Discover Top Posts Tagged with #divider by v6que

god complex

satoru gojo's on top of the world - but all he really wants is to be on top of you!

synopsis: childhood crushes don't die easy. even when they grow up to become a curse user with his own compound of devoted followers. gojo moved on. you moved away. spent years shoving down his memory until it became second nature. you never realized all it would take was a phone call from an old friend to rip open all your old wounds and return you to the life you left behind. but when it looks like gojo's next target is the school, you don't exactly have a choice but to come back. can you stop gojo? or will you fall under his spell too?

pairing: cult leader!gojo x sorcerer!reader

wc: 11.5k

content: mdni. angst and smut and fluff, au where gojo defected instead of geto, YANDERE!GOJO, obsession, light stalking, protective/possessive gojo, he might be crazy but he is CUTE!, emotional hurt/comfort, heavy pining, childhood crush to lovers, falling in love with someone you KNOW is terrible, messy/conflicting feelings, mentions of murder, nightmare, blood/death, they want each other bad, piv sex, semi-public sex, use of pet names (mostly baby, sweetheart), fingering, creampie

a/n: this was a commission for the lovely @cantarcantar !! the Gojo art above in the middle is by @/to00fu !!

The last time you saw Satoru he'd been smiling.

One of those big, cheesy smirks, leaning in to press a clumsy kiss on your cheek. You had scrunched up your nose, your fingers pressed against his chest when he said something that made you laugh.

You couldn't remember what it was anymore. Just that fuzzy feeling he always left you with, a friend you always wished would turn into something more.

It never did.

A childish hope. A teenage crush. A pointless dream that was crumbled and discarded – and not even by a curse. Just grinded into dust and ash by the system you’d both been born into. A society that didn’t give a shit if you lived or died, only that you worked and gave and bled for them until you did.

But he never bled. Never crumbled. Never cried.

You wondered if that was why he did it. If things would've changed if you had been there with them on that mission instead of overseas on an inconsequential one of your own.

Instead, you find out through a single-page letter from Nanami that the only strongest special grade sorcerer at Jujutsu Tech had slaughtered civilians instead of curses after something went wrong.

The girl they were supposed to protect ended up with a bullet in her head.

But she wasn't the only one who ended up dead.

The details were sparse. You didn't want to know them anyway.

Didn't want to spoil the image you had of Satoru in your head, the boy who'd buy you ice cream and offer to lick anything that dripped down on your hand just to hear you giggle.

Nanami’s letter ended with him leaving sorcery, suggesting you do the same. Satoru was a wanted man now – and not just by you. He had abandoned all of you to start a fucking cult. Ijichi had followed him, something you were sure Satoru dragged him into. But Suguru and Shoko stayed.

You thought about coming back. About walking those halls that had to feel empty and barren without the sound of Satoru’s laugh. At the prospect of teaching and training whoever would come next – if he hadn't burned down the entire system by then and the school along with it.

But you couldn't bring yourself to.

Couldn’t drag yourself there if he wasn't waiting for you.

You missed a call from him once. Not on purpose, but you didn't know if you'd actually answer if you had seen it in time. Stared like you could will Satoru to call back, but he didn't.

If he had, would you have gotten an explanation?

An invitation?

You tried not to think about it – or him.

Only took missions out of the country. Declined all the requests from the higher-ups about returning. Insisted on sticking to handling the lesser curses in countries with next to no sorcerers of their own. Flying from place to place, never settling, never staying.

His phantom seemed to follow you everywhere you went. Whispers of a white-haired man constantly making their way back to you, finding flowers by the door of your hotel rooms, little gifts and trinkets with no return address.

You tossed most of them. But on your birthday one year, there was a light blue box left outside your window. A pretty necklace inside – and a note on top.

Four words.

I miss you sometimes.

You hated him. You seethed over the fact that you felt the same. Loathed that some part of you was his – would always be.

You never even shared a real kiss. Hadn't even done anything more than holding hands once or twice. Maybe that was why his memory never rotted. Why you heard of him massacring people and still pictured the cute boy calling out your name across campus.

Was he sitting on some throne now? Would he say your name the same?

Life had a way of changing with or without you there to see it. Taking on a new shape, twisting everyone you used to know into strangers.

You could wonder all you wanted. You couldn't do anything about it.

And yeah, even if it had been more than a couple years since you'd actually seen any of them, you automatically answered his call when Suguru’s name flashed across your phone.

He had always been stronger than you too. Steadier. Able to take on a mantle that had never been meant for him.

“Urgent,” he said. “For the students,” he muttered. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.

You should've hesitated. Put together it was a mistake from that alone.

He was the only one who really mourned Satoru like you did.

But you listened, biting your lip as he informed you of his current situation – that Satoru had tried to recruit Nanami, had mentioned some scheme, a grand plan that involved the school. He was worried for his students.

And if Suguru was worried, so were you.

Really thought, if Satoru wanted, he could turn the entire country into a clean slate. Wipe the page until it was blank. Start over under his terms.

The only reason he hadn't was probably because he'd be bored if he did.

No one ever wanted to divulge all the dirty details, but you had heard how much the number of curses had started to dwindle back there – along with the population.

Still, you hadn't expected what Suguru wanted you to do about it. He'd been hesitant to even ask, exhaling like it hurt to say.

“Could you join his cult?”

“Excuse me?”

You were still on the next plane back.

It was supposed to be simple. Safe. Come back using him as an excuse. Wait for Satoru to make contact after you arrived – and pretend to show interest in his cult, listen to his latest spiel and piece together what he was planning. You'd tell Suguru, he'd stop it, and the most important part was getting the fuck back out before Satoru could take it out on you.

“Why don't you do it?” You had grumbled on the phone, like you weren't already dragging out your suitcase and shoving your stuff in it.

“One of us will probably end up killing the other.”

“What makes you think he won't kill me?” You huffed at him. Suguru laughed, like you should already know the answer.

“Some things don't change.”

He warned that Satoru would be watching when you landed. That he would know the second you stepped foot back on soil he considered his territory.

But you didn't think he'd be at the fucking airport waiting for you. Holding up a sign with your name on it, as if his tousled white hair didn't already stick out in the crowd. His sunglasses traded in for a blindfold, not even giving you a hint of those blue eyes you still dreamed of sometimes.

Smiling at you like you weren't staring frozen at him, unable to take a step when the ghost of your past finally caught up to you. Taller, broader, all grown up.

Muscles stacked on his previously lanky frame, his jaw even sharper, canines somehow pointier as he waved to you. Half of you had expected him to be all dressed up – wearing something traditional, old-fashioned, a reflection of the new him. Maybe some new version of his uniform. But he was dressed nearly normal – a casual button-down that clung to his arms and chest, dark pants. As if he was waiting for a date.

But hadn’t you done the same? Stared at your clothes splayed out on your bed and picked out a dress instead of sweats despite being well fucking aware you’d be stuck on a plane for hours in it? Just in case he’d show up?

He walked over when you couldn't (wouldn't?) – his infinity still active when he wrapped you in a hug. An invisible barrier still separating you after all this time.

“Been a while, huh?” He murmured into your hair.

He ruffled it, his huge hand still finding excuses to touch you.

You looked at him, and everything in your chest pulled tight, all those words you practiced on the plane dying in your throat.

A million times, a thousand nights, you imagined this moment. What you would do if you saw him again. What you would say after so much silence. And it all shriveled up, turned into something so small you couldn't even hold it anymore with just a single stupid smile from him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked instead, your voice surprisingly hoarse, raw.

There was a brief second where his sharp jaw clenched, lips pressing in a thin line of disappointment before he recovered. Satoru switched to a pout, leaning in and invading your personal space when you'd never be able to do the same to his.

“Don't tell me you didn't miss me,” he murmured, an edge underneath it. As if you could hurt him when he hurt you first. He reached out, touched the necklace dangling down from your throat, fingertips brushing against the polished blue gemstone. “You're wearing the necklace I gave you.”

“I'm supposed to meet with Suguru in an hour,” you excused, pulling back from him, glancing around the bustling bodies for some gap to slip through.

You knew he'd chase you. Hell, the plan hinged on him pestering you about joining him instead. But your heart was still pounding when you walked away, waiting for his voice, his steps, his hands. Hyper aware of his stare – even if it was technically hidden under a blindfold.

He grabbed ahold of the hem of your dress, and you stopped.

“You didn’t come back for him,” he spoke softly. And for a guy who had thrown his hope for the future away years ago, there was still some in his voice now.

“I did,” you lied.

Satoru scoffed, and the bitterness in it left a sour taste in your mouth too. Dripped down your throat and choked you up. It was kind of ridiculous, but your first instinct was to comfort him, grinding your molars to stop yourself from reaching out to touch him.

“Hear me out,” he murmured, not letting go. “Come see my compound.”

Compound.

Of course. Right when the slightest crack in your shield formed, he had to remind you of who he was now.

What his world was like.

That he didn't call the dorms his own. Didn't have an apartment like a normal twenty-something year old guy. Didn't even call his former family estate his home.

He belonged to a compound. A cult.

You squared your shoulders, stood up straighter as you sucked in a breath.

“You haven't even said sorry,” you pointed out. You wanted to shout at him. To scream that he left you. Left everything.

And yeah, this was what you were here for. He was. But it was fucking infuriating that he thought he could just waltz back in with a cute smirk and saccharine words and thought you'd just fall into place beside him.

“The only thing I'm sorry for is not taking you with me,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side like it would make you believe he could still be sincere.

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed this time, turning your head away from him.

You had a feeling that even if Satoru didn't have his six eyes technique, he'd still be able to see through you.

“One hour,” he repeated, softer this time.

For a few seconds, you contemplated what your answer would have been if you weren't here on a mission. If it had nothing to do with Suguru or students. If it was just you and him.

“Fine.”

He grabbed your hand – and teleported you there.

Wrinkling the fabric of reality around him until you were both standing somewhere new.

You blinked. Knees wobbling and stomach churning as your brain struggled to catch up with what your eyes were seeing. Your suitcase clattered to the ground, and someone was already scrambling to pick it up.

The main entrance hall of some fancy estate, cold, tiled floors sparkling and spotless, a few people pausing from where they were milling about to immediately bow at Satoru’s presence.

As if he was a god.

You guessed he was the closest thing on earth to one.

“Greetings, Master,” one of them murmured, reverent. Just another disciple for someone you used to worship too.

You could practically hear the capitol M in his tone.

Satoru didn't even look down.

His eyes were fixed on yours behind his blindfold, like he was searching for approval in them.

What were you supposed to say? That you liked how he decorated the place?

“So?” He expectantly asked, holding his arms out.

He was proud of what he’d done. You were terrified of it. Of this new him. But there was an undercurrent of something darker stirring inside you. One you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Not quite full-throttled anger or nostalgia.

An intense discomfort that burned in your veins when he was this close and you couldn’t pretend he didn’t exist anymore. Forced to acknowledge the facts you’d been running as far as you could from for years.

Satoru Gojo was not the boy he’d been. Not the one who left you behind. Not the one who you dreamed of a first kiss with.

Satoru Gojo was a man. One who could commit murder with a single flick of his finger. One who might have his schedules stacked full of slaughtering and stealing.

Because he was the strongest.

And everyone else had to fall in line.

That meant you too.

“Fifty-nine minutes,” you muttered, as if you meant it. You didn’t know if it was meant to be a trap, if he would actually even take you back to Suguru if you wanted to go, but you weren’t leaving.

Satoru snagged your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, fingers interlaced with yours. Some crude imitation of being teenagers again, tugging you down twisting halls even when you struggled to keep up with his long legs.

“My room’s this way,” he hummed, and your face flushed. Was a sentence really enough to make you blush at the stupid implication?

“If you think I’m-” You started, but your breath hitched mid-sentence and you stopped yourself.

“I just have something for you,” Satoru huffed, almost offended at your assumption he was being crude.

You wanted to point out you really didn’t know each other anymore. That you had no idea what to make of this new him. One wearing a face you used to adore.

Turned into something cold and sharp, where you weren’t certain if saying the wrong thing might end with your blood splattered on the walls or cut down on the spot regardless of Suguru thinking he might still harbor a sweet spot for you.

“What is it?” You murmured, but he just grinned again, pink lips curling up as he suddenly pushed open a heavy wooden door.

You knew it was his room almost immediately.

Could smell him in the air. His cologne, his shampoo, both still the same. Pretty wallpaper plastered around you, something in soft shades of blue and white that made you think of clouds. Of spring.

He didn’t have a digimon collection anymore. No photos hanging up or posters lining the open surfaces. But you recognized a few things of a life you both walked away from. A pen you once gifted him sitting on top of the dresser. Dried flowers behind glass that you once collected with your former classmates. The book you had been reading before his last mission. You had left it in your old dorm, but you guessed he had come back for it at some point.

There was a screen door on the wall opposite of you – the only other exit point that looked like it led out onto a balcony.

“Satoru,” you said his name, and it nearly killed you. Just getting the syllables out when it felt like someone had stuffed your throat with cotton.

You never thought it would be this hard. That such simple things would practically rip your heart out of your chest and remind you of the huge goddamn cavity he had carved out of you.

“I wrote you letters,” he breathed, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. You had forgotten he was holding it, and now it was suddenly the only thing anchoring you. “A lot. I just, I never got the guts to send them.”

He pulled you forward, pulling open the top left drawer of the dresser – just for it to be stuffed full of thick envelopes. Some were aged, starting to fade and curl around the edges. Others were almost new, the ink still dark and clear.

You stared at the stacks of them. All sealed. All signed.

His sloppy handwriting addressing every single one to you.

“Why?” You asked, even though you knew.

“I was scared you’d hate me,” he honestly answered.

Him, scared? Of all the things he’d done, of all the things he could do, and still, it was you he was nervous around.

“Why would you care how I feel?” You heard yourself ask, reaching out to graze your fingertips over the closest envelope.

You wished you could see through it. Read his mind and the words he hid from you.

“Because I've been in love with you since I was fourteen,” he casually said, slinging his hands in his pockets like it had always been that simple.

He couldn't un-say it. You couldn't un-hear it.

“You shouldn't say that,” you warned, like you weren't right there with him.

“I thought you wanted the truth,” he challenged.

You wanted to know whatever the fuck he was planning so you could get out of this country as soon as possible. To drown out this memory with alcohol or cigarettes or anything that would dull this awful ache in your chest.

“Is that why you wanted me here?” You stiffened, ignoring what he said. “To tell me you love me?”

You missed the memo where love somehow equated murder.

“I want you to stay,” he admitted, reaching out to cup your cheek. You almost leaned into it, only stepping back at the last second. His lips turned down in brief disappointment, but he shook it off. “With me. Not Suguru.”

He still said his name the same. Cheerful, with that constant hint of competition that hadn't died.

“So you can show me how nice it is when you don't give a shit who lives and who dies?” You dared back, swallowing hard before forcing yourself to continue. “So I can worship you like all those morons out there do?”

He cracked a smile, and you couldn't stand it. Dark tension crackling between you, thick and suffocating, threatening to smother you with just a flash of his pretty canine teeth.

“I wanna worship you,” he flirted. Satoru was full of shit. But the way he said it had you second-guessing all the boundaries you promised yourself on the way here you wouldn’t cross. “But as long as you’re alive, you’re here, the rest doesn’t really matter to me.”

He emphasized it, as if he wanted to make sure you understood what he actually meant by that.

But if he was really so willing to let the rest of the world burn, why had he left you behind to begin with?

“I don’t believe you,” you muttered. A weak defense.

“You will,” he replied, plucking out a big stack of letters and holding them out for you to take.

You reluctantly glanced down at his pale hands, even larger than you remembered, thick veins sticking out as your gaze slowly shifted up to his face. You missed his eyes. Wanted to ask him to take off the blindfold, to let you see him again, but even just the intimacy of taking the letters from him felt like too much.

Like all it would take was breaking the seal to sign your soul over to him.

But you were still grabbing them from him, holding your breath until it hurt while he exhaled.

“I set up a room for you next to mine,” he admitted. “If you want to read them now. Or, if you’re hungry, I could order food, or-”

“I want answers,” you murmured. “Not the princess treatment.”

“Why can’t I give you both?”

You both knew why.

The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to leave him.

And still, you ended up letting him show you to a room that had clearly been planned to be yours far fucking longer than a few days. Everything was to your taste. A wallpaper you were pretty sure you’d seen and admired in another country on the rare occasion you went shopping, ornately decorated, items that looked like they had been carefully been picked out with you in mind. Thin curtains floating in the breeze to a sliding door you were pretty sure connected to the same balcony as Satoru’s.

Someone had left your suitcase sitting in the middle of the room.

“What if I decide to make a run for it?” You wryly asked, leaning against the door frame as Satoru stood out in the hall.

He laughed. Time stopped.

The world revolved around him after all, and all it took was that sound to make another piece of you shatter.

“If you want to go see Suguru,” he hummed, daring you to actually do it. “I’ll escort you myself.”

Funny how he didn’t mention anything about letting you go. Or letting you leave.

You shut the door in his face.

Even when you knew he would just stand there waiting on the other side.

His footsteps faded back in the direction of his room, but they returned before long. And then he slipped another letter under your door. And another. And another.

You sat in front of it, slowly collecting them with the rest of the ones he already gave you, sorting them into stacks based on how old they looked. He didn’t date them, so you knew there were probably a few out of order. By the time he finished, you stared at all the proof you were left with that you hadn’t left his thoughts either.

The first one you opened was the oldest. The corner was torn. The ink aged. Hesitation in every letter.

The sorry you wanted was there. A hundred of them. Asking you for understanding, for acceptance. That he just wanted a world where he didn’t have to be the backbone to it. That he couldn’t stand the idea of seeing your body under a white sheet someday too.

Of you being the one he lost on a failed mission.

That all those assholes who carved the rules into stone should be the one suffering the consequences.

You wondered how much he truly believed that. Or if he had just snapped when he slaughtered those people – and sunk into this idea that he couldn't be redeemed. Convinced himself there wasn't any coming back.

He was fine being a monster if it meant he would save the rest of you from becoming one.

That was still who Satoru was.

You spent an entire night pouring over his words. Questions he never asked you. Confessions he never got the chance for. There were clues, updates sprinkled in the pages. Talks of having to dispose of elders and acquiring sorcerers for his cause.

But mostly, it was all about you.

You weren't sure if you should be concerned at how the addresses listed were surprisingly accurate to where and when you stayed over the years. Or at how many times he admitted taking a break from his duties to come check on you. Waiting outside hotels and restaurants and watching to make sure you were safe.

You fell asleep with one still in your hand, curled up on the soft mattress in the middle of reading him casually confiding that he had contemplated breaking into your hotel room to watch you sleep, to remind himself that you were still breathing.

But even when you saw him the next morning, you couldn't bring yourself to call him on it.

Couldn't bring yourself to ask to leave either. Just trailing a step or two behind him while he went about his new duties. Which was mostly ignoring his own members, delegating tasks and driving Ijichi crazy.

Ordering all your old favorite meals for lunch and dinner, dragging your chair right up next to his, sitting with his face propped up in his hands and pestering you about what you'd been doing without him.

“You sure you don't already know?” You retorted, picking at the food on your plate.

Satoru laughed, leaning in like you weren't taking a cheap shot at him basically stalking you since you'd been gone.

“Forgive me for being worried about you,” he hummed, dramatically huffing as his energy enveloped you. Close enough his nose was almost touching yours, his blindfold a little lopsided, still covering his eyes even if it was crooked.

You reached up, about to fix it, but his infinity was still up – and your hand fell back down.

“Is that what you want to call it?” You asked, biting down on the inside of your cheek until you could taste blood.

His lips twitched down into a frown, but he was still quick to recover his casual smile.

“I tried to forget about you,” he admitted, as if it was a defense.

You felt an ugly twist in your stomach – a selfish part of your brain thankful that he failed. That he couldn't forget about you either.

You pushed your plate forward, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you stood and started towards the door.

“I think I'm done.”

But two weeks later, you were still there.

Snooping when you could, eavesdropping on conversations between his cult members discussing everything from birthday plans for him to cleaning schedules. Unable to get more information than the fact they were concerned that he needed to go to the fucking dentist considering his sweets intake.

Returning back to your bed every evening, still stuck sleeping one room over from him. Staring at the ceiling and listening to him try to talk to you through the wall, calling out your name while you rolled away from him.

Suguru kept calling. Texting you and asking where you were. If you were with him.

Nothing that would look suspicious if Satoru stole your phone.

But you couldn't convince yourself to find an answer when you weren't sure what you were going to do with your time here.

The weight of Satoru’s stare only got heavier by the day.

You’d wake up with something by your door. Sometimes breakfast, still warm. Usually candy or clothes. Your favorite was a book he had already annotated, notes and stupid stick figures scribbled in the margins.

Drawing goofy faces and making dumb jokes like he wasn’t delegating and bossing around his very own minions on the other side of his compound.

Sometimes, you wondered what his real goal here even was. He hadn’t told you. Not really. Just spoke of vague ideals, of a brighter future, like he wasn’t just doing this because he was bored. Because he didn’t believe in anyone outside of himself.

He was paving a new path on top of the bodies of weaker men.

You pulled open the door to the balcony one morning, finding him already leaning against the railing, in a loose hoodie and sweatpants, watching the sun slowly rise above the thick treeline surrounding his compound.

With that stupid fucking blindfold still on, of course.

“Are you happy?” You heard yourself ask. Folding your arms across your chest and staring at his broad shoulders.

“Are you?” He returned the question, like your answer would determine his.

“No,” you muttered. The last time you were actually happy, it had been with him.

He sucked in a sharp breath, and you watched his jaw lock as he glanced back at you.

“I should've just taken you with me,” he muttered, but it sounded mostly like he was talking to himself.

You both had regrets you learned to live with. Yours was loving him. Sometimes you wondered what your world would look like if it had been Suguru or Nanami you had fallen for. Would you be happier? Able to wake up without guilt churning in your stomach and bleeding through all your thoughts?

“Did you get what you wanted here?” You swallowed hard.

“You’re all alive,” he shrugged. “You're here.”

You wanted to tell him that you would’ve still been here if he had stayed. He destroyed your life when he wrecked his.

What did it cost? How many innocents died for your life?

You knew you should be disgusted. Distraught at his casual callousness.

But you were just as selfish as him.

And you couldn't deny how he made your heart flutter even if it was horrible. Well aware of how wrong the heat pooling in your stomach when he gestured for you to join him was, patting the railing of the balcony like he’d been reserving the spot for you.

“Is that supposed to be enough?” You murmured, scared to look inside yourself and see if it really was.

“It is for me,” he answered, and it hung in the air like all those other awful truths you'd been denying.

Your life was worth a million others for him.

Maybe a better person would've shouted at him for it. Told him it wasn't fair and that you never asked for that.

But you just stood there and stared out at the pretty landscape below with him. Existed with the knowledge that if he was going to hell, you were probably booking a one-way ticket in the seat beside him.

Because even if you hadn't committed his crimes, you didn't care that he had. At least, not in the way you should.

You stood stiff, shivering in the early morning breeze, but Satoru stripped off his hoodie, the shirt underneath riding up to reveal his defined abs underneath, just a hint of his thick white happy trail.

He pulled it over your head, tugging it down while you shoved your hands through the holes. It was a little awkward, a little stilted. Still getting the hang again of being whatever this was with him.

You could feel his eyes lingering on you behind the dark fabric, maybe committing the image to his memory.

“Are you hungry?” He eventually asked, cocking his head to the side.

That was how it went. A charade of him trying his hardest to take care of you while all your painstakingly crafted barriers were dismantled one by one, reminding you how much you still cared for him.

Even if you were scared of what that meant.

Sharing meals, watching the sun set, attempting to sneak into his sermons. He tried to keep you out of them – insisting he didn't want you to see that side of him – but you still waited outside the doors to eavesdrop, not that you ever heard much other than a handful of sharp sentences that sounded more serious than anything else you'd ever heard from him.

It was hard to even imagine that cold voice even leaving his mouth, not when the cruelest thing he'd ever said to you was that he thought your favorite movie was boring.

Sometimes he'd let you tag along to his training, but that was mostly just an excuse to get you underneath him. Pulling off his shirt and claiming it was too hot, ignoring your scoffs with suggestions of you stripping down too. Teasing you into sparring with him so you didn’t get ‘rusty’. As if there was ever a world where you would go against anyone as strong as Satoru – or one where you would ever win against him.

He'd pretend to let you get a few hits in, or give you the upper hand long enough so you'd end up pinning him down.

That was why you really accepted his stupid scheme. Just for a chance to touch him, for the few fleeting moments he turned his technique off and you could feel his skin again.

Cling to his warmth with your forearm holding his wrists down, rivulets of sweat dripping down the dips and ridges of his toned chest when he sucked in heavy breaths.

Judging by the cute blush on his cheeks, it had nothing to do with actual exertion.

Before you could call him on it, comment on how hard his face was flushed, he flipped you over, catching both of your own wrists in a single massive hand and pressing them into the mat.

It was unfair how beautiful he was.

How fast he had your heart racing, pulse pounding in your ears and drowning out the sounds of the rest of the world until it was just you and him intertwined. His knee pressed between your thighs, keeping them spread open. Barely using a fraction of his strength and still rendering you immobile.

“Nice try,” he murmured, and you were reminded just how much deeper his voice was. Your muscles tensed, glancing down instinctively at the shape of his lips.

But then he was standing up, holding out his hand for you to use. Pulling you up to your feet too, tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear.

“I need a shower,” you huffed at him, forcing yourself to step away first.

It was getting harder to every day.

You switched the water to cold back in your bathroom, letting it pelt your skin like it could wash him off of it.

But you couldn’t even escape him in your sleep.

Dreaming of his fingers, his face. Of his hands caressing your cheeks, of his lips pressing a line of kisses down your stomach below your belly button, stopping just shy of a sky blue pair of panties.

His blindfold slipped off – but it wasn’t those eyes you missed so much waiting for you.

Just darkness. The kind that threatened to suck you into it, drag you in until you were drowning in the swirling depths of it.

You screamed, or maybe shouted, scratching at his shoulders to pull him off of you, but his body didn’t budge. Not when your nails couldn’t scrape his skin, didn’t get past the invisible barrier of infinity that was pressing down on you.

But then his head snapped to the side, his brows scrunching together like he heard some sound. You saw a shadow move – and realized it was Suguru, some new manifestation of the guilt that had been gnawing at you for weeks.

Betrayal burning in his stare, accusation he didn’t get to verbalize because with a single flick of Satoru’s fingers, he burst.

Blood splattering the walls, bits of him sent flying over every surface as you shrieked.

But then someone was shaking you awake, sturdy hands on your shoulders, a panicked voice saying your name as you tried to blink and reconcile reality from your nightmare. Satoru was there, begging you to realize it was just him.

“Sweetheart, you’re fine, it’s okay, I’m here,” he murmured softly, and you crumpled forward. Leaning into his chest, letting him wrap a strong arm around you. Sucking in harsh breaths, straining to get any air in your lungs as you realized there were damp streaks down your cheek. He brushed them away with a free hand before holding your chin to keep your attention on him. “Breathe, baby.”

You forced yourself to focus on him, on his pretty blue-

Eyes.

Satoru had forgotten his blindfold.

You stopped breathing. Lungs lodged in your throat as you stared at him, feeling like you were really seeing him for the first time in years. Getting lost in the way the moonlight streaming in glimmered in the sea of blue, shining so pretty as they pierced through you.

No one else ever really made you feel seen like he did.

Never would.

There was only one Satoru Gojo – and he was in your bed, wiping away your tears and whispering that he would never let anything happen to you.

The subject of your dreams and the stuff of your nightmares.

A little voice in the back of your head told you to scramble away from him, but your body was gravitating towards him, burying your face against his collarbone. Seeking his comfort like it was second nature.

Curling up by his side, letting him stroke your hair while you sniffled and calmed down, caught up in his voice and his warmth and the idea that some new line has been crossed now that he was letting you see him too.

When you woke up in the morning, he was still there. Still holding you close, limbs tangled together as he rested his chin on the top of your head. Somehow, he sensed you stirring, his palm pressing flat on the base of your spine to keep you there.

“Morning,” he murmured, as if it was the hundredth time you'd been in this position. Or rather, as if you had hundreds more to look forward to.

“Don't you have, like, duties?” You yawned, but you weren't trying to wiggle free.

“You seem to forget that I make the rules around here,” he wryly chuckled, one of his long fingers tracing a small shape in your skin, edging just underneath your shirt. “We can sleep in.”

“Lazy,” you grumbled under your breath, but your eyes were fluttering shut again, threatening to doze off.

But Satoru said something he shouldn't.

“We wouldn't get to do this if we were just sorcerers,” he mumbled, and your throat went dry. “One of us would have a mission to go to, or students to take care of-”

He was still talking, but you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from commenting that he didn't care if all your old friends had to put up with that instead.

You had a feeling he'd say it was their choice – like this one was his.

“Go back to sleep, Satoru,” you softly said, just so you wouldn't have to think about it harder.

His words were still on your mind a handful of hours later though.

Lingering under the surface when he convinced you to eat lunch with him outside for once. A picturesque picnic splayed out in the grass of a garden no one seemed to frequent on the condition he took his blindfold off again, surrounded by blooming flowers in shades of white and blue. You supposed he had one of his members set it all up.

You wondered if they felt like servants – but they were always happy to help him, to do whatever it was he ordered. You could sense traces of cursed energy from most of them, but no one ever dared to speak to you for more than a few short sentences before scurrying away.

Satoru offered you sandwiches, cut-up fruits on pretty platters, relaxing as he rambled on about something that happened a few months ago. Some silly story about Ijichi attempting to ask for a girl’s number and failing. For a moment, it felt like a date.

“It's nice here,” you accidentally said, just talking out loud as you looked past him at the sprawling grounds.

“You think so?” He grinned, giddy at your approval.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you mumbled, glancing away from him as you sorted out the stuffy feelings clouding your judgment. “For now.”

There was still supposed to be a life waiting for you outside of here. One you had put on hold for this.

Although, you were starting to consider the chance that your life had been on hold before. How long had it been since you had felt this content?

You looked back at him, and you couldn't think straight.

When the sun struck him just right, long white lashes fluttering as he tilted his head back, he didn’t feel like Master Gojo.

He was just Satoru.

Just the same guy who loved sweets and shitty jokes and sneaking his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together and squeezing while you still pretended your friendship was platonic. The grass swayed in the breeze, his sturdy fingers gracefully plucking a wildflower that managed to sprout and poke out next to the picnic blanket. He leaned over, holding it out for you to take.

When he caught you staring though, saw the look in your eyes, he grinned, one corner of his mouth crooking higher than the other side as he tucked it behind your ear instead.

“For my girl,” he murmured softly.

You should say no. That even if you were here, you weren’t his.

But it had never really mattered how far away you ran, you had always belonged to him. He’d taken your heart with him – and you’d just been borrowing time without it.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, his hand cupping your face, thumb drawing a line over your cheek. “Not just for now.”

“I-” You started, but you couldn’t finish.

“No more missions,” he hummed. “No more blood. No more death.”

For you, maybe.

But what about everyone else?

“Toru,” you whispered. The nickname fell from your lips, and then his were suddenly on yours. Capturing you in a heated kiss, mouth warm and soft as he tried to make up for the years you'd both been missing this.

You could still taste the strawberries he'd been eating on his tongue.

Sweet.

You were kissing a killer. You knew it, but you were still sifting your fingers through his soft hair, still tugging him closer and sucking on his bottom lip. Gasping into his mouth when he laid you flat on the blanket, pushing all the food out of the way so he could have his way with you.

Slipping his tongue between your lips, dragging it over the ridges of your teeth and exploring your mouth. Sweeping over your canines and moaning into you like he was savoring the moment.

His hands were all over you. Infinity discarded in favor of your heat, the rest of the world forgotten in heated kisses. Palms dragging over your hips, up your waist and all the way to your breasts. Squeezing and groping and greedily grabbing as much of you as he could.

Satoru had never been a patient man.

You broke the kiss first, pulling back to breathlessly blink at him, craning your neck up to glance around the gardens.

“What if someone-”

“They’ll have to pry me off of you,” he muttered, his mouth moving down your throat. Planting firm kisses down your throat to your chest before pulling your breasts free from the sundress you’d worn for him today.

Gasping at the breeze grazing over your nipples before his warm fingers dragged over them. One corner of his lips curling up in a smirk at the stunned expression on your face.

“Or out of you,” he teased, just to make your breath hitch as he rolled your nipple between two thick digits.

Satoru had waited years for this – you both had.

And maybe it was the clouds reflecting in his eyes, the sky or the sun, or the curve of his mouth when he smiled, but you were sick of acting like you didn't want him just as badly as he wanted you.

“Just kiss me again,” you murmured, tugging him back down.

And he did. Until you were both running out of air, until your lips felt swollen and bruised, until your head was fuzzy enough with his fevered affection you weren't sure where he started and you ended. Limbs tangled and locked as you slipped a hand underneath his shirt, while his own fingers kept mercilessly teasing your nipples.

The shame somehow made it hotter. Set a certain warmth underneath your skin, burned brighter with every whine and whimper he stole from you.

“You were worth the wait,” Satoru whispered conspiratorially, the air surrounding you practically vibrating with his energy.

He was shoving your dress up, bunching it around your hips and hurrying to peel your underwear down your thighs. A new flicker of embarrassment soared through you at the realization of how exposed you’d be if anyone happened to walk by, but you couldn't bring yourself to care when he was lifting both your thighs up and over his shoulders.

Planting a kiss on your clit instead, messy, open-mouthed, tongue dragging over the sensitive bud while you let out a fresh cry of his name.

Everything with him was heightened. Teeth scraping over your skin in taunting little sucks. Nipping at you while his thick fingers spread you open, splintered you. You felt every drag against your walls, every twitch and throb as he devoted himself to proving how much he'd been dreaming about you in your absence.

How much he ached to be in you.

You pulled at his hair, scraped at his scalp, arching your back off the ground as you tried to stifle your moans.

But every sound you made just spurred him on more, made him pump his fingers in faster, suck on your clit harder.

Everything inside your chest pulled tight, pressure just continuing to build and mount and twist as he painted pretty patterns over your sensitive bud. Fingers curling inside you as you edged closer, waiting for some relief as you chased the friction.

“S-S’toru,” you slurred out his name, stumbling over the simple syllables as you squirmed in his hands.

He pulled off your clit with a filthy pop! before grinning at you.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He casually asked, like his lips weren't glossy with your slick and his saliva.

You couldn't find the words, just weakly whining and trying to buck your hips up, writhing underneath the weight of his body.

He clicked his tongue though, shaking his head and sending a jolt of electricity down your spine at the sheer intensity of his stare when it settled on your face.

Freezing on instinct, like some mouse that just realized it was caught in a cat’s paw.

“Tell me what you want,” he slowly said. Ordered. Commanded.

He wanted you to admit it.

To shed the shroud of decency you'd been hiding behind.

“I want you.”

And there was no going back.

He was tugging down his pants, and your mouth watered at the sight of his cock so swollen and sensitive for you. Slightly curved, thick veins throbbing as pre-cum leaked from the tip.

He didn't have to say he wanted you back – that was proof enough.

It didn't matter how much you shouldn't or how awful you were for it, but you were automatically spreading your thighs further, allowing him to angle himself right between your slick folds as you interlaced your fingers with his one free hand.

He pressed it into the picnic blanket beneath you, squeezing your hand as the first few inches slid in. He didn't bother with a condom – and you couldn't bring yourself to ask him to put one in anyway.

In a fucked-up way, you wanted to feel him.

Clinging to the intimacy of it, the closeness in having him stretch you out and stuff you full. Relishing in the way he dragged it against your walls, reveling at being the object of his affection. At being the one on the altar, the only person worth worshipping in a world where almost everyone he met bowed down to him.

Your fingers pressed into his tendons, the soft grass crunching underneath the combined weight of your bodies beneath the blanket, but all your focus was on Satoru’s face. How intently he was looking at you, holding eye contact with each slow thrust.

Purposely making you writhe, making you wait for him to pick up the pace, wiggling your hips in a weak attempt to drive him in deeper.

Nothing was ever good enough for a guy like him.

Satoru didn't just want your confession. He wanted you to beg. Preferably even crawl.

But you refused, tilting your chin up higher, acting like you were content how it was. Playing the long game with him even now.

He needed you and you needed him. Nothing either one of you could ever do would change that. The connection was twisted and tangled and terrible – but you wouldn't trade it in for anything else.

For anyone else.

Although every second that dragged by, each moment the breeze rustled the leaves and the flowers and the birds overhead chirped, you were reminded of the fact you were out in the open.

His cock nestled into a certain sweet spot, and he felt the way you shuddered at it, grinning as he dragged his tip back over it in infuriating strokes.

“Sato-”

His hand clamped down over your mouth, muffling your moans as the voices of few of his cult members floated by. Probably on the trail that wrapped around the field, casually chatting about something your fractured brain couldn't process, too distracted by the searing stretch of him splitting you open.

“Don't want them to hear now, do we, baby?” He murmured in your ear, slowly pulling out just to shove back in.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, barely managing to stifle your own hiss at the pressure. The heat started to roll around in your stomach, the warmth spreading into the rest of you as he suddenly picked up his excruciating pace.

From soft and steady strokes to rough ones, ruthlessly rutting into you with one palm over your mouth and another squeezing your own. It wasn’t sloppy, even when it was fast. Every thrust was painstakingly precise, like he knew exactly where to hit to make you whimper. Tears were starting to form in the corner of your eyes, but you couldn’t quite decide if it was from the sheer pleasure – or rather some emotion you weren’t able to shut down.

Lust or love or lingering heartache all rolled up into one tightly coiled ball of need.

He grinded into you harder, moving the hand covering your mouth from where it was covering your lips down to the small bud between your thighs. It was aching, demanding his attention, and he was eager to give it.

Rubbing maddening circles over it, devouring all of your squirms with that stupidly handsome smirk of his. But you could see it in the twitch of his brows, the squint in his eyes, how tightly he was grinding his molars, that he was close too.

A wet tear rolled down your cheek – and he leaned down to lick it.

Dragging his tongue over your skin, salt on his tastebuds as he suddenly groaned. And then he was abruptly massaging you faster, practically begging you to cum with just his fingers over your sensitive nerves and his warm breath on your neck when he buried his face against your collarbone.

You didn’t know which one of you came first.

So enveloped in him, in his frantic thrusts and his fevered fingers, in the faint kisses being left along the inside of your throat, you were lost in the sudden snapping tension and the weight of the relief. Washed away with the pleasure, wrapped up in it tight, and then he was pulling out at the last second, warm ropes of cum sputtering out on his hand – and some catching on the hem of your shoved-up dress.

But it didn’t really process. Didn’t stick out in your brain.

You didn’t know how long you laid there. With him half on you. With the wind on your skin, watching it catch in his hair as his dazzling stare settled contentedly on you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he softly said. Dragging a thumb over where his cum had started to dry on your skin before grabbing a napkin and starting to clean you up.

Touching you with a gentleness you were unaccustomed to, a tenderness that no one else would ever be able to match. As if even something as simple as wiping your skin was an act of worship.

It scared you almost more than the sex did.

You were in too deep.

The signs had all been there. Big, bold ones practically proclaiming that every step forward was leading you to quick sand. And you still treaded on, disregarded how dangerous it was until you were buried up to your neck in him.

Someone called his name.

“Gojo-sama!” A servant was shouting, calling out to him, and he groaned. Fixing your dress first before he shoved his dick back in his pants, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m late for a meeting,” he admitted.

“Oh,” you breathed. “Okay.”

You watched him walk away, stared at how he paused to pop another strawberry in his mouth before striding back towards the path.

Where were you supposed to go from here?

What were you supposed to do?

Your feelings for him didn’t change who he was. And you didn’t even know if you wanted to.

Could you really just ignore what he did? The things he was going to do?

You pushed off the blanket, glanced around all the flowers and greenery as you tried to shove down all those questions you couldn’t answer. And in the corner of your vision, peeking behind the basket with more food, there it was.

Satoru forgot his blindfold.

You picked it up, felt the soft fabric in your hand as you sighed and stood.

Satoru probably needed it back. Wobbling on sore legs while you walked the trail back to a side door, following the path through long halls where his residual energy was the strongest.

It didn’t take long to find him.

The door was even open.

He was distracted though, surrounded by a handful of members you’d seen around. Fellow sorcerers, ones you’d pieced together that he recruited over time. Ones that were sick of the system you were all stuck in too.

Except for one stranger – a man in a stiff suit, one that didn’t fit very well, too long in the wrists, too short on his ankles. His eyes flitted over to you, walking over before anyone else did.

“You’re the girlfriend, right?” The man smiled, and you numbly nodded. The girlfriend. Was that what you were? “He talks about you a lot.”

Your heart fluttered, and you were about to ask what he said.

But then you could feel the sharp shift of energy in the air, already aware Satoru was staring at you before the man next to you did. He turned after a second, looking back at your boyfriend before humbly starting to speak.

“Greetings, Gojo-sama,” he smiled, bowing down and-

His head wasn’t there anymore.

Something sticky was on your face, and when you reached up, your fingers grazed over a wet streak on your cheek, pulling it back just to find it stained red.

You were shaking. Starting to tremble as you stepped back, knees threatening to buckle as familiar footsteps slowly approached. And then Satoru was cleaning your face with his thumb, pulling something out of your hair with a soft scoff.

“Disgusting fuckin’ monkeys can’t even die right,” Satoru muttered, and it felt like you were gutted. Insides scooped out, left hollow at the sinking realization that this was who he is.

He’d never been a man.

Never been a mortal. At least not in the way the rest of you were.

“Don't cry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice automatically softening into something sweet.

“You-”

You couldn't say it. Couldn't look down at the body by your feet.

Someone else was scurrying over, already starting to clean up his mess.

“Thank you, Gojo-Sama,” another voice whispered, and he just waved his hand. As if it was nothing.

He had said it himself though, hadn’t he?

The rest didn’t matter.

“He used to be the principal at one of the other schools,” Satoru was only speaking to you, keeping your attention on him. Offering a justification you hadn’t asked for. “You wanna know how many young sorcerers he assigned to cases they couldn’t handle? How many of us died because of them?”

You could call him a hypocrite.

Tell him that there wasn’t really an us when he was the one perched pretty on the top of the food chain.

But all you did was stare.

Anchor yourself in his presence. It was the only comfort you’d ever really known – even when he was the reason for your distress.

“Go take a bath,” he murmured, ruffling your hair. “I’ll be there soon.”

The other members were watching you, waiting for some reaction. You didn’t know if they were expecting your reverence or repulsion.

Instead, you just left.

Turning on your heels to walk out, the hole in your chest growing bigger by the second as you replayed the same five seconds over and over again in your head. The man’s voice, the splatter. How calmly Satoru cleaned you – and the cruelty he was capable of.

You didn’t know why you went to his room instead of yours.

Why you were searching for solace in the scent of his cologne, in the reminder that he was still a human instead of a monster.

Looking around all his belongings, his still wrinkled bed, the photo he had hidden of you in the top drawer of his nightstand. Wondering if you were just as fucking awful as him when you found it underneath a brand new box of condoms.

A folder. The bold letters with the familiar lettering of the school you both called home once. You knew what you should do. What Suguru had been counting on you to do.

Flip it open, sneak photos or skim over every dirty detail of Satoru’s plan. Call him how you had promised to before.

But you couldn't.

The idea of selling Satoru out was impossible. A new imaginary and impenetrable barrier stopping you from snagging it and sneaking back to your room. It would be nice if it was real. If you had anything other than your brain to blame for doing the bad thing.

You had to force yourself to reach out, everything inside you screaming at you that you shouldn't when you picked it up.

It took only a second to figure out the top sheet inside was a stolen itinerary. Ijichi’s handwriting scribbled at the bottom with a note you struggled to decipher.

I know you wanted to deal with the higher ups later. However, it appears they bumped up their meeting to discuss putting a bounty on her.

On you.

Great.

More bodies to pile up.

Satoru had just killed a guy. And if you stepped outside, someone else might kill you.

You were completely and utterly fucked. Had been from the start. From the first moment you saw Satoru really, when he had stolen your heart with his stupid laugh.

You flipped through the rest of the pages, each one just another brick dropped in your gut, stacking up on top of each other as you read more.

He was planning to murder all the higher-ups. One clean sweep.

Had a whole list of who would inherit what, how things should be run, plans that had been put into motion far before you ever booked your plane ticket.

But the students would be safe. You would be safe.

And a little voice had already started to whisper, why should you care then?

What was so wrong with him taking care of men who sent your fellow sorcerers on suicide missions all the time?

You shoved the folder back.

Returned to your room and drew a bath. Locked the door behind you like Satoru would listen to the message you were sending for space.

To your surprise, outside of knocking and asking to speak to you, he didn’t barge or teleport in. Just called out that he’d be waiting for you when you were ready to talk.

After you were clean, dressed in an outfit he’d bought for you, you listened through the wall for any sign of him shuffling around. Luckily for you, Ijichi came knocking on his door, distracting him enough that you slipped out of the sliding door to the balcony. Hopping over the railing and rolling onto the dusty grass below where the evening was just starting to blend into night.

Half-jogging onto the closest trail, this one through heavier trees as your bare feet scraped against the loose gravel.

You hadn’t really thought about what you were doing. An impulsive decision to get some air, although even out here, none seemed to reach your lungs.

It was cooler than you expected. A brittle chill sending a shiver down your spine and goosebumps trailing down your arms as you walked down the winding path.

You gave it five minutes before Satoru showed up. Until he was popping in on the crunching leaves and throwing his arm around your shoulder. You wouldn’t shrug him off this time. Maybe let him pull you in for a hug, let him reassure you that it was fine no matter how far from it every part of this really was.

Something shuffled ahead, and your head snapped up to the dark outline of someone ahead through the treeline.

You hesitated. Some deep-rooted instinct freezing you in place as you squinted, tried to discern the swirls of cursed energy when Satoru’s basically drowned everyone else’s out.

But then you heard your name, and you knew.

Suguru had come back to search for you. Probably hanging on the outskirts of the property to avoid detection.

He started jogging, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t get yourself to take so much as a step – although you weren’t sure if you’d go to him or run away.

What were you supposed to say to him?

That you overheard Satoru’s plans and you wouldn’t sell him out? Make him promises that he’d be safe and the kids wouldn’t get hurt and hope he’d leave without doing anything stupid?

He stopped right in front of you, and it didn’t need to be said for you both to know where you stood. Whose side you were on.

“Suguru,” you said his name, and he could tell from that alone that he wouldn’t be leaving with what he wanted.

Dark eyes bore into yours, holding you hostage. His jaw locked, and you loathed how little he was probably thinking of you now.

You failed.

“He got to you,” he practically spat out, his voice low and lethal.

You couldn’t tell him Satoru always had you.

“You should go.”

Honestly, whether it was a month or a week ago, you never would have considered that Suguru would be the one between the two who would actually kidnap you.

Or that it wouldn’t even last longer than half an hour.

It was a blur, being thrown on one of his curses, arguing with him over the sound of the wind as he brought you somewhere safe. He tied your wrists together when you tried you use your own cursed technique against him, scoffing under his breath and calling you brainwashed for buying into Satoru’s bullshit after you defended him. Trying to convince you to tell him anything other than to stop fucking worrying.

Two minutes after he landed, in the middle of what looked like nowhere, standing in an empty parking lot and pointing fingers at each other, the world went black.

You thought you were about to pass out – until you realized someone had just blocked out your view of the world.

There was a crunching sound, some snickering, and then the loud voices of Satoru and Suguru shouting at each other. Suguru made a strangled sound of surprise, of pain, and you panicked.

“Stop,” you tried to call out, and Satoru’s presence was suddenly beside you.

“Hold on,” Satoru grumbled, his voice uncharacteristically cold. “I’m taking you home.”

“Don’t hurt Suguru,” you softly requested, and he made a disgruntled sound.

But your wish was still his command.

And in a second, you were home.

The blindfold fell around your neck, his fingers brushing against your face. You squinted up at him, straining against the ropes around your wrists while he casually sliced them off. You were back in his bedroom – his own sliding door still open, the curtain covering it swaying with the wind.

“Sorry,” Satoru chirped, shrugging his shoulders as your restraints hit the floor. “Worried you might see something else your pretty little brain can’t handle.”

You tried to scowl at him, but even that fell short when he was looking down at you.

“I didn’t tell Suguru anything,” you defensively said, lips pushed together in a pout.

He kneeled down next to you, humming appreciatively.

“I know,” he purred.

“Then why-”

“He touched you,” he murmured.

“He thought he was saving me,” you pointed out.

“Do you want him to save you?” Satoru cocked his head to the side, feigning curiosity when the truth was already hanging in the air.

“No.”

That was all he needed to hear.

He had you pinned against his bed in a handful of seconds. Your clothes half-shredded, barely taking the time to discard his own as he left kiss after kiss across your body.

“Mine,” he muttered, repeating it under his breath like a mantra.

His, his, his.

You couldn’t deny it anymore.

“Should I start calling you Gojo-Sama too?” You replied back in a soft voice, sifting your fingers through his silky hair as his teeth sank into your bare chest. Possessive. Hungry.

“Please,” he groaned. Gripping your body like you’d finally declared it as part of his property.

You were home after all.

How long had you been drifting from city to city, country to country, running from someone who was waiting for you all along?

“You know you can call me whatever you want,” he added, about to slip one finger inside just to test how slick you were only to discover you were soaked.

“Yeah?” You found yourself smiling when he bit back a curse and hurried to line his cock up. "Gojo-Sama."

He let out a filthy moan, finger crooking as he shivered.

You liked his desperation.

You loved him.

He was flawed, fucked-up, but the feral gleam in his eyes when he clenched his jaw and pushed his cock inside you lit a match inside you no one else would ever be able to reach.

“Sometimes,” he murmured, half-delirious, drunk on the same desire that left you dizzy. Babbling while the stretch of his dick dragging against you seared. “I used to find your hotels. Lean against the door and try to convince myself to knock. To confess that I was in love with you and beg you to come back with me.”

“You should've,” you muttered, breath hitching as he buried himself inside of. Letting go of the last shreds of decency. Of morality.

Here he was, openly admitting to stalking you, and the only feeling you found inside yourself was attraction. Adoration.

“W-what?” He stammered, genuine surprise in his hoarse voice. Straining just to keep his thrusts steady, brilliant blue eyes searching your face.

You dragged your nails back down his back, earning another low moan that bordered on feral at the pain mixing with the hot pleasure. No one else got to do this.

No one else got him.

“You could've fucked me,” you continued, whispering softly as you craned up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I would've just thought I was dreaming.”

Satoru’s eyes rolled back, that pretty lump in his throat bobbing as he tried to contain his coming orgasm.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you can't just say that,” he hissed, body shaking as you smiled at him.

“I dreamt of you all the time,” you promised, letting go of his shoulders to stroke his hair. He pulled out, like it would stop him from cumming early, his leaking cock resting on your stomach. Throbbing while his stare burned through you.

You were tired of telling yourself you weren’t in love with him.

Tired of lying.

You wrapped delicate fingers around his cock, feeling the veins pulsing underneath your fingers before you guided it back inside you. Lips parting as he slowly pushed himself in, struggling and straining to keep himself from snapping.

“I fantasized about us,” you whispered again, your own breath catching as he suddenly came hard, warm ropes of white spilling inside you before you could cum too. He was already apologizing, hissing out that he hadn’t meant to, promising that he’d make up for it with his mouth until he was hard again.

You giggled at the idea he'd just be eating his own cum back out, grinning and relaxing as you hooked one of your thighs over his shoulder, glancing down at his cheesy smile at your acceptance.

Some dreams did come true.

a/n: commission info is here for anyone interested <3 reblogs/comments are greatly appreciated angels!! hope everyone enjoyed!