ꫂ᭪݁ Gojo “accidentally” taught your daughter a new word, and it was chaotic. — Ft. Gojo Satoru (nsfw)
You were exhausted from pacing back and forth across the penthouse, mop clutched in one hand and a dull, persistent headache pulsing behind your eyes. Cleaning an entire home should not have felt like preparing for battle, yet here you were, sweating and muttering to yourself like you had lost a personal war with dust and chaos. But then again, your home was not just a house. It was a penthouse. Long echoing hallways that never seemed to end, floor to ceiling windows that showed every fingerprint, rooms so rarely used you sometimes forgot why you even had them, and worst of all, one tiny menace with unlimited energy and a talent for destruction.
Your daughter.
Miyu could turn order into disaster in under ten minutes flat, and today she had clearly surpassed her personal best.
Her room was the final boss.
The moment you stepped inside, your heart sank. The floor glistened under the light in a way floors absolutely should not. The walls reflected light like polished marble. Even the air felt… slippery, if that made any sense. When you reached for the door handle, your fingers slid instead of gripping, and you immediately knew something had gone very wrong.
Your eyes slowly tracked toward the bathroom counter.
The jar of Vaseline that had once been safely tucked away was now completely empty.
Not just empty. Its contents were everywhere. Smears on the walls. Streaks on the floor. Shiny handprints along the dresser and bedframe, like some strange abstract art exhibit created by a child with too much freedom and zero supervision.
“Miyu,” you said carefully, planting your hands on your hips as you surveyed the scene, your voice tight with forced calm. “Didn’t mommy say you shouldn’t make your room dirty so mommy wouldn’t have a hard time cleaning?”
Miyu stood in the middle of the room, socks sliding slightly as she shifted from foot to foot. She clasped her hands behind her back and looked up at you with wide eyes and the most innocent smile she could possibly manage, the kind that made it very clear she knew she was in trouble but was hoping charm would save her.
“Sorry, mama,” she said sweetly. “I couldn’t help it. But it’s all squeaky now, so that’s good!”
You stared at her.
Then you stared at the walls.
Then back at her.
“Squeaky and oily is not clean,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you reached for a washcloth. “It’s just… harder to fix.”
She tilted her head, clearly processing this information, before giving a small nod. Without another word, she carefully slid her way out of the room like a penguin on ice, hands stretched out for balance as she escaped the crime scene.
What followed felt like hours.
Your arms burned from scrubbing. Your back ached from bending. The smell of cleaning products mixed unpleasantly with the lingering slickness that refused to disappear no matter how hard you tried. Every surface needed multiple passes, and every time you thought you were done, your hand would slide and remind you otherwise. Somewhere halfway through, you wondered how a six-year-old had the strength, creativity, and determination to do this much damage.
By the time the sun dipped lower and the penthouse finally looked presentable again, you felt like collapsing right there on the spotless floor.
Instead, you ran yourself a hot bath.
The water steamed gently as it filled the tub, bubbles piling high until they nearly spilled over the edges. The warmth wrapped around you as you sank in, muscles finally loosening, the tension in your shoulders melting away. Your breathing slowed. Your thoughts quieted. For the first time all day, there were no messes to clean, no footsteps racing down hallways, no tiny voice calling your name every five seconds.
Finally..Peace.
That peace lasted exactly thirty seconds.
The bathroom door flew open without warning, and Miyu burst in like she owned the place, completely unfazed by the fact that you were trying to enjoy a rare moment of solitude.
“Mommy!” she announced brightly. “Daddy’s home!”
You barely had time to react before she started giggling, covering her mouth with both hands like she had just uncovered the funniest secret in the world.
“Sweetheart,” you said slowly, raising an eyebrow, already sensing danger, “why are you giggling?”
She looked at you, then pointed dramatically toward the tub. “Daddy, boobies!”
Your soul nearly left your body.
“Miyu!” you squeaked, immediately sinking lower into the bubbles until only your face remained visible. “Where did you even learn that word?!”
Before she could answer, a familiar tall figure appeared in the doorway. Gojo leaned casually against the frame, tie loosened, hair a mess from a long day, exhaustion written all over him. And of course, that stupid grin was already spreading across his face.
“Ah,” he said, completely unfazed. “That’s on me.”
You snapped your head toward him. “Toru.”
He shrugged. “She asked questions. I answered. Educational parenting.”
His eyes flicked toward the tub for half a second too long, and without hesitation, you grabbed a handful of bubbles and tossed them straight at his face.
“Get out!” you snapped.
“Hey!” he laughed, stepping back even though the bubbles didn’t even touch him. “That’s how you greet your hardworking husband?”
“You taught our three-year-old that word!”
“She’s curious,” he replied proudly. “And honestly, walking in on this chaos kinda made my stress disappear instantly.”
You grabbed another handful of bubbles and threw them again. “Out. Now.”
Gojo flinched dramatically as the bubbles flew his way, even though his infinity protected him anyway, laughing as he retreated down the hallway while Miyu giggled uncontrollably.
———
When your daughter was finally out of battery and fell asleep in her clean room, Gojo locked your bedroom door and pushed you to the bed. His long fingers caressing your face, then your neck, then your chest. His hands run down your shirt, his blue eyes were sharp as he tugged your shirt, “Off.”
You did what he said, taking your shirt off. Leaving you in your bra, not just any bra, it’s the one you specifically bought for Christmas. A beautiful lingerie red bra with black lace around it. Gojo’s breath hitched at the sight, eyes drinking at the sight.
“Shit, baby. Is this for me?” He gently ran his fingers through the design, one finger twirling around the strap of your bra, then slipping it down your shoulders. The other hand teasing the hooks of your bra, pulling it forward then letting it go as it snapped in place.
“Who else would I buy it for?” You giggled, arms around his neck as you pulled him closer. The eye contact was intense, like you two were spiritually eye-fucking.
“Fuck, you’re so goddamn hot, babe.” He unhooked your bra with one hand, finally sliding it off you as his hands immediately clamped onto both of your breasts. Kneading them as you moaned in pleasure.
“I could squeeze and play around with your breasts all day if i have to.” He leaned his head down, his mouth latching onto your nipple as his tongue flicked around your already pebbled nipple. The other boob was kneaded around, nipple rubbed in circles as you whimpered.
“Mmm, T—Toru—“ His hand that was playing with your nipple clamped around your mouth, muffling your moans and whimpers of pleasure. “Shh, you’re gonna wake Miyu up. Wouldn’t want her to ruin the moment, hm?” You shook your head, earning an amused chuckle from him.
His mouth unlatched from your nipple, leaving you desperate and hungry for more. He unbuttoned your pajamas, pulling them down as he raised his eyebrow. “Huh, even your panties match your bra. Got me a new set to ruin, baby?” You gasped as he sunk his hand inside your panties. Warm hand running along your slick cunt. Earning an amused look from his face.
“You’re so wet that it soaked your pretty panties, and i haven’t even touched you down here yet.” His thumb circled around your clit, making you arch your back from the bed and throb in need.
“A—Ah! Please, please..Mmph! Please..” You begged for his fingers to be inside, your hips automatically grinded on his hand. A low growl leaving his throat when you did that. “Please what, baby? So fucking needy for my fingers to be inside you, huh?” He teased you, his index and ring finger went up and down your entrance, but didn’t thrust it in you just yet.
“Please, please..want your fingers inside of me..make me cum all over them.” You boldly begged, your warm cunt clenching over nothing as you anticipated his fingers.
He stopped moving his fingers, it was quiet for a moment. Until he suddenly thrusted two fingers right in your cunt, knuckle up. Your back arched off the bed, tears running down your face in pleasure, a silent cry leaving your mouth, and your thighs shook in pleasure.
“Stil so fucking tight, she’s sucking me forwards. So down bad f’me.” He growled, fingers thrusting faster and harder, right in your sensitive spot with great accuracy. You saw stars and white spots in your vision, so lost in pleasure and wonder that you forgot about your stress levels.
“T-Think I’m gonna c-cum..ah! S—Sat-oru!” You moaned his name, though it was a pathetic attempt in saying his name right now.
He didn’t slow down, didn’t even react to what you said. Instead, he quickened the pace even more, finally making you release the build up in your stomach, making the sheets and his fingers messy.
He pulled out, putting his fingers into his mouth and sucking your juices off his fingers, a satisfied moan left his mouth. He leaned in to kiss away your tears, then kissed you sloppily. Letting you taste yourself on him.
You looked down at him, an obvious wet spot on his sweatpants that he couldn’t hide. Did he just cum with you?
Gojo looked down and chuckled, taking some tissues from the desk beside the bed and wiped the mess off. “Sorry, baby. Your orgasm face was just too hot.”
After he finished cleaning the mess you made, he picked you up and gently put you in a warm bath with flower petals. His hands scrubbing you clean, and left a warm kiss on your forehead.
sypnosis: when an email that containts your sexual desires landed on the gmail of the white haired boy, satoru gojo. what's meant to be as a school work spirals into something impossible to walk away from, and now the school's golden boy knows your secret.
warnings: sexual content, mentions of rape, dubcon, smut, all characters are 18+, modern au, porn with plot, mentions of porn.
a/n: lmk if u want part 2 hehe. might turn this into a series idk.
As a psychology student who's almost at the end of their term, You have one question when the words fell out of your professor’s mouth:
Is this even legal?
“In my Gmail account,” he began, adjusting his glasses where they hung low on the bridge of his nose, “I want each of you to send me anonymously your deepest and darkest desire.”
What was that supposed to mean? Becoming a billionaire without ever working a 9-to-5 — did that count as a “dark desire”?
“Like what position during sex we prefer?” drawled one of your classmates, a tall brunette who was always trying (and failing) to be the class clown. Dave? David? Something along those lines. You always thought of him as Gojo Satoru’s dollar-store knockoff, and apparently, so did half the girls in class.
His little circle of friends — the ones you privately called The Hyenas because they laughed at literally anything, even their own unfunny jokes — erupted at the back of the room.
“This a porn search bar now?” Gojo finally asked, amused, his glasses caught the fluorescent light when he tilted his head.
That was when the professor, Mr. Fitzgerald slammed his palm against the desk.
“This is not pornography,” he said sharply, scanning the room over the rims of his glasses. “And yes, it can be about your preferred sexual experiences. Now that you’re all preparing to leave the university and step into the real world, we’re going to address a subject you cannot avoid: sex. How it affects the mind. How the brain responds to it.”
He paused. “You must submit under your name. I need it in my inbox tonight. By eleven fifty-nine.”
A groan rippled through the class. Your pen hovered over your notebook as you bite your lips in anticipation. Deepest and darkest desire. What the hell is that supposed to include?
Subject: Submission – Deepest Desire
Being touched without my permission and acting like I didn't want it when my body says otherwise. That's it, that's the desire. I know it's fucked up once you understand and read between the lines but it's a fantasy of mine I can't voice out in a world that asked sensitivity, understanding and respect from every women who undergo that pain and suffering. My mind must have been completely turned upside down, maybe there's a loose tool in it that's why I started thinking this way. I want to know the weight of surrender, how sweetness spills when boundaries break, to be ruined in a lot of ways more than one, to be stripped out of my morale and to be scared, terrified even.
This is a bad idea.
You thought it once, twice, a hundred times as your eyes skimmed the words again.
What if I get in trouble for this?
The clock on the bottom right of your laptop glared back at you: 11:58 PM. One minutes left. One minute between passing and losing a chunk of your grade.
Your heart raced. Screw it.
Your professor’s name echoed in your mind — Gregorio Fitzgerald. That’s all you needed to remember. Just type “G,” and his email would pop up. Easy.
Your trembling fingers pressed the key. g.
The list appeard. Two names popped up on the email bar.
Gregorio Fitzgerald.
Gojo Satoru.
You hit send, slammed the laptop shut like it had bitten you, turned off the lights, and buried yourself in your sheets.
It was done.
Now all you could do was pray your professor wouldn’t see the filth in the lines you’d written.
But Life had other plans.
Morning came with sunlight stabbing through your blinds, dragging you from the warmth of sleep. Still half-dreaming, you reached for your phone to check the time — and froze when the notification hit you first.
Sleep left you instantly. Your heart dropped to your stomach, blood rushing in your ears. You stared, reread, blinked hard as if the words would rewrite themselves.
But no.
The horror clawed in as reality set its teeth:
You didn’t send it to Professor Gregorio.
You sent it to him.
