vyon's mouthpiece. song has been stuckkkkk in my head, this is my annual jjk post 🎀 gojo is ben btw, there's an explanation for this from my one other jjk textpost
Kento Nanami is a good husband. You know, because he was good to you once, years ago. The memories come flooding back when you first lay eyes on him again in Tokyo. It seems like fate when he takes a job in the office you work in. Did he remember? Was it on purpose?
The ring on his finger answers your question. Of course he's married. What did you expect after all this time? It doesn't stop the flood of memories, though. He walks by your desk, and the scent of his cologne transports you back to when he wrapped you in his arms after a mission. His strong body closed around yours like a vice, like he could never let you go.
Your eyes meet from across the room and the image of him buried between your legs, looking up at you through blonde lashes, drinking in every little sound and expression you make for him. You shiver. Does he remember? Does he remember lying next to you, pretending to ignore you for his book while you whined and pawed at him? You remember. You remember the way he smiled and pulled you on top of him, the hardness of him pressed into your belly.
If he remembers, he doesn't show it. Aside from pressing your small hand into his large one when he meets you again, you interactions are minimal. Aside from saying that he's glad to see you well, your conversations are professional. A fresh ache settles into your heart. You never wanted things to end the way they did. After one too many sleepless nights wondering if he'd make it home at all, you'd hoped he'd follow you when you took the finance job in Tokyo. It hurt when he didn't, but not as much as losing him forever might have.
You try to be happy for him when his pretty little wife brings his forgotten lunch to the office. The way he smiles at her shouldn't make your guts churn with jealousy the way it does, but you're only human. She stops by more and more often. Everybody whispers about how she eyes up the dark-haired guy from security.
Still, the first time you see Nanami without his ring, you think it must be a fluke. Maybe he was running late, left it on the sink at home. But his finger is bare the next day, and the one after that. His chin is stubbled and his eyes are drawn and tired. "Are you okay?" You ask, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He says he's fine and thanks you. "I'm here if you need me," you offer, and he turns to look at you. When your eyes meet, you say. "I miss you." You don't mean to say it. It just slips out.
"I-" he begins. He shakes his head. Sighs. Looks away. "I can't."
Kento Nanami is a good husband. Just not yours. He turns you down because he's decent. But maybe not because it's what he truly wants.
The next day, the ring is back on his finger. Soon, the pretty little wife is stopping by, too often, with coffee or lunch. He even brings her to the annual company party. She looks devastating in red. Red like the wine you realize you're probably having too much of.
She doesn't even attempt to be discreet when she slips out of a side door with that dark-haired guy from security. You see it. Everyone does, even Nanami, who is frowning over the tops of the heads of the crowded dance floor. You are moving toward him, hand reaching when he locks eyes with you. Then you are pulled against his chest again and his nose is in your hair and he's saying, "I missed you, too." The music is slow, the world narrowed to the lack of space between you. Time seems to stop.
It is nice, while it lasts, but then he says her name and he's gone. You're alone with the pulse of the music and the whisper of the crowd like a collection of cruel ghosts.
( NO INTEGRITY : FUSHIGURO TOJI ) you never typically accepted male clients, but after being the only one left in the office, you let your fear consider your safety. and now... you're kind of grateful for it. | watch time: 4.0k words.
── perverted gilf!toji fushiguro & esthetician!reader, fem-bodied!reader (s!her pronouns), toji gets a manzilian, high age gap, bribery, sadomasochism, facial, masturbation, oral fixation, blowjob/deepthroating, dirty talk, features esthetician!geto suguru, etc.
notes. i had so much fun writing this tee bee ayche. i want toji to cum all over my face. n e weighs... we almost done ! one more chapter to go !
gojo satoru | nanami kento | sukuna ryoumen
You never really took in male clients. It’s something you made sure of early in your career of being an esthetician. It only took one man to put the entire gender on the hard no list. However, as this older man stands in front of you, hazel green eyes that intimidate and should send alarms through your mind, you’re contemplating on making an exception. From his ID, he’s in his late seventies. He should be mature enough to handle what he’s requesting— a manzilian.
Looking at the clock, it’s inching closer to six p.m., when you’re supposed to be clocking out for the evening. The clerk having left already and leaving you to your lonesome, anxiety spikes within you and being your sole reason for why you’re even considering scheduling an appointment with him. You inhale through your nose, exhaling through your mouth. You glance at his idea once more, reading his name as you’re typing his name into the system— Fushiguro Toji.
Then, you’re glancing up at him. Salt n’ pepper hair, and lines underneath his eyes that show his years. His eyes pierce into yours, still waiting for you to confirm it. He cocks up an eyebrow, impatience growing inside of him. “Are you usually this slow?”
“Sorry,” you say under your breath, eyes going back to the screen as you click on the calendar, checking the most available slots. You grumble to yourself when you see that you have an opening just for tomorrow at five. You consider lying, but rationally, you know it would be better to get this over with quickly more than anything else. “I have tomorrow at five available. Is that fine with you?”
“Yes,” he answers curtly.
“And if you’d like,” your eyes light up when you see your male coworker also has an opening alongside your name, taking the opportunity. “Our male esthetician is open—”
“You’ll do just fine.” Your heart drops. You can tell that this man means what he says and that any type of persuasion would be shut down. But, you still try.
“Are you sure?” you continue. “You might find yourself more comfortable—”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine with just you,” he interjects once more. The corner of his lips rising and when you look at that scar, anger fills you. You’d love to make it deeper.
Of these years that you’ve been an esthetician, you think you’d have grown a backbone. You thought you had, but whenever issues with clients came up, you always had someone else along your side to back you up. Right now, that desperation to go home and the fear of being the only worker inside the building runs all sense away from your mind, making you too afraid to stand up for yourself in the possibility of experiencing any harassment. So, as quickly as possible, you type in the information you need, asking him for his form of payment before he slides his debit card into your hand and you click confirm.
“Just check to see if you’re received a notification that your appointment has been scheduled and you’ll be all set for the night,” your voice is higher than typical, looking up at the man behind the desk and watching as he pulls out his phone. You can’t help but notice how veiny his hands are, littered in melanated dots as he swipes across the screen. When he sees the text in regards to the appointment, he gives a curt nod and a grunt. “Got it.”
“Great,” you say, letting out a deep breath as you reach for your handbag and head towards the door. “Well, have a good night! I’ll be seeing you tomorrow evening.”
However, as you reach for your car keys inside of your bag, you can still feel his calling presence over you. “You’re closing up, right?”
“No,” you lie. “Our last esthetician’s cleaning up around back.”
“Hm,” he huffs, silently calling your bluff, but doesn’t say anything else about it. “Let me walk you out. It’s getting dark out.”
Oh, your eyes widen. That was the last thing you were expecting from him. Though, you still hesitate, glancing outside of the building. You typically park in the closest parking spot. Who wouldn’t? It’s very convenient, but it’s coincidental how you were running late today and someone else managed to snag your habitual spot. Now, you have to walk a fair distance to your car. “Thank you.”
The walk is silent and he never says anything to you, simply waiting for you to unlock your car door. He opens it for you, watching you drop your bags onto the passenger seat before getting inside yourself. Good night, he told you before shutting the door and walking away, never giving you a moment to respond back. As you start up your car, you wonder if your judgment has been misplaced. Maybe your appointment with the man wouldn’t be as bad as the nightmare stories you’ve heard and experienced.
—
When you’re finished with your second to last appointment, you glance at the clock. You have fifteen minutes to prepare for your last appointment for the day, something you’ve been anticipating to get over with so that you can go home. Sanitizing the bed and cleaning out the wax melter, you’re surrounded by silence before leaving the small room. Conveniently, Geto Suguru— the only esthetician to work in the afternoon alongside you— is in the main area. Pulling off his gloves before glancing at you, he motions you to follow him. Bringing you to the side, a look of concern washes over his face.
“I can’t believe you accepted a male client,” eyebrows scrunched together, he gets straight to the point. “Why didn’t you mention to me that someone came in after I left? I would’ve come back to handle it.”
“I didn’t want to bother you with that,” you explain. “You were probably at home by the time he came in.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter,” Geto says. “You know I’m willing to drop everything if you need the help. We’re here for each other.”
“Don’t worry, Sug,” you try to calm his worries. “I’m just going to hope and pray that everything goes smoothly and try to go as quickly as I can.”
“I’m going to wait for you tonight,” he says, leaving you nowhere to argue. Nonetheless, you try.
“Sug,” your shoulders drop, exasperated. “You don’t have to.”
“I don’t have to, but I will.” Just as he says that, the bells to the door jingle. You hear Geto’s deep sigh. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear—” In a low voice, Suguru whispers. “—That’s him, right?”
“Yeah,” you say, nudging him. “And go home—” you point. “—don’t wait for me.”
He doesn’t say anything, but underneath your skin, you know that there’s no way that he actually listened to you. Toji’s eyes are on you and you put on a bright smile. “Good evening. How’re you?”
“I’m doing alright,” the older man answers simply. You check the time, realizing you only have five minutes before his appointment officially starts. And instead of taking responsibility, you blame your lack of preparation on your coworker. Damn, Sugu.
“That’s great,” you chirp. “Give me around five minutes and I’ll call you back to get started.”
He nods silently before finding a seat in the waiting area. You put some pep in your step, heading back into the room and getting everything ready. Though you did the brunt of what you needed to do, you wipe down the bed once more heading to the door and poking your head out, you meet his sitting stature focused on the running television.
“Fushiguro,” you call his last name out, catching his attention. “I’m ready. You can come on back.”
Leading him inside, you hold the door open for him as you gesture to the bed. “I remember you briefly telling me this isn’t your first time getting a manzilian, but would you like for me to do a brief rundown of what to expect?”
“If it means hearing more of your voice, then that’s alright with me, love.” The sentence catches you off guard, making your heart plummet to the pit of your ass. Your body stiffens up as you turn yourself away from the man so you don’t have to look him in the eye. The way he had said it so seamlessly makes your skin crawl. You feel a bit foolish to have dropped your guard simply because he offered to walk you to your car last night. Letting out a breath, you ignore his sentence.
“Because you’re an older man, it might be more painful for you, so I’ll try to be as gentle as possible, but—” After your brief rundown of the expectations, you give him a bit of privacy before coming back inside. You change into another pair of gloves before reaching for the thing of wax and the strips. The thin veil of the paper-like cover rests over his lap as he lays patiently on the bed. You just want to get this done as quickly as possible. “Are you ready? First, I’ll be cleaning you up first, but do you feel prepared for me to start the entire process?”
Mhm is his only response before you’re asking him to rest his feet up. “At any point, you want to stop, just let me know.”
“I’m pretty sure with hands like yours, you’ll be treating me very sweetly,” he says. “Don’t worry, dear.”
Drowning out everything, you lift up the veil before pausing. Over the past couple of years, you’ve taught yourself to keep up a stoic expression, keeping yourself as calm and collected as possible. However, you can feel your eyes widen ever so slightly and you feel like the most unprofessional esthetician ever just at the fact that you’re gawking over this older man’s appendage.
When he walked in last night, you had taken into account his build. You can tell that in his younger years, he did extensive workouts and deeply cared for his body. He was handsome for his age and you can tell that he knew that. He was silent, but there was a silent stir of confidence within him that you couldn’t ignore. And even now, while you’re stagnant, you can feel a heat of confidence building up inside of him. Still, however, you never look as you’ve calculated inside of your head that he’s at least eight inches, probably— most likely— bigger than that. And you don’t like how you feel something in the pit of your stomach, and it’s not due to discomfort.
Just like you’d typically do, you clean him up. When you feel a tremor from his leg, you pause and finally look up. “Are you alright?”
“You can keep going,” he says, not directly answering your question. Shoulders dropping as you try your best to relax, you continue. And it’s apparent, the erection that’s building up as you clean his pubic hair. You’re gentle and careful with every move you make, noticing how his chest rises every time your glove-clad hands graze his length. It’s strikingly silent that it’s killing you. Typically, you liked to spark up conversations during your client’s appointments, but what were you to say to a man that’s getting hard from simply being cleaned?
After you finish cleaning him, you dispose of the cloth before switching into another pair of gloves. Reaching for the wax and the strips, you pause. “I’m going to start waxing. Just like before, let me know if you’d like to stop at any point.”
“Yeah, okay,” he says gruffly. And with that, you adjust his legs before setting the wax onto the strip. A sense of haste runs over you as you plaster on the strip and then quickly ripping it off. It was your preferred method as the shock seemed to make it less painful. Majority of your clients liked that you said no warning and just ripped it off.
It seemed to be the same way for Toji. Despite the curse muttered from under his breath, his cock jumped as a strip of hair was extracted from his skin. You glanced up, waiting for him to say anything, but he never did. Continuing forth, you noticed how his tip started to leak pre. You tried to ignore it, but you started to subconsciously go slower, which only seemed to be fortunate on the older man’s part.
Toji should feel some shame within him. To insist on you giving him a manzilian and for the blatant flirting he’d throw your way on occasion, but fuck, he doesn’t. The feeling of your hand against him, gently cleaning him before hastily pulling at his skin with no sense of TLC. It only continued to spark that heat within him, making him painfully hard. Precum leaked through his mushroom-shaped tip and he didn’t feel any sort of humiliation for it. He was a man and for him, this was normal. However, while he usually didn’t need anyone to touch his length directly, he was yearning for more the more you went on.
Your moves were getting slower and it was as though you were edging him now. Gnawing at his bottom lip, when he felt your hands touch at his pelvis, finally clearing off his inner thighs, he felt a pathetic sense of desperation run through him. “How much would it take?”
“Huh?” He had evidently caught you off guard, causing you to retract.
“How much could I pay you,” he started, “to let me masturbate?”
Halting all actions, you nearly knock over the thing of melted wax. You stumble to catch it, making the older man chuckle. “There's no reason to make a mess now. ‘S just a simple question.”
On the other side of the door, the moment that Geto heard the slight fumble, he was quick to his feet, standing behind the door and knocking on it. “Everything alright in there?”
You curse to yourself, your coworker’s voice not doing anything to settle your nerves. “Yeah, Sugu. Just clumsy as always.”
There’s a pause before he responds, “Alright.”
When you no longer see the shadow of Geto’s shoes from under the door, you let out the breath you were subconsciously holding. “Don’t tell me you had a guard dog out for me. I’m not gonna hurt you, love.”
“I don’t know that,” you answer truthfully. “If you want, you could probably kill me right now.”
“Probably,” he doesn’t deny. “But, you’re not dead right now, so that should let you know all you need to.”
You look him in his eyes and then back to his hardened length. He chuckles before you could truly contemplate and dissect what he’s asked you. “How much?”
“Is there a possibility that I can say no?”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t have a few extra bucks in your pocket.”
“75,000 yen.”
“45,000,” he quips instead.
“70,000.”
“50,000.”
“60,000,” you watch his eyes squint, considering it. He nods, “Fine.”
You watch as he knocks off the veil, letting it slowly fall to the ground before wrapping his fist around himself. The size of his hand makes him seem small. He shudders, his hands feeling like ice against his cock as he waits. It calls for confusion from the both of you as he waits expectantly. “You can continue.”
“Continue what?” He finds your moment of idiocy to be adorable, making him chuckle once more, “Continue waxing me.”
“That’s unsanitary,” you start. “You could possibly start bleeding and I—”
“This entire situation is unprofessional and I could have your license revoked,” he finishes for you. “Would you prefer that instead? Don’t worry, if I bleed, I won’t report you, love.”
You slouch forward, reaching for another strip and trying to continue as if your client isn’t palming at his cock as you try to maneuver around him. Your hands start to shake as his fist moves up and down. He’d stop ever so often to rub over his tip, smearing the precum around it. So copious as he causes his length to glisten.
You don’t like how you feel yourself growing aroused, clenching around nothing as you wonder what he’d feel like inside of you. And he finds your squirming to be adorable as you try desperately to keep yourself together as you rip hair from his skin. You could’ve finished a long time ago, but you’ve come to enjoy watching this. You won’t admit it, but you find it intriguing how a man finds pleasure in pain and there’s a boost of confidence within you knowing that you’re the one inflicting it.
There are points in time where Toji would stop, feeling himself close to releasing. His hands would be back to the base of his length as you’d pull another strip. It wasn’t until you were on your last spot that he finally decided to let go. His balls would slap against his fist every time it came down and the wetness of himself jerking off while he was being waxed sounded the room. He wondered if your coworker could hear and he wondered that, if he did, what was stopping him from interfering?
And the possibilities that coursed through his mind only egged on his impending orgasm. Your touch rivalled between rough and soft. When your glove-clad hands gently rested against his thigh before the next hand pulled at the wax strip, it was all that it took for him to release.
Your gasp was high-pitched, the feeling of cum hitting your spray as Toji’s head hit the bed in relief. He didn’t care, simply continued to aim for your pretty little face and you let it happen. Again, a next set of knocking came to the door. Geto, again. “(Y/N), are you sure you’re alright?”
You didn’t want to sound annoyed, knowing that he was only looking out for you and your well being, but you did remember telling him that you would be fine. “I’m alright! I just nearly burnt myself.”
“Shit,” you can hear from the otherside, a set of keys following that sent your heart racing. “Do you need help? Is it bad?”
“No,” you answer. You’d feel embarrassed to have him walk in on you in this current predicament, and it’d go against protocol. “I said nearly. I’m alright.”
Checking the time, it’s almost been an hour. With a sigh, you just want Geto gone. “Look, I understand why you’re staying late and I appreciate it, but I really am fine. Just go home. If I need help, I’ll call this time, okay?”
When he doesn’t answer, you ask again. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he sighs. “Have a good night.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When there’s silence, your older client chuckles. “You should've run him off a long time ago.”
You don’t answer him, watching as he comes to sit up before you place a hand against his chest. Your heart starts racing as you take into consideration what you’re about to do. “Wait—” despite his release, you can still see it. He’s still hard. Pulling off your gloves and aiming them towards the trash, your fingertips graze his shaft. “—Let me…”
You don’t have to say anything more before he gives you the okay and he’s leaning right back into position. The corner of his mouth, where his scar is, twitches upward. Looking down at you like this, he finds you so pretty like this. This young esthetician’s face was covered in his seed, and now she’s offering herself up to continue on the session. He’s never gotten to experience this, quickly believing he’s found himself a keeper.
You reach for the hand that was previously connected to his cock, noticing the droplets of cum still staining them. You’ve become bold in the timespan, holding eye contact when your mouth opens and your tongue lulls out to clean off his fingers. Plump lips wrapping around the digits and suckling on them until the only thing that’s coating them is your saliva. When they’re nice and clean, you’re dipping to his length.
Your dominant hand takes hold of it, your heartbeat picking up as you’re still incredulous to the sheer size of him. You pause, taking in a deep inhale before your mouth opens once more. You can still smell the stench of wax, the years of working making it ingrained in your senses that it nearly overpowers any bad body odor. Toji watches how your lips wrap around his thick cockhead, how your eyelashes flutter upwards to look at him.
To think that the previous night, you were trying to ship him off to that long-haired brooding esthetician and now, that fear is leaving you to the point where you offered yourself up to him. He feels triumphant as he feels arousal leak through his tip once more, but this time, on your tongue. “I bet that pretty pussy of yours is all wet.”
He’s right. Your panties cling to your pussy, a wet patch well formed from the past hour and only worsening now that your lips are around his cock. His hand reaches to caress your face before it travels to the back of your head. Your hair combed into one, he grips at the band and forces you to take more of him. He lets out a breath, “Saw the way your cute body was squirming around watching me. All you young girls are just sluts nowadays, I swear. You’re the only one who holds no shame in it.”
He pushes your head down until your lips are at the base, the head of his cock, hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag. The corner of your eyes prick with tears before he’s pulling you off and giving you a chance to catch your breath.
“Ah,” he tsks. “Seems like I gotta train your throat to handle me. You’ll take down that stupid rule of yours, right? Just for me?”
You nod, inhaling deeply as your chest rises and falls. Toji chuckles. “Good girl. I’ll probably have to train that pussy, too, it seems— wrap your hand around the base.”
It’s so seamless how he goes to throw commands at you, and it should be embarrassing how obedient you’ve become. Doing as told, you don’t waste a second to wrap your mouth around him once more. However, he takes all control and fucking your mouth like you’re just a toy for him.
You’re grateful that Geto left, not wanting him to hear what’s happening behind closed doors and how you’ve gotten yourself in this predicament. The man’s cum has long dried up on your face, but fuck, he’s imagining the possibility of making it messier. This time he has his imagination running rampant as he uses your mouth to get off. And you’re imagining the possibility of him filling you up, spurting his load in you as you let this old man take advantage of your body.
His veins protrude, blue highlighting his skin in lines as he uses his strength to use you. Weakly, his hips rise to meet your lips as he’s enveloped by your wet warmth. This orgasm is all too quick to approach him and he has no intention to stop, feeling how your grip has tightened around the base.
“Fuck,” his voice is guttural and raspy. “Gonna cum in your mouth, and you’re gonna swallow, right?”
You mumble around his length, but that short nod is all he needs. The vibrations sent waves through him and called for his release. You feel the way his cock twitches inside your mouth before tasting the salted seed kiss the back of your throat. And just like he asked, you’re swallowing him as you feel his grip on you weaken before finally letting go.
Gradually, you remove yourself from him and catch your breath, your chest rising and falling in a rushed rhythm. When the both of you have cleaned yourselves up, you leave together. Though, when Toji goes to walk you to your car, he squeezes your ass before holding the door open for you and leaning to whisper in your ear, “That pussy will be the next thing I claim the next time we meet, alright?”
Nodding, you whisper out a ‘yes.’
Bidding you a good night, Toji leaves you to your lonesome. When you get home, you make a small change to your rules.
longer than most people could say they’ve known another person. ever since you both had cheeks still big and swollen with innocence and milk – though, you remember toji lost his much quicker than you did. ever since you were both young enough to understand that there was something fundamentally wrong inside you. something that wrapped around your soul and ribs like rusting iron, squeezing, squeezing, and squeezing until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what used to be a person.
you both weren’t like the others.
you couldn’t see the things they could, or do the things they did. when you were scratched and bit and left bleeding by things you couldn’t see, they all laughed at you. you both still didn’t understand what it was exactly you were missing, but you knew that something else was in its place. you were there when toji threw a punch so hard it crushed bone. and he was there when you moved faster than a person could blink.
and you were there the day toji got that scar on his lip.
when he finally explained it all to you through blood-stained teeth, a lone tear dragging down the expanse of his cheek, you never said a word as you patched up his wounds.
like you always did.
toji didn’t need to ask you a thing the day he appeared on your doorstep when you were sixteen, with no tattered rucksack slung over his shoulder because he had nothing to his name. you knew why, because you both were one and the same. that heavy ball and chain had been wrapped around you both since you were born, dragging at your heels and splitting your wrists, and you’d always know him.
leaving it all behind was easy.
you never looked back once.
but the anger living inside the two of you was an unquenchable, undying thing. it savagely clawed at your insides from the spaces in between your ribs, begging you to just release it. to let it break and bend those that had hurt you first. your mind couldn’t quite uphold the weight of the power that was your hands and body. there were so many times you woke up in the middle of the night and you felt like nothing more than a bag of blood and meat, and it made you want to cry.
and toji would just look at you.
because he never slept, not properly anyway. he’d be sitting there beside you, a knife dancing over his index finger, swooping down the valley of his palm and across his ring finger. you wondered if he was making his mind up whether you were strong enough for this. it scared you, really. the moon hung above you, and all you could see was the emptiness in his eyes. perhaps, if he cared, he would have put a hand on your shoulder and tell you that he understood your pain, that it was going to be okay, and that you weren’t alone.
but he didn’t.
he never did.
the only thing toji ever did for you was force you to fight him. you didn’t know if it was because you were the only one he could ask, or because it was because you were the only one who could put up a real fight. whatever it was, it made you stronger – faster than you ever thought possible. you’d go at it for hours, your knuckles throbbing and gums bleeding from how hard you clenched your teeth.
he never held back, not a bit.
you’d be lying if you said you didn’t live for this.
because you fought like gods. ordinary people couldn’t comprehend what it was they saw when the two of you collided again and again and again. it was a dance, you see. rain lashing against the wind, the sea breaking against the cliffs at the edge of the world. a heartbeat against a ribcage.
his old knife at your throat.
your dirty fingernails pressing gently into his.
a shuddering exhale from him, like the air was too cold for his lungs. his knife would drop, clattering to the floor like an icy shard against a frozen lake.
resonating, all consuming.
you knew you loved him. how could you not? toji zenin was your sun. a brilliant, green sun, and you the deep, lonely earth destined to orbit around him. always chasing him, but never quite touching him. he was smoke slipping through your fingers, and you were fine with that. loving him was natural, like the water in your veins, the calcium in your bones. fluid, yet ever solidly present. wherever toji moves, you do to, flowing around him to the shape of whatever he wanted you to be.
and this thing inside you could either eat you both alive, or you could use it. for power or money or good. what did it matter? it was only a thing.
toji used his for money.
and yours?
yours followed toji, and it always would. so, you became a killer just like him.
in a way, it was cathartic. you ended the sorcerers who once thought they were better than you. one after the other, they fell, dominos tipping over, tumbling toward the edge of the table. they always begged, their faces smothered in snot and tears, the overwhelming smell of shit in the air.
neither of you cared to listen.
the both of you could have ended the world together if you wanted to. set it all on fire and taste the ashes spreading on your tongue like honey.
you’d said that to toji once, and he cracked a smile.
you felt like he was proud of you in those moments. for not letting yourself be eaten by what lived inside you. you let yourself believe that he might love you too in those moments. when his eyes softened into something like gold. a little warmer, a little more malleable to you. and maybe he could be yours the same way that you were his.
then he met her.
her.
a woman carved straight from the rib he broke the day he got the scar on his lip.
he left all the money and the killings. the barely furnished apartment – the only thing that had your names together on it. a home that obviously has never been a home to toji. all his clothes, old leather wallet stuffed with failed betting tickets and loose change, like the remnants of a man who never meant to stay in the first place.
and you.
you stood there in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the mug half filled with water – the same one he’d only used this morning – and all you could think about was the affliction inside you, writhing like a worm in your intestines.
a heavenly restriction.
heavenly?
you did not feel heavenly, nothing like an angel. angels did not have searing mercury running through their veins, or a hatred so hot it burned you from the inside out. you went to the sea and screamed at the heavens to break your chains.
they didn’t.
because you were more than an angel, something more like them.
and you remained a fallen god, their most beautiful, broken disgrace.
you followed her sometimes. trailing behind her as she shopped for groceries. watching as she delicately places peaches and mushrooms into her basket, two steaks and a carton of eggs. your mouth would sour, bile rising to the back of your throat, and you tasted salt on your cracked lips.
what was so special about her?
she was so… ordinary.
slow and uncoordinated and nothing like you. she tripped a little over her own feet, giggling sweetly at her own mishap. and you stood there judging her for it, still as marble. you, a lethal machine made of fluid metal, forged from the steel that toji had made you from.
your finger twitched on the handle of the gun in your pocket.
you could do it now.
you could pull the trigger, plant a bullet with your name on it right through the space in between her eyes, and be gone before her brain splattered all over those perfectly pink peaches on the fruit stand. you wanted to. oh god, you really wanted to.
but you couldn’t.
toji was hers now, in body and name, and that was his choice. you never once crucified him for what he had done in his life, and only ever following the script of the religion the two of you had made.
why would you start now?
you turned, leaving the dry, cool air of the grocery store behind as you slipped through the sea of people outside.
you never saw her again.
but you saw toji.
you hadn’t expected to. he was just standing there in your apartment, looking around at the things you hadn’t changed since he left, a baby on his hip staring at you with the same green wildfire in his eyes as toji. you didn’t ask what happened, and you didn’t care to know. but you knew she must have died, because there was no other reason why he would have come back.
the two of you couldn’t slip into the same pattern as you did before. you couldn’t, it just wasn’t the same. there were arms of marble wrapped around your body, cradling you in a cold embrace, and you buried yourself in it. toji didn’t care about your silence. he didn’t care about anything anymore, except perhaps money. it flowed like water through his spread fingers, because he never even thought all that much about holding onto it.
not for you, not for megumi.
you’d raise a questioning brow at him whenever he asked you to come to pachinko parlors, like nothing at change, pointedly glancing at his son sleeping quietly on your futon.
toji only scoffed and left anyway.
that was one of the last times you ever saw him.
one day, you came back to an empty apartment again. toji had taken megumi with him, and you didn’t think much of it. he was practically a ghost, he would only come back if he wanted to. for the most part, you didn’t care if he did. but there was a small part of you, one that you tried to ignore, that told you it was different this time.
a few years later, you found a man standing outside the door of your apartment.
he said his name was shiu kong, and that toji had told him to come here. when you asked why, he’d only motioned for you to follow him to his car. and there was megumi sitting inside, a little older, bigger, and so much more like toji. there was a baby sleeping next to him, a girl swaddled in baby pink blankets.
shiu shrugged helplessly, sighing as he lit up a cigarette, before opening the backseat door.
“he said you’d take them,” he muttered, taking another long, slow drag from his cigarette. “said you’re the only person who can look after them.”
toji had never once given you softness. he never promised you love or patience. he never gave any part of himself to you. but this? maybe this was his way of finally saying something to you after all this time. he could never give himself to you, but as you looked at the two precious blessings sitting in the back seat, you knew that he was giving you something.
you tended to those two kids with quiet diligence, slipping into a domestic rhythm with them that was oddly comforting. you made sure they ate, bathed, and slept properly. it was important to you that you were a steady presence in their lives, and even when the silence stretched on, you made sure that it was never lonely or cold. you watched them not out of obligation, but from something real and good inside you. it kept you tethered to toji, even if he never called or visited once.
you like to think you felt something the day he died.
that you felt the chains around your wrists shatter like glass, and that you felt the thing chained around your ribcage loosen for the first time. you gasped as your lungs pulled in a sweet, fresh inhale of air you never imagined could feel so clean.
you cried like never before, and you haven’t since.
megumi told you a strange boy with white hair had visited him the morning after, saying something odd about working hard and getting stronger. you clenched your fists at that. megumi didn’t need to be stronger. he didn’t need to be anything other than who he was, because he had you to be strong for him. you’d take the blows for him, bleed to death for him and tsumiki if you needed to, would rage a war for them.
you’d only be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t love them just as much as you had loved toji.
so, you went with megumi to that school for sorcerers when he was older. the higher ups had tried to keep you out, but it was that strange boy – satoru gojo – who convinced them to let you stay.
megumi was so quiet those first few months, kept to himself mostly, and you wondered if that was because of you. it wasn’t from his mother; she’d been full of life, nothing at all like you. he’d never once called you his mother, he knew you never were to begin with and you never tried to pretend otherwise. still, he was like you, with the face of his father staring back at you.
sometimes, you had to look away.
but megumi was also good. he pretended not to care about things, but he really did. it was in the way he fought alongside his classmates, in the way he knew to hold your hand when you woke up in a sweat haze, plagued by the screams and the locusts and oceans of blood in your dreams. it was in the way he dried your tears with his hand, wiping away the sweat on your forehead with the edge of his sleeve, before he crawled back into his futon.
through him, you became something better – a person who actually deserved to live.
the day megumi told you that something big was happening in shibuya, you didn’t question him at all. you just strapped your old weapons to your back and agreed to go with him.
and you saw him again.
toji.
but it wasn’t him.
his eyes were black, pupils barely visible. a washed-out white cotton sweater hung off him like a blanket of death. you didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you. he had a grin on his face, wolfish and unsettling, and you knew he was out to draw blood. his fangs bared at megumi, and you knew that it would be either you or his son that died that day. you pushed megumi away, letting toji grab you and throw both of you out of the window.
and so, you met one last time.
the final, greatest battle between two old gods.
but you didn’t fight like gods this time. there was no glory, no grace. it was jagged and brutal, repeated collisions of bodies that had forgotten how to move together. you thought you might remember the steps to this dance. but you didn’t, not as well as you thought. maybe because you were older, just a little slower, or because everything was different this time.
this wasn’t toji.
his body was written in a language you couldn’t read – something ancient and dead, lost in a world you were never once apart of.
there was a ringing in your ears, like rain drums.
the gods are calling me home.
toji’s fist slammed into your ribs, and you heard a deep crack in the once perfect marble of your body. your vision blurred at the edges, your eyes watering and reacting to the pain before you did.
“fuck you,” you snapped, your fingernails tearing at his cheeks and lips. “i won’t cry for you anymore.”
he didn’t answer.
his breath rattled in his ribs, his body sagging on top of you. you stared into his eyes, black as a void, empty as death.
and then you saw it.
a flicker of something familiar. a spark of a chained god you once knew. was that sorrow you saw, or regret? perhaps, once upon a time, you and toji could have been someone else. that you both could have lived differently, been more than broken pawns doomed to die, whether it was now or in a hundred years. a sadness for the indisputable truth that you both knew that this was the only possible way it could have all ended.
in the end, you were grateful that you had known toji fushiguro.
, mentions of arson , post + messages , swearing , not proofread suck my butt :p
note , first part written in my car as i cry before my shift. sukuna and reader have a silly and strange relationship but like same. missing alt!sukuna so bad rn. if you think for a second that he isn't alternative and piercingless in any of my works , you are sadly mistaken. enjoy , like and reblog if you're nastyyyyy
nanami prides himself on many things—his discipline, his work ethic, his impeccable taste in ties. but above all, he prides himself on his ability to communicate clearly and concisely, whether in speech or in writing. his text messages are a testament to this:
nanami: I will arrive at 7:30 p.m. Let me know if you need anything.
capitalized. punctuated. grammatically flawless.
then there is you. his lovely girlfriend. his chaotic girlfriend.
you: oks eeu thns
nanami blinks. once. twice. he tilts his phone screen away, then back, as if a different angle might help decipher whatever cryptic language this is. "oks eeu thns" is not english. nor is it japanese. it is… something else. something eldritch.
"what." he mutters to himself.
this is not the first time. nor will it be the last. your texts are a battlefield, a warzone of typos, autocorrect fails, and complete disregard for sentence structure. you do not "text." you unleash a tornado of half-formed thoughts at an alarming rate, as though your thumbs operate on a separate plane of existence.
exhibit a:
you: r u cmg home latr i wan ice cre
nanami: Are you asking if I will be home late, and if so, whether you want ice cream?
you: ye
nanami: …What flavor?
you: gimme mint sumn u kno the blue green w the chunks idk idc
nanami: You want mint chocolate chip.
you: ye
he has, over time, become somewhat of a linguist. an interpreter. a man who now instinctively knows that when you say "bcum," you mean "become" and not whatever horrifying alternative that initially flashes through his mind. but nothing—nothing—prepared him for exhibit b:
you: bby whn u cming hom i wan hug n u also i los a sock idk where she go
nanami: I will be home at 6 p.m. I assume you meant to say you lost a sock.
you: y au did
nanami: What does that mean.
you: *ya i did
nanami: Understood.
he did not understand. he once tried to gently correct your typos. you responded by sending him "ok grammarly" and proceeding to text even faster with worse errors out of sheer spite. now, nanami has simply adapted.
you: i made pasta bt i dropd some :( rip lil guy
nanami: Rest in peace to the fallen.
you: he wud hv wantd us to eat his brothr in his honr
nanami: Then we shall.
sometimes, he marvels at how two people so fundamentally different could love each other so much. and then he remembers the first time you sleepily texted him "gn ily mwuah" at 1:43 a.m. with no capitalization, no punctuation, just raw, unfiltered affection—
and suddenly, he doesn’t mind deciphering your nonsense at all.
Suguru’s tattoos are small. Deceptively small, considering the sheer presence of him—broad shoulders, long limbs, the easy confidence that rolls off him like heat from sun-baked pavement. You wouldn’t expect them to be delicate. Wouldn’t expect them to be hidden, either, tucked beneath the thick fabric of his riding gear, scattered across skin most people never get to see.
But you do.
And right now, you’re tracing the one just above his ribs, fingers skimming the fine ink lines.
“What’s this one mean?” you ask, propped up on your elbow beside him. The sheets are warm, tangled around his hips, the scent of motor oil and leather still lingering faintly on his skin.
Suguru hums, cracking one eye open. He’s lazy like this, after a long ride—boneless and pliant, letting you map him out like a well-worn route.
“That one?” He glances down at the tiny symbol beneath your fingertips. “It’s a Buddhist mantra. For protection.”
Your mouth quirks. “Kinda ironic, considering how you ride.”
“Mm.” He grins, stretching, his arms flexing enough to make the tattoos along his biceps shift. “Guess I like playing with fate.”
You roll your eyes but keep exploring, fingers trailing lower. Another tattoo, hidden just beneath the dip of his hipbone—a thin, looping script.
You trace it slowly. “And this?”
Suguru exhales through his nose, amused. “Lyrics.”
“To what?”
His grin turns lazy. “You’d have to buy me dinner first.”
You scoff, but he catches your wrist before you can pull away, pressing a kiss to your palm. “It’s ...our song,” he concedes.
You blink, your hand stilling over the ink.
He watches your reaction, something warm flickering behind his gaze. “Didn’t think I’d tell you?”
You exhale a small, breathy laugh. “I just… when did you get this?”
“A while ago.” He shifts slightly, arm curling beneath his head. “Wanted something that’d stay, y’know?”
Your chest tightens. He says it so easily, so casually, like it isn’t the most mundane thing in the world—to be reckless with everything except the things that actually matter.
You press your palm against his ribs, over the ink, over the steady rhythm of his heart.
And then you move again, trailing your hand up his chest. More ink—tiny things, like a collection of moments he’s carried with him. A little paper crane near his collarbone. A thin chain of constellations along his ribs. An arrow on his forearm, pointing forward.
You could spend whole afternoons like this.
Have spent whole afternoons like this.
He lets you, always. Never rushes you, never pulls away, just watches you with that quiet patience, waiting to see which one you’ll ask about next.
And you love that about him. Love that, for all his speed and recklessness, for all the asphalt and adrenaline in his veins, Suguru is still. When it’s you, when it’s this.
You press your lips against his shoulder, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing.
“I like them,” you murmur.
His fingers skim up your spine, lazy and warm. “Yeah?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
A pause. Then—
“Think you’d ever get one?”
You tilt your head, considering. “Dunno. You gonna hold my hand?”
Suguru laughs, slow and low. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “I’ll hold your hand.”
satoru gojo was truly a big man. the fact that he was 1.91 meters tall was the biggest proof of that. whenever you stood next to him, it felt like you were walking beside a giant. a white-haired, handsome giant who protected you. another big thing about him was his hands. hands so large that he could easily hold both of yours between his palms. whenever you held hands, your fingers would disappear inside his. and for some reason you couldn’t explain, they were always incredibly warm.
of course, looking at his hands, certain thoughts inevitably came to mind. and those thoughts were anything but innocent.
as you stared at his long, thick fingers, you couldn’t help but imagine how they would stretch you open and make you feel good. no matter how much you tried to touch yourself, his large fingers would do a much better job. and every time you looked at his hands, you couldn’t help but wonder—if they were this big, then was his cock just as massive?
after all, wasn’t there a theory about this?
satoru was sitting next to you on the couch, one arm draped over your shoulder while the other was occupied with his phone. occasionally, the hand on your shoulder would absentmindedly rub against your skin, but his eyes remained locked on the screen. meanwhile, instead of focusing on the TV, you were staring at his hand resting on your shoulder.
his cock had to be huge. if the hand theory was true, there was no way this giant of a man had anything small between his legs.
to get a better look at his hand, you carefully took it off your shoulder and placed it in your lap. your boyfriend didn’t react, still scrolling through his phone. taking advantage of the opportunity, you began tracing his fingers, letting your own hands explore them more clearly.
this was bad. really bad. if his dick was anywhere close to this size, you wouldn’t be able to move your legs again. nothing this big had ever been inside you before. not even your dildo could compare to this. maybe that was why satoru was taking things slow—
“what are you doing?”
your boyfriend was still holding his phone, but now his gaze was fixed on you, his brows slightly furrowed in confusion.
you immediately released his hand, acting innocent. “n-nothing.”
his brows furrowed even more. he locked his phone and set it aside before leaning in, his sharp blue eyes scanning your face. “really? because it looks like you’re lying to me.”
how the hell were you supposed to explain this without dying of embarrassment? saying, ‘i was trying to figure out if your dick is just as big as your hands, and now i’m slightly terrified’ would be humiliating.
in an attempt to distract him, you cupped his cheek, gently stroking his skin. satoru’s expression softened immediately, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into your touch.
“you’re cheating,” he mumbled, voice slightly slurred from relaxation.
you feigned innocence. “me? never. your cheeks just looked too soft not to touch.”
“this is absolutely cheating.”
you giggled softly. “maybe.”
a sly grin stretched across his lips. “baby, you don’t have to be scared.”
you blinked, feigning confusion. “scared of what?”
your boyfriend opened his eyes again, taking your hand from his cheek and pressing a soft kiss against your palm before resting his face back against it. “whenever you’re ready, we’ll do it. i’m not in a rush. but when the time comes, i’m gonna get that pretty pussy so ready for my big, thick cock that it won’t hurt one bit.” he kissed your palm again, his voice dropping into a hushed whisper. “and you’re gonna take all of it like a good girl, aren’t you?”
you were caught.
even though you thought he was too focused on his phone, he had realized how closely you were examining his hand, trying to confirm the infamous theory. but that wasn’t the part that truly embarrassed you. no—what had your cheeks burning bright red was the fact that he just admitted it himself.
“yeah… i will,” you murmured, finally meeting his gaze, your face still flushed.
satoru grinned before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. when he pulled back, he wrapped his long arms and legs around you, pulling you down onto the couch with him, his head nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
after a moment of quiet, you ran your fingers through his hair and finally asked the question that would change everything.
“do you want to try now?”
it didn’t even take him a second to lift his head, eyes blown wide with excitement.
after he asked if you were sure and you answered with a firm ‘definitely’, you had no idea how he managed to scoop you up into his arms and carry you to the bedroom so fast.
all rights belong to @/poisonousspiderlily. do not steal, modify, or translate my work.
▸ A SOUVENIR FOR THE MORNING - GOJO SATORU. - forbes gojo!au
synopsis: you’ve avoided him for the last eight years, only for him to pop back into your life, leaving you with no room to run away as he asks you to kiss him. catch is, he now has a golden ring on his promise finger.
content: 9.2k words (idk how this happened, and it's unedited bc it's too long to go through) afab!reader, she/her pronouns, cursing, explicit smut, light angst, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, and anxiety triggers (picking at nails), pet names (baby, sweetheart, love, angel, good girl). minors do not interact.
The room is packed with people when you walk in. It was hard to recall some faces from the mirage of dimmed lights making you feel mildly dizzy and it didn’t help how the buzzing in your head from the smell of champagne and the loud chatter from the already drunk almost thirty-year-olds that can’t seem to contain their liquor-like novices, made you want to go home increasingly more.
“It’s only 9:41, and they’re drinking like they’ve never tasted alcohol before,” you heard Shoko mumble as she searched through her purse to reach for her perfume, “you want some?” Your best friend offered with a smile as she looked at you through the bathroom mirror.
“I’m okay,” you smiled back, “can’t have all the boys following me around with that,” you teased.
Shaking her head in disapproval, “If you see me go home with any of these drunks, I give you full permission to hit me, no, in fact, I’ll pull up to your apartment every morning with coffee and take you to work for a week if I do,” Shoko shuddered while furrowing her brows only to quickly soften the moment she saw you lightly picking at your thumb – an anxious habit you’ve picked up throughout the years, only but the keenest of eyes being able to notice your anxiety.
“You okay love?” Her voice was sweet as she leaned against the restroom sink.
“Mhm, of course,” you faked a smile, “I guess I’m just a little nervous seeing everyone, you know,” lightly chuckling as you bit your lips. Little was underlying, when the knot in your stomach was building up, making you force down the urge to entirely vomit in the moment.
“People are thrilled to see you again,” placing her hand on your shoulder, “it’s literally been years for you,” she huffed, pouting as she reminisced over the years she attended alone.
“well ‘m sure one will be sure thrilled —” her voice suddenly drained from a crowd of people entering the restroom, slightly pushing you towards her, “nevermind come on, let’s go get something to drink,” Shoko muttered as she led you out, gently massaging your tense neck as she encouraged, bringing her lips to your ears, “if anyone bites, I’ll chop their dick off,” Shoko threatened with a flashing smile as she led you to a nearby table.
It’s only 9:41 — no, 9:42.
College reunions, who looks forward to that?
There was no particular reason for you to be anxious, it’s been years since. You’ve prepared yourself for this, meditating every single day since you got the notification in your email on a Tuesday evening — an invite to rsvp for a room at the Aman Hotel.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so nerve-wracking if you’ve been consistently going out to these every year since they’ve held one. But every year there seems to be a conflict in the schedule that forbade you to go.
One year it was your boss last-minute asking your team to work overtime, when a rookie employee lost all the data when he supposedly fell asleep, accidentally losing months of all your blood, sweat, and tears to make it for the deadline on your next advertising project.
Poor kid was fired the next day.
The following year, you were determined to go, going as far as walking to the restaurant, when the sudden nausea of socializing plagued your mind. The joyous welcomings and celebrations annoyingly muffled in your ear as you groaned past a familiar voice that seemed to call out your name from a distance. Your feet walking on their own volition through your sleep deprivation. Only to wake up in your bed with countless text messages from your best friend asking what the hell happened.
No wonder it was so fucking loud that night.
Another was simple, not your fault this time. Shoko couldn’t make it because of her rounds at the hospital.
Never in hell were you going to show up alone.
And the last one, well your taxi got a sudden flat tire. That in itself was a confirmation for you not to go, nor did you have any dying wish to go. Quickly texting your best friend, huffing out a sigh of relief as you pressed send.
<< sorry… can’t make it tonight. I promise, next year!!
Today, well things seemed to have aligned. No overtime, no flat tires, no sleep deprivation, no nothing.
Maybe it was an excuse?
Maybe you were subconsciously avoiding it?
But ironic is it, that life seems to protect you when most fragile, only to push you out into the void when least expected making you feel even more vulnerable, feeling so exposed in such a cruel world.
Or maybe the universe was waiting for this moment, that despite your consensus or approval, it was determined that you were ready to confront it — well it, being the owner of a pair of brilliant light blue eyes that sparkled like an aqua jewel, shining brighter than when you’ve last seen them clouded in tears as you let go of his trembling hand for the last time, crushing his pure heart as you left him with, “i’m sorry.”
Was that already eight years ago?
But whether it was the consequence of your selfish choice or a blessing of choosing to be selfless, luck was on your side today…
… well, you hoped at least somewhat on your side.
“My … look who it is,” you heard a voice from behind you.
Turning around, though the shame of suddenly cutting him off enticed your heart as you faced him, you couldn’t help but smile at his familiar face walking over with two drinks in his hand.
Holding the same gentle eye smile, with a lock of his black hair falling down on his left side, donned in a white dress shirt with his sleeves cuffed at the elbows, no tie but buttons loosely opened with a pair of dark slacks and shined dress shoes. Geto Suguru walked over.
“Aren’t you still handsome,” you complimented with a sweet smile.
“Don’t feed into his ego like that,” Shoko chimed as she nudged your arm, “his head is already big enough.”
“Who me?” Exaggerating his response, only to soon level down to the same amiable smile, calm cadence you’ve remembered him to have as he offered you a drink, “I have to take all the compliment I can get, don’t know when you’ll go awol and go missing for another eight years.”
“Funny…” you muttered, rolling your eyes while taking the drink by the stem, “and thank you, Suguru.”
“Where’s mine?” Shoko jabbed while shooting a glare at his nonchalance.
“Not here,” Geto flashed a smile, innocently shrugging.
“Whatever, I’ll get my own,” shaking her head in disapproval, grumbling while making her way to get a drink, but still making a point to stop in front of the man to warn, “Don’t say anything weird Suguru, I barely got her to come today.”
“Relax, ‘m just trying to catch up with an old friend,” Geto countered, making a point to whisper while smiling at you.
“I won't hurt her, that I promise,” Geto affirmed.
Your best friend walked off only to turn around for a brief moment as she worriedly looked back at you “Text me for anything okay?”
“I’ll be fine! Don’t worry,” you reassured.
“And don’t forget what I said, I’ll even cut his,” deadpanning while looking at your male counterpart, “I got no problem doing it, I’m medically certified anyways, there’s nothing that a sharp scalpel can’t fix, ” Shoko stated with an innocent smile while walking off.
“So,” releasing a sigh as he pushed the strains of his hair back, “how’ve you been?” Geto smiled.
“I’ve been… okay,” you confessed while placing your lips against your glass before taking a sip, “could be better.”
“Thought you were living your life,” Geto teased, his voice laced with sarcasm, “Shoko wouldn’t tell us much about you.”
“I… I told her not to,” you confessed while leaning against your table, the pain of your heels starting to ache up your back.
“How come? Weren’t we your friends too?”
“I just didn’t think it was best to keep myself in the circle when I —” biting the inside of your mouth to stuff the suffocating knot forming underneath your lungs.
“ — When you broke up with him?” Geto finished your hesitation.
Nodding yes, you softly whispered, “I thought it was for the best for him.”
“For the best huh?” Geto chuckled, “well I guess you didn’t know him too well then.”
“What do you mean?” Your brows furrowed as your mouth started to feel dry, “I did it because we weren’t compatible, I would’ve been a stumbling block for him,” you stammered as your voice started to shake, “I- I would’ve halted his growth, and he would’ve hated me in the end if I selfishly held onto him when he was worth so much more than being with me,” you confessed with lips quivering as a tear fell, only to quickly brush it away before Suguru could notice.
But nothing passes with him, he reads right through you. His voice softened, “Was this your insecurity you’ve decided for him or — ” turning his body to face you while his body leaned on his arm against the standing table, “Was this something he actually would’ve struggled with?”
“I can’t change the past Suguru.” You shamefully avoided his gaze, “I still stand by my decision.”
“I don’t doubt that,” shrugging as he exhaled, “I mean, you did avoid him for almost a decade.”
“H-he seems happy,” you let your thoughts slip.
“You think so?”
“Shoko would tell me about everyone, you, him” you unnoticingly spewed out your thoughts. “Of course not in full detail, but that you’ve established your own studio, and that you’ve finally released those photos.”
“Mhm, that’s correct, would’ve loved to have invited you to the exhibition, it was quite… a moment,” he chuckled while playing with his fingers.
“That Megumi’s in high school and that he’s gotten in trouble for beating up the school bullies,” lowly laughing as you remembered how cute yet scarily mature he was for his age.
“Nanami hates corporate life, but still listens to what he has to say even if it’s outrageous.” Taking a sip of your drink, the sparkle of the beverage mildly burning your throat, “... and that he’s traveling the world living his life.”
Mumbling under your breath, “he’s even recently gone to Paris and had a night picnic with —”
“You stalked him?” Geto teased as he huffed out a laugh when he caught your shocked expression
“No — I mean, Shoko would tell me,” you stammered.
“Sure, whatever you say, sweetheart," Geto teased, "but just to let you know, he just got back. And from what I know, they haven’t met since he arrived. His plane should’ve landed,” while dramatically looking at his watch, “I don’t know like an hour ago? He’s probably on his way over here,” Geto handsomely winked as he suddenly placed a gentle hold of your waist and brought you near his side.
“You know… he’ll look for you, now knowing that you’re here” Geto whispered into your ear.
“How does he know… I told Shoko to not tell —”
Blinking innocently at you with a smile, while playing with his phone, “can’t avoid the poor guy forever.”
“I’m not avoiding him,” you sighed knowing what Geto had done, “just didn’t have a chance to run into him.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” releasing you with a smile, “ if you’re really sure about where you stand, then don’t run away from him.”
Geto's eyes flash to the entrance doors for a split second and land back on you.
“But would you look at that,” humming as he pointed to his empty glass yet his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure. It was the first in a while that you felt your heart sinking, all the blood in your body rushing out, making you suddenly feel lifeless and queasy.
“Gonna get another glass, you want one?” Suguru suggested.
“I’m okay, but thank you Suguru,” you quickly stated as your heart started to beat faster by the second.
“Sure, just don’t be a stranger again,” Suguru teased as he started to walk off, but your hand immediately reached out to catch his arm to quickly reinforce, “I- I mean it… thank you.”
Knowing your implication, smiling as he received your thanks, “No need, as fucking cringe it is,” chuckling as he shook his head, looking over your shoulder and back at you, “he’s my best friend, of course, I’ll be there for him.”
Letting go of his arm, your hands anxiously balled into a fist as you quickly turned around to avoid him, doing anything to hide from his sight. You felt your breaths becoming increasingly more difficult to inhale, and stagnant as your palms started to sweat.
“I’m not avoiding him… I’m not avoiding him” you quietly mumbled to yourself, your words contradicting your actions as you walked further away onto the balcony, texting Shoko,
<< I’ll be outside getting some fresh air (: let me know when you want to leave.
Closing your phone, as you let the night breeze wash against your face, leaving light chills around your body, you nervously sighed, “It’s been eight years you say…”
—
Your story was nothing short of the typical — difference in class and status, trying to make things work just for the convenience of love. It wasn’t hard at first to situate yourself into his life, nor was it any difficult for him to become accustomed to yours.
They say time will change things, circumstances will get better. Be patient with your season, and you’ll be rewarded for your hardwork.
But somethings never change no matter how hard you try to alter the dice. He’s rich and you’re just average.
Money works for him, while you had to take on multiple jobs just to make your next rent at the start of your career.
He was bound for greatness at a young age, trained by the best professionals and tutored by an exquisite league of mentors. While you had to settle for things, simply dreaming of the what can be. Thus, you worked even harder. You pushed yourself to keep up, to become of the level of who he’s supposed to be, and what he could accomplish.
When he dozed off in class, you stayed up. You studied, pulled all-nighters, chugged caffeine, and oftentimes had to push back dates with him for simple study sessions — he didn’t complain, said he liked to just sleep with his head rested on your lap while he cuddled into your stomach while you studied.
“Don’t mind me, I’ll be your personal radiator,” he would chime with a boyish grin on his face, taking off his sunglasses as he stretched his long legs before latching behind you like a koala, “wake me up when you’re done, I’ll drive you home,” Gojo peacefully murmured without forgetting to place a kiss to your shoulder, while you stressed over your next exam.
With him, even the coldest days always felt warm.
And on the next day, he’ll always take you to class with some soup and hot tea, murmuring about your poor dietary choices and how you often neglect your health to study. But at least he’ll be gentle, and wish you the best on your exam with a light kiss — an innocent kiss that lasts a bit too long, his hand always gracing your body as he reluctantly releases you, brushing off the saliva that linked your lips together — his good luck charm he’ll argue, a little tease of what he’ll reward you with later when you got home for being his good girl.
Gojo will always try to convince, “Life isn’t always about studying, baby,” stating with a pout, after your fifth time canceling a date he’s planned to instead go on a simple walk outside your flat, “you gotta live life to the fullest! And why stress when you’ve snatched me?”
“Well, I can’t live life to the fullest if I don’t study now, Satoru. And who’s gonna pay for all that ice cream you eat? All the sweets you stock up on?”
“What do you mean?” Deadpanning as he stopped in his tracks, “you have me, what more else do you need? I'm a double threat — I’m rich and handsome.”
“Satoru — I… never mind,” rolling your eyes, as you were hit with his puppy eyes.
“Just promise,” his tall frame blocking you, “that you’ll always stick with me.”
“I’m not a piece of gum to just stick onto you, Satoru,” pushing him away, only for him to reach out to delicately hold your hand, “You know, if you’re a gum, you’ll be the sweetest one.”
“Yea, why so?”
“Because every time I eat you, you taste so sweet,” he teased with a flirty wink, “if you get what I — ow!”
Rubbing his forearm that barely hurt, Gojo loved to exaggerate when he was with you.
For Gojo, things came easily for him, as if the universe highlighted his life as a thousand-year blessing, nothing was out of his reach — that is, nothing but you.
Shocking to many, he pursued you first. When asked about how you guys met, or what’s the story behind you two, or even if no soul asked… he’ll blabber on with an outrageous story, saying he fell in love the moment he laid his eyes on you, that you were the apple of his eye — an over the top fanfiction of you and him of how he just knew you were the person for him when you stumbled into the library, arms full of books and coffee in the other, and you magically just happened to just bump into him. And if it wasn’t for that encounter, then he would’ve never gotten your number.
And without your number, he wouldn’t have been able to woo you with his charm, he’ll always add with a wink.
“You can say it’s fate,” he’ll proclaim, “I never went to the library, you know,” as he munched on his icecream with Megumi and Tsumiki savoring theirs, both unbothered by the story he’s told them countless times, “and the one day I chose to follow Suguru because he was simping over someone, I get coffee spilled all over my clothes and meet her? Damn, the heavens just wanted us together.”
All you remember of that day was that your precious coffee went to waste, with your books embarrassingly spread out on the floor, and you were stuck having to dry clean his ridiculously expensive clothes.
But with him, you experienced all your firsts.
Your first handholding — Satoru confidently took your hand, immediately interlocking his fingers with yours, his palms engulfing yours entirely, “don’t be scared baby, I’m not scared,” flexing his muscles as he proudly smiled, “I’ll protect you!” as he leads you through the haunted mansion, jolting through every jump scare, absolutely refusing to scream.
You remember his palms felt particularly clammy that day.
Your first kiss — on a spring picnic as he laid on your lap, his eyes sparkling a little more than usual as he looked up at you, innocently asking, “can I kiss you?”
Your first argument. Ignoring him for a whole week, only for your resolve to quickly break when Suguru urgently called you to his house stating that Satoru was deathly ill — dark circles under his eyes, cheeks frail from not eating, wrapped up in his blanket as he dramatically announced his dying wishes while sneaking obvious glances at you.
Geto’s diagnosis: pure insanity.
To your first cuddle buddy, to innocent make-out sessions, to wonton looks and lustful touches for more. leading to your first sexual experience, both unknowing and inexperienced as he groaned into your ear in the back of his car one rainy night as you struggled to take his girth.
He was your first taste of goodness — like a forbidden fruit, you increasingly wanted him more. In soul, mind, and body, you etched yourself into him, making the tear even more painful to rip apart.
Sure, loving him was easy — but loving you, the version who was so lacking compared to him and insecure was hard.
You tried to ignore it, you did your best to brush off the insecurity that came with each day of choosing him. But having the message that you were worth less than he was being constantly blasted to your face — the blatant discrepancies between social classes and the nature of how you both grew up, to the constant side glances you’ll get wondering how someone so normal like you, got with such a high net worth — gradually, it all made you dissociate from him.
So you worked even harder. You stayed up longer than anyone else just to get that better grade. You worked that extra shift just to prove that you were capable. You doused yourself in knowledge, yet tried to stay humble to be seemingly perfect… but in that, you unknowingly pushed him further away, losing parts of yourself while at it.
And your final straw? It was a text message you accidentally read on his phone while he silently napped, cutely dozing off as you massaged his scalp.
From: Mom.
>> Remember the girl I talked to you about? Nitori-chan’s family requested that we set up a date for you two. The faster the better, no need for our families to meet, it’s all settled.
To: Minako.
<< Let’s meet. When are you free, Minako?
From: Minako.
>> Whenever! I can meet now!
>> Is this about our potential engagement?
To Minako.
<< Yea, let's meet tonight to talk about it.
You remembered, that night you couldn't reach him.
The final trigger that blew it over. The rambling of your thoughts paralyzes you from thinking rationally.
You didn’t need to search up who she was. Nitori Minako, the youngest daughter of Japan’s leading technology company that rivaled to that of America’s fruit. A girl that was a year younger than you — smart, adamantly cute, cunning and rich — always following him around a bit too closely for your liking, preaching about how “Gojo-san promised he’ll marry me when we were young! Isn’t that so cute?”
how long was this going on for?
Has he always been going on secret dates like this? Was he always just willing to let it slide when you rejected his dates because he had other options?
Was he leading you on this whole time before he’ll leave you for what he rightfully deserved?
Was all of this a lie? All of what he said?
The pinnacle of your sanity breaking as your thoughts became corrosive and brittle the more you dove deeper into the pitfalls of your insecurities — of course what people said was right, there was no way someone like him can settle for any less.
... Ultimately, everything led to you quietly blurting out as he rambled about his day.
Playing with your hand, smiling like a loser as he intertwined your smaller fingers with his, “Geez, there was this jeweler that I wanted to take you to, but dammit, the store closed early today. Maybe we can go — ”
“Let’s break up,” you suddenly announced, looking straight ahead.
The room suddenly felt quiet, so quiet that the thumping of your heart felt like loud sirens blaring next to your eardrum, and your body felt numb.
After a few seconds, Satoru stammered, “w-what?”
Sighing as you closed your eyes, “I said, let’s break up, we aren’t — ” you reiterated.
“I heard you the first time,” Gojo hissed, still playing with your fingers but his grip now harsher, “just wanted to make sure you weren’t bullshitting right now.”
“I’m not joking, Satoru,” your voice stripped of any emotion, “we aren’t good for eachother.”
“Says who?” the man challenged.
“It’s something that’s been on my mind,” you responded back while trying to pull back your hand, “l-let go, Satoru, it hurts…”
“Is it because of the text?” Gojo refused to let go, even more so gripping even harder, “Fuck... I'm sorry I should've explained earlier," his voice pleading for you to listen.
"I swear nothing happened, and nothing will ever happen, b-baby look at me,” your boyfriend’s — now, ex-boyfriend's — voice elevating and shaking.
“Gojo,” softly pausing after his name, “let’s end it when things aren’t so bad… I can’t have you hating me more when we have no other choice but to break up,” finally pushing his grip off, “it’s inevitable, we’ve been walking towards a destined finish line from the beginning, let’s just call it quits a little earlier.”
“no... you can't do this, you can't do this to me,” he vulnerably uttered, his body noticeably trembling as a tear dropped onto the back of your hand as he reached over to touch you, hoping it'll mend whatever hatred you had towards him, “you.. we promised,” his voice shaking.
“I’m sorry Gojo,” you dodged his grasp, “guess promises are only good if you can keep them, and I can’t.”
Days of him begging at the forefront of your door, crying as he asked for an explanation, his missed texts and calls that would go straight to voicemail, to Suguru stepping in to ask what the hell was going on… all leading you to cut off every aspect of Gojo Satoru out of your life, except Shoko.
After two years of dating, at the ripe age of 20, you experienced your first heartbreak with Gojo Satoru, marking the end of the final chapter of your love story with him.
To you, he’ll be the greatest warmth you’ll ever experience.
To him, you’ll be the heartless bitch that left him cold.
—-
“Hmm,” looking at your empty notifications, “guess she’s a little busy right now…” you hummed. Despite your outwardly calm demeanor and the stillness of the serene summer night, juxtaposed was your mind with wandering thoughts that wrecked havoc in your head.
Shoko would update you occasionally about him, not going too far into details. You knew he was successful in his craft, excelling in it as he ranked 11th in Forbes 30 under 30 list, losing the tenth spot barely to a Zenin. It would be a lie if you weren’t curious about him, your mind wandering and weak during the quietest of nights, making a burner account to stalk his socials, only to immediately regret the moment you see photos and stories that presumably show that he’s in a relationship — with a gorgeous one in fact.
You’ve briefly heard of his dating history, hearing it from Shoko directly, as it mindlessly slipped through her tongue as she complained that he’s broken up with another girl.
Throughout the years, you’ve concluded maybe this was your punishment for leaving him. Damnation to feel stuck in the same perpetual regret of hurting his heart, of choosing to look at your fears instead of maybe trusting in him.
But, at least he looked happy. and you clung onto that reserve.
Maybe it was for the best that things happened this way —
Your ears perked up as you heard the tapping of shoes coming towards you, your stomach suddenly dropping to the floor.
“Were you planning on avoiding me the whole night?”
You were sure, there was no denying that was his voice.
Yes, it was a bit deeper from when you last heard it. The decibel of his voice is now infused with power and confidence, yet still with the underlying tone of softness from what you remembered.
“Ah, sorry… how rude of me,” you mumbled, the pounding of your heart beating through your ribcage. You quickly placed an arm over your chest, a hand over your heart, doing anything to muffle the harsh pulsing, terrified that he was going to hear, “it’s been a while Gojo,” you offered him a light smile, “I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me Ieiri is waiting for me,” you tried excusing yourself only to be met with his stance unchanging, unmoving.
You felt his eyes pierce into your skull, “Gojo?… ah that’s right,” his voice guarded as he looked over in another direction, his face pointing specifically elsewhere, the moonlight highlighting his perfect features.
“I think she’s pretty busy, don’t you think?” he shrugged.
Dammit she was your ride home. Guess coffee is on her for the next week.
“Oh sorry,” you muttered under your breath.
Grinning as he licked his lips, “You’re awfully saying sorry a lot over nothing,” Gojo chuckled, “guess old habits die hard,” his last words spewed with a hint of bitterness as he clenched his jaws.
Only to relax seconds later, placing his drink on the railing, softly grunting as he pulled off his jacket, and placed it over your shoulders, “It’s cold, don’t want you getting sick now,” the smell of his cologne filled up your lungs, hypnotizing your senses — a bit strong but nonetheless intoxicating.
You couldn’t help but feel guilty for feeling a sense of security from the weight of his heated jacket, and in response, you started to immediately pick at your thumbs.
“It’s okay!” You tried to object, trying to take it off only to be met with a stern yet gentleness of his voice, his large hand stopping you, now calloused and thick yet the warmth of his palm brushing against your smaller one felt nostalgic and sinful, as your eyes immediately noticed a gold sparkle on his ring finger, “it’s fine. my body runs hot, remember?”
“T-thank you,” you muttered, the harsh beatings of your heart quickly making your cheeks feel hot.
A ring? you wondered.
“So, what made you come today?” Gojo huffed as he looked off into the distance.
“Had no excuse not to come.”
“I see,” his voice deep, taking the last swig of his drink, deeply inhaling to release a long breath, “It’s good to see you though.”
“Yea, me too,” you quietly responded, the awkwardness of the conversation eating at your bones, the tightness of your stomach knotting increasingly more.
Laughing as he turned around, his long legs crossed, showing a bit of his socks peeking out of his slacks as his dress shoes reflected the moon's shine. Surely, they were expensive, probably equaled to a month of your rent on his feet. With his arms crossing his chest, leaning against the railing, the quiet winds brushing against his soft hair, lightly masking his cerulean eyes as he faced you, “Liar, you were always good at that.”
Taking you off guard, your eyes immediately connecting with his, your breath stopping as if a sudden load was pushed onto your chest, you felt a wave of sadness rush over you as you ventured into his empty eyes.
Since when did he have that ring?
Did he find someone at Paris? Shoko told me — no, there’s no way he found someone so soon.
Or maybe he’s trying to settle down —
“Are you happy?” His question brought you back into reality.
“What?” you whispered.
“I don’t think I’ve asked a hard question,” he responded, his voice now harsh and impatient, “I asked if you were happy.”
Your finger pricks at your thumb, “I guess so…”
Rolling his tongue against his teeth, his finger playing with his ring.
Taking no regard for catering to your comfort, he jeered, “Why’d you do it?”
“What are you talking —” you stammered.
“You know damn well what I’m referring to,” Gojo spat.
“Excuse me,” You muttered, your eyes refusing to disconnect despite your whole body fighting against it.
“I- I got to go, Ieiri is waiting —”
“No, you already used that excuse,” pulling you in by your wrist, immediately caging you in between his arms, with you now leaning against the railing, your eyes level to his broad chest — has he always been this big?
“Answer me, at least you can have the courtesy of honestly telling me why you left me like that eight years ago.”
“I don't remember,” you stated with eyes threatening to spill.
“Liar,” his body leaning down, the hurt in eyes even more apparent than before, “you’re a fucking liar,” Gojo spewed with no resolve to withhold a solid tear from falling, his face now dangerously close — lips even more threatening to touch.
All you wanted to do was say sorry, to cup his face and kiss his tears, to say it was a mistake that you’ve never intended to let him go — you selfishly tortured him by continuously keeping him in your heart without giving him a chance to prove you wrong.
“I’m so sorry,” was all you could respond.
“Did you not trust me?” Hurt was apparent in his voice, “Was I that untrustworthy for you to just leave like that and just disappear for eight years?”
“No, no… it’s not like that,” you tried comforting, unknowingly placing your hands on his chest, “it was never like that.”
"then tell me why," he forced out through gritted teeth while furrowing his brows.
"I just thought it was for the best," you quietly whispered.
"you thought it would be for the best?" Gojo scoffed, "And how the hell did you come to a conclusion to just leave like that?"
" 'm sorry, Gojo... I - I truly am," you pleaded while clenching his shirt.
"You must've really enjoyed watching me beg huh," Gojo challenged, "absolutely thrived knowing this was all for my own good, right?" Gojo spat out his anger.
"It wasn't like that, i'm so sorry, I was hurting —"
“Stop fucking apologizing! you don't get to do that," His voice shattered the serene night. Chest heaving as he clenched onto the stone railing, "I didn’t go through shit these past eight years just to hear your selfish sorry's,” he stated with gritted teeth, as he threateningly moved even closer, “d-did you even love me?”
“Yes, of course!” You immediately cupped his face, finally letting go of the years you craved his touch, your heart shattering as you felt him melt into your wicked hands.
“Then kiss me,” he suddenly whispered, the slight scent of alcohol mixed in with cologne altering your judgment.
“Y-you’re drunk, Gojo,” you pleaded, immediately letting go of his face as you tried to push him off.
His voice elevated, "Why not?" Gojo growled, "Like you said, it's not like you left because you didn't love me. Or are you lying about that too?"
“don’t make this hard, we — I can’t do this with you anymore,” guilt running through your veins as the image of his ring blared loudly in your head.
You couldn’t do this to another girl, he wasn’t yours anymore…
“stop the bullshit,” Gojo growled before his lips slammed into yours, his large hands cupping your face, leaving you no room to run away. his tongue forced its way into your mouth, teeth painfully clashing yet you didn’t mind. because against your resolve, your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to taste the sweetness of his saliva and feel the warmth of his tongue.
The groan of his voice vibrated against your lips, as his clothed hip bucked into your pelvis, his lips trailing down from yours to your neck, tongue sloppily trailing down with it as his hands wandered down to hold your hips.
“Tell me you missed me,” he moaned out as you gripped the ends of his hair, his tongue teasing down your sweet spots, pecking kisses as he inhaled your scent.
“Say you loved me, I don't care anymore if it’s a lie,” your ex now pleaded, his hot breath heating your cheeks.
“… I love you,” you confessed.
Lowly laughing like a maniac, staring deep into your wanting eyes, the man whispered back, “aren't you fucking heartless.”
...
You don’t recall how you made it into the hotel room. In a moment your lips crashed with his on the balcony, and only a second later you found yourself with his large hand securely wrapped around yours, silently waiting for the elevator to bing on the twentieth floor as your ex-boyfriend led you into his hotel room.
Now, currently, you’re pressed against the wall, shoes thrown aside groaning with your hands tangled in his soft hair, as he hurriedly stripped you out of your dress, lips hungrily moving against each other as he growled into the kiss.
Though its been years, his touch never faltered from remembering your body — immediately tracing over your sweet spots that he’s located in your early twenties, now with more experience and strength he dove deeper in.
“Fuck, missed these beauties,” he groaned as he cupped your breasts, his thumb playing with your hardened nipples as he quickly released the back strap of your bra, promptly latching his lips onto your swollen ones again right before you released a moan.
Your body had a mind of its own. Fallen into sin, your hands unbuttoned his shirt, quickly revealing his toned, muscular build as your hands ran against his pecs. You felt his stomach flex as you started to unbuckle his belt and zip down his pants, his lips hungrily chasing after yours as he caressed your body, hands slipping down further into your inner thigh, his index starting to play with your swollen clit — his fingers have always been so pretty, especially with his ring
“G-gojo stop!” Your eyes immediately shoot open.
“What,” annoyed, the man hissed, looking into your eyes with his pupils dilated, hair absolutely disheveled, until moments later his lips are impatiently back onto yours again.
“We.. we can’t,” you cried out as you melted in his touch, “y-your ring,” you gasped out, suffocating as he stripped you of oxygen.
“Ring?” he stopped for a brief moment, chuckling as he brought up his finger, “you worried about this?” he teased.
Intoxicated in his touch, you were willing to throw away your pride and dignity just for one night — one night can’t hurt, right? So you take the ounce of courage you had left, placing a tender kiss on his lips as a sign of surrender as you gently cupped his face, “take off your ring,” you whispered as you guilty looked away.
Chasing after your kiss, pushing you further into the room as you yelped at his force, your arms entangled around his neck and fingers around his hair as you tried to stabilize yourself, “I promise you it’s nothing, sweetheart,” he coaxed with his sharp canines flashing through his wickedly handsome smile.
And running his lips against your chest, leaving small denture marks on your skin that forced moans out of you, with his pants now pooled at his ankles before shimming them off, his cock fully erect, unapologetically twitching in his briefs.
“For you, I guess,” Gojo hummed as he watched the thin line of spit that connected you both dissipate away, existing as a sign of proof of the situationship he currently had with you.
Taking his ring off, he set it down near the bedside table, "there it's gone."
At least for this night, he was yours.
You’ll repent for your sins, and receive any punishment the gods had to give you tomorrow, but today, you chose him.
And right now, you also chose to kneel in between his thighs, hooking your finger under his waistband to pull his briefs off. Satoru immediately lifted his hips to help you while releasing a sultry groan as he felt the cold air elope his sensitive tip.
Was he always this thick? You remembered his cock being pretty, but also what the fuck were those two veins running down his shaft? And was he always this… groomed?
“Are you just gonna stare at it… or do I need to use your mouth to get some action?” Satoru impatiently asked with his cock twitching, his finger brushing against your heated cheeks as he palmed his member.
“It’s just been awhile,” you murmured, licking your lips before you opened your mouth to have him enter.
“Fuck, " Satoru shuddered as the base of your tongue brushed against his frenulum.
"i must be dreaming,” Gojo murmured under his breath, your head rising up as you released his cock with pop! With your hot tongue swirling against his head, there was no chance for Satoru to stay strong. and you enjoyed every second of seeing him slowly unravel in your power.
“j-just like that,” he ordered while placing his hand on top of your head, guiding your momentum.
His precum tasted salty but pleasant. Hell, he wasn’t even close to the other men you’ve been with, incomparable starting with the size of their dicks to his.
Hallowing your cheeks and expanding your throat to take in his shaft, with your hands gently playing with his balls, you felt his cock hit the back of your throat the moment you saw his head fling backwards, gasping as he pushed down his spit down his dry throat.
“You like that?” Gojo hissed as he bucked his hips into your warm crevice, “you missed my cock, angel?”
You honestly agreed, tears staining your vision with his length stuffed into your orifice, only to get a spiteful laugh in return, “well, guess that makes two of us,” he huffed while crowning over your body, pushing himself deeper into you, his stomach hitching as he groaned out your name.
“Fuck this shit,” he moaned, as he urgently pulled himself out of your mouth, sacrificing his impeding release for abstinence.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he gasped when your thumbs swirled around his pulsing head, “you always do,” he purred as he nibbled on your lower lip, promptly pulling you onto his lap, one hand straddling your waist while the other mounded your ass.
And looking up at you, with his blue eyes now darkened in full blown lust, his hot breath sending chills down your spine, “tell me what you want? I’ll give you anything.”
“Y-you,” you shamefully confessed, gasping as his cock grazed against your sensitive folds, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you started to grind against his length, “I want you inside me again, Satoru” you whispered into his ear, lightly moaning out his name.
“Shit,” Satoru croaked, pulling himself down as he gently released you to lay on the bed, “I dont have a condom,” he confessed as he gently kissed your cheeks, “ you gonna be okay without it?” he asked.
“Mhm, j-just hurry… please,” you murmured.
“Good girl, now come here,” he coaxed as he placed a soft pillow under your head.
Taking a brief moment to observe your face, reading any sign of forced emotion that you might try to hide, only to ease himself into the kiss when he feels you impatiently desiring his touch, “relax, baby,” he cooed as his kisses traveled southward.
Placing each delicate kiss on your body as his soft hair trailed behind, lightly tickling you as your thighs gently caged his waists into you, “you know they wanted me to thank you,” Gojo breathed out as he split your thighs open, settling himself in between your legs.
“W-who?” you whimpered as his calloused hands massaged your muscles, his soft lips easing out the tension boiling in your core while your hands immediately went straight to grip his hair.
Lips drawing closer, closer and closer until his breath knocked against the frame of your dripping cunt.
“God you’re so fucking wet,” blowing air onto your sensitive nerves, looking up to watch your body shiver at his power as he slid his finger down your folds, pushing in one finger, two, and eventually three into your tight hole as he watched you stretch, your viscous juice soon dripping down his forearm.
“They wanted me to thank you for how good I eat pussy now,” Gojo smirked before he took a swipe of his tongue against your womanhood, spreading out your cunt as he purposefully flicked his tongue against your clit, lightly sucking on the bud thereafter.
…
How many times as it been, you wondered? More than once or twice, maybe four… five — you moaned out when you felt your legs hitching up to his shoulders, his cock hitting just at the right spots he remembered from years ago.
“Angel,” Gojo huffed as sweat dripped down his temple, grunting as he felt your tight walls fluttering against his length at the call of his sweet pet name, “you have that much leisure to be thinking about something else when I’m fucking you?”
Kissing your ankles, his pelvis showing you no mercy as his wet skin slapped against your ass, the sound and sultry smell of hot sex filtrating your room, “still so fucking tight,” Satoru grunted as he pushed his body onto you, your legs hooking against his shoulders, his strong arms holding you from under.
“G-gojo!” you rasped out, barely audible and inable to breathe from his heavy weight and humidity of the room, “it’s too deep! Slow down!”
Growling into your ear, his teeth nibbling against your earlobe, his hot breath stinging your face as he scoffed at your choice to call him so mundanely.
“you gonna be so impersonable,” his thrust going deeper, harder into you, “when I’m so deepily inside you?”
“Ngh,” gasping, “it’s too much,” you sobbed with his face planted into your neck, and his ass clenching with every push he drove into your gushy walls that still wrapped so perfectly around his — just like how he’s last felt you around him, just like how he’s molded your insides just for himself.
“You let anyone else fuck you?” He suddenly hissed, panting as he tried to catch his breath, the sweat on his back making it difficult for you to hold onto him, “you let anyone else see this side of you?”
“It’s too much —” you pleaded, avoiding his question.
“Answer me,” he lowly ordered.
Unable to withstand his power, absolutely willing to fold for him and his desires, you fastidiously nodded, “only a couple,” you shyly confessed.
"how many," he growled, disappointed in your answer, "how many fucked this."
"o-one or two, ngh I-I don't remember," you panted.
“One or two, you say,” he cooed as he pulsed his cock swiftly into you in rhythmic motions, satisfied seeing his length disappear inside you. his pace driving you to the brink of insanity as your lower belly started to fire up again as he knowingly pressed his palm down on your stomach.
“Then I gotta fuck you twice more to force out all memory you have of those stupid fucks,” grunting as he cupped your face to look at him, lips swollen with his skin marked by your nails, hips unapologetically thrusting into you as he watched you unravel in his lead, “because this pussy’s always been mine.”
Seven.
He’s definitely made you cum seven times. you remembered the count just before he groaned out your name, his thrusts sloppy and strained, gasping as he pulled you tighter into his embrace, face caved into your neck as he finally released his thick loads into your abused walls, sobbing out cursed moans as you held him, expending out every last ounce of energy you had for him in mere four words,
“I’ve always loved you,” you whispered before completely passing out.
You failed to notice a tear fall from his eyes drop to your face. He hoped that it’ll stain you, wished it would reach all the way through to your heart to burn you. But he couldn't, so instead he carefully wiped it away as he gently kissed your face — inch by inch of your canvas before he chose to face you again.
“you’re so heartless,” Gojo chuckled as he pulled you in for a tight hug, straight into his chest as he laid beside you, refusing to pull out and have his cum spill onto the sheets — a feat he’s never dared to do with anyone else, he’s always fucked protected.
“what am I going to do with you," he breathed out.
"even with all this time, I’m still so weak for you,” he quietly confessed, reaching over to the side, reaching for his ring to put on the empty finger, before he too fell into the abyss of another dimension with you in his arms.
—-
Lowly groaning as you opened your eyes, your body felt oddly heavy and aching, but yet warm and safe despite feeling on the absolutely verge of possibly snapping in half and breaking with any force.
Blinking a couple times before you started to register the room, you felt a slight huff next to your ear and the tightening around your waist as your back leaned against something hard.
Gojo Satoru, in all of his glory, was sleeping so soundly next you.
Carefully turning around to face him, you observed his features as you ran your fingers against his skin.
His lashes were still so long and soft, you giggled when Gojo twitched his nose at your touch.
His cheeks were still so smooth, without a spec of a blemish, but you can see the little bags under his eyes and the small creases on his skin. he’s probably tired from traveling.
Your finger travels down to his chiseled jaw, and defined collar bones, examining the light scratch marks on his pale skin, and the bruising of his nipple — wait… his lips are chapped and swollen, and his cock… oh god, his cock was brushing against your stomach — hard and pulsing.
Immediately gasping, you felt the blood in your body drain at the revelation that you’ve fucked your ex — no, you fucked your ex of eight years, that you were still crazily hung up over that most likely had a girlfriend waiting for him to respond back to.
Before you could think, your adrenaline pressed forward to act before your mind, immediately unlocking his hands from your naked waists, standing up too quickly only to stumble from your trembling legs. You felt something drip down your thighs — white viscous slowly running down your legs, your face heating up at the memory of last night.
“I- I need to leave,” you whispered, quickly gathering your discarded clothes and undergarments as you rushed to the restroom, forcing down your whimpers as your sensitive cunt brushed against your thighs with every step you took.
“I can’t be here, t-this was a mistake,” you stammered while putting on your dress, quickly stuffing your used panties into your purse.
You looked like a mess, but it didn’t matter because you needed to get the hell out of there before he woke up, but somehow your feet didn’t move in the direction you wanted them to — out the door — but instead towards him unknowingly sleeping.
And quietly sitting against the edge of the bed, carefully pushing away the edges of his bangs that covered his handsome face, you decided to take a minute to absorb the last images of what you’ll have of him. And there you decided to let a tear or two drop from your eyes as you said your last goodbyes, gently kissing his lips before you made your way out the door, whispering, once again,
“I’m sorry…”
—-
It’s been close to an hour since your walk of shame out the door. Since then you quickly checked out of your room and made your way out of the hotel.
You immediately called for a taxi to get home, groaning as you were hit with the realities of your mistakes last night.
Treading up the stairs your legs quivered with every move. It's been a while since you've been fucked that hard, nor even had a partner that lasted so long.
You needed to text Shoko, you prayed that she didn’t blow through your notifications when you suddenly went missing last night. Sighing, you absentmindedly tried to find your phone in your bag as you punched in your door keys.
You started to think, maybe the whole fucking universe was now against you, for your sins, because your phone wasn’t in your purse.
You tried to retrace your steps to where you’d last used it as you made yourself over to your bed, stripping off your clothes as you walked over to the shower.
And to your last memory, you texted Ieiri out in the balcony… and then,
“Shit,” you hissed, remembering how your bag was tossed to the side when you were being feverishly stripped of your clothes, “it’s probably under his bed or something.”
“I hope no one calls… or tries to contact me until he leaves his room,” you groaned as the hot water massaged your tense shoulders while your fingers ran down your body.
Washing every crevice as you also tried to erase away the memory you had with him, you forced yourself to retract your tears. This was your punishment you repeated, this was the outcome of your selfishness. You lathered yourself in soap, trying to scrub away the pent-up guilt until you noticed something flash under the light.
You never wore your jewelry into the shower, you’ve always had a habit to take them off to not tarnish.
But there was a golden ring, a ring that fits a little loosely on your promise finger.
Unable to understand why, all that circled through your mind was to go back.
Quickly washing off, throwing on any pair of clothes before running to your door, you could feel your anxious heart beating loudly in your chest as your ears started to feel plugged from the tension. And just when you’re about to open your door, you hear a buzz that silenced every chaos around you.
Looking through the peep hole, you felt faint, your heart entirely about to burst — is this reality or am i still dreaming?
“It’s me,” you heard his calm voice.
Your hands trembled as you slowly opened up the door, your eyes taking a moment to quickly scan his body — donning the same clothes as yesterday with the top buttons of his white shirt undone and ends stuffed into his slacks, his hair lightly messy and eyes a little sunken.
“How’d you get here?” you gasped with your ringed hand clenched, hidden behind your back, while the other pricked at your thumb.
“You left your phone in my room, and I found it because Ieiri was blowing up your phone," Satoru calmly stated as he handed over your phone, "so I asked where you lived to drop it off.”
“She didn’t say anything?” you warily asked
“Well, she did ask about us."
“And… did she threaten you or anything?”
“No, why would she? But,” stretching out his arms as he released groan, “I told her we fucked,” he boyishly smiled.
Afraid to confront your messy rendezvous with him, you nervously bit your lips, and you avoided his gaze. Noticing your tendencies, you felt his hand cup your face to meet his while his thumb gently soothed your aching lip, "hey," he whispered, "don't do that."
And stepping closer to you, the mild fragrance of his shampoo dancing in your nostrils, “Did you see it?” he asked.
“Mhm,” you acknowledged, “I saw it just now while showering,” you looked into his eyes to seek an answer, tears starting to cloud your vision.
“You know, I’m not the same anymore,” he confessed, “I have power, I’m strong, and I’m able to do things now,” pressing a kiss onto your forehead, “but the only thing that stayed the same about me," chuckling as he shook his head — as if he couldn't even believe it himself.
"is that I didn’t change my number since we’ve broken up,” he stated before taking a step into your apartment, the click of his shoes hitting the tile floor echoing throughout the hallway, “I just hoped maybe one day you’ll call.”
"why?" you honestly questioned, unable to understand why he would choose to do that.
"I don't know," Satoru shrugged while pulling away, "guess I really tried to subconsciously manifest the we were fated to be bullshit that I preached."
“But that girl,” you quietly muttered while you unknowingly pouted when you saw his arms cross against his chest, the tightness of his sleeves about to burst from his muscles bulging.
“Girl… what girl?” Your comment took him aback.
“The one you were in Paris with,” your face feeling hot, embarrassed that you outed yourself for stalking him.
“You stalking me?” He chuckled while leaning against the wall, "it's not what you think," Gojo sighed as he pushed back his hair, "that girl, it was Suguru.”
Raising an eyebrow as he examined your expression, sighing as he saw the unbelief in your eyes, “Here look,” he commented while pulling out his phone to show you pictures, “we went for his art exhibition or some shit because his girl couldn’t make it with him.”
“B-but you came late to the reunion.”
“Yea, because I wasn't going to pull up looking mid when I needed to make you regret ever dumping me,” he joked while pinching your cheeks, "I didn't have plans on attending until that jerk sent me a photo of you," he shamelessly confessed.
“You’re stupid,” you grasped his hand to check his finger — ringless.
“But it was worth it, no? Got you to indirectly confess,” emphasizing his last few words, “that maybe you still love me."
"Whatever," you mumbled, "I said I loved you."
"fine by me," Satoru accepted, " but the fact is that you still think I’m hot, no? Or maybe you just missed my cock? ”
“You’re crazy,” you stated while wiping your tears.
“Yea, I know,” his gaze softens as he sees you playing with his fingers, your small ones wrapped around his.
“and this ring is too big for me,” you cried as you melted in his touch, his right thumb gently rubbing against your cheeks.
“That too, I know,” he smiled stepping closer into your house, and slowly closing the door behind him, “we’ll get another one together soon, only if you'll let me.”
"I'd like that," you whispered.
“I just couldn’t get it for us when you heartlessly broke up with me eight years ago," Satoru confessed while brushing the tip of his nose against yours.
“I’m so sorry Satoru,” you snuggled your face into his strong chest, his arms tightly wrapped around you, cooing as he steadied your breaths, “Shhh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay.”
“I’ve hurt you, I’m the one that caused all this,” you heaved as he pressed light kisses all over your face.
“Through everything,” kissing your swollen eyes, taking his time to savor your touch as his lips traveled their way back to its home, briefly kissing your ringed finger as he looked into your eyes.
And sealing his final destination, he whispered before locking his lips with yours once more,
“I’ll always find you even if you run away because you’ll always be mine.”
author's comment: sheesh, I didn't expect this to get this long... but here it is! I wanted to write the typical exes-to-lovers trope, but I was stuck on the quote with Satoru teasing how his past partners wanted to thank the reader for teaching him how to eat pussy... and here we are over 9k words later.... oh wells
again, i hope you enjoyed it!!
p.s. i might just have one exes to lovers in the drafts for geto, as well.... hahahahaha but you didn't hear that from me, nope (,:
prguitarman
origamiaround
