If I had a nickle for every time I've grown very attached to a fave character who is outwardly really gruff and snarky but is that way because of lots of trauma including some survivor guilt but actually has a big heart that cares a lot especially for those who need/deserve it, and is also a trained fighter who doesn't know how to properly relax and stop because of trauma even when they really need to and is very talented with a small to medium sized bladed weapon- I'd have 3 nickles. Which isnt a lot but its weird that its happened thrice.
Fun fact about Hoshi; Her design is based of this human Crane from Kung fu panda design i saw on instagram ages back where his hat had lil dangly red strings coming of it. So much so that in Hoshi's first ever design in VoidRP, before i had made her a Mimic oc, had a hat basically just like that one.
so I work two jobs, at an auto parts store and a cafe and I've noticed that people at the parts place think im a dude and the cafe customers assume im a girl its so interesting to see
sometimes your favorite song is by the idol group you see every time you go to tokyo but they haven't released it to streaming and they're quite obscure (not to mention taping performances is extremely NG in jpop idol culture) so the only time you have a chance of hearing it is when you go watch them perform and it's like not even guaranteed that it'll be on the setlist every time and then you find out it's actually by a disbanded sister group of theirs and they also didn't release it to streaming but they did put it on youtube in a 20 minute long video that features their entire first mini-album except for some reason it's the absolute worst quality vocals you've ever heard on a professional recording as in not the mic quality but the actual singing quality as in it sounds like a group of friends doing karaoke not even professional singers just some friends with no retakes no autotune touchups not even re-recording the lines that are off rhythm but it still means you kinda get to hear the song in your apartment. but is it even really the same song as the one you hear when your favorite member gets the solo in the chorus and walks from the back of the stage out towards the audience between the rest of the members as if parting the sea. is it
Synopsis. Till déath do you part…or does it when a déathly error leads your newly-wedded husband to be from beyond the gráve?
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, CÓRPSE BRIDE!AU, arranged marriages, period-typical mísogyny, Naoya is awful, accidental marriage, ángst, major character(s) déath, HAPPY ENDING, talks of déath, kníves, poíson, reíncarnation, Gojo YEARNS, he loves you sm I cried, hándjobs, fíngering, spítting, cúmplay, BRÉEDING, creampíes, mentions of having kids, pússydrúnk Gojo, overstím, oraI (fem rec.), pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.7k (ohoho)
A/N. K!nktober isn’t over until I had to make a rewrite of my favorite Halloween movie mhm <3
“Mother, I refuse-”
“Nonsense, child!”
That sharp snap! of your mother’s feathered fan is loud enough that the whole carriage rattles on its hinges, creaking you noisily to what seemed like your very doom.
You gulp when she’s tilting her head down as far as her best, high-collared gown would allow, eyes narrowing. “The Zenin’s are the only nobles left in this wretched town, and I will not have my daughter marrying some commoner.”
The unsteady cobblestone pathway jostles you in your cushioned seat ever-so-slightly, a pertinent little reminder of that fact.
In the deafening silence, your father pipes up - ever-the-pacifist, “Now now, why don’t we all calm down, especially before such a glorious wedding.” But his words wither out into nothing but a whisper in the simmering tension. “Like your mother said, dear, the Zenin’s are a good family, with a uh-” Coughing nervously, “-good son. We just want you to be taken care of.”
As if that was the only thing.
But there was no use arguing.
Facing back to the gray window with a sigh, and you can only whisper. “I’d rather die than marry Naoya Zenin.”
---
“With this hand-”
“Louder.”
“With this-”
“More passionate.”
“With this damn hand-”
“Not a threat.” The older woman in front of you wrings her satin gloves, turning towards your fuming parents with a tone that matches their expression. “Honestly, I know that you new money people find it hard to adjust but this is our special tradition! My poor baby Naoya is going to be heartbroken tomorrow.”
Dutchess Zenin had a cruel sort of beauty to her, high cheekbones, and cutting eyes that picked apart every fray at your dress - the spitting image of her son.
And her “poor baby Naoya” was currently finding it impossible to hide his smirk. Swiping away invisible dust from the velvety-clad shoulder of his overpriced suit, he sets down his wine bottle from the vows.
“Don’t be too harsh, mother.” Naoya’s smooth voice comes out in a dangerous purr, and you jolt when one of his strong arms slither around your waist. Possessive. “After all, it’s this one’s face that’s what’s important.”
God, if it weren’t for your parents’ pointed looks you would have shoved this overly-perfumed bastard away from you and bolted through those high doors faster than you could say “I do.”
The Naoya Estate was as beautiful as its occupants could never be, brutal, looming architecture intended to make you feel smaller than you were. All those high cemented pillars, plush furniture, and gleaming chandeliers spoke of exactly what your parents wanted - power.
It wasn’t the sort of home you’d like to call your own, but then again, you didn’t have any choice in the matter.
“My deepest apologies on behalf of my daughter, madam-” your mother’s gritting out the words, painted lips curling ever-so-slightly towards the end with a bitter taste. “-or should I say, co-mother-in-law? Ah, come now, we might as well be family already, right?”
“Sure.” Dutchess Naoya turns, arching a needle brow. “Might as well, thanks to your family assets- if your daughter doesn’t make a joke of the vows, that is.”
The wisened officiary standing at the altar nods solemnly towards you. “Do you even want to get married tomorrow, young lady?” No, you want to answer, but bite back. “Zenin house traditions dictate that the mark of a good wife is one to follow the vows to its every syllable.”
You wince - and your features sting where they’d been perfectly stretched into a plastic smile. Your next words come out small, strangled in a way that makes your future husband smile. “I apologize, I know how important these vows are, and I’ll- I’ll do better next time.”
“Good.”
With a click of Dutchess Zenin’s fingers, a hushed, swirling piano melody fills the hall once more.
Your wedding ballad.
Something that Naoya had prattled on and on about being an esteemed tradition in the Zenin household, a tender tune to accompany their sacred vows. Modeled after the long-lost royalty of this kingdom, and this was the closest you’d get to a taste of it.
It was your one initiation into power - saying those sweet, special promises - and the one thing you found impossible to get right.
“-for I will be your wine.”
Shit.
You didn’t even realize that Naoya had polished off his own vows, before you jolt at the hefty weight of wine being poured into your cup.
And you could practically feel the burning stare of every eye in the room. Watching. Waiting.
You’re fighting against your intricate corset to gulp in a deep inhale of the stale, thickening air. Clearing your throat ever-so-slightly, you raise the hand holding onto his wedding ring. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Y-your cup will never empty-” Fingers tightening around the silver goblet in your other, your breath hitches at the bile rising to your throat already. “-for I will be your- your uh- wine.”
In the corner of your vision, you could spot Naoya’s smug smirk already. You could hear his tiny “As if you have any other choice.”
You knew what he was thinking.
That whisper is enough to make your jaw grind, your hand clench in a way you’d been taught by your mother not to - in a way that she’d unfortunately forgotten to tell you was for the cup’s sake, rather than your own.
Because it only takes one harsh squeeze before it just bursts.
Red, red wine trickling all down your wrist, splattering onto the gauzy curve of your gown - but more importantly, onto Naoya’s crisp suit.
It bleeds through the velvet in thick smears, seeping into the fabric as if catching on fire. Only staining further and further with each second he’s flailing frantically to wipe it off.
“Shit- My apologies- oh, shit-” you’re gasping, but there’s no one paying enough attention to tell you off for your unlady-like profanity right now. Body moving before your mind, you snatch some of the officiary’s papers from him, “Wait, it will only get worse- let me-”
Only to forget what was in your hands.
Honestly, if this was any other time you would have laughed watching the rest of the wine nestled safely in your cup come gushing down onto whatever was left of his unmarred suit - every single inch.
It’s chaos.
Then it’s silence.
Every single breathing being in the room can only watch as the last few crimson droplets drip! drip! drip! onto Naoya Zenin’s lapels.
Wordlessly, you look to the aghast officiary, your stony-faced parents, and finally, your gaping fiancé. You’re the first to speak - to hold back your chuckles, more like. “I- I cannot apologize enough…”
“You- you witch! This was on purpose, wasn’t it? Do you know how much this custom suit cost? How it was worn by the late highness himself.” Naoya’s screeching, voice shrill. Pointing a finger accusingly at you, it would be menacing if it wasn’t for the big, fat droplets of red dripping from his angry features. More of a drenched cat than the gentleman he pretends to be. “Remember that I’m doing you a favor by marrying you-”
You cross your arms, struggling to keep composure. “I shall reimburse-”
“-and acting all haughty as if you were from the royal family itself.” he’s frantic, mouth running a mile a minute. Tugging at his wet strands, “And my hair, oh my beautiful beautiful hair-”
“I shall reimburse the emotional damages, too!”
Dutchess Zenin tackles her son into a soothing embrace you find almost comical, granting you with a venomous glare that you were sure if looks could kill, she’d be lowering you into your grave and waltzing over it with Naoya already.
Simpering, “It’s quite alright my poor boy, this wedding cannot take place! We can find another-”
“No no no- no, I still want to marry her-” His greedy eyes sweep your trembling figure up and down, “Doesn’t matter if she’s an unfit wife, I’ll fix her up-” You’re quirking a brow, “Swear I’ll marry her and fix her up into-”
THUD!
You’re throwing the cup remaining in your hand as hard as you can, hitting Naoya right in the bullseye of his chest. And as soon as the air leaves his lungs, they leave yours too - in a stubborn, infuriated hiss, “Well, I’d never marry a spoiled, pompous brat like you.”
And with a flick of the stray beads of wine on your fingers at his face for good measure, you lift your heavy skirts as scandalously far as they’d travel to dart out of the door.
Out of the winding corridors.
Out of the Zenin Estate.
Ignoring every call of your name, every arm reaching out for you - urgently following your feet wherever they took you. Honestly, you’re so busy gasping in deep lungfuls of the cool, fall air embracing you that you’re half-surprised you only crash into a few people on the streets.
Again. And again. And again and again, yet never stopping. Afraid of being followed by Naoya. Or even worse - your parents.
You barely even slow down until your tailored shoes crunch against gray snow, eyes taking in lines upon lines of towering trees in front of you. Tall, towering. Weaving their branches with the sky - ominous, almost, against the steadily darkening night creeping its way in.
The forest, you’re realizing with a gasp. Have you really come this far?
Taking a glimpse over your shoulder at the twinkling lights of the town in the distance, you think of the vows that were waiting for you, and the town rumors you’d definitely sparked. Well, a walk to cool off wouldn’t hurt…
And despite wanting to relax, your thoughts only churn with each step. Replaying the scenes from earlier over and over and-
“And your cup will always- fuck- they probably think I’m such a fool.” you’re spitting, kicking at a pile of snow. “Fuck Naoya and his vows, fuck that stupid wine, should’ve shoved it up his-”
Just then, a sudden gust of fall air puffs up against your ear, sending goosebumps careening down every bit of your exposed skin. You shudder sharply, hands shovelling for warmth inside your gown’s pockets, “Ugh, today’s such a horrible-” Only to cut yourself off with a gasp- “This is…”
You feel for that metallic cold again, hastily pulling out that solid, silvery ring. Meant for Naoya Zenin.
Admittedly gorgeous, an intricate band with a delicate sapphire embedded in its middle. Your mother had spent months tracking down the best jeweler in the country to forge a ring that even the Zenin’s would be impressed with.
Fit for a king.
You scoff, “An unfit wife, my ass. It’s not even that difficult.”
Still feeling highly insulted, and only slightly embarrassed for it, you clear your throat. Speaking clearly into the stiff air, “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” Determinedly you stride your way into the middle of a slight clearing, “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”
Grasping a stray branch, you mock lighting the altar candles. “With this candle, I will light your way in the darkness.”
Before setting down on one knee - customary for the groom, yet feeling so right when you gaze down at a tree root sticking up from the blanket of snow. Poised like the prettiest of fingers at the foot of a towering oak.
“With this ring,” You’re sliding it down easily as you would have to onto the man you hated the most. “I ask you to be mine.”
.
.
.
You don’t expect the sudden shift.
You don’t expect the wind to pick up, you don’t expect for a murder of crows to materialize from the midnight darkness and crowd on a tree right behind you. Letting the tree root slip from your fingers, you whirl around - what- a storm?
But before you can think of any answers, that withered branch shoots further out of the ground. Barely giving you a split-second to jump backwards before cupping your cheek, gently.
And you could’ve sworn that one twig glides across your cheek - just the way one’s thumb would have. Like the softest of lovers.
Gasping in fear, you fall backwards, splaying out into the uncomfortably bone-chilling snow below.
You can only watch as the tree root twitches once. Twice. And your ears thunder with the high-pitched howls of the wind, and a sudden, booming bang! bang! bang!
Shit.
Your eyes widen, it was coming from under the ground.
The ground that was splitting open before your very eyes.
Wider. And wider. Like something was baring itself before you. Something was clawing all the way from hell, that tree root only surging up, up, upwards in a long, limb-like fashion. Branching out into five fingers that dig their way into the ground. Hard.
And if you didn’t think you were about to faint from just this - you were definitely on the verge of it when the fingers lead their way into a forearm, a shoulder. Miles upon miles of skin - a person, towering above you, silhouetted by moonlight.
He looks at you with sapphire eyes. Close.
A man.
Beautiful.
Whispering, “I do.” Nose to cold nose, thick white lashes fluttering shut. “You may now kiss the groom.”
---
You’re barely half-awake when you realize that that was probably the strangest dream you’ve had in your life.
Groaning, you rub blearily at your eyes - yet, through the bursts of stars and pounding flashes of headaches, all you can think about is him and his chilling lips on yours.
Soft, like a leaving lover.
Even in your most feverish of dreams, you’d never conjured up anyone so ethereal. Tall, powerful despite the almost-sickly air about him, and the deep circles underneath his gleaming eyes.
But so gorgeous - sorrowfully so.
The image burned permanently into your mind, like your most favorite of memories. Every tiny detail down from the almost-blinding reflection of the moon against his cloudy hair, to how that illuminated his soft smile - that tiny dimple at the corner of his pert, pretty mouth.
You remember how he wore a wedding suit, the kind that nobles these days wouldn’t dare touch with a six foot sword with how it looked centuries out of fashion. Stark white, with fine silver detailing down the velvety fabric for you to admire.
How ironic, somehow, the thought made you sad.
But most of all, you especially remember the way he looked at you.
Just like he was right now.
“Ah!”
“Now that’s not usually the reaction I- fuck!”
He was real. So painfully real.
And clutching his face where you’d claimed a swat at one of high cheekbones.
“Ouch, my wife has a real good arm on her, huh?” Blinking back the haziness in your eyes, you catch sight of that same summer blue gaze, eyes crinkled slightly at the ends. Tender, despite being attacked by you less than a minute after gaining consciousness. “Though, I love a strong woman.”
“New arrival! Looks like we got ourselves a breather-”
“Looks like she fainted, is she alright? You know we can’t keep her long-”
“Can I touch her? Looks so soft~”
White - white fills your vision, too-late are you realizing that you’re being pressed into the soft coat of his chest. Inching you away from a hulking, four-armed creature, he mutters, “She’s my wife, you curse.”
“What-” It takes you a few more seconds to finally find your voice. In those moments you look up to take in his boyishly pretty features - about your age. Human, had it not been for that otherworldly faint blue pallor. “Is this a joke? Where am-”
Choking on your words as you take a sweeping look around the - tavern? Realm? It looked like the very same one in your own town, except bright. Musical. Everything that your home wasn’t. Finding faces you could never imagine looking at you - some beautiful, some mere skeletons, all taken out of your wildest dreams.
And all dead, it hits you with a jolt.
Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt safer in his arms.
“Something wrong, my love?”
You pinch yourself, “I need questions- now.”
“You mean answers.” One from the pub crowd scoffs - a towering man, handsome. He’d look ever-so-ordinary if it wasn’t for the completely skeletal arm on his left side. And of course, that same death-like serenity. “Honestly, Gojo, you picked an airhead or what?”
The man that still held you - Gojo, you assume - whines in protest, “Shut up, Toji. I’d always love her regardless- and she said her vows so perfectly.”
“I did…” you breathe.
Shit.
Shit shit shit- you did.
Cocking your head, you ask. “Who are you?”
He’s rolling his eyes, gifting you a crooked grin of pearly whites. “Your husband, obviously?”
And before you can pinch yourself again to make sure you weren’t dreaming, and that last time was a fluke - or perhaps smack him again - Gojo shows off one slender hand. Naoya Zenin’s ring adorned proudly across his ring finger. Your ring. With your vows.
“So…” you let out a giggle of still disbelief. “You’re the tree-”
“Not quite but-”
“Oh! I love this story- could make a skeleton cry.”
“Heh, yeah yeah sing it, king of curses.”
“Please don’t.”
“You see, welcome to the Land of the Dead, doll.” A man with pink hair sets down his drink to throw one of his four arms around your shoulder, much to Gojo’s chagrin. Words dripping with taunt, “N’ lemme tell you the story of our lovely corpse groom.”
You’re dragged along through the crowded, eerily lit tavern, everyone jostling each other to better get a look at you. Poking and prodding, some even gasping at the feeling of your thundering pulse.
He hums, “Here we have a pompous prince known miles around-” And you could tell him and Gojo had already known each other long, with how he was toying with the other man. “-fell hard and fast for a cute lil’ peasant girl much like yourself-”
“Sukuna, stop it.” Gojo grits, jaw clenched.
“-but, alas. When dear ol’ dad the king said ‘no’, he jus’ couldn’t cope. So our dear lovers came up with a plan to elope-”
You’re thrust into the arms of an attractive blond man, almost half of his entire face held together with stitches and bone. Heaving out a sigh in a way you could very much feel akin to, “Meeting up late at night is always a stupid plan, even with all the wine and riches for the road. You might not need much when you have love, but you never know what’s lurking. And, well, on that dark night, our prince here paid the price.” When you look back at the white-haired man his eyes seemed significantly softer, if that was even possible.
Toji’s the one by your side this time, “Poof! Dropped dead as dust waiting for his dear girl, no evidence, no body, no bride. What a crybaby he was when he arrived. Didn’t even want to stay here-”
“-because then he made a promise to wait upstairs.” Another man - with such gorgeous, long hair makes himself known this time. Forehead littered in strange stitches, as if it’d been opened and fixed many, many times. “And waited and waited asleep for one hundred years to this day until out of the blue, you came along, sweetness. The lovely bride, to our corpse groom.”
You.
And Gojo looks at you like he can’t look away.
Lone, standing there with his arms open as the story tapers out. Waiting.
Until you came along.
---
“HERE YE, HERE YE…FUTURE BRIDE OF ZENIN HOUSE SEEN LURKING IN THE FOREST WITH A MYSTERY MAN– now for the weather…”
“What?” your mother hisses at the bellows of the local newsman, well, rumor-spreader, more like. But he’s never been more useful than now. Sneaking an urgent glance at the stunned Dutchess Zenin by her side, she elbows your father, “We come outside to search for our daughter only to hear this? How could we let this-”
“Maybe it’s a ah- slow news day?”
They’re interrupted by a sudden, sharp clearing of one’s throat - dripping with the distinct tone of condescension that only a member of the Zenin family could possess. “We are one bride short for the wedding tomorrow. What a scandal!”
“Ah!” she’s gasping. Waving her hands frantically, “W-we promise we’ll find her before the wedding-”
“You better.”
“No.” Naoya Zenin’s voice was brimming with something dangerous, an eerie, steady lilt of determination to it. But he’s not even looking at anyone in the group, eyes trained firmly on the woody entrance to the forest in the distance. “I’ll be the one to find her.”
Finally, something that seems to appease the huffing matriarch.
Only leaving her sullen son with a nod of approval, “And Naoya…” She makes sure the other two bothers were out of earshot, greedily scurrying back to the warmth of the Zenin household. “Remember, the ah- family funds are drying up. Hurry.”
---
Gojo Satoru, you learn, was as nervous about this marriage as you were.
“This is where I always visited after first dying.” he muses, ice-cold fingers wrapped snugly with yours as he guides you gently through various crooked stairs and skeletons of town. “The view takes my breath away- well, if I could breathe, that is.”
You’re startling out a laugh that has both of you surprised, and he turns to you with such breathless awe.
“Beautiful.”
“What-” your eyes widen - and you don’t know whether it’s from his sudden little compliment, or from where you two had finally stopped walking.
A steep cliff, overlooking the entire, vast town of multi-color lights. The rigid structure from where you came could never compare. Complete chaos. But as pretty as those paintings you read about in books, views you never thought you’d see.
You rest your hands atop the spindly barrier surrounding the very edge, marveling. “It is beautiful…”
“It is.” Gojo’s tone is rich, and his eyes never stray from you despite all else there is to drink in. It takes you a few moments of counting all the bustling figures in the distance before you finally mount up the courage to meet his hypnotic gaze.
Gojo jolts when you look his way, as if he wasn’t expecting it. Hastily, he flusters to pat down the sides of his suit - tattered at places, patchy as if once-pristine but ruined with age. He’s smiling once he ruffles through his breast pocket, pulling out something glinting.
You’re letting out a tiny gasp when he shows off a silver, heart-shaped locket. Intricate, obviously custom-tailored - you’d never quite seen anything like it. Positively beaming with all the shine that the rest of him had lost.
Treasured.
“It’s for you.”
“What?” Your jaw falls slack in shock, pushing away Gojo’s held-out hands. But he was ever-persistent. “Please- I can’t, that- that looks like it should be for someone precious.”
“And it is.”
This was the firmest you’d heard his sing-song voice, and at your slightest split-second of faltering, he snatches the opportunity to circle his hands around your neck. Deftly clasping it from behind, Gojo only smiles, soft pads of his fingers lingering at your nape. “I’ve had it for years.” You wanted to know exactly how many years that meant. “Consider it a wedding gift~”
Your own dust over the cool metal pendant, heart lurching. “If only you let me know about our wedding in advance, I would’ve gifted you something, too.”
“Heh, you don’t have to.”
“Do too”
“Do not.”
“Do too.” You cross your arms, boring your eyes into his. “I’m not going to be an unfit wife.”
There’s a second of silence.
One.
Two.
And at this point, you half-expected your parents and Naoya’s to just burst from behind the nearby stairway to tell you this was all some elaborate test - before Gojo just explodes in peels of cackles.
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I- hah!” he’s barely able to wheeze out, wiping away stray tears of joy. “You never change, huh-”
It takes the embarrassed tapping of your feet for Gojo to finally straighten back up to his tall figure, muttering out a few more indiscernible phrases underneath his breath. Clearing his throat, “Now who said you’d ever be an ‘unfit wife’, sweetheart- Y’know I really didn’t believe Toji’s airhead comment but- oh-”
You land a half-hearted punch solidly in his stomach - and usually, you’d think twice, thrice before acting this familiar with anyone. Even then, you wouldn’t follow through underneath your mother’s watchful eye.
Ah, but you’ve never smiled harder when you claim. “I think I won our first argument as a married couple.”
“Oh, can you do this f’me when I have an argument with Sukuna, next?” Gojo chuckles, wiggling his brows.
He has to dodge your playful hand a few more times - well, he would have had to. But he’s taking them all gladly, pulling you by the wrist to press you flush against his chest. “But fine, you win. Maybe as a wedding gift we can consumm- I’m kidding I’m kidding- follow me, I have the perfect idea.”
And you couldn’t not come with him, with the way that Gojo was eagerly dragging you through the town plaza and back into the now-empty tavern, where you’d remembered had a grand piano nestled away.
Gojo’s pulling out the seat for you, before promptly taking his own flush beside you. Nudging you with one of his shoulders, he starts up a beautifully haunting few lower notes. Delicate. “You don’t have to play, you can listen if you’d like-”
“Hey, I know this one.” you’re gasping, eyes lighting up with the recognition of that familiar somber from the Zenin house. But something about it this time felt so right.
Before you know it, your hands are moving faster than you can hold them back, joining Gojo in his sweeping melody on the higher notes. It rings in the air around you two, jostling your body up against his.
“You know it.” he breathes, such a brilliant grin making way onto his pretty features when you two continue your little duet. And you swear you could hear him suck in a sharp inhale before playing even harder on the keys - a challenge.
And you were never one to back down.
“Heh, you’re not half bad-” But his own little boast gets cut off by Gojo’s half-skeletal wrist snapping off, twiddling up, up, up the grand piano and on its merry way around your shoulder. “Pardon my enthusiasm, my love.”
You help him reattach it back, an interesting quirk of being half-dead, you suppose. “I like your enthusiasm.”
There’s a slow, stuttering silence that echoes afterwards, and you’re shivering from the slightly cold bite of the underground. Gojo wraps his full arm around your shoulder this time, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that he was still bone-cold.
“How…” he gulps, barely meeting your eyes. “How did you know that song?”
But you couldn’t tear yours away from him, “Oh? That song? Well- before I uh- married you, I was actually engaged-”
His pretty lips fall slack, “Oh…”
You’re not sure why you hasten to explain yourself, “B-but he was a prick- and I threw a wine cup at him just before coming here.”
“That’s my girl.” Gojo winks, and you’re feeling your skin heat up.
“Anyway, this song was to be played at the wedding. So my mother made me memorize every single note- she failed to tell me it was a duet, however.”
“It was.”
Something about those two words comes out breathless, barely hanging on. And you’re biting your bottom lip ragged before the question escapes you, “You were engaged, as well? Before- as a prince- I mean- oh, forget-”
To your surprise, Gojo only chuckles - deep voice breaking ever-so-slightly at the very end. His fingers glide across the piano with a familiar sadness that you can’t quite pinpoint. Chest rumbling, “Well, it’s just as the others said. We were meant to run away together, but your dear ol’ husband here died just before we could.”
You’re swallowing the lead that’d seemed to piled up heavily in your throat, still afraid to push too far. “And the- the bride? What happened to her?”
“I…don’t know…she probably saw I wasn’t there and went back, had a happier life with a more deserving husband- children, even.” He looks towards the perpetual night sky, Adam’s apple bobbing heftily. “It’s funny- today’s a hundred years since that day.”
Something hurt. And your chest churned at the thought of him waiting and waiting in the darkness for years. For someone.
“You loved her?”
He looks at you - really looks at you - and then down at the gleaming locket. “I love her. And I made a promise, I wait for her - in life and death.”
Something really hurt - and it wasn’t just that hollow, aching burn in your chest. No, your head was now throbbing with such a splitting pain that you can’t help but grab your temple with a yelp. Eyes scrunching shut with tears, trying to down out that drilling thrum.
“Shit-” you’re hearing, foggy, like it was in the distance. “Shit shit shit-” Big arms wrap around you, “Are you alright? Shit-”
The swinging pub doors slam-
“What happened?”
“The bride from upstairs-”
“She’s still here?! She already dead or what?”
More and more voices are joining in - and you’re not sure if you’re thankful that they drown out that harrowing thunder of blood in your ears or angry that they’re making it ache more deafeningly in response.
“Please- space.” Gojo’s stern command rings across the plaza, for a moment of clarity you’re thinking that he’d make the perfect leader of sorts. The perfect prince. “My wife needs space, and you all will leave-”
Nanami’s strict tremor was distinguishable anywhere. “What she needs is to go back upstairs, Gojo.” Another pair of rough hands grasp your shoulders, and you hear a growl from above you. “With fresh air, with her kind. I don’t know what fantasy you’re playing out but she needs to be back with the breathers, down here isn’t good for her.”
“But-”
Just at that unfortunate moment, your head wracks with another painful burst, making you cry out. Clinging onto Gojo’s soft jacket for dear life.
“But she’s my wife.”
Everyone goes quiet.
You were sure he was crying now, and oh how badly you wanted to reach out and comfort him. But, instead, Gojo’s the one soothing a hand down your back, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes in deep, grounding gasps by the chain of your locket, “N-nanamin’s right- we- I have to get you back.”
Your eyes shoot open, “What- no-”
“It’s for your own good.” Pressing a slow kiss to your forehead, “Trust me.”
“But-”
“Please?”
---
Gojo Satoru had spent so long in the darkness, that he’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.
Even more so when you were by his side.
“Oh…” And despite not having a beating heart, he swears he could feel it racing at the crisp scrunch! of freshly fallen snow underneath his polished shoes. Arms immediately wrapping around your waist, twirling you to him, “How I missed the beautiful upstairs.”
You’re giggling, batting your lashes up at him. “Well, you’re not doing much sightseeing right now, are you, Gojo?”
“Please.” He rests his icy forehead against yours, waltzing you slowly around the clearing. Your first dance. “Call me Satoru, I would like to part ways having heard my name on your tongue once, than not at all.”
And ah, it hurt him more than that dull, spreading pain of death to simply see your expression crumble. Lower lip wobbling when you whisper, “Do we have to?”
It’s as if that tiny tremble in your voice jolts him back to his senses, and he’s letting go of you as if you burned. Turning his back so that you won’t see him swipe underneath his dampening eyes, “We do.” he nods solemnly. Still gazing out through the barren trees, the snow breaking in. “But I would…if you’d like- I would really like you to say my name just once.”
Nothing - not one of your quipping insults, not even one of your sweet, sweet giggles. Gojo could barely even hear that shallow breathing of yours.
“My love?”
Nothing.
Gojo whirls around, “My love?”
Nothing.
---
“Let me go let me- go-” you spit, voice dripping with a deadly growl that should decidedly not be used in front of your future in-laws. But you didn’t give a fuck right now. “I will never- ah-”
Unceremoniously, you’re thrown like a mere debris in front of Dutchess Zenin’s gold-tipped boots, hands splaying out against the cool marble to dredge up some ounce of balance. You look up into her burning glare, hissing, “I will never marry your son.”
But it’s like you’d never spoken at all.
She’s turning to Naoya, stood proudly behind you, holding back his snickers. “Ah, my son-” Reaching her arms around to brush off the soft pattering of snow down his coat. “-I see you’ve brought your wife back.”
“Of course, mother.” he’s humming. “Had to walk all throughout that crummy forest until I saw her-” At this, he’s turning towards your parents, who could only watch from the sidelines. “-with another man no less- well, can’t quite call him that if he didn’t even see his woman being dragged off into the dark.”
Dutchess Zenin cackles,and the sound makes you grit your teeth. “That other man is my husband-”
“What?”
It’s your own mother speaking this time - eyes widened. Fuming. She comes up to you in a few urgent, sharp strides, grabbing at the now-torn and frayed edges of your gown. “What nonsense are you speaking-” Sneaking a glance at your father, “Our daughter seems to have lost her mind, dear.”
He’s just a bit more gentle - cautious, almost. As if confronting a cornered wildcat when he ruffles through your pockets for the ring. Finding none.
You’re wrenching yourself away, “I’m fine- but father, listen- I was practicing my vows in the forest-” Every eye was on you know, and oh you’ve never felt more of a spectacle. “-and I put that wedding ring on a tree root- and it- it came alive and oh- he was a groom. A beautiful corpse groom-”
“That trip to the forest must have bogged up her mind- yes yes, she must be imagining things.”
“Of course, but the wedding…poor dear-”
“The only thing she’s good for is the money.” Dutchess Zenin gruffs, tired of hiding her disdain. “And maybe a free trip to the hospi-”
“The wedding will take place.” Naoya cuts in gruffly, snapping his fingers at a nearby attendant and pointing at you. “Call the officiary, and as for my future bride, I don’t care if you must force her into that wedding dress, I don’t care if you have to drag her here - she will marry me one way or the other. Now.”
It’s like you’re a puppet - their puppet. Being rapidly walked and bathed about, dolled-up in a white, silken wedding dress that you could never see yourself standing in next to him.
It fits you like a glove, attuned to your body as if it was made for you - and you almost hated how beautiful it was, adorned with tiny silver inklings and the most delicate of lace. Made with too much love to be borne out of this dreary household, but when you turned to ask your jittery handmaiden about it, she’d only cryptically answered about “the dress being with this family for a long, long time.”
No one here seems to give you answers.
Or grace.
Or anything but locked windows that you crack a nail or two attempting to open and flee and a long, decorated aisle to walk down to your future husband. Naoya.
Your throat tightens when you’re stepping back into that hallway - now flourishing with bouquets of blue, blue baby’s breath, and twinkling candles. It was almost colorful, for this town, at least.
You shudder out a teary sigh when the tender piano starts up again - the exact same tune you’d played with Gojo. But cold. And suddenly, you’re realizing that you never asked him how he knew the song.
“Pssst! Walk!” Your mother’s high-pitched hiss is enough to snap you out of your little reverie, glassy eyes snapping up to look at her urgent signal to hurry up.
And so you walk, but not to the one man you wanted to.
Naoya’s smirk lies as smugly as ever when you take your place beside him at the altar, poised, and perfect in his pressed suit, his glinting sword. Whispering snidely from the corner of his mouth. “Smile a little, it’s a wedding after all.”
You keep your gaze trained firmly on the officiary starting his speech, “Perhaps in disappointment, we are perfectly matched.”
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this bride in holy matrimony-” Gesturing a wrinkled hand at Naoya, “You may begin first.”
He raises his hand in a solemn oath, razor eyes boring relentlessly into yours. Voice dangerous, humming. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” This time, he was pointedly the one to pick up that cup on the altar table - a steady, unbreakable metal this time. “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”
Your trembly fingers wrap around the bottle of wine, starting to slowly pour. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty for I- I will be…”
Shit.
Shit, you can’t do it.
Your words struggle to come out, and you could burn in the sheer anger already wafting from Naoya.
“I will- I will be-”
“How scandalous to marry an already-married woman~!”
The gasp that echoes throughout the hall is almost as deafening as the booming crash! of those towering, mahogany doors being swung open. Clattering against the walls so hard that your teeth chatter with vibration - but you didn’t care. Didn’t even feel it because you’re too awe-struck by what was standing in front of you.
Or more accurately, who.
“Satoru!” The tears are falling hotly down your cheeks, you barely have the patience to lift up your layers upon layers of gauzy skirts before stumbling your way into his arms at the very end of the aisle. Ready. Ever-loving. Catching you easily like he’d been waiting a hundred years for this very moment.
“I thought you left me waiting.” he breathes.
“I would never- and- and you’re here.”
“Mhm–”
You can’t help but let out a laugh, “How did you even know where to find me?”
“Our duet- there would be no other but this house that would know it-” He wraps his arms even more snugly around your waist, white locks tickling your nose. “And you did promise to lift my sorrows, what type of husband would I be if I didn’t do the same?”
“You. You- What- what is the meaning of this?” Dutchess Zenin’s squawk tears through your little moment, she’s whirling into a furious stand, fists clenched. “Married woman- husband? You’re dead!”
But the ever-composed woman you’d feared for so long was now running her mouth a mile a minute, half-ripping out chunks of hair in frustration as the officiary held her back from storming her way towards the two of you.
“You’re dead you’re dead you’re dead-” she screeches, and even Naoya could only watch with his mouth fallen. “You’re dead- my family made sure of that-”
She stops short, mouth opening and closing in a gasp until you breathe, “M-made sure?”
“Yes-” She’s fighting against the hold, still muttering to herself maniacally. “Shit- we made sure to- oh god why- do we have to kill you all over again! Your wretched Gojo royal family is wiped out- I still- I still have the power, the riches- All because we left you-”
“For dead.” he whispers. You’re too shocked to gasp - to do anything but look up at his reaction. “But she came back to me.”
“Her? This one- Once more you found that insignificant little-”
And at this very moment, Naoya just bellows in a guttural scream, everything his mother was restrained from doing with how he’d closed the gap between you two in a few urgent seconds. One hand wrapped roughly around yours, “I don’t care- You forget she was engaged to me first.”
“She’s still my wife.” Gojo spits.
“Not if you’re-” Naoya’s unsheathing his sword haphazardly. Swinging. “Dead!”
Schwing–!
It would have been sure to hit you.
Would have been sure to gravely injure your side - if Gojo hadn’t deftly moved himself squarely in front of you, that is. The sharp blade slicing right through his ribs - yet, he still smiles. “You forget I already am.” In one, fluid motion tackling the sword to holt at its bejeweled hilt - pointed right at Naoya’s chest. “Let go of me and my wife, before you join me.”
It’s silence.
Silence and the smell of fear. Sour, and saturated when Naoya’s stepping away, one unsteady foot after the other-
“I will ruin you as my ancestors have, Gojo brat-”
Dutchess Zenin.
Your body moves before your mind - before any form of thinking, as if on instinct. Yet, you already knew what was coming.
And soon enough, you’re standing in front of a stunned Gojo, face splattered with the red, red wine in her silvery cup. Drip! drip! dripping down your stained lips and onto the marbled floors.
But something about it tasted bitter.
Different.
.
.
.
And all of a sudden - you see dark.
“Poison! By gods, the wine was poisoned!”
“How will the wedding go on?”
“No- no no no I just wanted to her sick- to get her will–shit-”
“My love---listen----hear--me?”
In the foggy distance, you could hear girlish, high-pitched screams that sounded strangely like Naoya’s, and the familiarly dark chuckle of- Sukuna? Sounding ready to pounce on fresh meat. “Heheh, new arrival - and some unfinished business, huh?”
“S’Toru–” you’re whispering, eyes blearily. Heart cold. Suddenly, everything about you was cold. And the only thing you could register right now is the fact that you were still in his arms - always was. “Toru- am I- where am I?”
“You’re here, sweetheart.” he gasps, big fat tears splattering onto your face. The only sense of warmth that you could feel, other than the one in your no-longer-beating heart. And you can’t help but wonder - can a heart be broken even when it stops beating? Because he was living two deaths now - his own - laying there poisoned with wine so long ago on the forest floor, with only the Zenin’s to watch, and you to wait for him much later - and most importantly, yours. “You’re- you’re here, with me.” He places a sweet, sweet kiss onto your lips. “Rest now, I’ll wait for you. I promise- I promise.”
And through your hazy vision, the only thing that you could quite see was that silver locket you’d never thought to look through, out of fear - sprung open. Baring two grainy, clouded portraits - as good as a photo.
Of him
And…you.
“I’ll always wait for you, in life and death.”
---
“Hey- Toru–” your voice rings out in Gojo’s favorite song, peering curiously at the boyishly grinning prince. “Do you think I’ll be an unfit wife?”
He throws his head back with a cackle, peering through his long lashes from where he was resting his head in your lap. “What- no? Whatever makes you think that, silly girl?”
You’re settling yourself further down the young oak - your favorite little hiding spot ever since you’d introduced your secret lover to it. Grumbling half-jokingly, you thread your fingers through his soft, snow-white hair. “Well perhaps because someone refuses to help me do anything in preparation for tonight-”
“Shhh!” Gojo’s bringing a finger to his lips, glancing around over-dramatically. “You never know when my father will be jumping from behind the bushes.” At your amused laughter, “N’ besides, doesn’t matter if we’re going to elope, I’m not letting my wife pick up a thing.”
“What- no-”
“I’ll snag my wedding suit- and that specially-made dress for you heh- and get the attendants to sneak out some leftovers from the banquet. The Zenin family has just gifted some wine I know you’ll love.”
Craning his head to press a slow kiss to your forehead, “We’ll drink, we’ll say our vows- you better have memorized them this time-” And another on your nose, “Then I’ll have you drunk in another way~ ow! Okay okay- don’t hit royalty–! And run away to our happily ever after.” Then, finally, lingeringly on your mouth,“Trust me.”
“But-”
“Please?”
You’re fiddling with the chain around your hefty, heart-shaped locket with a huff, finally caving in. “Fine- but then-” Deftly unclasping it, “-you have the responsibility of keeping this safe, too, I have to teach piano to the little ones in town again today, and if anyone catches me with a piece like this I’ll be hanged for thievery before ever getting married.”
“Our duet?”
“Our duet.”
He twirls that delicate pendant around his fingers, brows scrunching in half-seriousness. “I’ll protect it with my life-” Almost flinging it towards the end of the clearing in his haste to salute you, “Ah- pardon my enthusiasm, my love.”
“I like your enthusiasm, dummy.” you’re rolling your eyes at his antics. “But what if I’m late? The music lessons always take so long…”
“Just meet me here at our place - promise I’ll wait for you, of course. In life and death.”
You never did find out if Gojo Satoru waited for you.
You never found him that night - running late to the clearing, only to be met with no sign of him. Not that night. Not the night after. Night after night, you waited for him - watched as the Gojo royal family fell and the Zenin’s raided their palace, as the town started to grow and you stayed the very same.
With stray hope, even in your final ages, waiting for him and the marriage that won’t take place.
Not for a hundred years.
---
You’re waking up remembering the feeling of those cold, cold lips on yours.
Finally, remembering.
“Sa-Toru-” you’re gasping, gulping in heavy lungfuls of air before you realize - you don’t need it anymore. Eyes startling open, you wince at the even the dim, heady lighting overhead. “I’m…”
“Dead.”
His words are gentle - just above a whisper, as if anything else will scare you off. But his words have the complete opposite reaction, in fact, you’re reeling him in so close by the silvery lapels of his weathered jacket. Wedding suit meeting your wedding dress.
You feel over his broad chest, and then over yours. Breathing out in awe, “I- I really am dead.”
Gojo’s wincing, running the soft pads of his fingers down your scalp. Massaging, “How- how do you feel, my love?”
Too-late you’re realizing that you’re splayed out on what seems like a plush, engulfing bed. Blankets upon blankets of velvety fabrics covering the surface, like someone had tried their very best to replicate warmth.
“I think I feel…” you’re muttering, the very corners of your painted lips turning upwards at the way that Gojo was hanging onto your every word. Pretty mouth dropped into a soft oh! eyes wide and true. You just can’t help but drag him into the tightest embrace your joints could possibly handle. “-that I haven’t spent enough alone-time with my husband.”
He laughs - he laughs and laughs like he hasn’t before, like it’d been bubbling up in his throat for years and finally set free.
“Oh, my love.” Gojo reveres, pressing a trail of hot kisses down the side of your face. Lingering in a languid lick where big, salty tears of yours were welling up. “We have all the time in the world- I just- just- do you remember?”
You’re pretending to think, leaving him careening at all your minute expressions. Finally cracking, “Of course, I remember- all of it, dummy-” Swatting his chest, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He’s gulping heavily, “I always knew that- that it was you the moment I saw your face- you look exactly as you did. Exactly as beautiful as the day I lost you, after all.” Cupping your cheek, “And oh, sweetheart, what a blessing it would be to marry you. But how could I ever tell you when you didn’t even remember me? How could I so selfishly ask you to throw away something so dear as life for me? Even for a promise?”
“I would have done it.” you’re pouting, brows scrunching.
“Exactly.”
“I waited for you, y’know. For years, until my death. No ‘deserving husband’, and no children.”
He gasps a tiny, meaningful gasp. And for all how Gojo loved to run his mouth, right now he only presses a sultry kiss to your forehead, “But in this life, or the last, or whatever comes next-” On your nose now, “-I’ll wait for you. Always have, always will.” Finally - yearningly - on your mouth, “In life and in death.”
Gojo kisses you like he’s been waiting a hundred years for it - and would wait a hundred more before he can again.
Pressing one, two. Three steamingly hot, open-mouthed on your spit-glossed lips before moving to trail them down the underside of your jaw. Dragging his raw lips in a messy glide, he’s tittering when all it takes is one sudden bite at the soft spot on your neck to get you to jump.
“Heh- you never change-” he murmurs into your heated skin, licking down the sting with a slow spread of his tongue.
“T-Toru–” you’re managing to gasp out despite his relentless attack on your mouth. Making him wrench out such a pained grunt when you pull his face back ever-so-slightly to look into Gojo’s eyes. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Gojo can only cock his head in confusion, gaze still half-lidded and locked on your lips.
“You’re forgetting your promise from all those years ago–” you’re dragging out in a honeyed-tone, giggling at the way his hulking body squirms impatiently. “-to consummate our marriage.”
And oh.
Oh, Gojo Satoru feels he’s dying six times over already.
He feels like his bleary head is about to go into overdrive - as was the sudden tightening in his pants.
“W-well then…” he’s rasping out, voice so ragged, dipping into a husky baritone that for a second you almost don’t recognize it. Two of his long fingers cup your face once more - rougher this time, making your lips squeeze together into an almost-embarrassing oh! “Open that mouth f’me, my love.”
You barely even realize it when you do - not until Gojo’s spitting a thick, translucent wad of his syrupy saliva right onto your lolling tongue.
Nodding smugly when you’re taking him all, he’s swiping the curve of his thick thumb down that purposeful splatter on the corner of your lips. Because you knew the prince of a nation should have perfect aim, you knew he just liked seeing your dewy eyes flutter.
Whispering hoarsely against your lips, “I ask you to be mine.”
“Yes-” you’re whining, your hands scrambling down the decadent fabrics of his suit. “Yes yes yes- please- n-need more, Toru-”
And the sound of that cute lil’ nickname you’d made for him in that sweetened tone makes Gojo’s entire body wrack with a violent shudder. Head throwing back, white lashes flickering shut- “O-oh, shit- shit you’re gonna be the death of me-”
But whatever little joke playing on your tongue just dissipates when Gojo’s shedding his outer coat off slowly. Bloodied, silken jacket hitting the ground- bloodied? You’ll have to ask about that later.
And then his mouth is on yours again - teeth clashing, tasting metal, his pretty lips wrapping around your hot tongue to just suck. Lazily, like his favorite candy.
“So beautiful-” his words puff out in a feverish pant. Chest huffing - no, heaving - you can only keen when you feel something so hard and massive nudge up in a gentle kiss against your high. “So perfect–” The sodden curve of his achy tip dragging in a wet smear down your leg. “So mine.”
As soon as you’re blinking your dazed eyes back open, you’re hit with what looked like miles upon miles of Gojo Satoru. Curving muscles sitting prettily and casting shadow in the low lighting - it made you just drool.
Shit, when did he even take his shirt off?
“Heh, already so needy, sweetheart?” He kisses up the glossy trickle, groaning into your mouth, “So cute–”
But, of course, you weren’t exactly one to be pushed around, either.
With a low purr, you cup that bulging tent right in-between his muscled thighs. Fingers skimming over inches upon inches of his girthy, solid shaft - he just gasps. “O-oh, you little minx- do you enjoy p-playing with my hngh- sanity?”
With a snicker, it doesn’t take you long to smudge the pads of your digits at that thickly spreading pool of precum. Glossing a thin sheen all the way down to your wrists with how fucking greedily he was throbbing at your touch.
“F-fuck-” he’s hastily clearing his throat as soon as it breaks off into a pathetic whine. Hips bucking forwards in mindless, staggering gyrations into your hand like Gojo didn’t even realize what he was doing right now. “Fuck fuck fuck- honey, I-”
The neediest little grunts spill from his puffed-up lips, and he’s moving urgently - hastily, when sitting upright to all but rip that bejeweled belt off of his slender waist. Tugging his white pants down, down, down and-
Oh.
“Fuck, Toru.”
Gojo was so unfairly pretty - all of him.
Even every single inch of his long, thick shaft, smeared with glistening precum sobbing out from his fat, round head. Blushed darker than the rest of him - matching his innocent cheeks right now. So hard it looked painful.
Twitching over and over in saturated gushes coating his prominently throbbing veins, his tight balls. Your fingers.
Wrapping tight around his flushed base, he was so incredibly big that you’re worried your fingers wouldn’t even close. Scratching up against those drenched tufts of cloudy white at his toned pelvis, the sight is enough to make you gulp.
“Yes-” Gojo’s rasping, head thrown back because shit did it feel good to have your pretty lil’ fingers all wrapped around him. Hips stuttering up, up, up- “Yes yes yes- c’mon- c-c’mon my wife-”
Shit, those words spilling from his lips are enough to steer into such a loud moan, and he’s letting his jaw fall unhinged. Jaw-droppingly powerful back muscles flexing when he falls into a hunch, kissing wetly at your lips.
“Tighter- squeeze ah, squeeze me at my tip-” Gojo’s babbling, drunken eyes so thoroughly locked on where you were pumping your fist back and forth. “Y-yeah hngh- and glide your thumb over just—”
You’re swiping the very tip of your thumb underneath that sensitive slit of his, the slightest touch enough to make him bawl out in a dripping sheen of precum. Reddening even more, his hefty girth in your hand jolts sensitively.
“S-s’this–” you stagger out, wrist aching when you’re moving it faster. And faster. Ears ringing with the sloppy fap! fap! fap! of your fingers clenching around his thick, circular girth, the splatters of precum it’s forcing from him. Kissing gently down his burning shoulder, “S’this good, Toru?”
And god, how dare you even ask that?
With a sudden groan, he crashes his lips into yours again. Addicted. Growling against your whiny mouth, you’re flinching at the nip of his sharp canines.
“Oh, yer perfect-” he’s blinking back big, fat tears from behind those glassy eyes. And the soft plane of his palms dance ravenously down your body - all your curves, your dips where your wedding dress was hiking up. But most importantly at your sopping wet cunt. “-so so- p-perfect- any harder n’ m’gonna make ya a pretty momma right now, right here.”
His words come out a burst - a beg.
In that very heady moment he’s just bullying his thick digits past your soaked pussy - absolutely useless with how fucking translucent it was. Sticking to your sopping wet folds like a second skin that he wanted to rip off.
“S-so oh!” Sucking in a sharp gasp at the sight of that tiny lace wrapped around his fingers, “Such a pretty cunt, wearin’ such a dirty lil’ thing, naughty girl- who was this for?”
And you couldn’t dare bear to wrench your lips open, to meet that dark glint in Gojo’s gaze. Hooded, such a slow, leering grin growing all over his face when the seconds tumble by. When your softened fingers falter around his length.
“Who was this for?” he’s echoing. “N’ no lying to your h-husband.”
“Toru-”
“Tell me, my pretty wife.”
“It was-” you’re mewling out, choking on your tiny confession when he slides his index solidly down the drippingly wet purse of your swollen pussy lips. Puffed-up and sensitive against where he was rubbing that cool metal ring against them. “-w-was for ngh- N-Naoya- but it was Dutchess Zenin that made me-”
Oh, but fuck - it didn’t matter who made you wear those sinful panties.
Because it’s only taking Gojo Satoru a split-second to crane his hot mouth downwards and bite down on the very hem of your saturated panties. Biting the edge of your skin only slightly - before just tearing the fabric off with his very teeth.
He takes a few seconds with his greedy gaze boring into yours, crazed. Canines bared glintingly around that tender lace, he just groans.
Eyes rolling to the back of his head before spitting it out - and kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before.
“H-hngh, Toru–” you’re moaning, your fingers half-cramping up with the way they were turning around his swollen cock. Swiveling around the heated bumps of his sensitive spots, the drag of your nails gently down his veins make him shiver. “Feels so- ah!”
And ah, for how much Gojo loved those saccharine sweet moans in your ear, how much he loved teasing you - he was hungry.
Shoveling all the way into your gummy channel, until your puffy pussy lips were kissing his very knuckles, gushing out in spurts of wet slick down his wrist. Twirling those cold digits, so stark against how toasty you were inside.
It made Gojo’s thickened tip twitch in your fingers, huffing out a humorless laugh when he was easily knocking against that bulbous bullseye of your g-spot. Pressing down. Hard.
“Mhm—” he’s purring, nosing down the tender crook of your neck. “Tell me how it feels- hngh- gotta tell me- fuck oh fuck don’ squeeze me like that- ah-”
He’s just wrenching out the most dripping squelches with each rummaging pump into your melty cunt, your walls were just molding around his digits. Sucking him back in like you’re trying to milk out something delicious- fuck, how he wished this was his achy cock right now, instead.
Gojo’s biting down hard at that magical spot on your neck, sending shocks of electricity down your sluttily arched spine. “Can’t- hah- can’t take it anymore- shit- needa be inside you soon. Needa fill ya up soon.”
And he didn’t even have to tell you - you could feel it.
Building up and up with every relentless such of his glistening fingers. Glossy.
“Need to make you mine-” he’s gasping, heatedly. Tone cracking on almost a bawl, his hips are fucking into your hand like his little cocksleeve, up all the way from weepy head down to thwack into his pulsing base. Fingers bumping messily into his taut, twitchy balls - making Gojo’s mouth water. “Need to- hngh- need to make you cum! Please-”
Tears crinkling at the very ends of his doe eyes, after every single crash along your sweet spot. Thorough wet glides. “Please please please-”
And it’s whispered over and over like a mantra when you’re cumming - again and again, so hard that you didn’t even realize you’re reaching your high before your tight pussy clamps around his fingers.
“Yeah- yeah yeah, cum all over my fingers.” He’s thrusting his fingers in and out so rabidly, hitting all your forbidden spots. Free hand pushing apart your quivering thighs even further, “Spread wide- heheh, yeahhh–”
Those sudden slurps sounded so thunderous in your ears, and your maw sags open deliriously in a higher-pitched ah! ah! ah! Grinding your hips down over and over in needy swivels, using him. Music to his ears, making his staggering erection just weep so dangerously- but he can’t cum.
Won’t cum just yet.
Not until he’s fucked you through each and every one of your peaks, not until your convulses are tapering out into nothing but tiny tingles.
And then he’s dragging out his ruined fingers from your sodden cunt - out, out, out. Snapping delicate strings of the mess he’s made of your poor pussy, before pushing them through his lips rawly.
“M-mmm-” he’s rumbling from the very depths of his broad chest, pecs heaving. And through your half-lucid gaze, you’re spying a silvery dribble of drool down the side of his lips. Moaning at the sweet, sweet taste. “Shit- shit, sweetheart-”
You can’t even react before he’s then spitting a steady stream of wispy saliva down to your sloppy hole, swirling it around with one of his thumbs.
“Better let her know m’coming back for seconds later.”
You whine all brattily, your hips arching into the perfect buck upwards - which only makes him grin. “Heh- my greedy girl, if I waited one hundred years ya can wait a few seconds.”
It’s so admonishing - and Gojo has never told a bigger lie.
Because he’s the one that’s so painfully impatient right now, angry cock spewing out a few more velvety waves of precum down your gleaming palm. A low string of profanity rips from his throat, and he’s just diving his hands around every inch of your body he could reach.
Deftly untangling those tedious ties at the back, “Damn these little- forgot how many ribbons I fuckin’- ordered-”
In split-seconds, you’re being flipped over with one fluid push of Gojo’s biceps, sinking your front into the royally soft mattress. You felt like you were in heaven.
“Toru–” you’re whirling your head over your shoulder to admire just how much his biceps flex. Twitching with each eager rip down your bodice. Shaky fingers tightening on the silken sheets, “H-hurry up-”
“Easy there, my love.”
It’s ragged, breathed hotly against your ear, and suddenly Gojo’s resting every bit of his body weight on top of yours to pin you down helplessly onto the bed. Holding your squirming hips captive onto one rough hand attached to them, “Arch jus’ a bite more- please- fuuuck like that yeah-”
He’s taking the opportunity to fling your wedding dress down easily, bunching it somewhere towards the corner of the bedroom - right alongside your bra and inner layers.
You’re gasping - stunned.
“Don’t l-look at me like that, I’ve had one hundred hah- years to practice this exact moment with my hand n’ imagination-”
And then Gojo’s gasping, he’s snapping his eyes open, he’s heaving out the most whiny call of your name when you push your hips back in a wet slide against his painfully hard cock.
Your folds smacking wetly against his shaft, dragging in a dripping trail along his veins - and shit, Gojo really underestimated how fucking hot you’d feel against his cock. How readily awaiting when his slender hips rut down in a furious push and pull. “This is long overdue.”
“Hey!” you jut your spit-sheen lower lip out when he’s rudely smacking away your hand from the clasp of your locket. “Wha’s that for?”
“Keep it on.” Gojo nips at your earlobe.
And then he’s spitting you open - he’s pushing in.
Inch by fucking inch of his swelteringly hot cock being shovelled into your gooey cunt, stretching out your snug walls to their limits. Pulled taut. Barely giving an apologetic kiss to the side of your head before Gojo’s circling one big beefy arm around your hips, easily tilting your entire body upwards for him to surge his hips even deeper.
He gasps, he shudders at the faintest of your wet clenches. “C’mon-c’mon c’mon c’mon- a-ah- you can take it please- please take it f’me.”
How could you not?
Because every one of his tiny, shallow grinds just to fit in have your mouth dropping further and further open cockdrunkenly.
“Please-” your hands fist at the plushy pillows, the headboards, craning behind at Gojo’s neck. “Fuck me h-harder, Toru- I can-”
“Ohhh- you play a hah- dangerous game.” He swipes away the stray hairs on your forehead, kissing at your sweat-slicked forehead. “My beautiful bride- my beautiful, beautiful bride - ah- almost makes me wanna m-make you more.”
Just that split-second of sultry shock is enough for Gojo to push in fully - all the way until your thighs sting with the sudden thwack! of his hefty, cum-filled balls, your folds kissing up against his thickened base.
He’s hissing when his achy, rounded tip recoils ever-so-slightly against the spongy mess of your cervix, hitting it relentlessly in harsh jackhammer. Spearheading his fat cock to massage up against all your sensitive spots in a more dizzying way than even his fingers could.
“Wh-what do you m-mean-” They’re falling from your mouth as hastily as Gojo can pump you stuffed full of his cock. Not even easing into it, starting up a sloppy cadence. “-b-by–”
“Awww, don’ hngh- p-push yourself, my love–” he’s simpering out. But oh his hips were speaking a completely different language from how soothing your husband’s tone was, one hand curling deftly around your throat to reel you in even harsher in sudden swats against his ever-pushing hips. Twirling around the chain of your locket, “What I mean is…”
Both of your half-lidded gazes are downturned to where he feels for that tiny nudge at about halfway down your stomach. Drawing an imaginary line about halfway through, before splaying down all five digits. Hard. “-that m’gonna make ya a pretty momma as well as my pretty wife.”
This little confession is followed by a particularly hard slam! from Gojo’s end, and you dart your hand out to grasp desperately onto the wooden headboard.
Crying out, “Is- is that even possible, Toru?”
But the only actual response that Gojo can give - that he thinks himself capable of giving right now, with how mind-numbingly your pretty pussy was milking any rationality out of him - is a breathless chuckle. His head throwing back with a whimper, brows knitting together. “I don’t know hah! Haven’t got a fuckin’ clue- but that doesn’t mean m’not gonna fucking try–”
And he was fucking you into the mattress just like it, well and fully intent on breeding your tight cunt. Jostling the locket at your chest with rough, reckless abandon. Every sodden drag down your slobbery walls having those dreams from a lifetime ago about your happily every after playing through his mind.
You, with your drooling pussy painted all white with his potent cum, making such a mess of him that he just has to do it all over again, of course.
You, all round and glowing - full of him, his heir.
You, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes - another, tinier set held delicately in your hands. His hair, and your smile. Everything that he’s ever wanted in life and death.
Stupidly. Pussydrunkenly.
“Oh oh-” Gojo’s groaning, the sudden bump of your fingers against the sensitive curve of his balls making him jolt back into his reality. His heavenly, heavenly reality. “Aww, have I b-been neglecting you, my love?”
No, you want to scream - but you can’t.
Because he’s only hiking up a powerful thigh to pressurize his harrowing rams with even more power, and you could feel every flex and ripple of his washboard abs. The spatter of pearlescent beads of sweat setting in with fatigue.
But Gojo wouldn’t listen in the first place, couldn’t even think of anything that didn’t stem from his achy cock pummeling into you.
Messily, he’s swiping at those fingers of yours that were currently reaching for your angrily puffy clit, aching for more more more-
Giving a mean little smack onto where your sensitive nub was drenched in all your sweetened juices, it sends bolts of electricity all over your body. Clinging your gummy walls around his girth so tight.
“This what y-you wanted?” he rasps by your ear, drawing slow, determined circles on the very peak of your clit. And when that doesn’t have you crying out all prettily for him the way he wanted - Gojo just tugs. Unapologetically. “Tell me- ngh- tell me how it feels, fuck- can feel this cunt gettin’ so soaked-”
“Yes-” you’re sobbing out. Hips now aching with the burn of pushing back into his unrelenting hips - it hurts almost. The sting of his skin against you, the hard collision of his fat head against your cervix. But you want more. “Y-yes feels so good, Toru- need more hngh- need you t-to…”
And, hell, Gojo Satoru wanted to hear so badly that he’s just slowing his hips down every so slightly to let you catch your breath. To answer.
But what he was actually blessed with was another one of your long, drawn-out whines. Grumbling ever-so-slightly as you jolt your hips back with every one of the thorough swivels of his fingers on your clit. Toying.
Fucking back harder than ever into his rock-hard dick, the locket just slams it’s cool branding onto the heated skin of your chest-
“Need you to f-fill me up-” you mutter wetly, nothing more than a few gurgles wrenched out when his clashing head French-kisses your g-spot. Drawing wet glides of his steamy precum down it. “-make me a hngh- m-momma, Toru-”
Oh, this might just be his third death ever.
Because the bed creaks riotously with every one of his ragged rams, in a way that made you glad for the ever-present music of this town.
Over and over.
“Yeah- shit, gonna make you a p-pretty momma-” he’s babbling away, a mile a minute. So sloppy that you’re barely able to understand what Gojo was saying. “Fill you- up- ngh- so they’ll look at you and see me. All me- all pretty and r-round- me me me- oh—”
Right now, Gojo didn’t give a fuck if his little dream was even possible. He didn’t give a fuck if his moans were turning into whimper, staggering thrusts trudging into the sloppiest of grinds. The neediest.
Because right now you were cumming.
That rapid throb of your clit increasing twofold when you’re finally plummeting into your high, wave after wave of pleasure that he fucks you through with heavy pound after pound.
Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, toes curling, flashes of white flitting behind your firmly shut eyes. Fuck, it felt so good.
And your fingers clench hard around where they were still firmly stationed on the headboard to keep at least an ounce of your sanity. Intertwining with- Gojo’s when he slams his hand down hard enough that the entire bed shudders.
Or maybe that was just him - because so was he.
“F-finally-” Gojo’s hiccuping, angling his head just right to be able to catch your pretty lips in what could barely be considered a kiss. Just a sloppy suck of your tongue while he pumps you snugly full of sloshing loads of his cum. “Wan’ed this for- so long- finally hngh- consummate- you- most beautiful ah momma-”
His whines were nonsensical at this point, only growing more and more so with each velvety ribbon of cum being poured around into your tight pussy. You could feel it swashing about your soft walls with every one of your hard, convulsing clenches, painting your insides over and over again in a second, sticky skin of his seed.
“Yeah- fuck fuck fuck, yeah Toru- hah- m-more-”
And just when Gojo thought the almost-painful clenches of his heavy balls were coming to a close, just when he thought his thick streams of voluminous cum were stretching out into thinner wisps - you have to go and say those syrupy sweet words.
Fuck.
He’s gasping, locking his finger with yours even harder on the headboard, “Gonna- ngh- gonna be the death of me I s-swear–”
Oh, and then you looked at him with that fucked-out smile of yours. A sight he’s gifted to see. Humming, “In life and in death, r-remember?”
Bang!
The headboard crashes down onto the floor. Your back is hitting the now utterly drenched sheet below you before the realization hits you.
In nothing but a split-second, Gojo pulls out his dangerously twitching cock to manhandle you flatly onto your back. Swiftly, he throws your legs over the curvaceous deltoids of his sculpted shoulder, easily bending you down, down, down into half.
Into the meanest mating press possible.
Dredges of thick, hot cum just ooze down your sopping slit, spreading in a milky circle underneath you. And slobbering down Gojo’s swollen hilt as soon as he plugs himself back in - immediately.
The very divot at the end of his cock quivering - for only a split-second before bursting out in streams of more and more cum. Overflowing. Overspilling out of you.
And he can’t help but glide an open palm over that tiny inflation beginning to form where he’d drawn a line just earlier. One hand pressing down on it hard, the other tweaking at your clit to make your walls clench.
“Oh f-fuck yeah–” Gojo stutters at the glossy coating of his own seed all around him. Reveling in the toasty feeling again and again until his poor, overworked cock can only sputter out wispy strings of nothing. Shooting blanks. “Gonna breed ya- make ya all round and and- ngh full until you c-can’t take anymore. Until we hahh- have that happy ending y-you wanted.”
You mewl when he’s licking away those glistening tears rolling down your cheeks, “-happy ending w-we wanted hngh- Toru–”
“Yeah-” he chuckles. Pecking at your lips with that salty sweet taste on his tongue, “We wanted. It’s why I didn’t reincarnate like you, my love, unfinished hngh- business here s’to spend a long, long and happy marriage with you, y’know?”
You bat your lashes in sweet disbelief, “That’s- that’s mine, too.”
Ah, he reels you in even closer into his arms. Snug. Ever-loving. Seemingly like he’d never let you go ever again - couldn’t bear to.
He nuzzles against that now-open locket, eyes peering down at those bleary paintings of you two, as loving as if they were taken just today. And in the back of his fried mind, he makes a note to take newer photos for later. Fingers tracing their familiar pathway to press down on the outer edges of the metal - in only the way he knew how, in the way that you should have been taught all those years ago, but was never able to.
“Then-” His eyes light up as they always did whenever it came to you, when the tiny mechanisms on the locket open up to reveal a delicate, gorgeous ring. Strangely matching his own. Gojo doesn’t think he’s done anything easier in his life when he slides that ring onto your finger, fitting so perfectly. Not even when he was waiting for you, not even when he’d taken care of Naoya in a way that left his coat spattered and stained with red. “-we’re both lucky.”
It’s only after a few soft, lingering kisses that Gojo finally pulls away - like it hurt to.
And it did, sensitive shockwaves erupting down his overwhelmed length. But none of that shows above his drunken grin when Gojo’s shuffling down the bed, all the way until his hot breath was puffing up feverishly against your sloppy cunt.
Messy. Drooling.
Making such an utter mess on his tongue when he lets it loll out, swiping up the gushing creamy dredges with a long lick. It was so filthy, dribbling down the sides of his mouth, onto his pinkish tongue-
Just a tease for more.
“Because I keep my promises, my wife.” his murmur wraps all around your thrumming clit. Tongue swirling a milky gloss all over his pert, raw lips. Only wanting more. Waiting. “In life and in death.”
A/N. THIS- THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE N’ GOT ME IN MY FEELSSSS. Hope y’all have a lovely lovely week <3
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, bratty!mike, dubcon if you close your eyes, somnophilia, objectification, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of edging, overstimulation, power play, manipulation tactics, use of ma’am & daddy (nobody’s shocked atp), use of mama (he said it irl y’all cmon), manhandling, lil hair pulling, needy reader, reader’s kinda a pushover. reader is black but there aren’t any descriptive details, everyone enjoy! not proofread!
— WC: 4.3k
— AN: Uh. Wrote half of this while cross faded. Otw mike, you are so dear to me.
Michael couldn’t stop thinking about eating you out.
It plagued his mind constantly. While he showered in the morning, he had to stop his hands from jerking himself while you slept peacefully in bed, his mind fully suffocated with the thought of your cum on his lips. Whenever you would do your morning stretches, he’d have to force his gaze from your crotch, the leggings you wore outlining it too visibly. Of course you weren’t wearing underwear. During meetings with music executives, he’d find himself zoning out with the thought of your thighs crushing his head between them as he devoured your wet core like it was the tastiest thing in existence— and to him, it was.
He had to stop wearing tight pants because of it. His dick was almost permanently erect at the thought of his lanky frame cowering beneath you as he took you to your peak.
Eventually, his longing thoughts turned into actions.
At first, it was almost unnoticeable. He’d purposely been discreet. The way he subtly bit his lip from his place on his knees after helping you put on your shiny burgundy mary janes. The little tortured sound he’d make while you massaged his head on your lap; not from the intimate ministrations of your fingers working through his thick curls, but at the sheer proximity of his lips and your…other lips.
It wasn’t even like you two rarely had sex. You had it more than most. Something you didn’t realize, though, was that he wouldn’t be satisfied unless he gave you head, and lately all you’ve had time for were quickies. It was great, but he was selfish and needy, always wanting more. So, he just started begging for it.
Before you went to work.
“Mama, please. For just a bit? I’ll be quick, I promise. You can make me pay for it if I don’t make you cum quick,” he begged on his knees while you stood above him in your work attire.
“Michael, no. You see that I’m on my way out the door. You’re good, but you ain’t that good. I’m not goin’ to work all pent up and angry. Gimme a kiss.”
When your friends invited you to ladies night at a new bar in town.
“Can’t just let you out lookin’ that good. Gotta remind you who’s waitin’ for you at home, mama. Come on, please? Just need to make sure y’know you’re mine. Please baby, I need it.”
“Boy, get the hell up off your knees and walk me to the door. The girls are outside.”
At every end, he was met with rejection, and it was gnawing at him relentlessly.
So came the wake-up tension. He began to realize he couldn’t function more than a day without his head nuzzled between your soft thighs, so he made it part of his morning routine to eat you out right before he showered, careful enough to not wake you from your slumber. He knew he should’ve asked, but he just couldn’t wait. You just looked so pretty while you slept, sporting a soft pout on your lips and his t-shirt ridden up your torso, exposing your underboob. How could he not?
The thing is, his neediness was in turn making you needy as well. On days where he was in a rush in the mornings and he had absolutely no time to fit oral sex into his schedule, you’d feel almost hollow. You had no idea why. Why were you waking up so horny? Why did you have so many vivid wet dreams?
After waking up yet again with what felt like the entirety of the Pacific Ocean dripping from your pussy for the fourth time this week, you decided to do something about it. You were never one to beg, usually being on the receiving end of it, so it was taking you a while to build up courage. In the end, you decided to just…hint at what wanted. You were just too pent up.
After a cold shower that did nothing to ease the ache between your legs, you made your way to the kitchen in nothing but a silk robe and lacy underwear to call your boyfriend, hoping you would catch him at a good time.
Michael had only been at the record label’s annual sales meeting for two hours and was already ready to go home. It was supposed to be short and sweet, but it droned on and on; music execs and songwriters taking their sweet time cracking jokes and talking about weekend plans. What made it worse was that he found his thoughts drifting right back to your pretty clit, and he got called out at one point for it.
“Aye, Mike! What gotchu smilin’ like that, man?” one of his brothers asked at one point. The smile on his face dropped immediately and he dismissed it as him ‘looking forward to the weekend,’ heat crawling up his neck at nearly being caught. He was losing it.
“Excuse me? Mr. Jackson?” Michael and his brothers turned toward the voice. “Oh– I mean Michael. Your lady’s on the line,” a stubby secretary announced as she barged into the meeting room. “She said it’s urgent,” she added as she saw the board director’s annoyance.
“It’s alright, Michael. We’ve pretty much wrapped up for today. Tell her I say hi,” the director replied.
When he made it to the phone, his heart was pounding in worry.
“Baby? What’s wrong? I’m already havin’ Bill bring the car around. Do I needa call an amb–”
“Mikey, hi!” you responded, sounding way too chipper for something important. You never called him while he was at work.
“Lovey? Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he replied, voice leaking with concern.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…I just. Well, I miss you, baby,” you responded, guilty at your selfishness. You didn’t think about the implications of telling the secretary to say it was ‘urgent,’ and now you felt bad. Michael could practically hear the pout in your voice.
“Oh, baby, I miss you too! My meetin’ just ended, I’m on my way, okay? We can watch Snow White. How’s that sound, mama?” he cooed at you between soft chuckles, his tone sickly sweet. It made you wetter.
“Y-yes, please. Hurry home, ‘kay? I’ll make brunch. I love you,” you responded, trying your best to compose yourself.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell Bill to drive fast as he can without gettin’ us pulled over. See you soon. I love you.”
Click.
Cooking somehow provided a good enough distraction from the growing frustration you had. You hummed to yourself as you cleaned up the mess you made trying to blend up smoothies, giggling to yourself as you imagined your perfect boyfriend making fun of you if he saw it.
You heard the front door creak open and thud shut as soon as you finished setting the quaint dining table and began adjusting the countertop television with the movie.
“Baaaaby!” you exclaimed as your boyfriend entered the room, running into his arms without giving him a moment to set down his stuff. He immediately dropped his things and reciprocated the embrace.
“Oh– Hi, baby. I love this robe on you, n’ you smell so nice,” he replied with his nose in your soft hair.
“You too, pretty boy. Go change n’ come eat. Hurry up, too. I missed you so bad,” you nearly whined at him.
His hand trailed down your back, to the curve of your hips, and then sneakily to the swell of your ass as he peeled himself from your body.
You returned to the kitchen and leaned over the counter to rewind the tape, preoccupied with learning how to master the technology. Long, slender fingers creeped around your waist just as you started getting frustrated, startling you.
“I can help you, baby. Here, let me show you,” Michael whispered against your neck.
You subtly squeezed your thighs together at his breath against your skin.
“M’kay. Just don’t take too long. Don’t want everything gettin’ cold.”
He turned you around and lifted you by your hips, placing you gently against the cold countertop. Kneeling down by your knee, he fumbled with the buttons on the television, demonstrating and explaining different things that were falling on deaf ears. The way his large eyes looked up at you for validation was doing so much more for you than if you were to start playing with yourself right then and there.
“Baby? Did you get that last part? When the remote starts to blin– Oh.” He made eye contact with you then and took a comically audible gulp. The way you were looking at him stopped him in his tracks completely. He looked away bashfully and focused on your knee that was dangling off the counter closest to him. Then, his eyes trailed up your pretty thighs. He leaned in and kissed your knee tenderly, sucking in a sharp breath at the intimate contact.
You reached down and slotted your fingers through his thick hair, massaging his head the way you knew he liked it. The poor boy whimpered like he’d never been touched before.
“C’mon, let’s eat,” you drawled, removing your hand from his hair and biting your lip to hold back a smile.
Michael crawled closer to you, positioning himself between your legs and wrapped his hands around your waist, looking up at you like a thirsty animal in search of water.
“Mama…” he started.
“Michael, I took my time with this meal. Get up,” you ordered.
“Please? I had a hard day n’ I need it. Don’t you want me?” he whined.
“Nuh-uh. None of that. Don’t make me say it again,” you warned.
“‘M sorry, I can’t wait…” he whispered as he forcefully pulled your body closer to his face and pressed his nose to your clothed cunt.
“What the hell did I just say?” you questioned him incredulously, trying to steady yourself.
“Smells so good…” he whispered, completely ignoring your protests. He slid his hands to your hips and hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties, dragging them down without a care in the world.
You thump him on his forehead harshly, appalled at his defiance. To your disdain, he let out the most pathetic moan you’d ever heard from a man.
“Mmnh– and you’re already wet? Oh, God,” he whined, ignoring the pulsing emanating from his temple.
He struggled getting your underwear down, due to you not wanting to lose the power struggle. You pressed your thighs deeper into the marble and attempted closing your legs, but he harshly sucked the most sensitive part of your inner thigh, causing you to loosen up and give him easy access.
“Mike…” you whined.
“I wanna make you feel good. Please, I’ll do everythin’ the way you like it. I’ll go ‘til I can’t breathe. Just wanna taste you,” he begged, looking up at you with his sparkly eyes. He didn’t wait for an answer, and slid his hands right back up your legs, taking two fingers and dragging them lightly against your clit.
“M-Michael, the food,” you tried again, still not ready to give in so easily. He was winning.
“Don’t you want it, mama? I feel how wet you are. Tell me you want it. Please?” he pressed down just a tad harsher, coaxing the response he wanted out of you with just a movement of his fingers. You were embarrassed by just how much he was turning you on like this.
“It’s g-gonna get cold– ah!” you exclaimed as he pinched your clit.
“Tell me you want it? Unless you don’t…Am I not good enough?” he pouted. You knew the game he was playing. You swore you did. But the face he was making…you were losing all sense of right and wrong. And his fingers were doing something to you, but not enough.
He removed his fingers from your sticky pussy and licked them clean, all while maintaining eye contact and moaning graphically. He was playing every card in his deck. He pulled you even closer and rested your legs against his broad shoulders. You said not a word, for fear of your voice betraying you. Instead, you opted for weak nudges to his cheeks and a tug of his hair, but that only fueled him more.
“I like that,” he teased, looking up at you with a smug smile. You pushed his forehead back with your palm as he neared your bare body, and turned your head defiantly. He giggled and darted his tongue out, dragging it along the insides of your thighs, collecting your arousal.
“I can make you feel good, baby. Please let me. C’mon, look at me n’ say it,” he begged again, breath fanning over your naked crotch. You met his eyes again with a defeated look on your face.
“Please…” you whispered.
“Please what? I’ll do anythin’. Tell me what to do,” Michael responded eagerly.
“At least put away the food?” you said, your unsteady tone posing it like a question.
He got up immediately, not leaving one second wasted. He needed you in his mouth much more than he realized. The food was put in tupperware and the smoothies in a freezer-safe pitcher in mere minutes. He washed his hands and returned to his place between your shaky thighs in record time.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promised. You rolled your eyes.
“Yeah you bet– F-fuck!” you exclaimed as he swirled his tongue around your clit expertly. You rolled your hips forward, not caring enough about your precarious position on the countertop. You were nearly straddling his shoulders.
The sounds coming from between your legs were filthy. An orchestra of moans and slurps and spitting. Michael was moaning more than you were.
“Mike- ngh. More,” you begged, much to your own embarrassment.
“Mmm, want my fingers?” he asked, looking up at you with your arousal coating the entire bottom half of his face. God, he looked like living sin.
“Yes,” you whispered.
He removed your legs from his shoulders and lifted you from the counter, making you straddle his waist as he stumbled into the living room. You fell back against the couch with a soft thump, and he sunk back onto his knees.
“Michael, your knees? Don’t they hurt?” you asked, suddenly all too worried about his comfort level. As if he cared.
“No, but I wouldn’t care if they did. I’ll do anythin’ to make you feel good,” he all but confessed. You bit your lip and pressed your thighs together very conspicuously.
“You like that?” he asked in disbelief.
“Mikey, stop! I’m embarrassed,” you exclaimed. “Whatever, you win. Fine, I want it. I want you. Just go down on me again, baby. It’s hurtin’” you whined.
“Yes, ma’am. Gonna make you feel better. ‘M so sorry.”
He dragged you to the edge of the couch by your ankles and put you back in the same position the two of you were in earlier, except you were much comfier on these cushions. He sucked your clit softly, moaning around it like he was the one being devoured. Taking his middle finger, he probed at your sopping hole, collecting its wetness and spreading it on his index like a natural lube. You pushed into his face harder, practically begging for it.
Catching the silent demand, he pushed his middle finger in, testing how much you could take at the moment. Your hole swallowed him like a pill. The ridges inside your sex were like art to him. Greedily, he shoved his index finger in almost immediately after. He started with a curious pace, slow and searching. His fingers expertly hit your g-spot each time, and the way his fingers curled made you feel like desire personified.
“M-Mikey, oh god! It’s– I can’t think..” you babbled honestly. The double stimulation paired with your sexual frustration was making your brain feel limp.
He moaned against you in response, the vibration sending shivers through your abdomen.
“Yes yes yes yes yeeeees, fuck!” you chanted.
You hated that he made you this easy. Usually your resolve was always up, but you’d never felt this needy in your life. You wanted him to have some sort of punishment for taking without permission. The best way to do that was to tease him.
“F-feels so good daddy, your mouth’s fuckin’ me so good.” ‘Daddy’, the name you used to drive him absolutely insane.
Just as you expected, his free hand came up and gripped one of your thighs for support as he furrowed his brows in concentration; surely on not cumming his pants. He drew in ragged breaths in between whimpers.
“Go faster, daddy. ‘M s-so close,” you whined, rocking your pussy against his tongue as he made it flat for you. Michael was sat so rigid beneath you, you were sure he was gonna cut off the circulation to his dick. He drilled his fingers into you at an unforgiving pace, and you swore you were being called to heaven right there.
He closed his mouth back around your cunt and slid his tongue up and down your folds, collecting more arousal, and pooling it around your clit. He sucked with just enough pressure to make you see stars, and you gripped onto his hair brutally.
“M-Mikey! ‘M gonna– Fuck! Cummi–” you crushed his face between your thighs and screamed bloody mary, holding onto his thick locks for grounding. Your orgasm ripped through you like an earthquake, and your body convulsed violently, all that pent up pressure released on your boyfriend’s face and fingers. He curled them inside you as much as he could while your walls clenched and sucked them in.
He kept licking you, too.
After you came down, you let your legs fall limp against him and detangled your fingers from his hair, trying to use your hands to push yourself back. But he wouldn’t stop going.
“Baby, I came. C-come on, ’m sensitive,” you rasped out, your voice hoarse from basically screaming.
Michael ignored you and kept going, seemingly driven by pure lust.
You grabbed ahold of his hair again and attempted to yank him back, but he stiffened his neck defiantly and gripped your thigh harder, keeping you in place. You whimpered loudly. He looked up at you, removed his fingers from inside you, and shoved them into your open mouth.
The angle was awkward, but god was this side of him sexy.
You moaned around his fingers and sucked at them greedily, trying your hardest not to bite down on them because of how sensitive you felt. Tears streamed down your eyes and you were sniffling loudly. The scene was disgusting.
Your hips stuttered against his tongue as he stuffed his thick tongue into your still leaking hole and back to flick at your clit, over and over.
You were crying his name out around his fingers, trying to warn him that you were going to cum again.
He grazed his teeth against your clit just once, very lightly, and you felt the air get knocked completely from your lungs, as your second orgasm tore through your sweaty body. You were almost choking on his fingers, your robe was drooping lazily off your shoulders, and your ears were ringing; your was body completely spent.
Michael removed his fingers from between your lips, but he kept going at your pussy.
“Michael please. C-can’t take it no more. You did good, daddy. You did really good. You made me feel better, baby. Ngh– f-fuck!” you cried out.
He met your eyes, looking at the way thick tears pooled inside of them, and then his gaze fell to your lips, concentrating on how the bottom one trembled as you cried. You looked like a masterpiece. Just one more. He just wanted one more out of you. Giving you a half-apologetic look, he tore his eyes from your dejected gaze, putting his focus on getting you to cum just one more time.
His jaw began to cramp up, and his tongue was nearly going stuck, but he had a point to prove to nobody but himself. Your lower body vibrated erratically, and the friction against his lips made him whine. This is exactly what he dreamed of. Him below you, offering his mouth to you, and you above him, crying out his name like a prayer.
“Mmmnh,” he moaned against your lips. His dick strained painfully in his briefs. He was oozing so much precum that it seemed like he finished in his pants.
“Close. G’na cum,” you mumbled through sobs of overstimulation. Your vision was too blurry to focus on the look of adoration he gave you.
Steeling himself for your release, he pulled you flush against his face, burying his nose into your pelvis, and he circled his sore tongue against your clit fast and hard.
“Michael! I’m–”
Your vision completely blacked out as your core weeped and your eyes silently cried. It felt like every hole in your body was leaking– your eyes with tears, your mouth with drool, your pussy with sticky cum.
Michael, on the other hand, rode you through the whole thing, rubbing his hands down the length of your sweaty thighs and humming softly against your core. He cleaned up every last drop of cum that poured from you. When you slumped back against the cushions, he finally removed his mouth from your sensitive sex with a whine.
His jaw hurt. He tried to apologize for going overboard, but he couldn’t even move his mouth from the pain. Every tiny movement made his jaw lock up even more.
“C’mere,” you mumbled out to him, craving his embrace.
Michael obliged immediately, ignoring the way his dick throbbed between his legs. He laid his head on your half-exposed breasts, listening to your heartbeat steady itself underneath your chest. He strained his neck to give you a tender kiss on your lips, wincing as he tried opening his mouth to deepen it.
“You okay?” you asked him as you jerked away.
“Mhm,” he replied quickly, attempting to connect your mouths again. You sat up on one of your forearms and used your free hand to guide his face up to you.
“Use your words, baby. Need to know you’re feeling okay. I was a lil’ rough with your hair.” You run your fingers through his coily tresses, massaging the his scalp where you tugged the hardest.
“Think I have lockjaw,” he mumbled without disconnecting his lips, making it come out more like ‘thnkhavlockjw’.
“What?” you questioned him, confused as to why he seemed so reluctant to speak. He rubbed his jawline.
“I– mm. Went too hard. My jaw’s tight.” He bit his lip, seeming…proud of himself for that fact.
“You gave yourself lockjaw just to give me three orgasms? You fuckin’ idiot. You’re a singer!” You pushed his face away playfully and then grabbed onto his jaw again, massaging the sides. He opened his mouth wider, stretching it as the muscles loosened up.
“Mhm, n’ it was worth it! I’d go again if you told me to,” he declared proudly, giving you a suggestive look.
“Hell nah, we still have the whole meal I made for us. I’m hungry. You don’t needa be movin’ that mouth for anything except that food,” you quipped at him.
“I’m sorry, mama. You taste real good, though…” he trailed off, leaning in to catch you in another kiss.
“Nope. We are not doin’ this again. Get the fuck up before I buy myself a chastity belt,” you responded with a chuckle, pushing him away from you and stretching your achy limbs. You stood up, tightened your robe, and extended your hand to drag him with you to the kitchen. “Get up.”
“Okay. I love you so much,” he replied like a lovesick puppy as he let you guide him like one. You giggled at his neediness, eyeing his erection.
“Mhm, I’m sure you do. I’m not lettin’ you touch me again until we eat, by the way. And you’re platin’ everything,” you instructed as you reheated the food, handing him porcelain dishes. You grabbed the smoothies out of the freezer and poured them into glasses, handing him one to try. He took a sip and you caught him in a soft kiss when he pulled his cup away.
