ruin courts and leave you amused - though you’re sure that you’re the sole one being ruined right now.
He’s nuzzling his face ever-deeper against your cunt, then muffles out an entire sentence - what you assume to be a rhyme - whilst he keeps his mouth sucklin’ on your clit. Making the sensitive bursts of pleasure explode twofold behind your eyes- you’re seeing stars as he repeats it—again, and again, and again and again and again—
Gojo often did love repeating a joke if it managed to make you laugh exceptionally hard.
However, now you were all but crying out for mercy. Your chin trembles as you keen out Gojo’s name in a lingering echo, “I-I really shan’t- oh…” No matter how many years of royal diction or elocution you’ve endured, it couldn’t mask the way your voice cracks on the tail end of your sentence.
Almost pathetically so.
And soon enough, Gojo’s finding his witty mouth stuffed full- fucking you through your high.
Tongue flicking in and out. Teeth grazing over your clit.
He alternates between letting his tastebuds enter your pussy as well—and then letting his doughy digit take over as he suckles on your clit. Like the sweetest thing in the world. “Mmmm.” Repeating his little rhymes over and over- interrupted only by the noisy slurps! of him sucking on your nub- and the embarrassing little whimpers as he was wrenched by you.
Side-to-side. Up and down.
You’re moving him wheeeeeerever you wanted- and he was in heaven as pain sears from his scalp.
You grip onto his braid, and another lock of his hair, as handlebars to prolong your wave of pleasure. The bliss stabs through you white-hot as he presses deeeep into your g-spot. “I haven’t felt anything like this- hah, before, Satoru…”
“Your jester aims to please.”
Your orgasm makes you shiver. It rattles past your walls - where the pounding was most prevalent - and then up your spine to make your head pound with pleasure—the curling of your toes, the fluttering of your lashes, the way you’re letting escape the sweetest soft moans; sweeter than any orchestra downstairs. Gojo memorizes it all.
Through peak after peak.
Through thrust after thrust.
And as the crescendo comes to a close, he parts with your pussy—a pointed squelch! emanates from the connection. “Though the back of this Princess’s pussy I did knock, Her Royal Highness still yearns for the jester’s cock~”
Your mouth gapes, “Do not tell me that was the rhyme you have been repeating this entire time?”
“As you wish, I shan’t.” He grins. And then Gojo’s raising himself to his haunches- shrugging off his cloaks and his coats. “Perhaps another? From all the princes and lords to pick, our beloved Princess yearned for the jester’s di-”
“Another word and you shall be turned out.” You warn him, albeit half-heartedly.
“Now that doesn’t rhyme, Your Highness.” Gojo faux-pouts. With a few more tugs and pulls - he really didn’t understand how you aristocrats wore this on every occasion - he’s ridding himself of his upper garments and his trousers.
Though you’ve seen the royal jester shirtless time and time again, his perfectly-toned body made your eyes bulge.
And then finally the linen undergarments that presented him—Gojo Satoru’s long cock, hot and rock-hard.
He was engorged till he looked fit to burst - with his mushroom-curved tip blushin’ an angry red, and his veins popping out down his shaft. So prominent that you could almost count every throb-throb-throb!
Gojo’s tip glistens wetly with precum, capping the top of his cock and just oozing like a lacquer down every inch. Almost eight inches, if you’re mentally counting correctly.
He wraps a single hand around his thickened base- rustling the soft curls decorating his pelvis. Spreading out in an alluring pattern—Gojo then uses his other hand to nudge your thighs apart. Hamstrings stretching. Toes curling. Making sure they’re pinned to the springy mattress before he inches his red-hot cock closer.
There’s a resounding squeeeeelch! as he smears the very first, readied inch down your opening crevice.
“Easy there, Your Highness.” Gojo’s breath hatches with a moan. “Easy- hah…”
“I am no steed, Satoru.”
“You speak the truth, my princess.” He shoots you a ravishing smile- hungry. He really did look ready to eat you. Ready to shovel his entire length in.
Ready to break—himself. Fuck.
He was breaking himself.
A mere few inches are entering past that first ring of muscle-
And you’re arching your back into his chiselled chest. “Oh h-heavens…” It leaves you and mixes with the broken grunts n’ gruffs that were leaving Gojo just as equally, just as desperately, as he keeps your hips pushed into the bed and siiiiinks his cylindrical length inside.
It’s like nothing your royal tutors had lectured you upon - down to the fact that all those awkward anatomical lessons were for your wedding night with a prince, no less.
You feel a pearl of red escape you—and you embrace him with weakened limbs. “Satoru-”
“H-heaven is correct.” Gojo hiccups out. Was he still stuck on that you’d uttered earlier- had he even heard anything more? And were there…tears twinkling at the edges of his lashes?
Before you can finalize an answer, you’re mewling at the slight resistance of your cunt. Gojo’s cock was oh-so-girthy—more than you might have expected, and seemed to be throbbing even bigger with every second he was mazin’ himself inside you.
And he feels the shift immediately- he’s affected by it immediately.
His handsome jaw grits. His chest caves with a sudden groan. He turns his half-lidded eyes downwards, and using both overlarge hands he grips each of your asscheeks.
Those pretty, princely features of his twist into something agonized- as Gojo arches his sculptured back and drives his cock inside. “Please-” Your best friend pants out. “Please, please, please, please—h-haven’t I served you well, Your Highness?”
“You would be correct…?” You’re answering him- head foggy because of the sudden flurry of semi-thrusts.
In and out. In and out. He was buried just a few inches past his sensitive slit - and the small tremors of your cunt meant that he was thrown to ecstacy every few split-seconds.
Gojo seemed to be growing longer than you remembered seeing him.
Gojo seemed to be pulsing even thicker-
“Th-then…shan’t this lowly fool be rewarded with a single inch…?” He mumbles- sounding utterly drunk. And it wasn’t just his slurring tone and his tapering sentences that gave you that impression - but Gojo had his face pressed into the crook of your neck, and his hot tongue gliiiiiding up your sweaty neck. “A mere inch, my princess-”
You buck- and even that seemed far too much for the pussydrunken jester.
For he’s digging his crescent-shaped nails into your soft flesh and dragging you back into him - hitting his hips with a resounding thwack! “No- no, please don’t leave, Your Highness.” He begs—fucking begs.
“I-I am not—oh.” Another blustering thrust that leaves your deepest innards probed.
“If you wish me to cease- then just say the word. And I shall heed every syllable.” Gojo murmurs, his sapphire eyes threatening to shut with the hypnotic squeeze. With his pure need. With the urge to feel himself from the outside- and considering how big he was, he’s sure he’d manage to. “But please- please, do not leave me. Th-this pussy has been my deepest, darkest desire ever for f-far too long.”
Your eyes widen, “How long…exactly?”
Those plump, rose-pink lips of his graze yours as soft as a feather. “Ever since I knew what it was…and I woke up with quite the ah- rock-hard situation. I had never left your chamber faster, Your Highness- what if the attendants witnessed it?”
You moan as one of his hands lifts off your ass to thumb aside your sultry pussylips. Lovingly full.
“What if they were aware how feverishly I desired you?”
They were just glued with sap- it makes him break off a moan.
“What if- hngh, what if they could see through me—a lowborn mutt- eager to dirty the precious princess?”
Gojo stares so long and lovingly at your slightly-ajar cunt—so lovingly, that his mouth ends up watering. He continues, “To dirty you…to corrupt you.” A stream of spittle leaks from the corner of his lips, and it ends up dapplin’ over your folds.
“To- hah, fuck you.”
Your jester roves his hips closer - smearing the translucent liquid using his hips. Aaaaaaall over as he nudges and nudges his rounded, reddened tip deeper inside - taking over your cunt little by little.
Stars flash behind your eyelids, and in that opportunity, Gojo had reached over to take the crown that he’d donned for the ball. Your engagement ball. And he was promptly caressing the top of your scalp with it, placing it atop your beautiful head—you suited his colors.
Gojo lets out something that sounded more like a prayer: “To fuck you with the crown on, has always been this fool’s most embarrassing wish.”
He’s finally bottoming out.
Finally. And it’s a sensation like none other.
Gojo’s cock was stretching you out in ways you’ve never felt before; managing to mold your channel to his measurements. And his hammers were just so sensual—slow, semi-thrusts so that he can fit himself inside. “Please-” Inside and inside. “Please, please- this lowly jester knows every secret and preference of yours, my princess.”
Your heels are digging into the gorgeous dimples at the base of his spine. “Yes, oh…”
“Every- single- inch—” And you’re being propelled in short jerks upwards- those ancient royal bedsprings protesting. As much as you were begging for more. Your hands drag down his creamy-white back, leaving bloodied marks- and that only leaves him pulsating even harder inside you. Gojo’s blossomed tip had contentedly filled you up till your cervix - “In ways those ministers would- hah, wring my neck over.”
“I would never let them.” You’re spitting out.
“And yet…” Gojo leans down to whisper. “That only made this fool yearn for it- more-” A few more pressurized thrusts, and every prominent vein of his massages your spots oh-so-perfectly. As he pushes n’ pushes he continues babbling, “Please let it fit inside-” His lips tremble with a whimper. “Please let it fit inside—”
Shock strangles your words, “S-Satoru, you’re already inside.”
“P-pardon?” He almost stutters his hips - before he likely realized that your syrupy-sweet cunt was far too heavenly for him to merely linger. And he’s thrusting away like an animal.
Nodding, “Satoru, I promise—” Eyes scrunching together at the incredible sensations of him stretchin’ you out, hitting into your every nook, letting his velvety tip glide across your tenderest area - that g-spot. “You’ve succeeded your fantasy.” Your legs tighten around his slender waist, “Promise.”
Gojo’s chin hits his chest.
And he’s staring down at where the two of you glossily connect—“O-oh…” Gojo’s mouth looked so delicious like this - you almost wanted to bite him - as an expression of cute surprise takes over him.
And all of a sudden, it’s as if he’s simply melting…
Into your arms. Into your cunt. Gojo’s honey-dipped tip probes into your cervix, and instead of even ramming away - he’s merely draaaaagging and swirlin’ the bulbous edge of him around. Again and agaaaaain. The texture of his flared ridge was something incredible, and it knocks n’ grinds against hidden spots of nerves. “I finally have you, Your Highness.”
You’re feeling your heart pound at his confession - oh-so-tender. Even when he was fucking you deep into the plush mattress.
“You have never not, my jester.” You’re admitting back up at him.
The most beautiful smile graces his face- and Gojo’s feeling quite unfairly about all this. So he’s slitherin’ his right hand between your legs and spankin’ your neglected clit.
Those slight brushes of his bushy happy trail weren’t enough—now he was twiddling and turning such dizzying patterns atop that sweet, sweet nub. Watching your every minute expression, he hums. “Beautiful through anger, happiness and shock, yet the Princess looks prettiest on my cock~”
“You fiend.” You’re swatting his chest.
Only for him to gather up those weak legs of yours and bend you into a mating press- a mating press. Muscular thighs against your thighs. Your knees against your tits.
Gojo keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he drills away, “Though this lowly fool may be poor with the manners of a pig, aren’t you happy to have a cock that’s actually big~?”
And that…you have to admit that that one actually draws a laugh out of you.
And just as soon as the bubbling noise emerges from your lips-
Gojo’s body seems to collapse. His hips seem to falter. His cock thunks at the back of your womb, sending your teeth chattering, and lets out a throb-throb so hard that you feel it louder than your own heartbeat.
Your eyes shoot open, “S-Satoru…?”
“I-I am quite alright, Your Highness. Naught to worry about.” Though there was something thoughtful behind his eyes, “It is simply…”
And only after a few more thrusts—after a few more rub-a-dubs of his thumb…fingers now so jittery on your cunt that he’s teasin’ you with his silver signet ring, too.
The smooth metal makes you keen-
“For all the horses and all the men, could not pull the fool out of his princess again.” He near-tentatively utters. It could be heard only slightly above the smacking of skin-on-skin, of his hips practically plastered onto yours, and you can’t help it - you’re startled into a laugh.
“P-pardon?” You speak through both moan n’ giggles.
“Oh…” Meanwhile, Gojo was absolutely shattering. He was drooling. He was—fuck, he was tearing up. And great globules of tears were hitting the edge of your shoulder.
Gojo’s rubbin’ himself raw- he’s wracking his brain a mile a minute just for a new verse to come up with.
Something that will make you laugh.
Something that will make you squeeze your tremoring thighs ‘round him.
Something that will make you clench—and it’s such a startling, tight sensation that damn-near sends him hurtling straight into his high. But he can’t cum before you - of course, he can’t. What good jester possibly ever could? Before his princess no less?
Gojo accelerates his hips until tears start clinging onto his long lashes, and his cocktip starts twitchin’ out of pure oversensitivity.
And so he keeps on repeating—rhyme after rhyme, botched whimper after whimper. Each one more ragged than the last. Your jester was making you whine with laughter as he fucked you- whispering in your ear in aaaaaall the dirty ways one perhaps shouldn’t to a princess.
He fucks you like an animal.
It’s the final note you’re hearing - ‘—no prettier princess than thee.’ - as your sudden high takes you by surprise. Legs shaking. Back arching. You’re squeezing him tighter than ever as the white-hot pleasure courses through you.
Thrumming your every vessel and vein.
Thrusted deeper into you with every one of his- they seem to burst pretty fireworks inside your now-emptied head. Nothing but lust inside it.
And it doesn’t take much for Gojo to topple into his orgasm, as well. He shakes- he stutters…“C-cumming…” Breathlessly. Large tears were puddlin’ at the crook of your neck, dampening your skin more than your perspiration. “And I cannot think of a more appropriate home.”
“Should you sire an heir, they shall have your head.” You’re whispering to him - a smile on your face.
“But you forevermore have my heart.”
“Rake.”
“For you only, my princess.”
That bawling divot atop his shaft keeps floodin’ out a constant stream of cum—hot-white and lacquering your insides. Every single burst of cum made him twitch- letting out the prettiest erotic whines. “My princess—solely for you.”
“More.” You murmur gutturally. “More- more.”
“More…deep inside.” Lovingly, he’s patting at your bloated pussy. “Just for my princess.”
Until your walls were almost heavy with the condensation of his sap, and after only a few thrusts of his shaft- it was pouring out of you almost like a waterfall.
Between the crevice of your puffy pussylips, you feel it drip-drip-dripping out of you. Eventually formulating a little froth of creamy white ‘round Gojo’s swollen base - a few globules that he’s smearing with a thumb and pushing right back into you. A thumb stuck right between your folds. “A-and where do you believe you are putting your hands, Satoru?”
“Simply giving my princess everything she deserves…” He leans down to nibble on your soft ear lobe. “And right on her engagement night, as well.”
You’re moaning as he tugs on your clit a few more times.
“Happy engagement, Your Highness.” The jester speaks, as he fucks his cum into you harder than ever.
You end up babbling for a few minutes longer, before the sudden sparks of your high start bating- and Gojo himself starts finally slowing his hips down.
“Mmmm…” You reach up and clasp him by the back of his neck, sweaty, with his hair curled at the name. You whisper into his mouth, “My greatest pleasure, to be engaged to you, Prince Gojo Satoru.”
There’s a long stretch of silence - still thrusting - before he mutters.
“I really do wish I could marry you…” Summer sky-blue eyes shuttering into the kiss—
“Satoru.”
“—my princess.”
.
.
.
“Zenin Naoya.”
The young man whirls around - and his nose crinkles in distaste as an older man enters the royal guests’ quarters.
No union had been announced.
The engagement ball had long since ended, and you had even long since disappeared with some prince- some jester, as he had discovered through ballroom gossip.
The fucking jester.
Naoya knew he should have gutted him after that dinner.
But alas, once he arrived outside your royal bed chambers to finish off the job- he’d been blocked by your personal guards from entering. That damned General Yaga had threatened that a single step closer could constitute an attempt at treason- treason?
Accusing him of treason? Did he not know who Naoya was?
General Yaga hadn’t budged. And thus, Naoya had no choice left but to retire to his own guest’s quarters.
Alone and angry until morning arrived.
He had just settled with the thought of enacting his own taste of justice today- he shall lure some of the ministers to your bed chambers, perhaps falsifying an ailment you’d befallen under, before Gojo can escape. And once they discover that that lowborn jester had sullied the Princess- dungeons it is for the fool.
And oh-so-generous Prince Zenin Naoya shall agree to marry even a ruined maiden.
Then comes the crown. Then the titles, the land, the power.
The woman shan’t be too bothersome, either, at least you were easy on the eyes. Even if the jester had gotten his hands on you first.
And ah…perhaps he shall throw out this court and your father along with it? That’s if he was in a good mood - and it was the original plan, after all…
Or perhaps he shall stage a coup of which your father had ‘led’ and enact justice as King- yes…a royal hanging should seem righteous enough. The jester shall be first.
This was justice.
Naoya had just been in the middle of writing a letter to inform his father of this change of plans, when a knock-knock-knock thundered from the door. The broad, bearded man on the other side of it hadn’t waited for him to answer before coming inside.
“May I…help you?” He stands. Had this seemed like any old guard or minister, then Naoya would not have hesitated to draw his sword- but this was clearly someone of high status. Of numerous battle accomplishments.
And his eyes dip down to the silver scabbard at his waist…
This was clearly someone potent.
“I have arrived with a proposition.” The bearded man invites himself to sit down on the very chair that Naoya had been at work at.
Naoya’s eyes narrow, “Of what kind? Do I look like an errand boy to-”
“Of the kind I am aware your family is quite expert at.” Those words held such a dark weight to them—and he doesn’t take his eyes off of the Prince for a single second as he utters. “To be frank, I must request the ah…removal of Prince Okkotsu Yuta from the throne.”
That makes the royal straighten. “Find yourself a common mercenary-”
THUNK—!
From underneath his coat, the visitor pulls out a hefty bag - so large that Naoya wonders just how it had remained obscured for this long. There is a weight to it that makes the polished desk rattle, papers flying. There is an overabundance of its contents—so that the burlap rim threatens to burst open.
Naoya gulps as he eyes the - albeit alluring - bag. “D-do you believe the Kingdom of Zenins to have plummeted so far that we hold the need for a single sack of gold?”
The other man chuckles, “Gold?”
And with a single flick at the rim—it’s opening to reveal…sapphires.
A miniature mountain of it.
Such a rare beauty. Naoya had never seen so many in all the treasuries he’d ransacked combined - and his hand it darting out to grasp it—
“This is, of course…merely the advance.” The man places his hand on top of the bag, and slides it discreetly away from the Prince. His fingers twitch towards it, but Naoya can’t do anything with the other man here. “Trust me when I claim that your kingdom will have no shortage of sapphires for the next hundred years. I simply request that you prove your abilities to me.”
That snaps the Prince out of his constant eye-contact with the expensive bag. “Prove?”
His now-client nods. “Prove it. I should hope that the eradication of Prince Yuta shan’t prove too daunting- and for that, I wish to know what other…deeds you have accomplished, Your Highness.”
“The burning of the Inumaki kingdom’s crops.” Naoya immediately blurts out—before he lists off his family’s proud accomplishments as though he was listing off a market list. The other man nods with an unreadable expression. “The…displacement of the Cursed rubies, the demotion of the Ijichi household, the framing and eradication of the Gojo family-”
“Oh?” At that last one, he looks more alert. “Kindly elaborate on that final one, it seems to have ah…piqued my interest.”
Naoya hesitates- before a single glance at the sapphire sack makes him talk once more. “It was prior to my birth, thus the details might not be as adequate. Essentially what happened had to be done- the Gojo royals were advancing their economy in leaps and bounds—far too rapidly, far too soon.”
As he continues, an almost proud smile twitches at his lips.
“It was ingenious- really.” He hums, “Just a few forged letters, just a single meeting with His Majesty-” Naoya gestures vaguely at this palace. “And he became convinced that the Gojos were planning battle over the borders.”
Naoya spits.
“Borders? Pah- what borders?” He’s pacing now, hands clasped behind his back—back turning to the other man as the Prince stares into the licking fireplace. “Come dawn, the palace was painted in red. Ministers. Mongrels. That King and Queen- the cowards begged for mercy, were you aware?”
Silence stretches.
It seems like an eon passes before the man’s answering - in a rough tone that punctures the silence. “I…I was not aware, no.”
Naoya huffs out haughty laughter.
“And what of their son?”
The Prince looks at the other man over his shoulder, brows pinched in confusion. “They had no son.”
“No.” The sword is pulled out of his scabbard. “They hid Gojo Satoru well.”
It embeds deeply in the junction between Naoya’s shoulder and his neck—and his scream is silent. Expression twisted into shock as those final words registered - Gojo Satoru. Even in death, he hears his name.
Much louder than Naoya’s scream was the impact of his cold, dead body hitting the carpeted floor - and almost instantly, Prince Okkotsu Yuta enters the chambers. “I have recorded the confession, uncle, and the troops are storming the Zenin palace as we speak.”
“Good.” Michizane pulls his sword out and watches as blood creates a painting across the brick fireplace and floor. He wipes it off using what would have been Prince Naoya’s engagement robes, and places it back in his scabbard.
Yuta takes a step closer to offer a clean wipe to his uncle, “Should I summon a court meeting at once?”
“No.” Michizane takes it and dabs at the beads of sweat on his forehead. Then he nods at Yuta to collect the bag of precious sapphires, “I have a far more important affair to attend to.”
.
.
.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!
Both you and Gojo startle awake- and a single glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows reveals sunlight filtering in. A soft breeze rustles the sheer curtains…and Gojo’s beautiful locks right beside you.
It wasn’t the first time that you were waking up next to him.
But it was the first time it was…in such a manner.
You’re tugging on the satin blanket- of which you were wearing nothing underneath. Bare. Barely holding yourself back from him. And Gojo smiles to himself as the thought seems to occur to him, as well, reaching over to kiss you—before wincing at the red, red nail marks that twinged with movement.
You’re leaning in as well—
But then two things occur to you:
It must have been at least midday.
Someone was at the door.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!
More insistent this time.
The two of you look at each other.
Then at the door.
Then at each other.
Gojo jumps to his feet, throwing off the blankets and attempting to dive underneath your bed- but you’re raising a hand to stop him. Shaking your head imperceptibly. “No…”
“My princess?” Gojo asks.
“I believe there comes a time where one must stop running.” You’re speaking, more to yourself. And in a quick fashion you cross the room to don your satin robe—Gojo manages to bunch up a few blankets that cover his bits. You shake your head and scour for one of his casual night garments from underneath your bed - throwing it at his head.
“For all the princess in the land-”
“Oh, perhaps I ought to hand you to the guards.” The guards that were surely outside. Perhaps waiting to accuse you of treason for shattering the Zenin union. Perhaps ready to embarrass you and your jester in front of the royal courts.
Whatever it shall be - whatever the price may be for loving Gojo Satoru - you’re raising your head high and taking it like a ruler.
You open the doors, and outside stands…
Michizane?
He looks just as startled as you, though he manages out a rough smile. “May I see the ring?”
You’re unsure what he means—and you’re considering telling your guards to escort him away, when Michizane peers inside your bedroom and locks eyes with Gojo. Gojo who seems to startle the instant that blue, blue gaze meets his. Perhaps…
And then he’s stepping forwards- pushing the door open ever-so-slightly further open.
And presenting his left hand - with the silver signet ring still upon it. A hollowed gasp leaves the older man, and he’s clasping Gojo’s hand in his own trembling, timid ones—holding it as though it was the most prized treasure in this world. Buried for eons.
Gojo’s voice sounds scratchy, “I-it is not my possession to don-”
Michizane shakes his head.
“I believe…” He looks between the two of you, bright eyes twinkling with tears. “-that there is much we need to speak of.”
.
.
.
There was to be a royal wedding.
There was to be a royal wedding.
There was to be a royal wedding.
The union between yourself and the long-lost prince of the Gojo kingdom.
After Michizane had explained to you both - let alone an astounded court - that he was the uncle of your beloved jester, that he was titled royalty, and that Gojo himself…was the sole survivor of a gruesome attack that the Zenin family had orchestrated…Gojo didn’t believe it. Not at first.
Not that someone knew his life before this life.
Not that someone had come to…save him. Because Michizane didn’t - to Gojo, it had been you. And it forevermore shall be.
But you could see the fearful hope - almost unwelcome on his face - as Michizane explained that he hadn’t known about the status of the Gojo heir, his nephew, before the engagement ball. He was so young, he must have forced himself to forget such a traumatic ordeal. Thus, it had always been assumed that he had perished along with his brother and his wife—though Michizane couldn’t find a small body amongst the carnage.
And so he had always hoped…always, always…
And it had been the signet ring (looted by the Zenins and gifted to your father, no doubt) that roused his suspicions. Then those eyes. That hair. That smile, like his mother’s.
It had to have been him.
Fearing such an attack, had the late Gojo royals not kept the birth of their son a secret, then his features would have gotten him poisoned before he even stepped foot into the royal court. The cap n’ bells masked more than one would think.
The scheme to expose the Zenins had been planned beforehand - being the only reason that Michizane even attended the ball in-person. And he’d thought that perhaps finding his late nephew’s look-alike had been a good omen.
Had been…
Oh, he just had to confirm it for himself. Especially after Naoya had affirmed that the Zenin’s hadn’t been aware of any son.
Michizane could see the Gojo name in the boy. And so he was right.
Acceptance had taken long hours cooped up in the numerous palace libraries—poring over history books, and rewriting ones that misunderstood.
During this time was when you’d iron-handed your ministers into changing the law that ‘only a prince shall marry a princess’. Of course.
Long days and longer conversations.
Gojo had finally accepted that he was the sole righteous heir to the throne of Gojo by the time he’d ascended to the throne. It had occurred during a coronation too grand for words - of which you were the honored guest, of course.
Michizane had accumulated vast sapphire mines during his time away, and the Gojo kingdom’s infrastructure was soon able to recuperate their losses. Though not all of it…certainly some wounds would take time.
But the first time that Gojo stepped through those familiar palace walls, he cried as if it were a dream. And he’d said as much—“I had believed it was a dream- oh, I believed this was all a dream. This is my home.” As he embraced you in the middle of the royal lobby, you could agree with the sentiment. “You are my home.”
The first portrait that one saw when they entered the palace - moved by Michizane from Gojo’s former chambers to the main hallways - was one of his mother, his father, and Gojo himself.
Just an infant with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile.
He had his father’s eyes, but his mother’s smile.
After Gojo’s crowning, the borders of the Gojo kingdom were reestablished - all territories and citizens that surrounding kingdoms (as well as yours) had absorbed were handed to their rightful ruler.
His kingdom was new…but building. And fast.
Then Gojo had gotten to work helping right all of the Zenins’ wrongs. He aided in expanding the Inumakis’ agricultural lands, he returned the Cursed rubies that had been embedded in Naoya’s coronet to lord Sukuna, he promoted the Ijichi household’s titles twofold.
And he rebuilt his own family.
Of course, the Zenins themselves met their rightful fate. Prince Yuta had attacked their palace and numerous fortresses, causing those family members to be impounded. Some fled but were quickly caught—in part due to General Yaga’s tireless assistance.
Gojo had insisted that the children grow up in his palace. And though you’d been befuddled at first - most certainly you wouldn’t allow them to be hurt…but as for raising them yourselves over placing them in noble homes - you quickly registered that Gojo simply didn’t want history to repeat itself.
Above all, he took in young Fushiguro Megumi as a ward.
The trials for the other family members were currently ongoing.
But, recently, there was a new event that shook your kingdom.
The wedding.
Not one of political nature…but rather love. No matter the class, position, or power the two of you held—you would always be his princess, and he your best friend- oh alright…your jester. But solely because Gojo still loved to act a-fool to make you laugh.
Your father had no choice but to approve your wedding to such a powerful young King. Why would he risk such strong political ties? Why would he risk your abandonment?
Your people throw snow-white petals of gardenia as the wedding carriage passes through the streets- on its way to a honeymoon voyage before setting down in a newly-built palace between his kingdom and yours. Megumi would live there, too, and of course you’d convinced your most-trusted attendants—Utahime and everyone else that had readied Gojo that night of the engagement ball - to reside there, as well.
Not as servers, but with titles. With General Yaga as your head of guards.
You couldn’t be happier.
Gojo holds your hand. Wedding band on his left ring finger, the Gojo signet on his middle.
Faces beamed and cheers soared as you two passed by in your dream-like carriage—upon a cloud. And though the kingdom had been decorated until one nearly couldn’t spot a single roof, Gojo only had eyes for you.
He’s unabashed as he leans down to publicly kiss you.
Now that he finally could, the boy that had once been jester.
“Satoru.”
“My queen.”
A/N. Ugh had just finished watching the animated Sleeping Beauty before I wrote that ending, can you tell??
࿐tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, smut, angst (with eventual fluff), slight canon divergence, arranged marriage, satoru is emotionally detached, he's kinda a dick at times, breeding, praise, some degradation, loss of virginity, mentions of infidelity, mentions of a prior scandal, separated family dynamic, misogynistic themes, pregnancy complications.
࿐summary. the gojo clan is untouchable, and their new ruler, gojo satoru, is the most powerful sorcerer of his generation—unrivaled, unrestricted, and utterly uncontrollable. for years, he has defied the expectations of his clan, rejecting tradition, resisting the cage they built for him. but even the strongest must bow to duty. a deal struck, a marriage arranged. you, the daughter of a fallen clan, are chosen to stand at his side. not out of love, but because gojo satoru always gets what he wants. and if he's obligated to marry, fuck it, he wants you. though, you quickly learn that your place is not beside him—but beneath him. why? because gojo satoru doesn’t do love.
࿐wc. currently 48k
࿐a/n. hello! welcome to the masterlist for my series :) thank you for reading, and please keep in mind that updates might take longer with this fic. i will update tags/warnings as the story progresses.
࿐series tags ➔ #vod #vows of duty #arranged! clanhead satoru
♫ playlist ➔ ao3 ➔ primary masterlist
❥・ part 1 ❥・ part 2 ❥・ part 3 ❥・ part 4 ➔ (pending...) ❥・ part 5 ➔ (pending...)
CONTENT: a story in which the bond you share with your boss is as exciting as it is confusing. [tw: MDNI, explicit smùt, mild crack, rom-com vibes with a smidge of angst, satoru being a little shit, office șex, breedıng kınk, piv şex, squırting, creampıe, backșhots] word count: 6.2k
notes: little comm for ms. @madamechrissy 🤭 i hope u enjoyed it bby
When you’re as rich and attractive as Satoru Gojo, the world is basically your playground. It was clear on your first day of working as his personal assistant that the man did whatever the hell he wanted and gave no fucks while doing so.
“. . . So with all that being said, I’m sure you can understand why I need you to start dressing in a way that’s more. . . fitting for your stature.”
“Yeah,” you nodded and lightly smiled, feeling a sense of warmth start to creep up your neck. “I understand, Mr. Gojo.”
The thing about Mr. Gojo? He had to be one of the most charming individuals you’ve ever come across. He knows how to make you feel special, even when he’s calling you an outfit repeater with no sense of style at the moment.
He’ll soften his gaze, speak with words coated in a thick layer of honey, flash that million dollar smile of his— every demand that came from him sounded so sweet, it was sickening.
He let out a pleased hum. “I knew you would.”
“It’s just– I don’t,” you cut yourself off with a nervous laugh, the sense of warmth you originally felt quickly morphed into embarrassment, “I don’t have anything else to wear.”
“No?”
For a split second, his voice drops. Even if it’s just for a moment, it doesn't fail to leave you a bit unsettled given his history of losing his mind whenever things didn’t go his way.
“N-no, Sir,” you shrink in your seat, “I’ll have to wait until my next payday to go shopping.”
“I see.” His lips curl back into a smile after realizing he’s going to scare you off, as that wasn’t his intention here. He looks at the door real quick, then back at you. “How about this, then— you remember that department store I had you pick up a suit from once, Damian’s?”
Your eyes widen once you realize where he’s going with this. “Oh! I don’t think that’s n—”
He plants his elbows on top of the desk, leaning forward and cutting you off with the simple, yet powerful act of clearing his throat.
“Why don’t you give them a visit this weekend, yeah?” He pauses for a moment, as if he were daring you to interrupt him again. You don’t. He laughs. “Yeah— why don’t you give them a visit. I’ll reach out before the day ends so they know to expect you. Better yet, I’ll tell them exactly what I’m looking for and have them pull whatever pieces fit the idea I have in mind, that way you won’t have to think too much into it.”
“But Mr. Gojo, I can’t afford that,” your voice nearly breaks telling him that.
Satoru doesn’t even know why you bothered telling him— he already knows. If you haven’t already forgotten, he’s the one that pays you. How hard is it to get you to stop dressing like a fucking nun? He’s had it with the god damn turtlenecks.
He lets out a sigh, fighting to keep his cool demeanor despite his dwindling patience. “Which is why I’m sending you to Damian’s, they have my card ready to go on file.”
The wheels in your head continue to turn, wondering why he’d even offer you this much. Wondering if this is even appropriate. It’s been over three months since you started working for him and not once have you heard of an allowance meant for office attire. Now he’s sending you to some high-end department store to pick out new clothes, on his dime, since your clothes don’t ‘fit your stature’. Whatever the hell that means.
“I don’t think I can accept this…” you look down at your feet and murmur, and Satoru nearly rolls his eyes.
You can and you will.
Satoru watches you freeze and realizes he just said that outloud, making him let out a laugh in an attempt to make himself sound less crazy.
“Ahem— sorry, what I meant was…” he stalls, leg lightly bouncing as he thinks of what to say, then decides to make this a company thing, rather than a him thing, “if the company’s requiring it, then the company should pay for it, right?”
His words disarm you enough to nod. “...Right.”
“Perfect,” he chirps out. “That’ll be your assignment for the weekend then.” He leans back in his seat, looking quite pleased with himself. Looking at the clock, he notices it’s a quarter to five, and takes the opportunity to kick you out of his office before the air between you grows awkward again. “Well, now that it’s settled, why don’t you wrap up for the day?”
You glance at the clock. “Uhhh… yeah, sure! Was there anything else you needed before I clock out?”
There was a lot that Satoru needed, like for you to stop sounding so eager when asking if he needed anything else from you. You have no idea how painfully hard that makes him.
“No, thanks,” he responds in a strained tone. “Enjoy your weekend.”
“Thanks! You as well, Mr. Gojo.”
You give him one last smile as you rise from your seat and begin to walk back to your desk that’s just outside his office. It’s not until your hands on the doorknob, ready to turn it, when he stops you one last time.
You brace yourself the moment you meet an unfamiliar pair of eyes, just glimmering with amusement. Satoru then proceeds to throw you off in a way that almost feels ceremonious with how he never quite gave you the chance to get back up.
“I know it’s just a little favor, but you know how people can be sometimes. So for both of our sakes, let’s just keep this between us to avoid any confusion, yeah? It can be our little secret.”
Something in that low, velvety voice of his told you it was just the beginning of many secrets you’d be sharing, but it still managed to lure you in.
And so, you said yes— marking the very beginning of something that was just as confusing as it was thrilling.
. . . . . .
Being a man of his stature, Satoru has to really watch himself in public— watch what he says, who he says it to, what he does, and where he does it. Which is why he frequents places the public didn’t have knowledge of, let alone have access too. Places that allowed him to let loose.
Though, in your honest opinion, just because someone can let loose, doesn’t mean they should. Especially someone like Satoru, who does a shit ton of coke and treats it like a fucking free for all.
His idea of a good time is often a violent one. You wish you were kidding, there’s nothing that gets him going more than being in the middle of an all out brawl— just grinning from ear to ear while drinks and punches get thrown in every which direction as music continues to blast in the background.
The first to call you is his driver Ijichi, who’s aware that your job consists of tasks that went way beyond the professional scope.
The next is the county jail, because you are Satoru’s emergency contact.
An hour later, you’re patching your boss up in the middle of his penthouse at 3:00 A.M, when you should be asleep like most people are on this side of the world.
“Sorry you got ripped out of your sleep for this,” he boyishly mutters as you dab the corner of his mouth with antiseptic. Lucky for him, the cut’s small, and should be gone by Monday morning. It’s his knuckles that are all scraped up. But then again, he doesn’t interact with many people at the office to begin with, and the ones that do get paid enough not to ask.
“Are you actually sorry, or are you just saying that?” you murmur back.
“Let’s just say I’m grateful that it's you that’s cleaning me up right now.”
“As opposed to who?”
“I dunno,” he chuckles, looking at you through heavy lidded eyes that you refuse to meet. “Don’t even wanna think about anybody else’s fingers on me.”
“How sweet,” you boredly say, dabbing a bit of ointment on the small cut. “Maybe you can extend that kindness to everyone else for the rest of this weekend? So I don’t have to, you know— pick you up from jail… again.”
“What if I only like being sweet to you?” he murmurs.
He doesn’t make you feel special anymore.
For how close of a proximity you have to the man’s personal life, you already are special, and it’s something he constantly reminds you of, even during times it’s not necessary. In the midst of all the confusion it leaves you with, you’re reminded of a line that’s been completely blurred, and you’re not quite sure who’s at fault here.
Satoru may be pervasive by nature, but you’re still here. Somehow there’s still a part of you that wants to please him despite all your irritation.
“Well then everyone’s out of luck and I’m out of sleep.” You sigh as you close the first-aid kit.
He watches as you get up from the couch to put it back in the cabinet, eyes tracing over your body throughout the entirety of it. You may not be in the tight skirts and high heels he has you in during the day, but he found himself enjoying off-duty sweats and slippers just as much. Shamelessly, he doesn’t take his eyes off you when you start walking back towards him, but you’re used to it at this point.
“Y’know you can spend the night here if you’re so tired, right?” he teasingly asks, but you know there’s a part of him that’s more than serious about it.
“No thank you.” You throw your purse over your shoulder, typing away at your phone as you try to book an uber. “I’m sure your silk sheets are great, but they’re no match for mine.”
To no one's surprise, you got out of his penthouse fast. You’ve gotten pretty good at dodging him in situations that could easily end with you on your back, splayed out right underneath him.
Believe it or not, he actually respects that— the self control and all. Especially with the way you’ve almost given in to him a couple times. It didn’t need to be said for him to know. He’s seen the needy, defeated look in your eyes during the times he’s gotten too close. It’s a look that screams ‘get away from me before I do something stupid, please’. A sweet girl you are, really.
But what would happen if he kept going and finally closed that distance?
Sometimes, he thinks he’d be nice to you. Be all soft, put you on his lap, whisper sweet things in your ear while his hand slowly slid down your stomach. You’d begin to hold your breath the moment he went past your waist and it’d finally catch once his fingers found themselves in between your thighs, slipping right in between your folds.
He’d kiss on your neck, pull moans from you as he drew little circles over your clit, making your legs tremble once he finally slipped inside and started curling in.
Then there’s times he thinks he’d be rough with you. Make you start crying from how fast and hard he made you cum from just his fingers alone. Bend you over the nearest surface and tease you with the thick head of his cock, rubbing it over your slick folds until you beg him to put it in.
He’d pull your hair back, make you look him in the eyes while he fucked you senseless, pump you full of so much cum that it’d continued to leak out of your poor pussy the very next day.
Bonus points if you two had to work together that day.
But for now, a man could only dream, or rather imagine, as he starts to fist his cock to the thought of you for who knows how many times now.
. . . . . .
There’s something mildly embarrassing about going to Damian’s with Satoru after being sent here all those months back to pick out new work clothes. Only because he specifically told the stylist to only pull items that were tight fitting and showed a decent amount of cleavage.
You’re sure if that asshole hadn't done that, you would’ve walked into the department store without a second thought. As if it couldn't have gotten any worse, that same stylist is here, and she’s looking at you with the same amount of concern you’d give to someone who’s being put through the ringer from extreme work conditions.
You technically are, given all the extra shit he has you do, like picking him up from jail at 2:00 A.M. You’re not exactly planning on leaving anytime soon, though. Don’t ask why. You’re not so sure of it yourself, either.
Satoru was here to try on a few different suits that just came in. And you’re here because unless you’re working on anything that’s considered incredibly important, you go wherever he goes.
Just as he was able to go off to the fitting room, the poor stylist asked a question she really shouldn’t have asked. She had good intentions when asking if you wanted to see some of the new pieces they had for Spring, and then Satoru made some comment about grabbing whatever you wanted and putting it on his card.
And then this poor girl looks at him with all the confidence in the world and asks, “If you’d like, I can pull a few different pieces from the racks like last time— tight fitting, low cuts, and neutrals, right?”
You didn’t have much of a reaction upon hearing that, it was already clear he had requested those things the last time you came here.
Satoru, however, just stood there and stared at this girl as if she had just ruined his fucking life.
It is not often he's left so appalled that it’s rendered him speechless, but there he was just staring at her with nothing but anger and betrayal in his eyes. She looked like she wanted to cry, and rightfully so. You were honestly scared for her.
“I think that’d be great,” you cut in, trying to break the tension, only to feel Satoru’s nasty glare get directed towards you instead once he realized you were trying to save her. “We’re here for less than an hour, though, so maybe just pull some skirts since the weather's starting to warm up.”
“Y-yeah! Of course.”
You watched as she quickly scurried away, then turned to find your boss just now deciding to follow the tailor, still looking absolutely fucking pissed that she just outed him like that.
Maybe you should tell her to hide once she comes back with those skirts.
. . .
Satoru might not be one to talk right now given how his goal a few months back was to get you to start dressing just a tad bit sluttier while still looking appropriate enough for work, but he didn’t give a shit. That woman had no tact whatsoever.
Who says something like that? You’re clearly his fucking assistant, there was no need to out his preferences like that.
It fucked up his entire mood for the hour… not that it stopped him from going ahead and having all the suits he tried on sent to his house. But just as he was getting ready to let it go, he saw something else that managed to make him do a double take.
It’s exactly what you think it is. Which is why he’s walking straight towards you and whoever the hell you’re talking to.
You didn’t know Rei existed up until two minutes ago, and tried to do him the favor of wrapping up the small conversation he tried sparking up with you once you caught a glimpse of a certain someone walking your way.
It didn’t work and now Satoru’s standing in front of you two, making you brace yourself for whatever sequence of words is going to come out of his mouth since he’s already in a shitty mood from the stylist snitching on him for being a pervert.
“You can leave now. Bye,” he simply says to the man, nodding towards the exit.
There’s a moment of silence. His reaction wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, but it still adds weight to the air around you. Rei was understandably left scrambling, not that Satoru noticed, he was too busy looking at you like he was tired of you disappointing him.
And your eyes widened, as if you were asking him, what the fuck did I do?
“Excuse me?” Rei finally managed to ask.
The displeased look on Satoru’s face stays as he briefly turns his attention to Rei. “You’re excused. Goodbye,” he says, casually dismissing him again.
“I’m sorry,” the man laughs from pure disbelief, “are you her boyfriend or something? Because you could’ve just said—”
“I’m not,” Satoru cuts him off with a tone that’s still surprisingly calm.
He wouldn’t say he’s calm— disassociated is more like it. All the words Rei throws at him just swarm around his head like a bunch of little gnats, and he steadily loses his patience since he’s already told the guy to fucking leave. Eventually, he closes his eyes and lets out a long, deep sigh.
“You know what?” Satoru suddenly cuts him off and proceeds to make him an offer— one that makes your jaw drop. “If you want her number so fuckin’ bad, then fine. You can fight me for it.”
“Satoru?!” you immediately scold the man.
“What the hell is your problem, man?!” Rei says at the same time as you.
“Oh, wow.” Satoru looks at you, then points a finger at Rei. “He doesn’t even want to fight for you.”
At that point, the man storms off, muttering some stuff under his breath about people and wondering what the fuck was wrong with them, leaving you to deal with whatever sudden mood swing your boss was having today.
It didn’t just start within the last hour. This has been going on all day and started when he almost snapped at one of the interns for running into him this morning when turning a corner too fast. You don’t have much patience for him, though.
“Ijichi’s already waiting outside for us,” you casually inform him and turn your heel, taking a step forward to walk away.
“That’s it?” The lack of acknowledgment makes Satoru snap. “That’s all you have to say?”
You stop and turn again, taking a good look at Satoru as you try to come up with more to say, which is hard given how you just watched him agree to let someone have your number if they fought him.
Yet all that comes to mind are the lines that you’ve blurred with the man.
“Do you want me to walk on eggshells around you, too, just like everybody else has today?”
“...No.” It’s not much of an answer with the way he mumbled it, but at least you were able to reroute the guy.
You softly sigh. “Alright, then… let’s go.”
. . . . .
The air’s been stale between you since that day.
You have no idea what’s gotten into him, neither do you want to ask. And it’s not that you don’t care— of course you do. It should've already been made clear by now that you care about Satoru more than you should.
At first, you wonder if it’s some sort of rough patch. Then you realize that isn't normal in professional relationships, leaving you with more questions than answers because nothing about your relationship is professional.
You run around all over the place for him, picking up his suits and sometimes even him at 3:00 A.M when he’s too drunk or high to drive home. As if that didn’t cross the line enough, he treats you like his friend. A really jealous friend, at that. He’ll do things like cockblock you if a man tries to talk to you when he’s around, sometimes even threatening to fight them.
It’s been three weeks of silence.
He didn’t even bother saying goodbye to you when you clocked out for the weekend yesterday. It wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all with your last boss, but something about getting just a simple hum from Satoru left you feeling stupid.
So what did change with him? It might be better if he listed all the things that didn’t.
He still jacked off with you in mind— that probably won’t ever change, at least not for a while. He still keeps an eye on you.
It sounds bad, but it’s really not.
He just has surveillance over your apartment building, not your actual apartment. He also has the security team keep an eye out whenever you walk to and from your car, before and after work. Just basic safety stuff. He might have a tracker on your car, but never looks at it.
Unless he’s drunk, but that doesn’t count in his head.
So then what changed?
Probably the new sense of shame that only seems to unveil itself when you’re around. He’d rather you not have a front row seat when it comes to all of his less… desirable qualities anymore. He is far from perfect— very fucking far from it.
Was it too late for that?
Probably.
It still made him feel just a little bit better about himself, even though he’s been rotting away on the inside from keeping his distance.
. . . . . .
Staying late at the office is a rare but unavoidable occurrence.
It happens. Some work gets prioritized over others, leaving small tasks to multiply and pile up. Today is one of those days Satoru is forced to push a main project aside and tackle all the little ones.
He considered taking on all of it by himself, but was reminded why he avoided the work in the first place just an hour into his day. It was all so boring and tedious. It would’ve driven him up the wall had he not handed off a portion of it to you.
But even then, there were a couple moments he spent wallowing in self-pity, looking out the window with thoughts of throwing himself off the top floor of the high rise. He fucking hates this and hates how he has no one but himself to blame for all the procrastination he’s done.
The office feels like a different world once everyone’s gone. It may feel comfortable for your boss since he has his own office, but your desk right outside of it gives you a front row seat to a corporate wasteland. Muffled chatter gets replaced with the sounds of the fluorescent lights buzzing above you. Air vents thrumming as they recirculate the cold, stale air.
The clock says 8:48 p.m once you finally finish your last task of the day. As happy as you are to finally leave this place, you grow nervous at the thought of entering your boss’s office to let him know you’re finished and heading home. Whatever camaraderie you had with him is non-existent at this point. Everything with him just feels awkward now and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you haven’t already started looking for new positions.
You lightly knock on the door leading to his office and don’t enter until you hear a tired hum on the other side of it.
Aside from the lamps next to his desk and next to the sofa you see when you first walk in, every other light is off, allowing the moonlight to peek through the dim space. It’s actually quite peaceful with his view of the city’s lit up skyline.
Satoru's eyes must hurt. He has his reading glasses on, framing the tired lines and dark circles under them.
“I’m all done for the day,” you say, carrying a stack of papers as you walk up to him and setting them down on the oak wood desk he’s half leaning on.
He doesn’t look at you.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, sounding just as drained as he looks.
You stand there, waiting for him to say anything else before coming to the conclusion that maybe it was time to move on to a new company, because you are too far gone.
Stupid.
The long day you two have had wasn’t a reason to think he’d give you more than he has lately, let alone something to get your hopes up over.
Just standing in front of him makes you feel pathetic— you shouldn’t feel like that.
You open your mouth to say goodbye for the night, since he won’t, but instead say something entirely different that leaves even you shocked.
“I’m putting in my two weeks.”
You haven’t even sent out any applications.
Satoru’s eyes darted up at you while staying in place. “What?”
Despite not having the right, he did not fucking like that. The cold tone of his voice made you want to cower down and take your words back, but there was no turning back.
You push through the nerves as you repeat yourself in a professional manner. “After some consideration, I’ve decided I want to take my career in a different direction and that would require me to step down from my position.”
The overly corporate tone does nothing but put a glare on Satoru’s face, one that deepens as you continue to spew, what he considers, a bunch of bullshit from your mouth.
“I’d like to thank you for the opportunities the company has given me, of course. I’d be more than happy to train my replacement.”
“You’re not training anybody,” he scoffs, standing from his seat as he starts to go through literally every stage of grief. “What the fuck? No? No. You’re not fucking leaving— absolutely not. Fuck that.”
Your eyes widen in disbelief over how entitled he is. He’s been treating you like a second class citizen for weeks and now he’s not letting you leave? “That’s not your choice to make.”
“I don’t care,” he says delusionally. “You’re not fucking leaving.”
“Yes I am.” You raise your tone. “You can’t just fucking keep me here—“
“Where are you going then, huh? Since you seem to have found a place so much better,” his immaturity inevitably shines through as he cuts you off.
“That’s none of your business!”
“It’s not, but you owe me that much,” he begins to argue.
Your face twists in disgust. “I don’t owe you anything. I— how can someone be this selfish?! You’ve been giving me the cold-shoulder for weeks—“
He cuts you off again. “So that’s what this is about?!”
For someone that’s been ignoring you for weeks, he’s very expressive, especially when he argues. His pupils will be blown out, he’ll look at you in disgust, talk with his hands, pace around the room, then get in your face. This time is no different.
“You’re leaving ‘cause I won’t give you attention? I thought you didn’t fucking want that!” He throws his arms out, voice resounding through the room.
You pause, mouthing a ‘what?’ to yourself in complete disbelief. Leaving someone angry and confused is one impressive skill— Satoru has clearly mastered it.
“When have I ever said that?!”
“It was written all over your face!” He shouts back, almost as if it was something that hurt him. “I figured you were getting tired of me so I backed off!”
“Seriously? That’s your definition of backing off?” You have to stop yourself from laughing at how ridiculous it sounds. “Backing off is stopping the 1:00 am calls on the weekend— not completely disregarding me.”
“I went back to being your boss—“
“Yeah, a really shitty one.”
“I was always a shitty one.” He barks out a laugh. “The only reason why you’re mad now is because you’re not getting anything out of it anymore.”
Satoru doesn’t mean that.
Not that you’d know.
He tends to reject anything that brings him even just the slightest bit of discomfort, all while hating rejection himself. Watching you try to quit has made it one hell of a combo for him.
If he was just someone you simply had to tolerate, then whatever you gained from it was not worth your time. But he spoke with enough conviction to render whatever response you had useless.
“How the hell do you expect me to stay after saying that?” you genuinely ask. “I’m tired of not being treated like real person and now you’re being a fucking asshole.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I—“
“No. Save it,” you say in defeat as you start to walk away.
“Where are you going?” he asks, still having the audacity to sound irritated.
“Leaving— have fun finding a new replacement. I’m not staying for another two weeks.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “Well if you’re not coming back would you at least finally admit you felt something between us?”
You stop and let out a sigh. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” he says, taking a couple steps towards you.
“No, there wasn’t.”
“Alright,” he huffs out a laugh. “I get that you’re mad at me and everything, but there’s no point lying about now.”
“I’m not lying about anything.”
“I don’t believe you,” he blandly says. “You wouldn’t have stayed as long as you did if there was never anything there. Be honest with yourself for once.”
Just as you’re about to deny it for the third time, you hesitate. “Just forget it already.”
The sight of you walking away for the second time feels entirely different from the first time for Satoru. No more confusion or panic, all that’s left is certainty. Perhaps a little amusement, as well. “No. I don’t think I will, actually.”
It happens fast.
You hardly process being spun back around, then you’re stunned again by a pair of lips crashing into yours. It’s messy from the start and he’s breathlessly apologizing against you with each rough kiss.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. Please.
And you forgive him, because there’s really no point in lying anymore. Not when you’re kissing him back. Desperately, at that— filled with just as much need. His hands start to roam, clothes start to scatter, leaving a trail that leads in the direction he took you in.
He always thought he’d put you on the desk.
The couch shifts erratically, moans pour into the room with each thrust. Satoru’s pressing down on your back and deepening the arch he put you in, bottoming out over and over again.
“Good job, baby,” he drones, mesmerized at the sight of you helplessly stretched around his thick cock, covering it in a thick coat of your slick.
It took some working up to. The moment he sat you down on the couch, he buried his head in between your thighs and tongued your clit— dragging it over that sensitive little bundle of nerves until you couldn’t see straight. Then it was his fingers. Working not one, but two of his long digits into your cunt, curling them into a little spot that had you gushing all over him.
Now he’s fucking that same little spot to no mercy, making your toes curl as the thick head of his cock catches it. “Oh my g-god— Satoru– fuuck!”
“Mmm I know,” he grabs your hair and pulls you back up against his chest, not letting up as he gets right in your ear. “Say my name again.”
His balls slap against your clit with each thrust, leaving you a gasping mess. “S-Satoru.”
“Again.”
“Satoru!” you cry out.
“Sounds so fuckin’ pretty coming from you,” he hums, licking a stripe up your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “You like getting ruined on the couch like this?”
Shamelessly, you nod. “Mhm.”
“Yeah? You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?”
“I have,” you admit. “A lot.”
“So honest tonight,” he grins, “so have I— thought about kissing you, fucking you, putting a baby in you.” A hand snakes down your belly until his fingers reach your clit, drawing little circles. “You really wouldn’t be able to get away from me then, huh?”
“That’s fucking insane,” your attempt to complain dies out into another pathetic moan.
“I fucking know,” he laughs, pulling your hair back even more so you can look him right in the eye while he fucks himself even deeper into you. “I think you might like that though since you’re squeezing around me like crazy.”
And you have no idea how to respond to that, you’re so fucking close. It’s taking everything in you to hold yourself together while he just tears you apart with each snap of his hips, rubbing fast circles over your clit.
“How bad do you wanna cum again?”
It’s been three times already, each time harder than the last. Your own body betrays yourself when you answer his question. “So bad.”
He hums sympathetically, though the look in his eyes seems to be the complete opposite of that. He keeps the same dizzying pace, pushing you further and further to edge until you’re finally gushing around him, again. He watches as tears of pure pleasure start rolling down your cheeks, trembling and letting out choked moans as he continues fucking you into overstimulation.
“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, letting go of your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping your back flush against his chest while he starts chasing against his own release. “M’so fuckin’ close. You’re gonna take it all, right?”
“Yeah,” you weakly nod, nails digging into his forearms, steadying yourself as best as you can.
“Shit— good girl,” he exhales, snapping his hips against your ass even harder, thrusts growing sloppier. “Here we go.”
The groans that spill out of Satoru are just downright sinful. There’s nothing but desperation in his tone as he holds on tight and starts pumping you full of his cum, shuddering as you milk his cock for all that he has.
You’re spent by the time you come back to your senses, with his arms being the only thing keeping you up. And yet, as you lay limp in his hold, he says something that, at the time, sounded like a threat with how entranced he seemed.
“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, princess.”
—
It’d been months since the night he finally broke his silence with you.
No, you don’t work for him anymore. You quickly found a new job just three weeks later. One with better pay and normal hours. Easier, too.
Looking back, he truly was a shitty boss. A conniving one that always took up your time. You guess you just never saw it because a part of you always liked it— better yet, liked him.
Good thing he’s a better boyfriend than he is a boss.
You were reluctant to start a relationship with him at first, the thought of him taking up even more space into your life lingering in the back of your mind and threatening whatever little peace you had left. But surprisingly, he went from being a conspiring little bastard to…
“I just have one request tonight.”
You’re in the middle of doing your makeup when his sudden presence pulls your attention away from it. You look at a slightly reluctant Satoru through the vanity mirror, raising a brow and waiting to hear what exactly that request is for tonight.
“Can you wear something that shows your tits more?” Immediately you scoff, and he’s quick to defend himself. “What?! It’s our anniversary!”
You’ve been with him for an entire year now, and he just seems to grow more and more pathetic as the time passes. He’s in nothing but boxers, begging you to show off some cleavage, for fucks sake.
“You see my tits every night,” you scold him.
“And I want to see them some more tonight, too.”
You scoff. “Sato—“
“Please,” he cuts you off with a beg. There’s a bit of a stare off shortly after, with him looking at you like some lost puppy and you inevitably give in, like you always do. He’s hard to say no to when he gets like this.
“Fine.”
He smiles and walks up to you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss, careful not to mess with your lip liner. “Love you.”
“I love you, too,” you softly say, before barely scolding him again. “Now go put your suit on, you’re the one that said the driver was gonna be here soon.”
“Yeah, whatever— he can wait,” he waves a hand, lazily walking up to the sea of suits he has in your shared closet.
“Hey, Satoru?”
“Hm?”
“If we’re even one minute late, I’m putting on a fucking turtleneck.” “…Fine.”
the time the bright prince feels terribly and woefully neglected by his wife… and you become convinced he’s having an affair
genre/warnings:
mildly suggestive, crack, misunderstandings, insecurities, comfort, fluff, mentions of blood, lannister!reader, they have a newborn!
notes:
another part of the dragon and the lioness but can be read as a standalone. based on this ask heheh <3
Maegor Targaryen.
Aerion had told you that was the only name worthy of his son.
Thankfully, he was nothing like the fearsome legacy attached to that name. With his round, full cheeks, soft silver curls, and wide violet eyes brimming with pure curiosity, the babe looked every bit the picture of innocence. Wherever he went, hearts seemed to melt at the sight of him.
Yet for all his sweetness, Maegor possessed one trait that vexed his father to a degree—
He demanded every ounce of his mother’s attention all day and night. Your attention.
“He’s three moons old,” you reminded him one evening with a frown as Aerion watched Maegor sleeping peacefully against your chest, after telling you how his son had to start learning to let go of you. “He needs his mother and I would have him.”
“Three moons old,” Aerion muttered darkly, “and already a usurper.”
Maegor chose that exact moment to sigh contentedly in his sleep and burrow deeper against you, as if mocking him altogether.
The Bright Prince had begun keeping count of your neglection of him. You would visit the nursery first thing in the morning, and should the babe merely blink his large violet eyes and make a particularly pitiful sound, he would refuse the wet nurses and only cease his whimpering when you held him.
And thus, if he cried, you were there.
If he fussed, you were also there.
Spoiled little thing, his son was. What was the purpose of wet nurses if the boy spent half his waking hours attached to you? He really ought to fire them one of these days.
“They said sons take after their fathers, do they not?”
Daeron snickered after draining another goblet of wine, seemingly enjoying his brother’s predicament. “Your son simply makes it obvious to the rest of us how ravenous you are with your lady wife, brother.”
Aerion shot him glare, internally questioning himself why he had agreed to sit down for drinks with his wastrel of a brother.
“I have spent the past three moons exercising a degree of restraint bordering on sainthood, you mongrel.”
That was not an exaggeration. Since Maegor’s arrival, the intimacy he once enjoyed with you had become frustratingly few and far between, and he had to think at least thrice these days to take you to bed!
To his credit, he had adhered to the advice of maesters so far— that was to give you more time following the difficult birth.
Daeron stared at him, then barked out a laugh loud enough to startle the maids. He leaned back in his chair, grinning like a fox.
“Gods above, you are serious! Well, since you have nothing better to do, then come with me tonight.”
“For what?”
“For a good time, obviously. There is a feast in the city. Music, drink, performers, gambling, a lot of pretty wenches too—”
“Bwah!”
It astounded even you that your babe could be this adorable. He looked so much like Aerion too that, at times, it felt as though you were cradling a happier, guileless miniature of your husband in your arms.
“He looks so much like his sire, does he not?” You poked Maegor’s plump cheek, and he immediately rewarded you with a toothless grin.
Your lady’s maid sighed with a smile, nearly melted on the spot. “The image of him, my lady. Those eyes and hair especially.”
You laughed softly and pressed a kiss to Maegor’s forehead, placing him back in his cradle.
Motherhood suited you far more than you had imagined. The long nights, the exhaustion... none of it seemed to matter whenever your little boy wrapped his tiny fingers around you or smiled at the sound of your voice. You loved every moment of it.
Yet if you were being truthful with yourself, you missed Aerion too. Before Maegor’s birth, your prince had scarcely gone a day without finding an excuse to pull you into his arms, but now your days and nights revolved around your son, and the moments you spent alone together had become increasingly rare.
And lately, something felt... different. Aerion had begun returning later than usual, and he smelled of wine. The first time, you dismissed it, but by the fourth, a knot had begun forming in your stomach. Since when had he taken to drinking?
Then one afternoon, while walking through the castle with Maegor in your arms, you happened upon two servants speaking in hushed voices—
“The princes have gone again!”
“Again?”
“Aye. To the town.”
“The new establishment?”
“The very same. They say the owner imported women from across the Narrow Sea and Essos. They cost a fortune...”
It didn’t take you long to figure out that they were talking about a pleasure house. Your stomach twisted. The princes?
They must mean Daeron, surely? But who was the other prince? Because, there was no way that Aerion was seeking comfort from common whores now—
Then again, the word of his brashness towards the princess consort, Valarr’s wife, was apparently quite well-known in King’s Landing. A princess from Pentos, she was an exotic beauty, meanwhile you...
People rarely described you as beautiful. Sweet and pleasant to look upon, they would say, but definitely not the kind that would ensnare princes at the first sight like she did. Moreover, after bearing a child, your body was no longer quite the same as it once had been.
The thought lodged itself in your mind, and despite every effort to dismiss it, a terrible possibility began gnawing at you. What if he has indeed sought comfort elsewhere?
You hated yourself for even thinking it. But when one night, several days later, you spotted him near the servants’ quarters with a woman adorned with golden ornaments unlike anything worn in Westeros—
Your breath caught when Aerion had both of her wrists pinned together in one hand and cornered her.
A great many things seemed determined to test Aerion’s patience these days.
The councils. His father’s demands. Daeron’s antics. By the time evening fell, a dull ache had settled behind the back of his head, and all he wanted was peace, a cup of wine, and his wife.
Especially his wife. The thought to have you wrap him in your arms was enough to ease some of the tension from his shoulders as he strode through the corridors toward your chambers.
However, when he entered it, the warmth he expected was entirely absent. The chamber was darker than usual, half of the candles unlit. You sat perfectly still before the vanity desk, didn’t even turn or rise to greet him.
“Wife?” he asked, stepping forward with a frown. Usually, you favored dark room when you were unwell. “Are you ill—”
“Who is she?”
Your voice was eerily quiet, yet cut through the air so sharply. It was so abrupt that for a moment he simply stared at you, and only after a solid minute did you turn to him, your expression cold enough to frost glass.
“If you tell me now, I may still find it in myself to be merciful and merely send her away. Is it Pentos? Myr? Or perhaps Lys?” The corner of your mouth curved into a sneer. “Lys is famous for its prostitutes, after all.”
Aerion’s jaw tightened. “What do you imply me doing, wife?”
A surge of anger rushed through his veins, severely taking offense. How could you think that lowly of him?
But whatever retort had been forming on his tongue died immediately, because to his astonishment, there were tears in your eyes.
“I gave you a son. I nearly died bringing him into this world.” Your voice trembled slightly as you rose from your seat. “I know we are not always of the same mind, but how could you humiliate me by bringing a common whore here? Do you intend to flaunt her to me?”
You looked devastated, and more than anything, he hated that look in your face. Who had planted this absurdity in your head?
“You are talking nonsense—”
“Nonsense?” Your voice rose sharply. “I saw you with her!”
This had to end. Suddenly Aerion crossed the distance between you in three strides, and you flinched as his hand caught your shoulder, attempting to pull away, but he would not allow it and forced you to face him.
“Look.”
He lifted his other hand before you. At first you did not understand, then your gaze fell upon the gold band encircling his finger. His wedding band.
Aerion stared at you hard, his violet eyes blazing.
“I have worn this since you put it on me on the day of our wedding, and never removed it since.”
On the day of your wedding, the two of you had scarcely been able to tolerate one another. You blinked as another tear fell, trying to hold yourself together.
“You think I would dishonor you? Shame the mother of my son?” he said through clenched teeth. “I still could see the blood you shed in childbed even in my nightmares. Does that mean nothing to you?”
Three days after Maegor’s birth, your fever worsened and you fell unconscious. You remembered feeling cold, and the bleeding had the sheets beneath you soaked with red. When you awoke, the maesters were surrounding your bed, and your maids were crying.
But standing tall amidst them was Aerion, who never left your side for the remainder of the night. Later, you were told he had threatened every maester in the Red Keep with death should they fail to save you.
The fury in his violet eyes burned brighter. “Tell me, wife— what part of that ordeal would make me look at another wench and decide she is worth more than you?”
You were still not fully convinced. “But you... the servants saw you going to the whorehouse—”
Aerion let out a harsh exhale.
“I was retrieving Daeron,” he grounded out, each word bitter. “Father’s orders. The wench you saw me with is his whore. A fortune-seeking dullard, I just banished her from Summerhall.”
“You have been drinking lately too—”
“So now I’m forbidden from having a drink?” A muscle twitched beneath his right eye. “I face constant shit and my foolish brother every day. I can’t even bed my wife when she’s next to me and our son hogs her time all day and everyday, meanwhile she is thinking I’m hiding some whore in another chamber— and now I cannot drink? Tell me, do you actually want me to keep my sanity, or do you want to see me lose it and hang the first man I see?”
Somehow, the way he phrased it made you feel sorry for him. You pursed your lips, looking away. “Sure, have your drink, then...”
“Oh, I fucking will, woman, but first thing first—”
Before you could even gasp, he dived in, crushing his lips against yours.
The anger that had choked the room only moments ago dissolved into an instant, consuming heat. It was a punishing kiss at first, choking the breath out of you, but it quickly melted sensually as his hands roamed the curve of your body.
It sure had been a while since he had his hands on you. A moan escaped your lips when he fondled your breasts and pressed you against his torso, creating a delicious friction.
When he finally pulled away, it was with a heavy, ragged breath. His gaze burning down into your eyes as his thumb gently traced your lower lip, which was now swollen from his kisses.
“If it were up to me,” Aerion murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper, “I would fuck you senseless—”
His expression softened, a rare, vulnerable shadow crossing his features along with the rise and fall of his chest. “It’s taking everything in me not to. The fever after your last labor nearly took you from me, and I won’t gamble with your life.”
“I can take moon tea—”
“That blasted tea will make you sick. You are not taking that until it’s absolutely necessary.”
You blinked up at him, your expression softening into a sweet gaze that completely disarmed him. The sheer innocence in your eyes was his undoing.
With a low groan, Aerion leaned down and pulled you in for another deep, lingering kiss, sealing his lust against your lips, before trailing his mouth downward, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder to suck your skin hungrily.
“Who could have known…” His voice was a low, teasing rasp, the words vibrating directly against the skin of your neck, “that my wife is such a fiercely jealous woman that she actually made herself cry?”
He was relishing in this, you realized. When he broke away this time, a victorious smirk touched his lips. “Are you content now, my jealous wife?”
You shot him a look, feeling a heat rush to your face. You tried to muster a glare, but the blush staining your cheeks betrayed you entirely.
“Incorrigible man...” you muttered, turning your face away to hide your embarrassment.
Aerion only laughed, the sound rich and genuinely amused—a rare sound for him these days. “Perhaps,” he conceded, his thumb gently tugging your chin back so you were forced to look at him. “Now what else should I prove to you so you will be satisfied?”
“I want Maegor now.”
Your husband arched an eyebrow, exasperated.
“This is absolute treachery,” he muttered, though there was no real heat in his words. “I finally get you to myself, and you immediately call for that little tyrant?”
. . .
A few moments later, the maids entered the chamber, gently putting baby Maegor into your waiting arms. The moment the infant settled against your chest, he let out a happy, bubbling giggle, his tiny hands reaching up towards your face.
“He is fat.”
You scowled, tightening your hold over your son protectively. “I love him fat.”
Aerion stood unhappily over the two of you, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the display.
Yet, as he looked down at his son, a sudden realization washed over him—
He had always thought the boy took entirely after him, but looking closely at Maegor’s beaming smile, Aerion saw you. The babe had his violet eyes and his silver hair, but the contour of his face, the gentle curve of his lips, the crinkle of his eyes—it was all yours.
His son also has a piece of you. Now he sort of understood why he also found him adorable.
“Let me hold him,” he said, already pulling the babe from your grasp.
He brought Maegor against his own broad chest. It was a surreal sight, seeing your brooding prince cradling a fragile, soft infant with the utmost care.
Your heart warmed at the sight though, a profound sense of peace settling over you as you looked at the two absolute loves of your life.
Epilogue
The tender silence lasted for only a minute. Maegor, apparently deciding he had tolerated his father’s hold, suddenly squirmed. With a whimper of protest, the babe pushed his small hands against his father’s chest, fighting the embrace.
Before Aerion could adjust his grip, Maegor’s chubby little hand shot upward, unceremoniously slapping right at his father’s face, as well as scratching his jawline.
Aerion blinked, his head tilting back in sheer disbelief at the audacity of his own flesh and blood. He looked completely stunned, before a look of deep betrayal crossed his features as he glared at his son and you utterly failed to contain yourself and burst into a fit of giggles.
࿐tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, smut, angst (with eventual fluff), slight canon divergence, arranged marriage, satoru is emotionally detached, he's kinda a dick at times, breeding, praise, some degradation, loss of virginity, mentions of infidelity, mentions of a prior scandal, separated family dynamic, misogynistic themes, pregnancy complications.
࿐summary. the gojo clan is untouchable, and their new ruler, gojo satoru, is the most powerful sorcerer of his generation—unrivaled, unrestricted, and utterly uncontrollable. for years, he has defied the expectations of his clan, rejecting tradition, resisting the cage they built for him. but even the strongest must bow to duty. a deal struck, a marriage arranged. you, the daughter of a fallen clan, are chosen to stand at his side. not out of love, but because gojo satoru always gets what he wants. and if he's obligated to marry, fuck it, he wants you. though, you quickly learn that your place is not beside him—but beneath him. why? because gojo satoru doesn’t do love.
࿐wc. currently 48k
࿐a/n. hello! welcome to the masterlist for my series :) thank you for reading, and please keep in mind that updates might take longer with this fic. i will update tags/warnings as the story progresses.
࿐series tags ➔ #vod #vows of duty #arranged! clanhead satoru
♫ playlist ➔ ao3 ➔ primary masterlist
❥・ part 1 ❥・ part 2 ❥・ part 3 ❥・ part 4 ➔ (pending...) ❥・ part 5 ➔ (pending...)
synopsis: You die completely at random and wake up in the manhwa you were reading… as the villainous wife of the Duke of the North, no less. The same woman who spent the last six months giving her husband the cold shoulder, ruining their marriage, and basically speedrunning her own execution.
Now you have exactly one job: fix this disaster of a relationship before your husband decides to finish what the original plot started.
a\n: longest fic i’ve written so far. nearly lost my mind, almost scrapped it entirely, questioned every life choice that led me here, but somehow, against all odds… it’s done. so glad its over LOL
You died while reading a manhwa.
One moment you were curled up in bed at 3 a.m., a blanket pulled up to your chin, the only light in your dark room coming from your phone screen. Your eyes were glued to the latest chapter of The Duke’s Black Heart, thumb hovering over the final panel as frustration and reluctant longing twisted in your chest. The illustration was breathtakingly brutal: Duke Ryomen Sukuna standing tall amid swirling snow, pink hair tousled by the wind, crimson eyes empty of mercy, black tattoos stark against his skin as he looked down at the broken body of his wife.
The page loaded one last time. The panel filled your screen. Then your vision blurred, the room spun violently, and everything went black. No pain. No final breath. Just sudden, heavy nothing.
And then you woke up somewhere else.
Cold air rushes into your lungs, sharp and biting. Your eyes flutter open slowly, lashes feeling unusually heavy. You’re lying in a massive four-poster bed, the canopy above you made of thick crimson velvet that drapes down like heavy curtains. The silk sheets beneath you are cool and slippery against your skin in a way that feels far too expensive, far too unfamiliar. Thick blankets weighted with fur press down on your body, carrying a faint scent of woodsmoke and aged iron. Your limbs feel wrong — too slender, too delicate. When you lift your hands, they are smaller, with smooth palms and perfectly manicured nails that catch the dim morning light filtering through tall, frost-laced windows.
You push yourself up into a sitting position. The silk nightgown slips off one shoulder. A large, ornately framed mirror stands across the room, reflecting the lavish bedchamber: dark wood furniture, heavy tapestries on the walls, a fireplace crackling faintly in the corner. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting cold stone that sends a shiver racing up your spine.
You turn toward the mirror.
The face staring back at you is not your own. It is strikingly beautiful in a refined, aristocratic way that feels both alien and intimidating.
You have transmigrated.
You are now the villainess.
Duke Ryomen Sukuna’s wife of exactly six months.
The realization slams into you like ice water. Memories that don’t belong to you flood your mind in vivid, unrelenting flashes. The forced marriage ceremony under the Emperor’s decree. The wedding night where her body had lain stiff and unresponsive beneath his, silent tears tracking down her cheeks as she called him a beast under her breath and swore she would never allow him to touch her again. Six agonizing months of total, deliberate silence: never speaking a single word directly to him, never sharing his table, never sharing his bed. Only curt notes passed through servants, hidden schemes whispered to outsiders, and a cold, hateful distance that grew sharper every day. Sukuna’s contempt had hardened into something lethal.
In the original story, he kills her. Publicly. Brutally. Before the year is out — dragging her into the courtyard and ending her life with the same large, scarred hands you’ve fantasized about for months.
And now I’m her.
Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Panic explodes in your chest, tight and suffocating. Your hands fly up to press against your sternum, feeling the frantic thud of a heart that isn’t supposed to be yours. Cold sweat prickles along your hairline and down your back. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. If I don’t change this right now, he will kill me. I have to win him over — the man I’ve been completely obsessed with — before he decides I’m still that same woman who deserves to die.
The heavy wooden door creaks open. Two maids slip inside, heads bowed low, shoulders hunched like they’re expecting the worst. They carry a tray between them with a pitcher of steaming water, neatly folded linens, and a small bowl of scented oil. Their footsteps are quick but nearly silent on the cold stone floor, as if they’re trying to disturb you as little as possible.
“My Lady,” the older maid says quietly, almost whispering as she carefully sets the tray down on the side table. “We’re here to help you dress. Your usual silks today?”
You swallow and keep your voice soft. “No, not the silks. Something simpler and warmer, please. I’m going down to have breakfast with the Duke in the dining hall.”
The younger maid’s eyes go wide. She almost drops the pitcher, water sloshing dangerously over the rim and dripping onto the floor. “Breakfast… with His Grace?” she blurts, voice cracking with surprise. “In the dining hall?”
The older maid quickly elbows her and forces a nervous smile, though her hands are visibly shaking. “Are you sure, My Lady? He always eats alone. He might not… like it if you show up.”
You nod, sliding your legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor is icy against your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. “I’m sure. Please help me get ready.” You pause, then add gently, “And thank you. Both of you.”
The maids go completely still. The younger one stares at you with her mouth slightly open, pitcher forgotten in her hands. The older one blinks rapidly, her hands freezing mid-air above the tray. They exchange a wide-eyed, startled glance, the kind that speaks volumes without a single word. The silence stretches for a long, awkward moment, thick with confusion and unease.
Finally, the older maid clears her throat. “Of course, My Lady. Right away.”
They hesitate for another heartbeat, still stealing uncertain glances at you, before hurrying into motion. Their hands are a little clumsier than usual as they help you out of the nightgown and into a heavy charcoal gown with long sleeves. The soft wool feels warm and comforting against the chill in the air. While they brush out your hair and pin it up in a simple style, they keep darting quick, nervous looks at your reflection in the mirror. The younger maid’s fingers tremble slightly as she works, and the older one’s breathing is a touch too shallow.
They finish dressing you in tense, heavy silence. Once they step back, you thank them again. They both bow deeply, still visibly unsettled, and you step out into the torch-lit corridor. Servants you pass press themselves flat against the walls, whispering frantically the moment your back is turned. Your heart hammers louder with every step toward the grand dining hall.
The massive double doors swing open with a low creak.
There he is.
Duke Ryomen Sukuna sits alone at the head of the long oak table. Pale morning light filters through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows across his face. Loose strands of pink hair have escaped their tie and fall across his forehead. His dark tunic stretches tight over broad, powerfully muscled shoulders, the collar open just enough to reveal the edges of intricate black tattoos that swirl across his collarbones and down his arms. Crimson eyes are narrowed in concentration as he cuts into a thick slab of meat with slow, deliberate strokes of his knife. Old scars mark the visible skin of his neck and the backs of his large, calloused hands. He radiates raw, quiet danger — the kind that makes the air feel heavier. This is the man you’ve spent months fantasizing about, the one whose every appearance in the manhwa made your pulse race.
You walk straight to the chair on his right — the seat that has stayed empty for the entire six months of your marriage — and sit down.
His knife stops mid-cut.
The silence is immediate and suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire.
Sukuna’s crimson gaze lifts slowly. It locks onto you with raw disbelief and burning disgust. His jaw clenches, the scar along his cheek tightening. For a long moment he simply stares, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re real or some new form of insult.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low and rough, laced with irritation.
You swallow hard, hands trembling under the table. You force a small, nervous smile and say softly, “Good morning, husband. I thought it might be nice to have breakfast together for once.”
The words hang in the air.
Sukuna’s expression darkens. He sets the knife down with a sharp clink that echoes through the hall. Slowly he rises to his full height, towering over you — tall, broad-chested, every inch the warlord who has killed without hesitation. The look he gives you is ice-cold.
“You thought it would be nice?” His voice is low, cold, and dripping with contempt. “Six fucking months you couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me… and now you suddenly decide to play house?”
He pushes the chair back with a harsh scrape and rises to his full height, towering over you. His large hand clenches so tightly around the back of the chair that the wood groans in protest.
“Just looking at you ruins my appetite.”
Without another word, he turns sharply on his heel. His cloak snaps behind him like a whip as he stalks out of the hall. The heavy doors slam shut with a deafening boom that echoes through the room and makes the silverware rattle on the table.
You’re left completely alone at the long table, staring at his abandoned plate as the food rapidly cools. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.
This is going to be so much harder than I thought.
But you don’t run. You pick up your fork with still-shaking fingers, take a small bite of the now-lukewarm food, and force yourself to swallow. A heavy, determined weight settles in your stomach alongside the food.
The rest of the morning dragged by in a haze of nervous energy. You moved carefully through the castle, speaking softly to the servants, thanking them for small things, and trying not to overwhelm anyone with your sudden change in behavior. Every time someone flinched or stared too long, your stomach twisted. You knew they were waiting for the old you to snap back into place.
By mid-afternoon the light outside had shifted to a softer gold, and the castle felt a little less oppressive. You decided it was time to try something more direct.
You found one of the kitchen maids and asked her to prepare a simple tray — strong black tea, warm bread, and a few slices of roasted meat. These were the things you remembered him enjoying in the manhwa, the small details you’d clung to while reading late at night. Nothing too elaborate. When the tray was ready, you took it yourself, ignoring the wide-eyed, startled looks from the staff as you carried it down the long corridor toward Sukuna’s private study. Your heart beat faster with every step.
Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to climb out of your throat. Two guards outside the heavy double doors stared at you in open confusion but didn’t stop you. You paused for a second, took a steadying breath, and knocked once.
A gruff “Come in” came from inside.
You pushed the door open and stepped into the study.
The room was exactly the kind of place you’d pictured him in — tall shelves lined with old books and rolled scrolls, a massive oak desk covered in maps and scattered letters, weapons mounted neatly on one wall. A fire burned low in the hearth, filling the air with the faint smell of smoke and polished leather. Sukuna sat behind the desk, quill in hand, pink hair tied back messily with a few loose strands falling forward. He didn’t look up right away, focused on whatever he was writing.
Then his crimson eyes flicked up.
The moment they landed on you holding the tray, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His expression shifted from irritation to pure suspicion in a heartbeat.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, voice low and flat, like he was already tired of whatever game he thought you were playing.
You stepped further inside and carefully set the tray down on the edge of his desk, trying not to let your hands shake too obviously. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” you said quietly. “So I brought some tea and a few things. It’s nothing fancy. I just thought… maybe you’d be hungry by now.”
Sukuna leaned back in his chair, studying you like you were a problem he couldn’t quite solve. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. He glanced at the tray, then back at your face.
“You brought me food,” he said slowly, almost like he was testing the words. “You suddenly show up with tea and bread like we’re… what? Friends now?”
He pushed his chair back and stood, circling around the desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of you. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Up close he was even more overwhelming — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of leather and steel and something darker, the way his broad shoulders seemed to fill the space between you.
You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I know I’ve been terrible to you,” you said, voice soft but steady. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away. I just… I want to try and do better. That’s all.”
Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out and picked up one of the slices of bread, turning it over in his large hand as if checking it for poison. Then he dropped it back onto the tray with a quiet scoff.
“You want to try,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief and a sharp edge of mockery. “How convenient. Tell me, wife — what exactly changed overnight? Did someone put you up to this?”
His hand suddenly came up, fingers gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His touch was warm, rough from years of fighting, and the closeness made your pulse spike.
“Or are you just scared I’ll finally do what everyone’s been expecting me to do for months?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.
Your breath caught. Being this close to him — feeling the intensity rolling off him in waves — made fear and something far more complicated twist together in your stomach.
“I’m not here to scheme,” you whispered. “I just don’t want things to keep being like this.”
Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy moment. His thumb brushed once over your jaw, almost absentmindedly, before he let go and stepped back.
“Get out,” he said, the words cold but quieter than you expected. “And take your pity tray with you.”
He didn’t move away any further. He stayed standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with dark, unreadable eyes — like he was waiting to see whether you would actually leave… or do something else.
You didn’t argue.
You simply picked up the tray with both hands, gave him a small nod, and left the study without another word. The heavy doors clicked shut behind you. The hallway felt longer than usual as you walked back toward your chambers, the tray growing heavier with every step.
Once inside your room, you set the tray down on a side table and closed the door. Then you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
That went badly.
You let out a slow breath, rubbing your hands over your thighs. The memory of Sukuna’s cold stare and dismissive words kept replaying in your head. He hadn’t even touched the food. He’d barely listened.
Of course he didn’t. Months of silence doesn’t just disappear because I brought him tea.
You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the canopy above the bed. The situation felt heavier now. Fixing this relationship was going to be a lot harder than you’d hoped. He clearly still saw you as the same person who had ignored and schemed against him for half a year. And why wouldn’t he?
If you couldn’t turn this around, things were only going to get worse. You didn’t want to think about how the original story ended, but the possibility lingered in the back of your mind anyway.
You sat there for a while, the afternoon light slowly shifting across the room. Eventually you stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the grounds. Your mind kept turning over what to try next. Another small gesture? Giving him more space? Something else entirely?
It was going to take time. A lot of it. And patience you weren’t sure you had.
You sighed quietly and moved away from the window, already thinking about what you could do tomorrow.
The next morning arrived quietly.
You woke earlier than usual, the soft grey light filtering through the tall windows pulling you from a restless sleep. For a few minutes you lay there, staring at the velvet canopy above the bed, thinking about yesterday. The rejections still stung, but you refused to give up after just one bad day.
You got up, washed, and chose a simple but elegant deep-grey gown. After eating a light breakfast alone in your room, you decided on a different approach today. No trays, no forcing your way into his meals. Just quiet presence.
You made your way to the castle’s main library — a spacious, peaceful room lined with tall shelves of books and scrolls. You picked a thick volume on regional history from the shelves and settled into a comfortable chair near the window where the light was good. Not too close to his usual spot, but not hiding either.
About an hour later, the door opened.
Sukuna walked in, still wearing his cloak from whatever business he’d been handling outside. He stopped short when he saw you already there, book open in your lap.
For a brief second his expression flickered with surprise before settling back into that familiar guarded look.
“You’re here too now,” he said, voice flat as he moved toward the large table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down, spreading some documents in front of him. “Is there anywhere in this castle that’s still mine?”
You closed your book slowly and looked up at him.
“I can leave if you want,” you offered calmly. “I just thought it might be nice to read in here. It’s quiet.”
Sukuna didn’t tell you to go. He leaned back in his chair and studied you for a moment, crimson eyes sharp and assessing.
“You’ve been talking quite a bit these past two days,” he said, tone dry. “More than I’m used to.”
You gave a small, honest shrug. “I know. I’m trying to change that.”
He tapped his fingers once against the table, watching you openly now. “Trying,” he echoed, like he was testing the word. “That’s what you keep saying. But I still don’t know why.”
You hesitated, then answered simply, “Because I don’t like how things have been between us. And I think we could be… better. If we tried.”
Sukuna let out a short, humorless breath and leaned back further, still studying you.
“Better,” he repeated. “That’s a bold claim.” He paused, then added quietly, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in pretending.”
But he didn’t ask you to leave.
You stayed in the library for another hour, reading in silence while he worked across from you. He didn’t speak again, but every so often you caught him glancing in your direction — wary, confused, and just a little unsettled.
It wasn’t much.
But it also wasn’t outright rejection.
You stayed in the library for another hour, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the soft crackle of the fire. You kept your eyes mostly on your book, though you were barely absorbing the words. Every now and then you felt Sukuna’s gaze on you — heavy, searching, and still full of suspicion.
Eventually, he set his quill down with a quiet tap. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he looked at you directly.
“If you’re serious about wanting to fix things,” he said, voice low and even, “then maybe you should start by actually appearing publicly with me.”
You looked up from your book, surprised. He continued before you could respond.
“There’s a ball tomorrow night at the capital. I’m expected to attend.” He paused, studying your reaction. “Rumors have already reached half the empire that my wife hates me. It would be good to change the public perception a little. At least act like a fucking couple for once.”
The invitation — if it could even be called that — hung in the air. It wasn’t warm or romantic. It was a test, plain and simple.
You closed your book slowly and met his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” you said without hesitation. “If that’s what you want.”
Sukuna watched you for a long moment, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, something unreadable flickered across his face.
“Good,” he said simply. Then he stood up, gathering some of his documents. “Be ready by evening tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”
He headed toward the door, cloak shifting over his shoulders. Just before he left, he paused and glanced back at you one last time.
“And try not to embarrass me,” he added, though his tone was less biting than before. Almost… cautious.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet library once again.
You let out a long breath and leaned back in your chair, heart still racing. A public ball. Tomorrow. With Sukuna.
This was a big step — and a dangerous one. You’d have to be careful. Very careful.
But it was also an opportunity. A chance to stand beside him in front of everyone and start showing that you were different.
You stood up, clutching the book to your chest, a mix of nerves and quiet determination settling in your stomach.
Tomorrow it is.
The next day passed in a quiet blur of nerves and preparation.
You spent most of the afternoon trying not to overthink everything, but as evening approached, the anxiety crept in anyway. When the maids finally arrived to help you get ready, they moved around your room with careful, slightly confused energy — still adjusting to this gentler version of their mistress.
You chose a deep crimson gown made of rich, heavy silk that flowed elegantly to the floor. It had long, fitted sleeves and a modestly elegant neckline that showed just enough collarbone to feel refined rather than daring. The maids helped you into it, lacing the back with steady fingers while you stood in front of the large mirror. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against your skin, the color bringing out a quiet intensity you hadn’t expected.
They brushed your hair until it gleamed, working through every tangle with patient strokes. Most of it was pinned up into an elegant style with delicate silver pins, but they left a few soft strands loose to frame your face. One of the maids added a simple but beautiful necklace with a single dark gem that rested just below your collarbone, along with matching earrings. A touch of rose-tinted balm was applied to your lips, and a light dusting of powder to even your complexion.
You stared at your reflection the entire time, heart beating faster. This version of you looked every bit the refined duchess — poised, beautiful, and completely unlike the cold, silent woman the public had come to expect at Sukuna’s side.
“You look beautiful, My Lady,” the older maid said softly as she stepped back, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.
“Thank you,” you replied quietly, smoothing your hands down the front of the gown. Inside, your stomach was in knots. This would be your first real public appearance with Sukuna. Everyone would be watching. Waiting for the usual tension or outright disdain they’d grown used to seeing between the Duke and his wife.
A firm knock sounded at the door.
“He’s ready for you, My Lady,” a servant called from the hallway.
You took one last steadying breath, thanked the maids again, and stepped out.
Sukuna was waiting in the main hall, dressed in formal black with subtle gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. His pink hair was neatly tied back, and the sight of him in full formal attire made your chest tighten. He looked every bit the powerful duke — tall, imposing, and dangerously handsome.
His crimson eyes swept over you slowly, from head to toe. For a moment his expression was unreadable.
“You’re actually coming,” he said, voice low. It wasn’t quite a question.
“I said I would,” you replied simply.
He gave a short nod, then offered his arm. The gesture felt stiff, like he was still testing whether you’d take it or pull away at the last second.
You slipped your hand through his arm without hesitation. His muscles were tense beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away.
As you walked together toward the waiting carriage, he spoke again, keeping his voice low enough that only you could hear.
“People talk. A lot. If we’re going to do this, at least try to look like you don’t hate being next to me.”
You glanced up at him. “I don’t hate it.”
Sukuna didn’t respond, but his grip on your arm tightened just slightly — not painful, just… firmer. Like he was anchoring himself.
The carriage ride to the capital was quiet, the only sounds being the wheels on the road and the occasional shift of fabric. Sukuna sat across from you, watching the passing scenery with a distant expression. Every so often his gaze would drift back to you, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were really there.
When the carriage finally slowed to a stop outside the grand hall, music and warm light spilled out into the night. You could already hear the murmur of voices and feel the weight of the eyes that would soon be on both of you.
Sukuna stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you down. His palm was warm and steady against yours.
“Ready?” he asked, voice gruff.
You nodded, slipping your hand back into the crook of his arm.
“Then let’s go act like a fucking couple.”
The grand hall glowed under hundreds of crystal chandeliers, casting warm golden light across marble floors and velvet-draped walls. Music from a full orchestra swelled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and the rustle of silk and satin gowns. The scent of expensive perfumes, fresh flowers, and roasted meats from the banquet tables hung heavy in the room.
The moment you and Sukuna stepped through the tall arched entrance together, the entire atmosphere shifted.
Conversations faltered. Heads turned. A ripple of surprised murmurs spread through the crowd like a wave.
You felt every eye on you. Some were curious, some shocked, many openly calculating. The Duke and Duchess of the North rarely appeared together in public — and when they had in the past, it had always been marked by cold distance and icy silence.
Tonight was different.
Sukuna’s arm was solid beneath your fingers as he guided you forward. His posture was straight and commanding, every inch the powerful Duke Sukuna the empire feared and respected. You stayed close, your hand resting lightly but deliberately on his arm, chin lifted with quiet confidence.
A portly lord with a heavy gold chain and an embroidered waistcoat approached first, bowing deeply.
“Your Grace, Duke Sukuna,” he said smoothly, then turned to you with a slightly wider smile. “And Duchess… what an unexpected pleasure to see you both together this evening.”
Sukuna gave a curt nod. “My wife wished to attend. I saw no reason to refuse her.”
The lord’s eyebrows rose, but he recovered quickly. “How wonderful. The two of you make quite the striking pair tonight. The Duke and Duchess of the North, united at last.”
You offered a polite, gentle smile. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
Sukuna’s arm tensed slightly under your hand, but he didn’t pull away. As the lord moved on, more nobles drifted closer, drawn by the unusual sight. You heard the whispers clearly now.
“...the Duke and Duchess actually look civil…”
“I thought she hated him…”
“Look at them. She’s practically standing with him…”
Sukuna kept you close the entire time, one large hand occasionally resting at the small of your back as you moved through the hall. The touch was possessive, almost protective, even if his face remained cool and composed.
Later, when the orchestra struck up a slower, more intimate melody, Sukuna leaned down, his voice low against your ear.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
You nodded. He led you onto the polished floor, one broad hand settling firmly on your waist while the other held yours. He moved with surprising grace for someone of his size and power — confident, controlled, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. You followed his lead, hyper-aware of every point of contact: the heat of his palm burning through the silk of your gown, the solid wall of his chest so close to yours, the faint scent of leather and smoke that clung to him.
For a few moments the rest of the room seemed to fade.
“You’re doing better than I expected,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the music. His crimson eyes flicked down to meet yours. “People are staring less like they’re waiting for us to start arguing in the middle of the floor.”
You looked up at him, a small genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I told you I wanted to try.”
His grip on your waist tightened just slightly. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your gown, almost absentmindedly.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, though there was less bite in his tone than usual. “This doesn’t mean I trust you yet.”
“I know,” you replied softly. “But thank you for giving me the chance anyway.”
Sukuna didn’t answer. But he also didn’t let go of you when the song ended. Instead, he kept his hand on your lower back as he guided you off the floor, staying closer than strictly necessary.
A short while later, a group of older lords approached Sukuna. One of them — a tall man with silver hair and sharp features — gave a respectful bow.
“Your Grace, if we could steal a moment of your time? There are some matters regarding the northern border that require your input.”
Sukuna’s jaw tightened for a brief second. He glanced down at you, then back at the lords.
“Fine,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”
Before he stepped away, he leaned in close to your ear, voice low. “Stay here. Don’t wander off.”
You nodded. His hand lingered on your waist for one extra second before he pulled away and followed the group toward a quieter side balcony for their discussion.
Suddenly, you were alone.
You stood near the edge of the dance floor, champagne glass in hand, trying to look more relaxed than you felt. The weight of curious stares hadn’t faded. A few noblewomen still whispered behind their fans, and every so often someone would glance your way with open speculation.
A deep, smooth voice spoke from your left.
“Duchess, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction tonight.”
You turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and sharp green eyes watching you with a lazy, confident smile. He was dressed in deep emerald and black, a marquess’s insignia pinned neatly to his lapel.
“Marquess Toji Fushiguro,” he introduced himself with a respectful bow of his head. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years. Though I must say, seeing you here with the Duke tonight is… refreshing.”
His tone was warm and easy, without any obvious scheming edge. You felt yourself relax just a little.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquess,” you replied with a small smile. “I’ve heard your name mentioned before. You handle the eastern trade routes, don’t you?”
Toji’s smile widened, looking genuinely pleased that you knew. “I do. Though I’m surprised you’re familiar with such dull matters. Most duchesses prefer to stay far away from trade talk.”
The conversation flowed surprisingly well. He was charming in a straightforward, slightly roguish way — asking light questions about the northern estates, commenting on the music, and even making a dry joke about how stiff most balls tended to be. You found yourself smiling more naturally, the tension in your shoulders easing as you chatted. For the first time that evening, talking to someone felt… comfortable.
Toji tilted his head slightly, green eyes glinting with curiosity. “If I may be bold, Duchess — you seem different tonight than what the rumors suggested. Happier, perhaps?”
You were about to respond when a large, familiar hand suddenly slid around your waist from behind, fingers gripping your hip with clear possessiveness. A warm, solid body pressed against your back, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Sukuna.
His grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. The heat of his body seeped through the silk of your gown, and his thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone — a blatant, territorial claim.
Toji’s easy smile faltered for half a second before he recovered, inclining his head respectfully.
“Duke Sukuna,” he greeted calmly. “I was just keeping your wife company while you were occupied.”
Sukuna’s voice was low and dangerous, rumbling against your back. “I can see that.” His hand stayed firmly on your hip, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. “Though I don’t recall asking anyone to entertain my duchess.”
You felt the tension rolling off him in waves. His other arm came around your other side, almost caging you against him in front of the entire hall.
Toji raised an eyebrow, still perfectly civil. “No offense meant, Your Grace. It was an honor speaking with the Duchess.”
Sukuna didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke loud enough for Toji to hear.
“We’re leaving this conversation,” he said flatly. Then, louder, “Come, wife.”
Sukuna didn’t stop walking until he had guided you into a quieter corner of the grand hall, partially shielded by a tall marble pillar and heavy crimson velvet drapes. The music and chatter of the ball felt distant now, muffled. His hand never left your hip. If anything, his grip tightened, fingers digging possessively into the silk of your gown as though he needed the contact to ground himself.
He turned you to face him with surprising care, then backed you gently but firmly against the cool marble pillar. One large hand stayed locked on your waist while the other came up to brace beside your head, effectively caging you in. His body heat enveloped you instantly — warm, solid, and overwhelming. The faint scent of smoke, leather, and something darker clung to him, making your pulse stutter.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. His crimson eyes burned down into yours with unmistakable intensity. “Laughing with him like the two of you were old friends. Did you forget you’re here with me tonight?”
The jealousy in his tone was unmistakable — sharp, dark, and barely leashed.
You kept your voice calm, though your heart was racing. “We were only talking. He was civil. Nothing more.”
Sukuna’s jaw clenched visibly. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over the curve of your hip through the thin silk, a possessive caress that sent heat rushing across your skin.
“Civil,” he repeated, the word laced with pure disdain. “I saw the way he looked at you. The way he smiled at you.”
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate. “And here I thought you were trying to mend our relationship. Yet the second I turn my back, you’re chatting and smiling with another man like it means nothing.”
His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against the hard wall of his chest. You could feel the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained frustration rolling off him in waves. One of his fingers slipped just beneath the edge of your gown, brushing bare skin at your hip — a deliberate, claiming touch.
“I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he growled softly, lips brushing your ear. “Especially not with bastards like Toji Fushiguro.”
You swallowed hard, breath shallow. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was just being polite while you were busy.”
Sukuna let out a low, dangerous sound in the back of his throat — half a scoff, half a laugh. His free hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his burning crimson gaze.
“Polite,” he murmured, thumb stroking slowly along your jawline. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of here the moment I saw his hand move toward you.”
His eyes dropped to your lips for a long, heavy second. The air between you felt charged, electric, like the tension might snap at any moment. For a heartbeat you thought he might kiss you right there — hard, claiming, in full view of everyone still watching from across the hall.
Instead, he leaned in until his lips ghosted against your ear again.
“Next time someone approaches you while I’m gone,” he said, voice dark and velvet-rough, “you tell them you belong to me. Clearly. Because if I have to remind them myself… I won’t be nearly as polite.”
His fingers flexed on your hip in one final, possessive squeeze — a silent promise — before he slowly stepped back. His hand remained at the small of your back, heavy and unrelenting.
The music swelled again around you.
Sukuna’s expression smoothed into something cooler and more composed for the public eye, but the heat in his eyes stayed locked on you.
“Come,” he said, voice still low. “We’re dancing again. And this time, you’re not leaving my side for the rest of the night.”
Sukuna led you back onto the dance floor without another word, his hand firm on your waist, pulling you closer than strictly proper for a public setting. The orchestra had shifted into a slower, more intimate melody — strings and soft piano weaving through the air. Couples swirled around you, but you barely noticed them. All you could focus on was the heat of Sukuna’s body pressed against yours, the way his fingers splayed possessively across your lower back, and the unmistakable tension radiating from him.
He moved with controlled grace, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Your bodies were flush together, chest to chest, his thigh occasionally brushing yours as you turned. Every point of contact felt electric.
“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “What happened to all that polite conversation you were having with the marquess?”
You tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. “You told me not to leave your side. I’m listening.”
A low sound rumbled in his chest — not quite a laugh. His hand slid lower on your back, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.
“Good girl,” he said softly, almost mockingly, though the heat in his eyes was anything but. “Keep listening. I don’t want to see you smiling at anyone else like that tonight.”
The jealousy was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in the way he held you — tighter than necessary, almost like he was daring anyone to try approaching you again.
As you turned under his arm and came back into his embrace, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“He thought he had a chance,” he continued, voice rough. “Like he didn’t know exactly who you belong to.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “Maybe I need to make it clearer.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs. Being this close to him — surrounded by the swirl of music and watching eyes — made everything feel heightened. The scent of him, the solid strength of his body, the barely restrained possessiveness in every touch.
“Sukuna…” you started softly.
He cut you off by pulling you even closer, until there was almost no space left between you. His breath was warm against your temple.
“You wanted to mend things,” he reminded you, tone dark. “Then stop giving other men reasons to think they can talk to my wife like that. Smile at me. Stay close to me.”
The song began to slow, but Sukuna didn’t release you. He kept you locked in his arms even as other couples started drifting apart. His hand slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine through the silk, a silent claim in front of the entire hall.
When the music finally faded, he didn’t let go right away. He stared down at you, crimson eyes heavy with something dangerous and hungry.
“We’re leaving,” he said abruptly, voice low. “I’ve had enough of these people watching us.”
He didn’t wait for your agreement. His hand stayed firmly at the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Nobles parted for him instinctively, eyes wide at the sight of the Duke and Duchess leaving together so early — and so obviously entangled.
The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside. Sukuna kept you close as you waited for the carriage, his arm wrapped around your waist like he still wasn’t ready to stop touching you.
Once inside the carriage, he sat beside you instead of across from you. The door had barely closed before his hand was back on your thigh, gripping possessively through the fabric of your gown.
The carriage started moving, carrying you both back toward the estate through the dark roads. Sukuna’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, heavy and warm — a silent reminder of exactly who you belonged to.
By the time it finally rolled to a stop in front of the castle, the moon hung high in the sky. The journey had been quiet, thick with lingering tension. Sukuna hadn’t spoken a word, but his grip on your thigh never loosened.
When the footman opened the door, Sukuna stepped out first and offered you his hand. You took it, letting him help you down onto the stone steps. The cool night air felt refreshing after the stuffy ballroom, but it did little to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach.
He walked you inside, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back the whole way through the dimly lit halls. Servants bowed and quickly disappeared when they saw you both. The castle felt unusually still.
When you reached the point where the corridors split — one leading to his private wing, the other to yours — Sukuna stopped. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable in the low torchlight.
“You did well tonight,” he admitted grudgingly, staring at you for a long moment before glancing away. “But if I see him — or anyone else — near you again like that…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Sukuna gave a short nod, almost like he was dismissing you. “Goodnight.”
He turned to leave, heading toward his own chambers.
You stood there for a second, heart pounding, before the words slipped out — soft, shy, and a little nervous.
“Wait…”
Sukuna paused, looking back at you over his shoulder.
You swallowed, cheeks warming as you forced yourself to speak. “You know… we can’t really fix things as a couple if we keep sleeping separately"
The words hung in the air between you. They sounded bolder than you felt.
Sukuna went completely still. For several long seconds he simply stared at you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but something darker, more dangerous.
“Is that so?” he said, voice low and rough. He took one step back toward you, then another, until he was standing close again. “You’re asking to sleep in my bed now?”
He tilted his head, studying your face like he was trying to find the trick in your words. His hand came up, fingers lightly brushing your jaw as he looked down at you.
“Careful, wife,” he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You keep pushing like this… I might start thinking you actually mean it.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth for a long second before returning to your eyes. The tension between you crackled again, even stronger than it had been at the ball.
Sukuna didn’t move away. He waited, watching you closely, as if daring you to take it back… or push further.
The silence stretched, heavy and charged. His thumb was still resting against your lower lip, warm and rough, while his crimson eyes searched your face for any sign of deception. You could practically feel the suspicion rolling off him in waves.
Finally, he let out a slow breath, almost a scoff.
“…Fine,” he said, voice low and guarded. “If that’s what you want.”
He stepped back slightly, but his hand stayed on your waist, fingers still gripping you with quiet possessiveness. His expression remained cold, cautious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Don’t expect this to mean anything,” he added, tone flat. “I’m still not convinced you’ve changed. But if you’re so determined to play the part of a real wife… then come.”
He turned and started walking down the corridor toward his private wing, keeping his hand on the small of your back to guide you along with him. The touch was firm — not gentle, but not forceful either. It felt like both an invitation and a test.
The halls were quiet at this hour, lit only by flickering torches. Every step echoed softly. Sukuna didn’t speak again until you reached the heavy wooden doors to his chambers. He pushed them open without hesitation and stepped inside, holding the door for you.
His rooms were large and unmistakably his — dark wood furniture, a massive bed with black silk sheets, a low fire burning in the hearth, weapons and scrolls neatly arranged on shelves. It smelled faintly of smoke and leather.
Sukuna closed the door behind you with a heavy click. He leaned against it for a moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with that same calculating stare.
“You wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding both of you. “So here we are.”
He pushed off the door and walked further into the room, loosening the ties on his formal tunic as he went. The movement was casual, but you could feel the tension still radiating from him.
“Get comfortable,” he told you, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was low, almost seductive, but the suspicion never fully left his eyes.
He didn’t say anything else. He simply waited, watching to see what you would do now that you were truly alone with him in his space.
You stood there for a moment, suddenly very aware of how large his chambers felt and how small you felt inside them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the dark wood and black silk sheets. The air smelled like him — smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic.
You swallowed and moved toward the side of the room where a large wardrobe stood. One of the maids had already brought a few of your things here earlier, as if the servants had anticipated this. You picked out a simple black silk nightgown and hesitated.
Sukuna had turned away slightly, pulling off his formal tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair. The movement revealed the strong lines of his back and the black tattoos swirling across his skin. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell he was still aware of every move you made.
You changed quickly behind the privacy screen in the corner, the silk cool against your skin. When you stepped out, Sukuna was already sitting on the edge of the massive bed, wearing only loose black pants. His pink hair was untied now, falling messily around his face. He looked up when you approached.
For a long second he just stared.
Then he let out a slow breath and patted the space beside him.
“Come here,” he said, voice low.
You walked over and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight. Sukuna watched you the entire time, suspicion still clear in his crimson eyes even as he pulled the covers back for you.
You slipped under the sheets, lying on your back. The silk felt cool and smooth. Sukuna stayed sitting for another moment, then finally lay down beside you. The bed was large, but he took up so much space that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.
He turned onto his side, facing you. One arm rested above his head while the other lay between you, close enough that his fingers almost brushed your arm.
The silence was heavy.
“You’re really here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His gaze traced your face, still guarded. “In my bed.”
He reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he said quietly. “If this is another game… I won’t be kind about it.”
Then he shifted closer. Not enough to touch fully, but close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t pull you into his arms. He simply laid there, watching you like he was waiting for you to prove something — or reveal your true intentions.
The fire crackled softly in the background. The weight of his presence beside you made it hard to relax, but you stayed there, heart beating steadily.
Sukuna’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.
“Sleep, wife. We’ll see how long this little performance of yours lasts.”
He didn’t close his eyes right away. He kept watching you in the dim firelight, guarded, suspicious… and just a little intrigued.
Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, pale and hazy, casting long golden stripes across the dark wooden floor. You woke slowly, cocooned in warmth that felt both foreign and strangely comforting. Sukuna’s arm was draped heavily over your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back, one leg loosely tangled with yours beneath the black silk sheets. His breathing was deep and steady, the faint rise and fall of his chest brushing against you with every inhale.
For a long moment you didn’t move. This was the first time you’d ever woken up beside him — sharing the same bed, the same space, the same air. Your heart beat a little too fast as the reality settled in. The Duke of the North was holding you in his sleep, even if it was only out of habit or unconscious possession.
Sukuna stirred a few minutes later. His arm tightened around your waist for a brief second, pulling you closer on instinct, before his body went still. You felt the exact moment consciousness returned to him — the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly against your back.
He didn’t pull away immediately.
“You’re still here,” he said quietly, voice low and rough with sleep. There was a hint of genuine surprise beneath the words. “Figured you’d sneak back to your own room before I woke up.”
You turned your head slightly on the pillow to look at him. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, messy pink hair falling across his forehead. Up close like this, without the usual cold mask, he looked almost human — though the sharp suspicion in his gaze reminded you he was anything but.
“I told you I wanted this,” you replied softly.
Sukuna let out a slow breath, almost a huff. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you properly. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles over the silk of your nightgown. The touch was light, but you could feel the weight of his attention — guarded, calculating, searching for any crack in your resolve.
He watched you for a long, heavy moment, suspicion still clear in his expression. The silence between you felt intimate and fragile at the same time. His fingers flexed once against your waist before relaxing again.
“Don’t get too used to this,” he said eventually, tone flat but not cruel. “One night doesn’t fix anything. One night doesn’t make me trust you.”
Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added more quietly, “But… you can stay for breakfast if you want.”
Sukuna rolled away and got out of bed, stretching his powerful arms above his head. The morning light traced every line of muscle and the intricate black tattoos that covered his shoulders, chest, and back. He moved with the casual confidence of someone completely at ease in his own space, yet you could still feel the tension humming beneath his skin.
God, he’s even hotter in person… no wonder I was obsessed.
He grabbed a fresh tunic but didn’t put it on. Instead, he leaned against the wardrobe, watching you in his sheets with that dark, cautious gaze. The fire had burned low, leaving the room quiet and heavy with unspoken tension.
Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “Well?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep. “Are you going to lie there all morning?”
You didn’t make him wait long.
You slipped out of bed, the black silk nightgown clinging lightly to your skin as you moved. The morning air in the chamber felt cooler than the warmth of the sheets you’d just left. Sukuna watched you the entire time from where he leaned against the wardrobe, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable but intense.
“Breakfast will be brought here,” he said simply, voice still rough from sleep. “No need to go to the main hall today.”
A short while later, servants arrived with silver trays. They moved quickly and quietly, setting the table near the tall windows with practiced care — a pot of strong black tea, warm crusty bread, thick slices of roasted meat, fresh berries, and a small dish of honey. The scent of the food filled the room, warm and savory. They kept their eyes lowered, clearly unsettled by the sight of you in the Duke’s private chambers wearing only a nightgown and robe, but they left without a single word.
Sukuna sat down first. You took the seat across from him.
The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, casting a soft golden glow across the table and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. It traced the black tattoos visible at the open collar of his tunic and the faint scars on his hands as he picked up his knife. For several long minutes, the only sounds were the quiet clink of silverware and the distant crackle from the hearth.
Finally, Sukuna set his knife down with a quiet click and leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes locking onto you with that familiar guarded intensity.
“So,” he said, voice low and guarded, “what made you change?”
You looked up from your plate, heart skipping a beat. Just died and woke up in the body of the woman you’re supposed to kill. No big deal.
There was no point in holding back anymore.
“I like you,” you said simply, meeting his gaze. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”
Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Bullshit.”
The word landed blunt and cold. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching you with sharp suspicion.
“You expect me to believe that? After months of silence, after treating me like I was beneath you, after making sure everyone knew how much you despised this marriage… you suddenly like me?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “Try again.”
You didn’t look away. Your voice stayed quiet but steady.
“No, really,” you said. “I do. I like you. That’s why I’m trying so hard.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. He studied your face like he was searching for the lie, the manipulation, the trick. The silence stretched between you, thick and tense. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the table before he leaned back again, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smirk.
“Okay, little liar,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Then prove it to me.”
You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks.
“Prove it to you…?” you repeated softly, the words coming out a little breathless.
Sukuna’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed sharp and watchful. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, closing some of the distance between you.
“Yes,” he said, voice dropping lower, almost velvet-smooth. “Prove it. You say you like me. You say you want to fix this marriage. So show me.”
His gaze drifted slowly down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. The air between you felt heavier now, warmer. He reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of your hand, the touch deceptively gentle.
“You’re in my chambers. In my bed,” he continued, thumb tracing a slow line over your knuckles. “If you’re actually serious… then stop hiding behind pretty words and prove it.”
His touch lingered, possessive but controlled, sending a slow shiver up your arm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched your reaction closely, crimson eyes dark with suspicion and something much hotter underneath.
“Prove it, wife,” he said again, voice low and seductive. “I’m right here. Show me how much you like me.”
The breakfast table suddenly felt far too small. The tension had shifted — still laced with his suspicion, but now crackling with slow, deliberate heat as he waited for you to make the next move.
Your pulse thundered under his thumb. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his crimson eyes darkened as they traced your face, your lips, the line of your throat. He wasn’t touching you anywhere else, but it still felt like he had you pinned.
You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck.
“…How?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. “How do you want me to prove it?”
Sukuna’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. He leaned in a little closer across the table, his thumb still stroking lazy circles over your knuckles.
“That’s the fun part,” he murmured. “You figure it out. You’re the one claiming you like me. So show me what that looks like.”
His free hand moved, reaching across to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was almost gentle, but his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, tracing lightly down the column of your throat before pulling away.
“You can start by coming here,” he said, voice low and commanding. He pushed his chair back slightly and patted his thigh once. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
Your breath caught. Heart racing, you stood up slowly and rounded the table. The moment you were close enough, Sukuna’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap. He settled you sideways across his thighs, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while the other rested on your leg, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh.
Up close like this, you could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of his chest against your side, the way his breath brushed your temple.
“Better,” he said, voice rough. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, stopping just below the hem of your nightgown. “Now… show me.”
He tilted his head, lips hovering near your jaw.
“Kiss me,” he ordered softly. “Like you mean it. Like you actually want your husband.”
His crimson eyes were locked on yours, still guarded, still waiting for the lie to slip through. But beneath the suspicion, there was clear hunger — dark and patient, daring you to close the distance.
Sukuna’s fingers flexed on your thigh, a silent reminder of his patience running thin.
“Well, wife?” he murmured, voice velvet-rough against your skin. “I’m waiting.”
You didn’t hesitate any longer.
Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started soft — tentative on your end, testing. Sukuna stayed still for half a second, as if surprised you’d actually done it.
Then he took control.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you harder against his mouth. The kiss deepened instantly, turning hungry and demanding. His tongue swept past your lips, claiming your mouth with a low growl that vibrated against you. He tasted like black tea and heat, and the way he kissed you was nothing short of possessive — like he was trying to erase every other man who had ever looked at you.
You gasped into his mouth. Sukuna used the opening to tilt your head and kiss you deeper, tongue stroking yours with slow, filthy intent. His other hand gripped your thigh tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you more firmly onto his lap until you were straddling him.
“Better,” he rasped against your lips when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe. His crimson eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “But not enough.”
He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand slipped under the hem of your nightgown, palm sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the silk higher and higher until his fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. He didn’t go further yet — just teased, stroking the sensitive skin there while his mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck.
“You say you like me,” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Then prove how much.”
He sucked on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you. Sukuna’s grip on your thigh tightened in response, and you felt him growing hard beneath you, the thick length pressing against your core through his pants.
Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He made a low, approving sound and rocked his hips up once, grinding against you deliberately.
“Touch me,” he ordered, voice rough. “If you’re serious, then fucking touch me.”
You obeyed, sliding your hands under his tunic, palms running over the hard planes of his stomach and the tattoos that covered his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch. Sukuna rewarded you by biting down on your neck again, then soothing the spot with his tongue.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing heavy, eyes burning.
“Keep going,” he said, voice dark and commanding. His hands gripping your ass firmly as he pulled you down harder against his growing erection. “Show me exactly how much you want your husband.”
His hips rolled up deliberately, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your clit in slow, filthy circles. The friction was maddening, heat building fast between you.
You moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to snap something in him.
He growled low in his throat and rocked you harder against him. “Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, breath hot. “You’re already so wet for me.”
One large hand slipped further under your nightgown, calloused palm dragging up your bare thigh until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your panties. He groaned at the feeling, pressing two thick fingers against your clothed slit and rubbing firmly, spreading your wetness.
“So fucking wet,” he muttered, voice dark and rough. “All this from just sitting on my lap?”
He pushed your panties aside with impatient fingers and dragged two thick digits slowly through your slick folds. The first direct touch made your hips jerk sharply. Pleasure shot through you like lightning — hot, electric, and overwhelming. You were already soaked, embarrassingly wet, and Sukuna could feel it.
He chuckled darkly against your throat, the low vibration sending shivers racing down your spine as he kissed and bit along your neck, marking you with teeth and tongue.
“You’re dripping down my fingers, wife,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “This greedy little cunt is making such a mess already.”
He pushed one thick finger inside you slowly, stretching your tight walls. Your inner muscles clenched hard around the intrusion, hot and silky. The feeling of being filled by him — even just one finger — made your breath hitch. He added a second finger almost immediately, scissoring them lazily while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, relentless circles.
The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the quiet morning room — lewd squelching noises that would have made you blush if you weren’t already trembling with pleasure. Your arousal coated his hand, dripping down his wrist and onto his lap as he worked you open with practiced, unhurried strokes.
You whimpered, hands fisting tightly in the front of his tunic. Sukuna’s free hand yanked the neckline of your nightgown down roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He leaned in and sucked one sensitive nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking roughly over the peak before his teeth grazed it. The sharp sting mixed with pleasure made your back arch, pushing your chest closer to his hungry mouth.
“So fucking sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, voice muffled as he switched to the other nipple, sucking harder. “Look at you. Falling apart just from my fingers like a desperate little whore.”
He curled his fingers inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy while his thumb pressed firmer circles on your clit. Your hips rocked desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier, echoing obscenely in the quiet chamber.
Sukuna pulled back just enough to watch your face, his crimson eyes dark with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.
“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Let me feel how much this supposed ‘liking me’ makes this tight little pussy squeeze around my fingers.”
His fingers curled harder, stroking that sensitive spot relentlessly while his thumb worked your clit faster. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every thrust, every filthy word.
It snapped.
You came hard with a broken moan, walls clenching violently around his thick fingers. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as slick gushed over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down his wrist. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, leaving you gasping and trembling.
Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, still pumping his fingers slowly through your spasms, drawing out every last pulse until you were shaking and oversensitive, whimpering softly.
He finally pulled his fingers free, glistening with your release. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, tongue dragging slowly and deliberately over his skin, savoring your taste.
“Sweet,” he murmured, voice husky and dark. His eyes never left yours.
He lifted you effortlessly and stood, carrying you toward the massive bed. He laid you down on the black silk sheets, hovering over you with that same dark, hungry look.
“Take the nightgown off,” he commanded, already pulling his own tunic over his head, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed, muscled torso. “I want to see all of you.”
His hands moved to his pants, loosening them as he watched you, eyes burning with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.
“Prove how much you actually want me, wife.”
You sat up on the bed, heart hammering against your ribs. Under his burning gaze, you reached for the hem of your nightgown and pulled it up and over your head, letting the silk fall to the floor. The cool air of the chamber brushed over your bare skin, making your nipples tighten instantly.
Sukuna’s eyes raked slowly over your naked body — from your flushed face, down the curve of your breasts, your stomach, and the glistening wetness already coating your inner thighs. He let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest, almost a growl.
“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered, voice thick. “So small. So fucking pretty.”
He shoved his pants the rest of the way down his hips and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, the veined shaft curving slightly upward. It was meaty — obscenely so — the girth making your mouth go dry. The flushed head was already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Even fully hard, it looked almost too big, too heavy, the weight of it making it hang thick and full between his powerful thighs.
You couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that escaped you.
Sukuna noticed. His smirk was dark and satisfied as he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping deeply under his much larger frame. He settled between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider apart. The size difference hit you all over again — he was so much bigger than you, his body completely eclipsing yours as he hovered above you.
He gripped his thick cock in one large hand and dragged the heavy head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness. The blunt, meaty tip nudged against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch.
“You’re tiny compared to me,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gonna feel every inch when I split you open.”
He pushed forward slowly.
The thick head of his cock breached you, stretching your entrance with a slow, burning pressure. You gasped sharply at the sheer girth — he was so thick that your walls had to part around him, fluttering and clenching as he sank deeper. The heavy, meaty weight of his cock filled you inch by inch, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you until you were full, so full, your back arching off the bed with a broken moan.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. His balls rested heavy and warm against you.
“Shit,” he breathed against your neck, voice strained. “So fucking tight… this little pussy is sucking me in like it was made for me.”
He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust to the overwhelming stretch, the way his thick cock throbbed inside you, hot and heavy. Then he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his meaty length along your walls with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked cunt filled the room, slick and filthy.
You whimpered, nails digging into his broad shoulders. “Sukuna… you’re so big—”
He growled at your words, hips snapping harder, driving his thick cock deeper. The drag was exquisite, every vein and ridge rubbing against your most sensitive spots. His size made you feel impossibly full, stretched wide around his girth, the pressure bordering on too much but so, so good.
“Take it,” he rasped, voice dark and possessive. “Take every fucking inch like the good little wife you’re trying to be.”
He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his deep thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against you with every powerful stroke, the wet sounds growing louder as your arousal dripped down his shaft and soaked the sheets beneath you.
You moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back. The size difference made everything more intense — his broad chest crushing your breasts, his muscular thighs spreading you wide, his massive frame completely dominating yours as he fucked you into the mattress.
Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with lust and that lingering edge of suspicion.
“Tell me again,” he growled, hips grinding deep, the thick head of his cock pressing against that perfect spot inside you. “Tell me how much you like your husband’s cock while I’m ruining this tight little pussy.”
You could barely think through the overwhelming fullness. His cock was so thick it felt like he was splitting you open with every slow, deliberate thrust. The heavy drag of his veined shaft against your walls made your toes curl, pleasure bordering on too much.
“I like it,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan as he rolled his hips again, grinding the fat head against your g-spot. “I like your cock so much— fuck, Sukuna, you’re so deep…”
A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider, and drove into you harder. The new angle made his thick cock hit even deeper, the heavy weight of his balls slapping wetly against your ass with every powerful thrust. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you, the lewd squelching sounds echoing obscenely in the quiet room.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. “This greedy little cunt is sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, dominating kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with his cock, deep and filthy, while his hips snapped forward harder. The sheer size difference made everything more intense — his broad, muscled body completely covering yours, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he fucked you with long, punishing strokes.
You whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, leaving red lines across his tattooed skin. Sukuna hissed at the sting and rewarded you by pounding into you even harder, the thick head of his cock bullying that sensitive spot inside you over and over.
“Again,” he demanded against your lips, breath hot and ragged. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“You,” you moaned, legs shaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. “It belongs to you— only you—”
“Good girl.”
He sat back on his heels, pulling your hips up with him so your lower back was off the bed. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his thick cock stretching you wide with every brutal thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles while he fucked you senseless.
The wet slap of skin against skin mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts. Your breasts bounced with every powerful snap of his hips, nipples tight and aching. Sukuna’s gaze was locked between your legs, watching hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked pussy again and again, stretching you obscenely around his girth.
“Look at that,” he growled, voice dark. “Taking every inch like you were made for me. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full of my cock.”
The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every deep thrust, every swipe of his thumb on your clit. Your thighs trembled violently in his grip.
“Sukuna— I’m gonna—!”
“Cum,” he ordered, hips slamming into you harder. “Cum on your husband’s cock like the desperate little wife you are.”
It hit you like a wave. You came hard with a broken cry, walls clenching violently around his thick length, pulsing and fluttering as slick gushed around him. Your whole body shook, back arching sharply as pleasure tore through you.
Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck— that’s it. Milk my cock.”
He fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Then, with a low, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding deep inside you. He kept grinding his hips in slow circles, pushing his release even deeper as he emptied himself completely.
“We’re not done,” he said quietly, a dangerous promise in his tone. “Not even close.”
Sukuna pulled out of you with a wet, filthy sound, your combined release dripping down your thighs. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back and manhandled you like you weighed nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled you into his lap facing away from him, and hooked his powerful arms under your knees, folding you in a full nelson.
Your back pressed flush against his broad, tattooed chest. Your legs were spread obscenely wide, knees pushed up toward your shoulders by his strong arms. The position left you completely helpless — folded in half, pussy exposed and dripping, his thick cock sliding hot and heavy between your slick folds.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled right against your ear, voice feral. “So small and folded up for me. Perfect little fucktoy.”
He thrust up hard, burying his massive cock back inside you in one brutal stroke. The new angle made him feel even thicker, even deeper. You cried out, the sound raw and broken as his meaty length stretched you wide open again, the fat head bullying against your cervix with every thrust.
Sukuna went feral.
He fucked you like an animal — hard, fast, and relentless. His hips snapped up with powerful force, slamming his thick cock into your soaked pussy over and over. The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixed with the lewd squelching of your dripping cunt taking every inch. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with every brutal thrust, the impact jolting through your body.
You were cockdrunk almost immediately.
Your mind went hazy, eyes rolling back as pleasure overloaded your senses. All you could do was moan helplessly, body limp in his hold as he used you. His thick cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the sheer girth stretching you so wide it bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight.
“S-Sukuna— ahh— too deep—” you slurred, voice broken and whiny.
He only fucked you harder, arms locked tight under your knees, keeping you folded and helpless as he pounded into you. His chest was slick with sweat against your back, his hot breath panting against your ear.
“Take it,” he snarled, voice feral and animalistic. “Take every fucking inch. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? My cock ruining this tight little pussy.”
You could only moan incoherently, head lolling back against his shoulder. Drool slipped from the corner of your mouth as he fucked you senseless, his thick cock bullying your insides with every savage thrust. The wet sounds were filthy — your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his balls, soaking the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up so your ass was high in the air. He slammed back into you in one brutal thrust, fucking you in deep, punishing doggy style.
“Fuck— yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked. One large hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack, the sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, the sharp crack echoing as he pounded into you from behind.
Your face was pressed into the sheets, ass up, completely at his mercy as he railed you. His thick cock drove so deep you felt it in your stomach, the heavy drag of his veined shaft making your eyes roll back. He smacked your ass again, gripping the soft flesh hard as he used you.
“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping forward relentlessly. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”
You could barely speak, mind blank and cockdrunk, but you whimpered obediently between moans, “Yours… it’s yours—”
Sukuna snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the bed creaking violently under the force of his thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against your clit with every brutal stroke, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.
He was relentless now — grunting low and animalistic, cursing under his breath as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He claimed you with deep, punishing strokes, each one driving his thick cock so deep you felt it in your stomach.
“Fuck— this pussy is sucking me in so greedily,” he growled, voice wrecked and animalistic. One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass again with a loud smack, the sharp sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, gripping the soft, reddened flesh and spreading you wider as he railed you.
Your mind was completely melted. All you could do was moan and whimper into the sheets, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as he pounded into you. His thick, meaty cock stretched you so wide it felt like he was reshaping you from the inside. Every deep, punishing thrust made the fat head kiss your cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain shooting through your body.
“S-Sukuna— too much— ahh—!” you slurred, voice broken and whiny, barely coherent anymore.
He laughed darkly, low and breathless, and smacked your ass once more before gripping both cheeks and spreading you obscenely. He watched hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked, fluttering pussy again and again, your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his heavy balls.
“Look at this greedy little hole,” he rasped, hips snapping forward brutally. “Taking my fat cock so well. You’re dripping everywhere, wife. Making such a fucking mess on my sheets.”
He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other braced beside your head. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy cock bullying that perfect spot inside you with every savage thrust. The wet, filthy plap plap plap of his hips slamming into your ass filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and his guttural grunts.
You were shaking, thighs trembling violently, another orgasm building fast. Your mind was blank — nothing but the overwhelming stretch, the heat, the relentless drag of his thick veined cock inside you.
Sukuna’s breath was hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder. “This tight little cunt is mine. Say it while you cum on my cock again.”
You could barely form words, but you whimpered obediently between moans, voice slurred and cockdrunk. “Yours— it’s yours— Sukuna— please—!”
He fucked you harder, hips pistoning relentlessly, the heavy slap of his balls against your clit pushing you over the edge. You came with a shattered cry, walls clamping down around his thick length like a vice, pulsing and fluttering as another intense orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna groaned loudly, the sound raw and feral. “Good fucking girl—”
He didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm with deep, stuttering thrusts, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you, pulse after heavy pulse filling you until you felt impossibly full, the warmth spreading through your core. He kept grinding slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles to push every drop deeper, making sure you took all of him.
You could feel it leaking out around his thick cock — warm, sticky, and messy — dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, his massive body pressing you firmly into the mattress. His chest heaved against your back, hot, ragged breaths fanning across the side of your neck. The scent of sweat, sex, and his skin filled the air with every shaky inhale. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down your side, almost possessively, while the other stayed gripping your hip, fingers digging in like he still wasn’t ready to let go.
“…Not bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse and low against your ear. “For a little liar.”
He finally pulled out slowly, inch by thick inch. A heavy trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your abused, fluttering pussy, warm and obscene as it ran down your inner thighs. Sukuna let out a low, satisfied hum at the sight before he rolled you onto your back and collapsed beside you.
Without a word, he pulled you against his chest, one strong arm wrapping around you possessively. His skin was hot and slightly damp with sweat, his heartbeat still racing steadily under your cheek as he held you close.
His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as he caught his breath.
But he didn’t let go.
a\n: honestly didn't know how to end this but hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
“No.”
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"
"—the answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—
"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
“Mhm.”
"And it was such a good question.”
You turn a page. "Really?”
“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”
You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—
…
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes.
“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”
Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…
Oh.
That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”
It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.
“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"
“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”
Lips parting, you blink.
…why is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”
His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”
Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
“Oh—uh, hi mom!”
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”
“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”
“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"
"—have you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”
“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
You’re the one people relied on.
Just… never the one people chose.
“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”
“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”
…
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”
“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.
Shit.
“I-I—I didn’t say—"
“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”
“—Mom, I—"
“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.
‘We’ve been so worried.’
…
If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.
“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”
Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
But…
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”
“Huh?”
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.
“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”
“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”
For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"
“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”
And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”
Why does he sound… bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? He’s not your mother.
“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”
“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“But I—”
“Drop it.”
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"
“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”
Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”
“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"
“Oh, finally.”
Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.
You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesn’t.
And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
…
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”
His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”
"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”
“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”
…
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”
"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."
He’s been her intern for that long.
That’s the question, right?
"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”
He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.
“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"…sorry. Who is thi—"
“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"
Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
📞 Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—
"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”
"Stop. I-I really think—"
“—Satoru, what are you doing?’
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.
“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
“Sooo… funny story…”
“—what did you do?!”
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
…what look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh… okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasn’t even an option, was it?
…is he crazy?
“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
Yup. He’s crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"…that is not the point."
“Mm… feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
…
His family’s in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
But…
"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."
"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”
He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
Shit…
That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖
How ruthless a man he was. Rome's greatest general. The man of the hour. Caesar, his battle name was, but Gojo Satoru in heart. A tyrant, a beast, a genius himself, your... only hope. Because how could you get back your title as the Queen of Egypt, by not using the help of the Imperator himself? And how could you not predict for him to drop down to his knees so pitifully?
part of the Gods, Heroes, Warriors collection!
pairings: Julius Caesar!Gojo x Cleopatra!Reader
content/warnings: ancient Egypt AU, historically accurate, reimagining of historical figures, Gojo is a general lmao, oral (fem. rec.), pussydrunk Gojo!, mild breeding kink, mating press, cunnilingus, tummy bulges, manhandling, facesitting, reader is sly!, based on a true story
WC: 8.7k
a/n: how about we talk about the romance of the century, hm? I tried to keep their meeting as historically accurate as possible lmaooo. Art creds @/ola_chan on X.
Divider by @saradika-graphics
The bathhouse was quiet when the servant girl came in.
She could only see your hair, half-soaked and waterlogged, with droplets shimmering on your skin. Standing beside you in sandals, her fingers nervously clutched the white fabric of her robes. She observed your closed eyes, your chest slowly rising with each breath, and the gold necklace shining on your collarbones. Her Majesty was so stunning that the servant girl couldn't help but flinch slightly when you cast her a glance.
She bowed quickly, not daring to meet your eyes.
"My Queen," a soft voice had spread around the bathhouse, bouncing off the water. It cooled your body pleasantly, during nights such as this one, after lengthy days, with the sun hanging high in the sky for far too long.
The gentle night breeze flowed through the high, open entrance, softly tickling your skin like a child's touch. You glanced at the servant girl, bent over and slightly shivering, then shifted your gaze to the colorful city lights beyond.
Your country.
Your Egypt.
"Yes?" you asked, taking a small bottle of almond oil to rub it into your soft skin. The servants could do it, of course, but you wouldn't wish to deprive yourself of this pleasure and finally deserved alone time.
The girl came closer, her eyes looking down at her feet, not daring to glance at her queen in such a bare state.
"My Queen, Imperator have come."
Your hands continued to gently massage the skin with oil, but lips twisted into a smirk. Faint light from the flickering candles gently kissed your warm cheeks as you hummed softly and giggled in such a girlish manner; your servant tensed a little. How rare it was to see Her Majesty in such a delighted humour!
"Such a needy man he is," you murmured nevertheless, glancing at the darkness spreading over the dunes. "Doesn't Imperator have any manners? The night has already come."
The girl moved nervously in her place, not taking her eyes off her sandals even for a second. She knew, indeed, that Imperator's visit at this hour was not in place, but how could she talk back to the most powerful man in the world! The gallows would be the most merciful punishment she would hope to receive.
"My Queen, should I inform Imperator that you do not wish to see–"
But before she could finish, you giggled once again, giving this poor child almost a heart attack!
"No need, lead him to my chamber. I shall join him soon."
The girl nodded quickly and bowed, once again leaving Her Highness alone in a bathhouse, now filled with the sweet aroma of almonds, and Queen's plump skin glistening under the heaviness of the oil.
While walking the long corridors of Queen's Palace, with a milky moon creeping through the windows and tall torches lighting the way back to the main hall, the servant girl reminisced about the beginning of this unusual affair.
She tried to remember Her Majesty before Imperator's appearance – this utterly beautiful yet soulless woman, wandering through the palace lifelessly, with no warmth in her eyes, only anger and desperation.
Her Majesty came from a long line of ruthless kings and queens, the rulers of Egypt who spread their terror across the country and its people. Their fate has been sad, for they were forbidden to marry outside their blood.
That's right, the Queen herself was engaged to her own brother, who took over the country after their father's death. And what a brat he was, the servant girl must've admitted, a Pharaoh unworthy of the title, a crude, stupid man who seized the throne for himself. He's been dead for quite a while, having drowned in the Nile during the war, but the days of his rule were a turbulent time for Egypt.
And while the servant girl was indeed frightened by the ruthless Imperator, she would also keep him close to her heart for saving Her Majesty and bringing her back to the throne.
However, the girl couldn't bring herself to dwell on it any further. The tale of the affair and passion between the two rulers was far too immoral for her young mind to understand!
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Your father has just died, and Egypt entered the era of chaos.
It was only you, your brother (husband?), and the Council who were establishing a new rule over your beloved country. Far too humiliating was your position for a so-called Queen, who had not an ounce of power of her own. The Council had stripped you of everything that made a ruler more than a symbol. You were young, female, and – most damning – expected to share authority with your brother. A husband by law, by the rule of your family, but even blood has never softened his resentment.
He hated you.
And you gladly shared this feeling.
Perhaps his hatred stemmed from the fact that people loved you. Because you spoke their language, walked among them, and understood Egypt as home, it was. Perhaps because you were beautiful and guided by wisdom, choosing your words carefully and acting like a true ruler, not just a silly child who by accident was born with a cock between his legs.
The council, however, loved him.
Old men spoke over you in meetings, dismissed your decrees as womanish enthusiasm, and praised your brother's advisors while quietly stripping you of influence. You felt your authority slowly and deliberately hollowed out, until it remained only in name.
And while Egypt was sinking into chaos, the world was slowly conquered by only one man.
The man of the hour.
Rome's greatest general.
Caesar, his battle name was, but Gojo Satoru in heart.
You have only heard of him through stories carried across the sea by merchants and diplomats, and by soldiers who spoke too loudly after drinking. A tyrant, a saviour, a butcher, a genius – all often in one breath.
He had crossed the Rubicon with a single legion – an act so brazen it shattered centuries of Roman tradition. Brought a civil war into Rome as his rivals tried to drive him from power. He was swift and merciless, and when he arrived, all countries would fall.
Gaul had learned of his ruthlessness first, with tribes subdued, cities burned, and survivors sold into slavery by the tens of thousands. He was always triumphant, leading Rome through another victory.
Those who opposed him were slowly erased, but those who offered support became trusted companions.
Such a powerful, clever man he was, ruling by his pure wisdom and power.
As tyrannical as he stood, legions adored him. He marched with them, bled with them, and rewarded them lavishly. To Rome, he was both protector and a threat, a man who claimed to restore order while quietly collecting every lever of power for himself.
And unlike you, he was never truly alone.
He had armies, Rome, an undeniable authority granted by heaven, and a violence that could only be held by the simple fact of being a man.
You, meanwhile, had the same ambitions but lacked a quite important thing. Right between your legs.
You didn't want to accept this humility – this utterly pitiful state.
Losing Egypt to your cruel brother.
Some say you can’t battle fire with fire, but what if you possessed something even more powerful and Ruthless? Imagine wielding a weapon of destruction capable of extinguishing your brother's flame.
And as Rome's shadow stretched over to Alexandria, the heart of Egypt, you needed to act quickly.
So, how beneficial the decision of your exile turned out to be, after your brother, together with a council, decided to strip you of power and throw you away like a rag.
So the rag you've become.
"My Queen, I cannot," Haibara whispered pitifully, seeing the bed linen gathered on the floor.
Your plan was simple.
Well, maybe not that simple, nevertheless, depending on the Gods' blessing and your loyal follower's bravery. Haibara was a simple man at first, a servant who had caught your eye and followed you through the palace's sizzling walls like a pup, all polite and devoted.
After your exile and upon hearing that Caesar had settled in Alexandria's Palace for a while, you decided that whatever the Gods had planned for you, one thing needed to happen – you would enter Alexandria without your brother's knowledge and meet with the general.
And then. Well.
Everything else would be left to the Gods' wishes.
So under the cover of darkness, you have left Pharaoh's palace and run away towards the capital, Alexandria.
Long was the road, and quite adventurous, but Haibara was following you all the way to the city. The easiest path led through the sea, so soon after packing your things into one simple bag, you decided to go towards the nearest harbour.
"My Queen, are you certain of this?" Haibara would ask quietly, scanning the road ahead.
"No," you murmured just as softly, with a dark cloak sitting heavily on your head. "But certainty has never saved anyone."
The road heading north was long – by day, you concealed yourself among merchants and pilgrims; by night, you moved swiftly, guided by ancient stars older than any dynasty. Haibara led the way, checking the ground and listening for potential dangers.
"This is not how it should be done," he muttered once, as you paused near a well to drink. "You should have an army and guards – a hundred, no thousand!"
You laughed softly, looking at the fuming boy, nevertheless checking the surroundings for any dangers.
"You know we need to make contact," you whispered, eyes following the blazing sun, burning your skin mercilessly. "General is the only one who can help us."
You continued the road, already feeling the ocean breeze grazing your lips.
"And if he won't?"
You smirked. The harbour came into view, with masts rising like a forest of spears, sails furled and already waiting. The hope bloomed in your heart, together with unwavering confidence.
"Don't worry, he will."
And so you boarded the ship without looking back.
The harbour slipped slowly away, and the sea opened its arms for you, as Haibara finally exhaled and gripped a railing like his life depended on it.
"My Queen, I shall never underestimate you again," he murmured, his eyes glancing at the water with a sickly look. His boyish face was almost green, with eyes stuck into slowly disappearing waves. "But please let's find another way to come back."
You laughed heartily, the breeze blowing your hair under the scorching tongues of the sun. You felt the Sun God's protectiveness over you, as if she followed your journey attentively, pushing towards greatness.
"We are not going back," you whispered, closing eyes to enjoy the rest of the journey.
And you indeed enjoyed it, but haven't thought about how to get into the palace. Twilight has come, with the soft glowing of the sun hiding over the horizon. You waited until night, when quietness spread over its walls, and the guards stood leisurely, keeping watch almost sleepily.
So the simplest plan you could think of involved you being taken to the palace, wrapped in bed linens like a newborn, with Haibara taking you straight to Caesar's chamber. Every person in Egypt recognised your face, but Haibara, as a servant, had a better chance.
"My Queen!" he whispered, seeing you taking off the cloak, standing almost bare, in your majesty's robes.
"I need to be presentable, at least."
The bed linens you somehow stole from a ship were next, rolling yourself with them like a cocoon, with a bit of help from Haibara's utterly dissatisfied manner.
"My Queen, seeing you in this state," he sighed, nevertheless wrapping the white cloth around your head. "Such a disgrace, I'll never forgive your brother for pushing you to such actions."
"Shush," you scolded him. And the boy indeed shut his mouth and picked you up like a rag, looking as if his hands were truly full of bed linens only. "Cover me with some more and go inside."
He muttered something under his breath, but nevertheless went towards the entrance. As a Queen of Egypt – no, right now an ex-Queen of Egypt – you could try to sneak inside by yourself. However, every soldier and general has surely been informed of your exile, so even the last corner of this country is hostile to you.
The Imperial Palace, where the general stayed, has stood on the island in the eastern harbour of Alexandria, with the ocean humming softly beneath its mural columns. Haibara carried you all the way along the long bridge, surrounded by calm waters and lush green, with a pale moon guiding you through the dangers of the road. The palace rose before you, beautiful in its monstrosity, with white sculptures and long torches guarding the gates.
Not just them, surely, the guards have also been standing right there, blocking your path with long spearheads. You didn't worry, however, as Haibara had worn his servant clothes and held the servant token right in his hand.
Guards looked at him harshly, but their faces flattened the moment he presented his token.
"What's that?" one of them asked, pointing to the bed linens with his spearhead.
You felt Haibara shift in his seat, his hands squeezing your rolled body. His fingers went right into gold bracelets wrapped tightly around your thighs, and a small hiss needed to be blocked by gritting your teeth. "Fresh bedding for the General, just delivered from the port."
The first guard hummed, but the other looked at him suspiciously, one eyebrow following up to the hairline.
"And why would he need them now, boy?"
Heavens, how could they ignore his token? It should be enough not to follow with any questions!
"Sir, it was Pharaoh's order. Look closer. It's a token taken from his palace, granted by His Majesty himself."
The round token truly has trulybeen of the finest quality, bearing the Pharaoh's initials and resting heavily in the guard's palm. He frowned, but gave the token back.
"Come in, boy. Don't bother the General, he's resting in his chambers."
Haibara nodded and quickly entered the marble gates of the palace. He walked through the courtyard, with long columns guiding him right inside. The palms tottered slowly with the wind's faint whispers, while stars shimmered brightly, as if cheering your pitiful attempts to get the throne back.
"My Queen, where shall I go now?" he murmured while entering the inner court.
It looked even more massive inside. Colourful paintings of heroes and warriors adorned the high walls, telling stories passed down through generations, honouring the gods who birthed the children of Egypt. The sculptures sat peacefully in the corners, following your every move with their hollow eyes, yet they possessed a perilous stare, as if their spears would fly your way any second.
The Palace was truly difficult for newcomers to navigate. But not for you.
"Turn left from the entrance, his chamber should be somewhere at the end, with a view of the harbour," you whispered, feeling your body move together with Haibara's quickened pace.
Your head rested right on his chest, and you could feel his heart bumping against your ear with every beat.
Such a poor boy he was, but you would surely let him bathe in riches after getting the throne back.
"My Queen, what if someone sees–"
But he didn't finish, as his arm was suddenly grabbed "Boy, who are you?"
Heavens! The obstacles were never-ending!
The female servant who had spotted Haibara glanced at him suspiciously, rumble almost shooting from her eyes.
Haibara took out his token once again. "I was ordered to deliver these to the General."
She hummed in an even more suspicious manner. "General? Boy, have you lost your mind? Who ordered you–" but as she looked at the token, her face flattened the same way as the guards' before. "Oh, never mind. Come this way, you shall meet Sir Ichiji first; he will decide whether you can have an audience with the General."
You cursed under your breath as the female servant led you deeper into the palace, with the moon creeping here and there, as if it were following your journey curiously. You could feel its gaze going right through the thin linen, bathing your body in its cold light, as if it could see you shaking in excitement right under the pile of bedding.
She knocked on the heavy doors, and a second later, you heard murmurs, followed by quick footsteps and the movement of the handle.
"Sir Ichiji, I apologise for disturbing the General, but this boy wishes to speak to him," she said on one breath, and you could hear it quiver slightly.
There was a short silence before a man cleared his throat and murmured something under his breath.
"What's the matter?"
The voice was melodic, quite delicate for a man, like a bird's chirp. There was a gentleness to it, making it quiet and pleasant to the ear.
Haibara showed his token once again, this time, however, answering more truthfully, with a stern tone.
"I have important information to deliver for the General."
Ichiji furrowed his forehead, and the female servant followed him quickly, her version of the story being quite different from the one she had heard just now.
"Let's hear it then. Pharaoh sent you?"
There was a second of hesitation before Haibara sighed deeply.
"The Queen herself."
Silence fell heavily, like a fog creeping through the palace's corridors. All three of them kept mum for a while, with stars glaring with curiosity through the window.
The female servant looked at Haibara with parted lips, her breath slightly shaking. Ichiji kept his gaze on the boy, as if thinking about his answer.
But before he opened his lips, another voice came, like thunder crossing the sky. Deep tremble, but with such a soft manner, it made your breath slightly hitch. "Let him in."
Ichiji gave Haibara one last glance before waving the female servant away and opening the heavy door. It groaned as a warm light spilled into the corridor. Gold fire and shadows danced on the walls as Haibara stepped inside carefully, the bundle cradled in his arms. As if holding something fragile and priceless – which, in truth, he did.
You didn't see him, but could feel his presence. Heavy, commanding. Like the air itself had learned obedience to him.
Haibara bowed slightly, as you already started moving in his arms.
"My General–"
But before he could finish, General cut him off. "What is it that you hold?"
The boy didn't answer, but he moved nervously, thinking whether now was the time to reveal the secret he had come with.
But he lowered you onto the polished floor just before his feet. For a moment, you stayed hidden – your linen-wrapped body and the silence of the room closing in around you.
You didn't know who was inside, but quiet murmurs told you the general definitely wasn't alone.
Was it a woman?
Did he caress someone before you came in?
Your fingers moved slowly, unwrapping yourself from the white clothing.
And then, the gasps were swallowed.
You rose from the linen like a goddess summoned by myth, feet bare against the marble. White and gold robes hugged your body. A thin linen wrap around your chest, and a heavy necklace pressed just above your breasts. A white skirt hung low on your plump hips, with a gold chain hugging your sun-kissed belly, flowing down to your ankles. Kohl-lined eyes glanced at the man before you, with a gaze so intense and curious it left people breathless.
You looked like a true goddess, a Queen herself, gleaming under the faint golden fire, with the wind mussing your hair gently.
And general.
Oh.
The general seemed speechless too. He did not move. Did not even speak. His gaze traced you openly, unashamed, not with a man's hunger, but like a ruler assessing another for the first time. Something flickered in his eyes, surprise, even playfulness. But above all – interest.
He stood by the window, draped in crimson and ivory. A cloak rested over one shoulder, fastened with a clasp of shimmering gold, the fabric falling effortlessly along his broad frame. Armour gleamed beneath it, as if he had just entered this chamber from the battle. A gold laurel circled white hair that caught the torchlight like polished marble, looking almost unreal under the darkened sky.
And his, heavens, eyes. You tried to keep your composure, but his eyes, blue as an ocean you've just crossed to meet him, looked at you in a way you did not know how to describe.
Months later, you finally discovered that the word you were looking for was adoration.
A slow smile curved his lips when he glanced at his companions sitting near the table. Soldiers, maybe, who stood up the moment his cold eyes met their postures.
They bowed and, together with Haibara and Ichiji, left the chamber.
The doors closed with a thump, and silence fell between your heavy breaths.
"So," he said at last, voice smooth, with a weight of command without even raising itself. "Egypt sends me a goddess to negotiate."
You smirked.
"This is how Egypt survives," your eyes moved behind him, to look at the harbour stretching right outside the palace. "By sending the only person who still dares to speak for it."
His brow lifted in amusement. "Bold words for someone who entered my chambers wrapped in a linen."
How devilishly handsome he was, shadowed by a cunningness and wisdom you had not expected in a man. You never had a chance to meet a man worthy of your hand. But maybe you would consider a tyrant, with muscular arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face.
"Boldness is all I have left," you said. "That, and a throne stolen from me by a boy who mistakes a cruelty for a rule."
He stepped closer, his gaze following your body painfully slowly, while he circled you with measured steps, echoing softly against the marble floor. He studied you like a problem worth solving, with hands clasped loosely behind his back and eyes never leaving your bare skin.
"Your brother," he murmured. "Killed a man I came for. He's quite an idiot, isn't he?"
You laughed quietly, eyes curving like a moon.
"My brother does not understand Rome."
"No," the general agreed. "He understands power given to him by others."
He stopped before you, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, his chest tightly wrapped in iron. The man, who had bent nations to his will, briefly lowered his gaze – to the gold hugging your throat and the steady rise of your breast – before returning to your smiling eyes.
Only now have you noticed that he must've been much older than you, somewhere in his late thirties. Such a young man with so many victories to his name, truly mesmerising.
"So what do you wish for, my Queen?" You tilted your head, hearing such a bold title come from another ruler's throat. But he looked at you steadily, with unwavering confidence.
"Stability, loyalty. For Egypt to be mine," he raised his eyebrows, but you continued. "You would rule. Through me."
The air between you tightened, charged with something dangerous and passionately intoxicating. His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
He laughed then, low but genuine. "You do not pretend otherwise."
"I am done pretending, General," you said softly. "I will not beg for my crown, but I know how to share."
"Satoru," he murmured, eyes following your heavy gaze. "Drop the general title, my Queen. For you, I can be just Satoru."
Your heart flinched, breath hitched.
Maybe visiting him was a bad idea, with warmth spilling somewhere in your belly, not far from his big hands hanging leisurely near his body.
"But you know the cost," he said quietly. "If I take your side, blood will be spilt in Egypt."
Another step closer, his body merely a step from yours.
"Egypt is already bleeding," you answered, eyes never leaving his face.
Something shifted in his look. Something you didn't anticipate seeing. Or maybe you did, knowing how men reacted to your presence.
The youngest goddess, they would say.
Treasure of the Nile.
You would charm them with your intelligence and charisma, a captivating voice, flowing through their ears sweetly like honey, and a magnetism that only a woman of your sort would possess. They would see you as a symbol of divinity, a Queen worthy of her title.
And the greatest general, tyrant himself, a Roman God was, after all, nothing but a man.
So when you saw it in his eyes, a quick, almost unrecognisable glance of painful wretchedness, you knew it was over.
For him.
"You would have me go to war for you," he admitted.
"And you would have to win," you smirked. "Are you able to, Satoru?"
For a long moment, he said nothing. But a challenge you have just dropped was impossible to ignore for a man of his calibre.
And then his hand lifted, slowly, deliberately, tilting your chin up so you could look into his tormented eyes. His palm burned you, calloused fingers touching your skin with a strength you couldn't imagine he possessed.
This tyrannical gaze, which led to so many deaths and conquests, that night, looked at you with nothing more than pure agony.
"Very well," he said, voice like a promise wrapped in iron. "I will restore you to your throne."
Your heart thundered.
"And Egypt?"
His eyes slipped down your lips, twisted in a gentle smile, while he brushed your jaw with a reverent and possessiveness all at once. "Egypt, my Queen," he stopped, looking back at your shimmering eyes, "will belong to Rome."
Your eyes narrowed, without pulling away. But you just slightly, barely, tilted your head and put his hand fully on your cheek, grazing his thumb with plump lips. Scarcely, but enough to feel his body tense.
"Then let history remember the moment our empires chose one another."
His gaze softened, just a little, almost dangerously.
"Oh," he murmured, almost painfully. "I assure history will never forget you."
And maybe that was the moment when Gojo Satoru, the greatest general in the Romans' history, decided he would conquer the world if you ordered him to.
࿇ ࿇ ࿇
Months later, already as the Queen of Egypt, you would reminisce that night with a quiet giggle and warmth filling your heart.
Even then, relaxing in your bathhouse and thinking about, now Imperator, sitting obediently in your chambers, would bring a sweet smile to your lips.
Droplets of water rushed down your skin as you left the cooling bath and slipped into a flowy, almost transparent robe that clung to your dripping body. But it was fine. The night was hot enough, and you would get wet soon anyway.
The hallway back to your chambers seemed almost too long, with just a few servants greeting you on the way, eyes never above the level of your knees.
You wouldn't describe yourself as a ruthless ruler. A fair one, yes, but tyranny was the Master of Egypt's speciality. Imperatus, whose name would still send a shiver down people's spines.
And while Gojo Satoru indeed won a civil war in Rome and then took back power from your pathetic brother, there was a rumour that Rome had been stolen.
By a witch herself!
A Goddess, who wrapped Imperator around her finger and held him like a viper, poisoning his mind with lustfulness and wickedness.
A Whore Queen.
A Fatal Monster.
Egypt's Shame!
Such creative titles have you heard, but never directly and never for long. Imperator wasn't of a patient sort, merciful too, thus only whispers and rumours would be brought to you before someone's head would roll.
Your chamber was basking in moonlight when you entered it, with wide windows overlooking Alexandria's rebirth. The city was alive at night, with faint melodies and laughter coming from the far markets.
The days were long, tiring, ruled by your strong hand.
But nights?
Nights were for him.
He didn't turn when you came inside, with wet dripping down the marble floors and robe clinging to your skin. Hips and soft thighs, gleamed with crystal droplets as you walked towards him, leaving wet patches on the floor.
He stood near the balcony in simple ivory linen that clung to his strong frame – muscular back and overpowering arms, stretching usually loose robe to its limits. He almost covered the moon with his monstrous height and wide shoulders. You noticed the laurel had been taken off, now lying discarded on a table. He looked like a simple man.
No.
A God himself.
A creature who brought a sun and a whole empire to your knees, driven just by a simple force of passion.
"Maybe I have bewitched you, after all," you whispered, embracing him from the back, with hands wrapped tightly around his body, shivering with a laugh. "You've been staying here longer than in Rome."
"Have I ever denied this accusation?" Satoru asked playfully, without turning.
You buried nose in his back, smelling the freshness of his linen. The night was warm, but his skin was sizzling, burning, and also absorbing the water from your tightly pressed breasts.
"You think of me as a witch?" you asked, rubbing thighs slowly. You felt his body tensing up when you graced his back with your perked nipples. "What if they'll accuse me of being the Queen of Rome next?"
He hummed quietly, putting his hand on your arm, his posture weak.
"I'm afraid I would be the one spreading rumours"
You chuckled quietly, when he turned around, scanning your posture with a longing.
"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow, looking at the transparent robes sticking to your body. Linen wrapped around your nipples, thighs soaked in almond oil, the curve of your hips fitting his hands just right and this smile. Heavens, this slick, mischievous smile that left him awake at night.
You wrapped your hands around his neck, bringing closer the ocean eyes that gazed at you with tenderness. Admire, even. Searching for strength in your soft whispers and firm commands.
How pitiful he turned out to be for you, truly feeling as if a viper had wrapped around his neck, poisoning his mind and gut. Your presence was intoxicating, addicting, and he found himself running towards Egypt a few times a month, leaving his Empire in the hands of trusted generals.
"Shouldn't you arrive in a few days?" you questioned, feeling his hands on your hips, pushing you slightly back, right towards the bed, waiting quietly for your bodies to tangle once again.
The faint light of the candles was guiding you through the dark chamber, with nothing but gold bracelets on your arms gleaming softly under his sharp gaze.
"I couldn't wait. The sole thought of you sleeping alone in this bed was giving me shivers." His grip tightened, and when the back of your knees touched the edge of the bed, you dropped silently on its soft linen.
But Satoru stood before you, with eyes following your body up and down. From the wet calves, up to thighs, your sweet core covered by a simple robe, and soft tummy, breathing slowly under his gaze.
He stood quietly, proudly, truly an Imperator, his forehead clouded by your scent, your touch, the sheer view of your nipples, hugged by wet white robes. Your breasts looked soft beneath the chalky material, and he thought of how they fit his palm, so heavily and fully.
"Ruling the Greatest Empire in the world bores you, my Imperator?" you asked, raising your legs and parting them slightly, just for him.
For his fingers to follow your calves up from the ankles, gripping the wet material and moving it slowly, slowly, up your thighs, dampen with a mixture of almond oil and your juices.
His breath ragged when he dropped to his knees, groaning at the sheer look of your shimmering pussy, displayed for him like a feast.
"Ruling half the world doesn't satisfy you?" you continued, with a voice so syrupy he wanted to drink it like a madman.
Your charm bewitched him, and before you noticed, his lips were already making their way up your thigh, kissing soft skin and licking its sweetness.
"My Queen," he whispered, exposing your smooth belly and breasts, as he cupped them with strong fingers. He smirked like a jackal when his tongue licked your nipple and bit it gently. "Even ruling the Greatest Empire doesn't match the feeling of being between your thighs."
And then your lips crashed in long, dear kisses. Your fingers landed in his white hair, pulling them slightly just to push a soft groan from his throat. He bit your lower lip, cupping your cheeks firmly, to draw away with a string of saliva between your hot tongues.
"What a fucking sight you are for an eye, my Queen."
Your breath hitched, and just a second later, the great Imperator was the one lying on a bed. With your thighs strangling his hips and hot core right on his bulge.
"I could say the same thing about you, my Imperator." You rolled hips gently, with a whine escaping both your throats.
Satoru was easy to tame, although he wished not to be. Maybe he didn't want a tyrant's reputation to be shattered. For people to look at him as if a dog sitting obediently by your leg.
But the truth to be told, the moment you lifted your hips and moved them right above his head, when he felt the fragrance of your pussy and long, and saw the sticky ropes glued to your puffed folds – an eerie thought crossed his mind. And suddenly, the idea of being nothing but a tamed dog wasn't that bad.
"My Queen, you fucking–"
And you didn't ask. You didn’t have to.
There was no need to beg for anything, because with one strong pull, leaving marks on your hips, he brought your core right to his open mouth and stuck out his tongue.
"A-ah–"
You shivered, feeling his fingers spreading your folds. Lips wrapped around clit and tongue following right after, lapping through your pussy with a deep groan, sending bolts through your body.
"Don't even think about holding back. Sit on me fully," he groaned, and you wouldn't even think of disobeying his order. Your mass was heavy when you gripped his head with your thighs and arched slightly, lolling your head back.
He was nose deep in your cunt, slurping, ravaging and inhaling the scent of your hole, whining deeply, as your slick went down his throat, as the sweetest ambrosia served only by the gods. The goddess herself, spread on his mouth without any shame, with hands clenched tightly on a bed frame and gold bracelets on her arms quivering every time he sucked your harder.
"S-satoru, aren't you a starved jackal, hm?" You could barely chuckle while grazing the strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. He truly looked like a beast, lapping you starved, maddened, with faint groans and hips bucking up in desire to be touched.
He groaned in an answer, putting his muscular arms on your thighs to pull you down even farther. He looked almost possessed, with brows creased and mouth fully covered by your fat, without any care in this world.
And maybe you should be afraid of choking him with your mass, but how could the greatest Imperator be bothered by your goddess body, weighing less than a feather?
"My Queen, my dearest," he muttered, slurping your folds obscenely, with tongue running circles around your clit. The wet muscle went inside, licking and tasting your walls clean. The slick smeared both his mouth and face, although he looked as if there was no other place he would like to be.
"Hm?" you hummed, feeling his finger nudging at your entrance, slowly, almost painfully, gathering the slick and scooping it out, just for Satoru to take it down his throat. Then he put it back into your tightening folds, looking for the spot which would bring you – and him! – down to knees.
"I was talking to her," he bubbled, clamping one hand on your hips. "Move them for me, baby. Ride me as you wish."
He didn’t beg, but the look in his eyes was devouring you whole, so possessed and filled with crude passion. It seemed like an Imperator was truly pussydrunk!
Your hips weaved, slowly, deeply, with a clit nudging the tip of his nose and shivers running down your spine. He helped you move them, with tongue plastered to your slit, catching the dampness and soft moans that spilt right into his mouth. His hand gripped your ass. A groan spits from his throat, adding a second finger and feeling your walls fluttering, when he bends them down.
And then something snapped!
"Oh? Is it here?" He smirked slyly, a wide grin spreading on his lips when he pushed the spongy spot again. Your whole body bolted, head fell back, and eyes shut so tightly, this time you felt like bewitched. "Anything happened, my Queen? You were so full of yourself just a second ago?"
"S-shut up and make me c-cum," you hissed pitifully, almost with a cry, feeling your lower belly clenching together with your walls.
He smirked, giving you a long, filthy lick. His hand cupped you harder, moving back and forth just for your pussy to grind against his face, painting it with your stickiness. "Such a golden mouth, aren't you?"
Satoru sent you a last look, before his gaze dropped down to your sweet clit, waiting for his tongue to come back and suck on it till you'll squirt all over his face.
Maybe that was his favourite part of all of this. Not the sex alone, just the feeling of your warm core on his tongue and a taste that made his toes curl and hips buck in undeniable pleasure.
"Mmm, this is why I conquered half the world for you," he mumbled, not you, but her, glancing at your pussy with almost tears in his eyes and once again going deep inside your folds.
Your body spilt on his face, loose and relaxed, while your hips pushed against his tongue. Fingers worked you from inside, pumping your cute hole and pushing the spot every time Satoru sucked on your clit. He clenched your thighs hungrily, cupping your ass with a strength you couldn't imagine, truly worthy of the conqueror.
He guided you with a demand and patience, giving you enough power to make you think you were in control. Because, oh, baby, you were the only one he would ever drop to his knees for, without a second thought.
So while you were grinding your hips against his mouth, clenching your thighs on his head and giving him throaty moans, he slurped on your pussy, sucking and groaning right until he felt your walls clench.
"S-satoru," you whined, moving hips quickly, sloppy, with your mind clouded by obscene moans and his face drenched in your juices. "I'm cumming, S-satoru I'm–"
"Come on, baby, my Queen," he moaned under the look on your face twisted in pleasure. "You're so fucking ethereal. Come on, cum for me, hm? Give me another victory."
You stopped, with hands clenching on his hair and pulling them slightly till his eyes rolled back. One last lick, one last bend of his fingers and your pussy gushed with a nectar sweeter than honey, melting on his tongue.
You whined lowly, and your hole trembled, fluttering around nothing, when Satoru took you off his face.
"My sweet Queen," he murmured, placing you down on your back, with shaking thighs glued to your chest. Your wet body softened beneath his touch, surrounded by soothing linens and the hush of the flickering flame. He dropped his eyes, looking at your poor hole, so raw and needy, with new slick flowing down your thighs. "Seems like she needs to be filled with something else, hm?"
He took off his drenched robe, finally revealing the mountains of muscles, hanging solid on his body. Skin white as pouring milk, embedded with single droplets of sweat, tasting sweetly when you wiped one with your finger and placed it on your tongue. You purred, looking with a lost gaze on his broad shoulders and muscular arms, wide back and absolutely delicious, almost god-like hard cock, already wet with pre-cum.
"Aren't you a sight, my Imperator?"
You smirked, placing your foot on his chest, moving it slowly down, down his abs, till his feverish cock, flinching under your electric touch. Satoru furrowed his brows and parted lips slightly, following your foot till it touched his wet head. He hissed, the moment your fingers curled, squeezing his sensitive skin and smearing pre-cum all over the soft pads of your feet.
"You're killing me, my Queen," he mumbled, nevertheless letting you do whatever you wished for.
Your head tilted when a soft moan escaped his lips, as you pressed his cock to his belly. Drops of pre-cum rolled down its fat shaft, and you could only imagine yourself licking it clean, until the last ropes of his cum would land deep in your throat. He felt heavy, massive, with veins curling up around it and a hot, red head, extremely sensitive under your touch.
"Am I? Then you're quite easy to kill, my Imperator."
He shuddered, hearing this title, when your foot was stomping the symbol of his manhood. Such a cruel creature you were, truly just a cunning viper.
You knew he was going absolutely insane, with your nectary pussy just in front of him, spread widely like a feast. And with his white hair stuck to his shining forehead, dilated eyes glancing between your needy eyes and your even needier hole, he couldn’t contain a gasp that escaped his lips.
"Only by you, my dearest."
But before you could answer, he grabbed your ankle and put it right on his shoulder, kissing your calf gently, grazing your skin with his teeth.
"Ah!" you whined when the head of his cock caught on the entrance of your pussy, as she invited it with a sweet purr and drenched folds, fluttering just at the sheer thought of his huge cock ripping her raw.
Satoru bent down, shoving his tongue down your throat, till nothing but moans spilt from your cunning mouth. He moaned, licking your lower lip and pushing your tongue back, heavy, needy and whiny as the opposite of the man he usually was.
And he pushed. Slowly. Truly slowly, glueing your thighs back to your chest, and soaking his shaft in your wet pussy.
"My fucking–" His breath shuddered when you clenched around him and cried pitifully, bucking your hips to meet his pelvis. His cock was feverish, throbbing and pushing through your muscles, pinkish walls catching down on its bulging veins, crying with a delicious tear he was bestowing you with. "So tight, dear goddess."
"T-toru," you put your palms on his chest, pushing him slightly. It was too much, with his cock almost in your lungs, pumping your poor belly. His head suddenly kissed your cervix, making your mind stupidly foggy, as if blinded by the sheer heaviness of his shaft inside you. "W-wait, I–nghhh"
But Imperator could only smirk at your wretched state and brush your parted lips with his thumb before forcing it right on your wet tongue.
"Forgive me, my Queen. But don't you think I deserve this sweet treat for giving you back the throne?"
And it was enough for him to push.
Truly push, raw and deep, stretching your hole like it was your first time, dragging his thick cock through your folds with a squelch. You could feel it all the way in your tummy, with walls clamping on his cock and cervix already swollen from his furious strokes, going to the deepest corners of your pussy.
He put his whole monstrous weight on your thighs, pressed against your chest, and kissed you deeply, swallowing a mean moan that escaped your lips. "Toru–mmmm–t-too much."
You felt so fucking full that even deep breaths wouldn't help the feeling of his heavy cock sitting heavily inside your walls, and the simple, stupid, womanly desire to feel him spill right into your burning womb. He was pumping you with his girth, shuddering breaths escaping his lips when you glanced at him, lost in pleasure.
"I can hear your thoughts, baby," he mumbled, looking at your crossed eyes with a grin. He sank deep with balls hitting your ass, pace so fast and intense, you could only loll your head to the side and let him sway your body as he wished. "You want an heir, don't you? You wish to carry my baby? The most powerful child in the world? Just think of the empire he would inherit, hm?"
And you couldn't give him another answer than just a nod, so frantic and quick, he laughed deeply, pumping, pumping, pumping his cock till your slit caught around him like a glue. You moaned with a pitched voice, spreading around the walls of the chamber like the sweetest melody, making Satoru pump his hips even faster, bold, raw, to scratch with his cock the deepest parts of your pussy.
"She doesn't want me to go, hmmm," he groaned lowly, with a wet forehead sticking right to yours. "Can you hear her talking?"
His pace quickened, cock going even deeper, with your plush thighs shoved against your chest so painfully, it almost felt like a strangle. The mating press was absolutely, fucking, mean, as he pulled away just to look at your clenched thighs and reddened folds. He parted them slightly, smirking at the way your walls gripped his monstrous cock in a fever. You could only hear filthy squelching and his cruel laughter when he circled your clit with a wet pad of his finger.
"Where's your golden mouth, my Queen? What got you so quiet?"
Oh, how much pleasure he took from seeing you in such a miserable state. So weak and harmless, till the only thing he could think of was to fuck you pregnant and stuff you full of his cum. With your lips slightly parted and breasts breathing feverishly, bumping softly every time his hips met yours, shuddering under the tight clench of your pussy.
And when he thought he had finally managed to overpower you and rip your smugness away, you smiled.
Softly, slyly, like a devilish fox, a deadly jackal itself, circling on the West Bank of the Nile to devour its prey.
You wrapped your legs around his hips, tying your ankles behind his back tightly, maddeningly, almost too sure and proud of your small victory.
And a second later, he was balls deep inside your clenching walls, hugging his cock with their plush muscles. The only thing Satoru could do was to tremble weakly, looking straight at your lips twisted in a smirk.
"You're so easy, my Imperator. A single clench and you're down."
But he moved away, somehow, straightening his back and lifting your wrapped legs together with him. His strong hands gripped your hips, and when you thought he would change your positions and let you ride him, he also smiled.
He had a different plan.
And the moment he clutched your hips tighter, pushing fingers into your skin till left with purplish kisses, you knew that the next push would be so cruel, even your clenched muscles wouldn't be able to stop his cock from moving further, ripping your pussy raw.
"You're the only one who can tame me, my Queen," he said, bucking his hips once, like a madman, gripping your ass with his wide hands, to stuff you right on his cock. Your back arched deliciously, and your feet curled, when a long strip was licked against your neck. "But this fucking grip, I'll give you points for that. Making me fucking feral with this sweet pussy."
He hissed, driving his girth right against one spot. You were fucked by a true monster, with a belly swelling from his sheer size and clit rolled viciously between his fingers.
"Mhmmm–Satoru, my–mhmmm," you cried, nails going down his back, painting it long, red scratches. "I'm g-going to–"
The whine escaped his throat when your sensitive walls gripped his length. He bent down, pinching your chin with his fingers, only to look at you, absolutely gone, with tenderness and lust that filled his mind.
He felt almost blinded by the sheer beauty of your crying eyes and puffed lips. Breasts bouncing deliciously with every push, and the feeling of soaking his cock in your sticky cum, leaving his shaft drenched.
How proud he was to have such a woman under him. To feel her feverish body hugging his and tongue dancing on his lips, before he deepened the kiss, groaning softly, trembling under your touch.
He knew you were close when your lower belly started to clench, and hole fluttered around his cock, thigher and thigher, keeping him almost in a lock.
"Come on, baby. Give it to me. Aren't you my whore queen, hm? This pussy glued to my cock so hard, waiting to put my heir inside."
You felt his fingers once again pinching your clit, till your body shuddered with pleasure, bucking hips to meet his halfway. His muscular body strangled you with its sheer mass, nose hidden deep in your neck and palms pushed against the back of your thighs.
"Aren't you my pretty Queen? Come on," he guided you right through it, with the sweetest and meanest whorish praises leaving his trembling lips. "Cum on my cock like a good slut you are. That's the pussy I conquered the world for, baby. The least you can give me is a ton of fucking heirs."
Your cunt was aching, pulsing, every corner kissed by his cock in such a disgustingly pleasant way, it sent shivers down your spine and made your belly clench.
"C-come on–ugh." He finally gave up, pistoning his hips like a beast, gasping and fucking you with bruises on your hips, pushing your thighs in the meanest mating press he could be capable of.
"T-toru, I'm–"
But you didn't finish.
Just whined right into his ear, clenched and shuddered, with tears rolling down your cheeks. A knot in your belly finally untied as your pussy drowned him with another wave of squirt, dripping down his aching cock and the sheets.
"O-oh fuck, my Queen, you p-pussy's–" he continued his feverish strokes, with a sweat glistening on his temple and eyes far gone.
His lips grazed your ear, and muscles shuddered, before he finally burst, with thick cum filling your womb. So deliciously, you could almost swear he grew by size, nuzzling warmly against your walls, with his head kissing your womb and pumping it full of cum.
"S-satoru–" you shivered, feeling the flame coiling in your belly, and his strong fingers pushing your skin just over the tip of his cock bulging through your skin.
"The fucking chokehold you have on me. Do you feel it? My cum is going that deep, my sweet girl."
Your thighs trembled as he groaned in pleasure, pushing your belly and lolling his head back. And when you could feel his cum gushing out your puckered hole, with his cock not softening even for a moment, you cried softly, bringing his eyes back to you.
His fingers took the white ropes that slid down your skin and pushed them back inside with a low groan. Oh, how ruthless he was, absolutely thrilled by your desperate, dishevelled look and eyes crying for more.
So before you could protest, he threw your legs over his arms, kissing your soft calves gently. A sly smile grazed his lips, when he rutted slowly, barely, sliding his cock down your juices and his slick cum.
"Egypt's not enough, just ask me for a whole world, my Queen."
Let's leave Ancient Egypt for a while and go to Hades! Choso next ;p
