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𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘 𝒞 satoru gojo

SYPNOSIS .ᐟ satoru gets in his head sometimes, it’s his nature, and sleepless nights are common enough—but he doesn’t want to suffer through this one alone and he knows you can get his mind empty and cock spent very easily

★ INCLUDES 18+, NSFW, pegging, probably unhealthy use of sex as a coping mechanism, definitely unhealthy use of sex as a sleeping mechanism, bottom satoru woohoo, cumming untouched

⌗ A NOTE FROM IVY ⸝⸝ soft sleepy pegging yum

It’s late—the kind of late that makes Satoru’s retinas sting and body ache from being so wound up, muscles strung together so tightly. You’re asleep next to him, perfectly still with a gentle rise and fall of your chest. Satoru watches from his side of the bed, the way your lips part slightly as you breathe, your lashes brushing over your cheeks, a small whisper of hair over your brow.

Satoru shifts again, exhaling slowly, that pressure behind his ribs and eyes never fading. The buzzing in his head is incessant, the kind he can’t escape when the night is dead silent and the moon is glossy in the sky.

“Baby,” he whispers and you shift with a sleepy hum low from your throat, lashes fluttering. He hates waking you with his bullshit but you’d just give him that disappointed look in the morning if you found out he tried to get through another sleepless night alone again—and Satoru can’t stand that look. It makes his stomach drop and he’ll have to spend the entire day with an uncomfortable weight pressing on his heart.

“Wha’s wrong?” you murmur, hand reaching for him, sliding over his chest where his heart is knocking against his ribs. Satoru’s hand finds yours, pressing it to his chest like the pressure will force the organ to slow, like your touch alone can soothe it and force it to stop fucking up his life.

“Can’t sleep,” Satoru breathes, cheek pressed to the pillow, watching as your eyes flutter open, tired with sleep. Your eyes meet his pale blue ones, and your thumb strokes over his ribs, feeling his heart beat.

“Head too loud?” you murmur as you shift closer to him, sheets rustling softer. Satoru takes the opportunity to duck his head down and press his face feebly into your throat, like he’s hiding from monsters, except this time they’re alive in his head and not the shadows of his childhood bedroom.

“Yeah,” he mumbles into your throat and you hum, the vibration from your throat making him shiver and curl up closer to you as your hand slides over his spine. The pressure digs in on his temples, in his skull like it’s an echo chamber where his nightmares and worst regrets bounce around and taunt him for the hell of it.

“Poor baby.” Your voice is low and soft with sleep but there’s that sympathetic edge that makes Satoru’s cheeks hot and face press shamefully into your skin. He hates it usually—when his guard is up and he’s able to deflect everything with a clever joke and a crooked smile, he hates the idea of sympathy. He’s never taken kind hands or gentle words well—he bats it all away, like a kid stubborn to admit that he’s actually hurting.

But when it’s just you and him—when it’s soft sheets and softer whispers in his ear, honeyed pet names and your hands on his skin, Satoru lets himself want it. Let’s himself need it. Need the babying and the soft words and the way you make his mind shut the hell up.

Your hands slide over his hips, over his shoulder blades, down to the dip of his spine— low enough to make his heart begin to thud for entirely new reasons and the buzz in his head to spread under his skin. This is why it’s so good—you touching him, whispering to him, patient and gentle. Being pressed up against you like he’s not some 6 foot something sorcerer with the world against him. Something in him cracks open at the way you handle him—like he’s yours to soothe and coddle.

So when you whisper softly into his ear, “You want me to help?” Satoru is helpless to it, helpless to just nod and try not to moan when your hands slide to palm his ass, squeezing the willing flesh.

One of your arms slip out for the bedside table and Satoru stays pressed up against you, breathing into your throat, nosing at your pulse. When your fingers return, slicker and colder with lube, they slide up his strong thick thighs, and a breath escapes him, hole clenching because god can you fuck him dumb when he needs it.

“Spread for me,” you gently urge into his ear and Satoru’s thighs part without question, thick fat cock bobbing against his stomach, thighs clenching.

“My head—“ Satoru breathes, voice ragged and rough—from the unending nightmare of being a sorcerer or from your fingers circling his hole, he doesn’t know. “My head it’s —“

You shush him, and Satoru’s mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut as you slide a finger into him. “Shhh, shh I know. I know. Your heads loud tonight, huh?”

Satoru tries to nod, tries to say yes but when your fingers slide into him, knuckle deep, curling ever so slightly, all he can do is keen and let out an embarrassing whine. Your fingers open him slow, steady, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath all night against your throat, clutching onto you. You just shush him and stroke his hair with one hand as you fuck him open on your fingers.

“That’s it, that’s it. Doing perfect,” you murmur as you kiss his brow as you stretch him open and Satoru just nods along dumbly, thoughts and feelings dulling into nothing, the pleasure and your soft reassurance making it all quieten down.

Satoru feels you shift, the hand leaving his hair and he doesn’t whine but it’s close, his teeth pressing into his bottom lip—he’s already acting like a kicked dog, no need to make it worse.

He feels you shift to buckle the strap into place, brushing his thigh and making his cock jolt and drool precum against his stomach, thick and flushed. He doesn’t move, just waits for you, breathing slowly and focusing on your skin on his.

“Waiting so patiently for me,” you murmur and his face is pressed to your throat but he swears he hears the small amused smile in your words anyways.

“Good boy,” you whisper as you slowly sink your strap into him and the words die on Satoru’s tongue like a candy dissolving, fizzling away. His eyes roll back and his lips part as you slide into him, his thighs spreading wider and a choked noise escaping his lips.

He should be embarrassed—but he’s not. Not with you. Because you know what he needs, know how to give it to him so his brain will shut down and all that’s left is the pleasure shooting through the nerves in his body. His fingers dig into your waist, needing you close, needing something to hold onto. You hum and slide your arms around his neck, elbows pressed to the pillow as you rock slowly, dragging a low keening noise from Satoru. He can’t think about the worries or regrets or expectations like this—no, all there is, is the way you’re fucking him deep and slow, putting him back together and breaking him in the same breath and thrust.

“Better?” you whisper, kissing his throat, feeling his body loosen under you and he hums into your skin.

“Don’t stop,” Satoru breathes.

Every slow thrust rocks through him, dull and sweet, taking the edge off that restless buzz that’s been eating at him for hours. His fat cock jerks against his stomach with every stroke, leaking precum thick and sticky down his abs. The head throbs, swollen, aching, but he doesn’t even need you to touch it—the drag of the strap inside him is enough to have him whining under his breath, thighs spreading wider, greedy.

“Fuck— Hngh—“ Satoru whimpers as you rock your hips, the blunt tip of the strap making him see stars, all the noise dying down until all that’s left is this—is you, is you on him, fucking him better, fucking him okay. Satoru hates whining. But you don’t laugh at him, don’t call him out. You just keep moving, hips rolling lazy, fucking him like you’ve got all night.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur and it makes him keen, makes him clutch at you as you pepper him with soft kisses and fuck him into the mattress, until his cock is throbbing and drooling with precum, leaking down his abs as his cock bobs uselessly against them. It’s slow and hazy with the exhaustion of not being able to sleep, his body giving in to you, fat cock throbbing as you fuck him into resting.

His legs are trembling before he even realises it, hands fisting in the sheets, then your hips, like he can’t figure out what to hold. He pants into your throat, voice breaking as another slow thrust bottoms out inside him. “Shit— Don’t stop— Please don’t stop—“

And you don’t. The pace never changes — unhurried, almost soothing, each push of your hips dragging a choked sigh from his chest as your hands slide down to squeeze his ass and make him whine high and sweet, thighs spreading obscenely wider, offering it all to you. You move lazy, unhurried, rocking into him until his legs tremble, until he’s whimpering softly against your ear, so unlike the loud, cocky Satoru the world gets.

“Wait— Oh fuck—“ Satoru’s voice cracks as his cock throbs helplessly against his stomach, precum leaking down, the ache in it twisting tighter and tighter. “I’m— Oh— Oh—“ A deep thrust and he’s coming messily without a hand on his cock, hot ropes spilling across his stomach, sticky between you, thighs squeeze and spasming, as he whines and whimpers through it, head quiet and blurry with pleasure.

Satoru whimpers when you keep fucking him through it, overstimulated but too wrung-out to complain. The slow rhythm lulls him, the aftershocks fading into a heavy warmth that makes his eyelids droop, the buzzing dead and quiet, leaving behind that honey-thick warmth that makes him feel like a fucked-out and sated mess. His cock is still twitching against his belly, fat and spent, as he clings to you with slack arms.

“Mm… yeah,” Satoru mumbles, voice already soft with sleep. “Just like that… Fuck me to sleep, baby.”

You hum back gently, slow rocking easing off as his body sinks into the mattress, tension wrung out of him like water from a towel, his head flopping back into the pillows and lips parted as he pants. His soft white hair spreads under him, pink hue staining his cheekbones and Satoru sighs softly, dreamily as you ease the strap out of him and stroke his cheek with a thumb.

“Sleep now,” you whisper, and Satoru hums back head lolling against the pillow and pale lashes brushing over his cheeks. A beautiful fucked out mess.