𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ six years of tension snap when satoru’s jealousy finally explodes, leading to a heated argument that turns into a desperate, messy hookup where he makes it very clear you’ve always been his.
✿ ◞◟) gojo satoru 𝓍 female!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, porn with plot (but its mostly porn lmao), best friends to lovers, jealousy, satoru is down bad, lot of kissing, handjob, big dick!satoru, biting, begging, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, missionary + doggy style, praise, dirty talk, satoru is pathetic.
gojo satoru had been your best friend for six years, and in that time, you'd learned to accept certain things about him.
one — he was obnoxiously handsome. not in a way that felt fair or earned, but in the kind of effortless, god-cheated way that made waitresses forget his order and strangers stop him on the street to tell him he should model. satoru had white hair that never seemed to have a bad day, lashes so long they cast tiny shadows on his cheeks, and eyes so blue they looked like someone had turned up the saturation on just him while the rest of the world stayed normal.
two — satoru had very, very loud opinions, especially about anyone you dated.
you'd noticed the pattern about a year into your friendship, when you'd casually mentioned a guy from your psych class who'd asked for your number. satoru had been sprawled across your couch, stealing your fries, and he'd gone still for a second before tilting his head and saying;
"him? really? he's got weird eyebrows."
you'd blinked at him.
"his eyebrows are fine."
"they're asymmetrical," satoru had said, like that was a real crime. "and he laughs like a seal. you really want to listen to that for a whole date?"
you'd gone on the date anyway.
the guy's eyebrows had been perfectly normal, and his laugh had been genuinely nice, but satoru's comment had stuck in your head the whole time, making you hyperaware of things you never would have noticed otherwise.
that was his gift, or his curse, you hadn't decided yet.
since then, there had been others;
a very sweet and cute guy from your economics discussion group who satoru had dismissed as "way too short for you" (he’d been five eleven). a sweet philosophy major who satoru had claimed "smelled like soup" (he hadn't). a theater student who satoru had said was "obviously using you to get over his ex" (that one had actually been true, and you'd hated admitting satoru was right).
each time, satoru had been there, lounging in your space like he belonged there, making comments that ranged from mildly annoying to borderline cruel. and each time, you'd rolled your eyes and gone on the date anyway, because that was just how satoru was; opinionated, dramatic, a little bit of an asshole.
but satoru was also the one who showed up at your door at 2am with takeout when you failed a midterm.
the one who let you cry on his shoulder after the theater student broke your heart, the one who remembered how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you slept on and the name of your childhood stuffed animal.
so you let the comments slide, mostly.
but this time was different.
this time, his name was jaehyun, and you'd met him at a house party two weeks ago — the guy was in grad school for architecture, had kind eyes and a quiet laugh, and when he'd asked you out for coffee, you'd felt that little flutter in your chest that you'd almost forgotten existed.
you'd mentioned him to satoru casually, the way you always did, expecting the usual eyeroll and some stupid comment about jaehyun's haircut or his shoes.
what you got was something else entirely.
"jaehyun?" satoru had repeated, his voice doing something very strange — going flat in a way it never did. "what kind of name is jaehyun?"
"a perfectly normal one," you'd said, not looking up from your phone. "he's in grad school. architecture. really sweet."
"architecture," he had echoed, like you'd said jaehyun collected human teeth. "so he draws buildings. cool. very exciting."
you'd glanced up then, frowning.
satoru was sitting across from you at the campus coffee shop, his long legs stretched out under the table, one of his legs pressed against yours in that way he always did — like he needed to be touching you to exist properly. his sunglasses were pushed up into his white hair, and his expression was carefully, almost aggressively, neutral.
"what's your problem?" you'd asked.
"nothing," he'd said, too fast. "no problem. i'm thrilled for you. jaehyun the architect. hope he designs you a very nice house."
you'd stared at satoru for a very long moment, waiting for the usual punchline. but he'd just smiled — that big, fake, toothy smile that meant he was annoyed about something and pretending he wasn't at all.
you'd let it go. you were used to satoru being weird.
but over the next week, his weirdness escalated into something you couldn't ignore.
it started small; satoru started showing up at your apartment unannounced, which wasn't new — he'd always done that, letting himself in with the key you'd given him after he'd climbed your fire escape twice in one week. but before, he'd text first, or at least announce his presence with a dramatic "honey, i'm home!" as he walked through the door.
now, he just appeared.
you'd be doing dishes, and suddenly there he was, leaning against your doorframe like he'd been there the whole time. you'd be studying at your desk, and satoru’s chin would appear over your shoulder, his chest warm against your back, asking what you were doing in a voice that was way too low for the question he was asking.
and god, the touching.
satoru had always been touchy. you'd known that about him from the beginning — the way he'd sling an arm over your shoulders, rest his hand on your lower back when you walked through crowds, drape his legs over yours when you sat together on the couch.
he was a physical person, and you'd never minded, because it was just satoru.
but this was very different.
now, satoru’s hand found the small of your back every time you stood next to him. his fingers brushed your wrist when you handed him something. when you sat on the couch together, he pulled you against his side like you might float away if he didn't hold you down, his arm tight around your waist, his thumb tracing circles against your hip.
and it was always casual, always easy, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it.
but you were aware.
painfully aware, every time his thigh pressed against yours, every time his breath ghosted across your neck when he leaned in to look at your phone, every time his fingers lingered on your skin a second longer than they needed to.
you didn't say anything. because what would you even say? 'hey, why are you touching me so much?' that sounded crazy. he was your best friend, and best friends touched.
but then came the comments…
"so when am i meeting jaehyun?" satoru asked one afternoon, sprawled across your bed while you got ready to go out.
you weren't even going out with jaehyun — you were simply going to a study group — but satoru had shown up forty minutes ago and hadn't left.
"you're not," you said, digging through your closet for a hoodie. "we've been on two coffee dates. it's not serious."
"but it could be," satoru said.
it was not a question, and his blue eyes tracked you across the room, and you felt them like a physical weight.
"maybe," you said, because you didn't know yet.
jaehyun was nice. jaehyun was safe. but jaehyun didn't make your heart race in that annoying, confusing way that made you want to scream.
satoru made a sound in the back of his throat, something low and very dissatisfied.
"jaehyun wears new balance sneakers," satoru said, like he was delivering a closing argument. "new balance! do you really want to be seen with a man who wears new balance?"
you turned to look at him.
"you're wearing crocs right now."
"crocs are ironic," satoru said, completely serious. "new balance is a cry for help."
you threw a pillow at him. he caught it without looking, grinning, and you tried to ignore how your stomach flipped.
the worst night, the night everything broke, started like this;
you had a date, a real one.
jaehyun had texted you earlier in the week asking if you wanted to go to that new ramen place downtown, the one with the hour-long wait and the broth people wrote blog posts about. you'd said yes, because you'd been wanting to go, and because jaehyun's texts made you smile, and because you were trying very hard to be normal about all of this.
you hadn't told satoru.
not because you were hiding it, exactly, but because you knew damn well — you knew — what would happen if you did; the comments, the touching, the way he'd look at you with those too-blue eyes like he was trying to communicate something you didn't have the vocabulary to understand.
so you kept it to yourself.
you got dressed in your room, you picked out a black dress that made you feel so pretty, you did your makeup carefully in the bathroom mirror. your hair fell prettily in waves around your shoulders, and you added a necklace — something delicate, something that caught the light.
you casually were just reaching for your black coat when the front door opened.
"satoru," you said, and your voice came out strangled.
your best friend stood in your doorway, and for a moment, neither of you moved. his eyes swept over you — the dress, the makeup, the necklace — and something flickered across his face; something fast and dark that he smoothed over before you could fully read it.
"going somewhere?" satoru asked, and his voice was light, but his jaw was tight.
you should have lied. you should have said study group, or grocery shopping, or literally anything else, but you'd never lied to satoru before, not about anything that mattered, and you didn't know how to start now.
"i have a date," you said. "with jaehyun."
the silence that followed was deafening.
satoru didn't move; he simply stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his body blocking the doorway like he could physically prevent you from leaving. his white hair was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it, and he was wearing that black sweater you liked — the one that made his shoulders look impossibly broad.
"jaehyun," he repeated flatly.
"yes," you said, and your voice came out smaller than you intended. "jaehyun. the architect. the one i told you about."
"i know who jaehyun is," satoru said.
he completely stepped into the apartment, finally, and pushed the door closed behind him. the click of the lock was weirdly loud in the quiet room.
"i just thought you would have better taste."
the casual cruelty of it stung.
you felt it in your chest, sharp and hot, and suddenly you were so tired — tired of the comments, tired of the games, tired of the way satoru touched you and looked at you and made you feel like you were constantly missing something obvious.
"what is your problem, satoru?" you asked, and your voice cracked in the middle.
satoru blinked. "what?"
"you heard me."
you turned to face him fully, your coat completely forgotten on the couch. your hands were shaking, so you curled them into fists at your sides.
"every single time i mention someone, you have something to say. their eyebrows are wrong, they're too short, they smell like soup—"
"the soup thing was valid—"
"it wasn't!" you shouted, and satoru's mouth snapped shut. "it wasn't, satoru. and now it's jaehyun, and you won't even give him a chance. you show up at my apartment without warning, you won't stop touching me, you look at me like—"
you stopped, breathless, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat.
satoru was watching you with an expression you'd never seen before. his usual mask — the arrogant smirk, the lazy confidence, the annoying playfulness — had slipped away entirely. underneath was something raw. something hungry.
"like what?" satoru asked, and his voice was low. rough. "like what, sweetheart?"
you shook your head, stepping back, and your legs hit the edge of the couch.
"this isn't fair. you can't just—you don't get to act like this every time i try to move on. you don't get to be jealous when you're the one who—"
"jealous?" satoru laughed, but there was no humor in it. "you think i'm jealous?"
"i know you are," you said. "everyone can see it, satoru. suguru sees it. shoko sees it. i'm pretty sure my neighbor across the hall sees it, and she's half-blind."
satoru's jaw tightened.
he took a step toward you, then another, until he was close enough that you could smell his cologne — something clean and warm, like cedar and vanilla. his hand came up, and you flinched, but he just tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his long fingers trailing down the side of your neck.
"and what if i am?" he murmured. "jealous. what if i can't stand the thought of you going out with him tonight? what if i've been going crazy for weeks, watching you text him, hearing you say his name—"
"then you should have said something," you whispered, and your voice broke on the last word.
satoru's hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had to look at him. his eyes were almost desperate, searching your face like he was looking for something he needed to survive.
"i'm saying something now," he said. "i can't watch you with anyone else. i can't do it. i've tried—god, i've tried—but every time you smile at someone who isn't me, i want to tear something apart."
your breath caught. "satoru—"
"so if you're gonna be with someone," he continued, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "it's gonna be me."
the words hung in the air between you, heavy and electric.
you could feel the heat of satoru’s body through your dress, could see the way his chest rose and fell with each uneven breath. his hand was still on your jaw, gentle but firm, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
"what about jaehyun?" you asked, and it came out breathless.
satoru's eyes darkened. "fuck jaehyun."
and just like that, he kissed you.
it wasn't a soft or gentle kiss, no, it was so desperate and hungry and a little bit angry, like satoru had been holding this back for long years and the dam had finally broken.
satoru’s mouth moved against yours like he was trying to prove something, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper.
you made a little sound — something between a gasp and a moan — and satoru swallowed it. his other hand found your waist, pulling you against him until there was no space left between your bodies; he was warm and solid and everywhere, and your brain had stopped working entirely.
when he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. satoru’s lips were swollen, his eyes dark, and there was a flush creeping up his neck that you'd never seen before.
"tell me you don't want this," he said, his voice rough. "tell me to stop, and i will. but if you don't—"
you kissed him again, because you couldn't not. because six long years of insane tension and longing and denial had been building to this moment, and now that it was here, you couldn't imagine doing anything else.
satoru groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. he walked you backward until your legs hit the couch, and then he was lowering you onto the cushions, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the fabric.
"god, i've wanted this for so long," he murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point. "so fucking long. you have no idea."
"then show me," you said, and you felt him shudder.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes roaming over your face like he was memorizing it.
"when i'm done with you," satoru said, and his voice was low and dark and full of promise. "you're not gonna remember jaehyun's name."
and then he kissed you again, and you stopped thinking about jaehyun entirely.
satoru's mouth was hot and insistent, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl inside your boots. he kissed like he did everything else — like he was competing for something, like he needed to win. but there was desperation underneath it, a trembling kind of hunger that made his hands shake slightly where they gripped your hips.
you kissed him back just as hard, your fingers tangling in his soft white hair, pulling him impossibly closer.
satoru made a sound — something low and wrecked — and his hips pressed into yours instinctively; you could feel him already, hard against your thigh through his jeans, and the knowledge sent a rush of heat straight through your core.
"bedroom," satoru murmured hungrily against your lips, and it wasn't a question.
you nodded, breathless, and then he was pulling you up off the couch, his hands never leaving your body. one palm flat against your lower back, the other cupping the side of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair. satoru kissed you the whole way down the hall — deep, messy kisses that made you stumble backward, trusting him to guide you.
he did. of course he did.
satoru’s body was a wall of heat in front of you, and his hands were everywhere; your waist, your ribs, the curve of your ass through your dress. he squeezed once, experimentally, and when you gasped into his mouth, he did it again, harder.
"fuck," he breathed, and you felt the word more than heard it.
your bedroom door was open, and he walked you through it without looking, his attention entirely on your mouth, your jaw, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver when he kissed it. the backs of your knees hit the bed, and you fell backward onto the mattress, pulling him with you.
satoru caught himself on his forearms, hovering over you, his hair falling forward into his eyes.
for a second, he just looked at you, like he couldn't believe you were here, beneath him, your dress riding up your thighs and your lipstick smeared across his mouth.
"you're so pretty," satoru said, and his voice cracked in the middle. "god, you're so pretty. i'm gonna lose my mind."
then he sat back on his heels and pulled his sweater over his head in one movement.
you'd seen satoru without a shirt before — pool parties, beach trips, that one time his dorm ac broke and he'd walked around campus in nothing but shorts for a week. but this was different; this was close, and private, and his skin was flushed pink across his chest, and you could see everything.
satoru’s shoulders were absurdly broad, tapering down to a narrow waist that made your mouth water. his chest was defined but not bulky — it was lean muscle that shifted under pale skin as he moved, and there was a thin line of white hair trailing down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans, and satoru’s arms were roped with veins that stood out when he flexed.
he caught you staring and smiled — not his usual cocky grin, but something softer, almost shy.
"like what you see?"
"shut up," you said, and reached for him.
satoru came down willingly, his body pressing you into the mattress, his skin warm and smooth against your palms. you ran your hands over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.
he was all heat and tension, and when your nails dragged lightly down his spine, satoru groaned and buried his pretty face in your neck.
"you're gonna kill me," he mumbled into your skin.
you kissed his shoulder, then his collarbone, then the hinge of his jaw. your hands slid down his sides, over his ribs, and when they reached the button of his jeans, you didn't hesitate.
satoru went rigid.
your fingers fumbled with the button, then the zipper, and then you were reaching inside his boxers, and—
oh!
satoru was ridiculously big.
well… you'd known he would be, somehow — everything about satoru was excessive, after all — but fucking hell, feeling him in your hand was completely different. he was thick and hot and already leaking, and when you wrapped your fingers around him, his whole body shuddered.
"sweetheart," satoru gasped, and it came out as a whine, so high and so desperate.
his hips jerked into your hand involuntarily, and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, his breathing ragged.
"fuck, fuck, please—"
you stroked him slowly, your thumb spreading the wetness at the tip, and satoru made a sound you'd never heard from him before. it was broken and insanely needy, and satoru was shaking — actually shaking — his long fingers digging into the mattress on either side of your head.
"please what?" you asked, and your own voice was rough.
he lifted his head just enough to look at you, and his eyes were glassy, pupils blown so wide there was almost no blue left.
"please don't stop," satoru whispered. "please. i've wanted this for so long. i've thought about your hands—god, i've thought about your hands so much—"
you squeezed gently, just a little firmer, and his sentence cut off in a choked moan.
satoru buried his face in your neck again, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and you felt him pulse in your hand; his whole body was tense, thighs flexing against yours, and you could feel how close he was — the way his stomach kept twitching, the way his hips started moving in small, desperate little thrusts into your fist.
"if you keep doing that," satoru said, muffled against your shoulder, "i'm not gonna last."
you didn't answer, you just kept going — steady, intentional, your grip adjusting to the slickness now, your thumb pressing into that spot right under the head on every upstroke. you wanted to see satoru fall apart; you wanted it more than you'd ever wanted anything.
and then he did.
it wasn't loud, that was the thing.
satoru’s breath hitched, held, and then released in a long, shuddering exhale against your neck. his whole body locked up for a second — his back arching just slightly, fingers twisting in the sheets — and then he broke.
you felt it in your hand first; the pulsing, the warmth spilling over your fingers, the way satoru’s hips stuttered and stopped. then the rest of him followed; his forehead pressed harder into your shoulder, almost like he was hiding. his arms trembled on either side of you. a sound came out of him — soft, wrecked, more breath than voice — and you realized his free hand had moved to grip your hip, not guiding you, just holding on.
you kept stroking him through it, slow and gentle now, and satoru whimpered and tried sooo hard to squirm away from the sensitivity even as he pushed into your touch at the exact same time. satoru’s face was still buried in your neck, and you could feel how warm his cheeks were, how damp his lashes were against your skin.
for a moment, neither of you moved.
satoru’s breathing was uneven, hitching every few seconds like he was still coming down, and your hand was a mess, and you didn't care at all.
finally, he lifted his head.
satoru’s face was flushed, his lips parted, his hair a disaster. he looked at you like he'd never seen you before — or maybe like he was seeing you clearly for the first time.
"your turn," you said, and your voice was steadier than you felt.
he blinked slowly, like the words had to travel through fog to reach him, then something completely shifted in satoru’s expression — something dark and determined settling over his still-soft features, a spark of that familiar satoru intensity cutting through the haze.
"my turn," he agreed.
his still trembling hands easily found the hem of your dress, and he pulled it up and over your head with an impatience that made you laugh — a breathless, surprised sound that turned into a gasp when he bent down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach.
satoru worked his way up slowly, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered, his lips hot and wet and reverent. when he reached your bra, he looked up at you, asking silent permission. you simply nodded, and he reached behind you to unclasp it with fingers that trembled even more.
the bra joined your dress on the floor.
satoru sat back on his heels and stared at you; his blue eyes traveled down your body — your breasts, your stomach, the lace edge of your panties — and his expression was almost painful to look at; like he was in awe, like he was in pain.
"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was hoarse. "i don't—i can't—"
"toru," you said, and your own voice was shaking. "please."
that broke whatever trance he was in.
satoru lowered himself over you again, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was softer this time, almost tender, and his hand slid down your body, over your ribs, your hip, until his fingers brushed the waistband of your panties.
he pulled back just enough to look down, and then his fingers were hooking into the lace, but he didn't pull them off. instead, satoru pushed them to the side.
the air hit your wetness, and you felt exposed and seen and so incredibly turned on you thought you might combust. satoru's breath caught when he saw you completely, and his pupils swallowed the very last of the blue.
"all this for me?" he murmured, his fingers hovering just above where you needed him.
"y-yes," you said, and you meant it more than you'd ever meant anything. "always for you."
satoru’s eyes flicked up to yours, and something shifted in his expression; something soft and fierce and terrified all at once. then he looked back down, and his middle finger slid through your folds, gathering your wetness, circling your clit in a way that made your hips jerk off the bed.
"fuck," you gasped.
"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and focused. "that's it, sweetheart. let me hear you."
he circled your clit again, slow and meticulous, watching your face. when you moaned — loud, involuntary — his lips curved into a smile that was almost smug, but then you moaned again, and his smile faltered, replaced by something hungrier.
"you have no idea," satoru said, his finger still moving in lazy circles. "what this sound does to me."
he pushed two fingers inside you without warning, and your back arched off the bed.
it was so good — way too good — the stretch of his long fingers, the curl of them inside you, the way he found that spot immediately like he'd been studying a map of your body for years. his thumb pressed against your clit, and he started a rhythm that made your vision blur.
"right there?" satoru asked, and his voice was strained.
"y-yes—yes, don't stop—"
and satoru didn't stop.
he fucked you with his long fingers like he really meant it, his palm slapping against your clit with every single thrust, his blue eyes never once leaving your face; he watched every expression, cataloged every sound, and satoru’s own breathing was ragged, his hips pressing into the mattress like he was fucking it just to keep himself sane.
"you're so wet," he said, almost to himself. "god, you're so wet. is this because of me? because of what i said?"
you couldn't answer — you couldn't form any words — so you simply nodded, your hands desperately gripping the sheets, your hips rocking against his hand.
"say it," satoru demanded, his fingers curling harder. "say you want this. say you want me."
"i want you," you sobbed. "i want you, toru, please—"
he added a third finger, and the stretch was almost too much, the pressure building in your core until you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do a damn thing but feel. his thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers, and he leaned down to kiss your chest, your collarbone, the side of your breast.
"cum for me," he murmured against your skin. "cum on my fingers, sweetheart. i want to feel it."
you shattered.
it crashed over you in huge waves, your whole body convulsing, your nails digging into satoru's shoulders as you rode out the pleasure. he didn't stop — he kept his fingers deep inside you, he kept his thumb on your clit, working you through every aftershock until you were trembling and oversensitive and crying his name into the quiet room.
when you finally stilled, satoru pulled his fingers out slowly, carefully, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought them to his mouth.
he licked them clean.
his eyes never left yours as he did it, his tongue sliding between his long fingers, tasting you like you were something precious. he made a sound — low and satisfied — and when he was done, and held his fingers out to you.
"your turn," he said, echoing your words from earlier.
you took his wrist and guided his fingers to your mouth; you sucked them in, one by one, tasting yourself on his skin. his breath hitched, and his hips jerked against the mattress, and you felt powerful in a way you'd never felt before.
when you let go, satoru’s fingers were slick with your spit, and his eyes were almost black.
"f-fuck," he whispered. "fuck, sweetheart. i need—i need to be inside you. please. i can't—"
he was shaking again, his composure crumbling completely, his body vibrating with need above you. you could feel him through his jeans, hard and aching, and you wanted him so badly it was a physical pain.
"then do it," you said. "do it, satoru."
he fumbled with his jeans, pushing them down just enough, and then he was there — pressing against your entrance, the head of his huge cock nudging at your wetness, both of you breathing too fast.
"look at me," he said, and his voice was raw. "i want you to look at me when i finally make you mine."
his voice cracked on the last word, and something in your chest splintered; this wasn't just sex, you could see it in his eyes — blown wide, glassy, stripped of every layer of sarcasm and swagger he'd ever worn. satoru looked terrified and hungry and so in love it was almost painful to witness.
"toru," you whispered, and his name felt different in your mouth now.
"i know," he said, and he sounded almost sorry. "i know we should talk. i know we're gonna have to figure out what the hell we're doing tomorrow. but right now—"
he pressed forward, just barely, the head of his cock catching against your entrance, and you both gasped.
"—right now, i need to be inside you. i need to feel you cum around me. and i need you to watch me fall apart while i do it."
you nodded, unable to speak, and satoru pushed in.
just an inch — slow, so slow — and your body stretched around him, full and burning in a way that made your eyes water. satoru was so much bigger than his fingers, thicker and hotter, and the pressure was almost too much. you felt every millimeter, every pulse of his cock as it slid into you, and the sound he made — god, the sound — was something you'd never heard from him before.
it was a broken moan, high and desperate, like he was the one being split open.
"fuck," satoru choked out, his forehead dropping to yours, and his breath was hot and uneven against your lips. "f-fuck, baby. you're so—you're so tight—i can't—"
his hips stuttered, and he pushed deeper, another inch, and your nails dug into his shoulders. the stretch burned in the best way, your body adjusting to him, and you could feel every ridge, every vein, every tiny shift of his hips.
"m-more," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "please, toru. i want all of it."
satoru made a sound like a wounded animal, and then he pushed forward in one long, slow thrust until he was buried completely inside you.
you both stopped breathing.
he was everywhere, filling you completely, stretching you in a way that bordered on overwhelming, his hips flush against yours; you could feel him throbbing inside you, could feel the way his whole body trembled above you, his arms shaking where they caged you in.
"oh my god," satoru breathed, and his voice was wrecked, absolutely destroyed. "oh my god. sweetheart. you feel—i can't—there aren't words."
his eyes were squeezed shut now, his jaw tight, and you watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple. he looked like he was in pain. like he was holding on by a thread.
"toru," you said, reaching up to cup his face. "look at me."
his eyes opened, and what you saw there completely made your heart clench; satoru looked dazed, almost drunk, his pupils so blown there was only a thin ring of blue left now, his lips were parted, his breathing ragged, and when you ran your thumb across his cheekbone, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to your palm.
"you're gonna be the death of me," satoru murmured against your skin. "you know that, right? i've been imagining this for six years, and it's still—it's so much better than i ever—" he cut himself off with a shaky exhale. "i'm not gonna last. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, but i can't—"
"then don't," you said. "move, toru. please move."
well… he didn't need to be told twice.
satoru pulled out slowly — agonizingly slowly — until only the tip remained inside you, and then he pushed back in, just as slow, just as deep, his eyes never left yours, watching your face as he bottomed out again, and the expression on his face was one of pure, reverent awe.
"that's it," he whispered. "god, that's it. you're taking me so well, sweetheart. so fucking well."
he did it again, and again, each thrust was slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every sensation; the drag of his huge cock against your walls, the way you clenched around him, the little sounds you made every time he pushed back in. his hands roamed your body — your waist, your ribs, your breasts — touching you like he was afraid you'd disappear.
"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was thick. "i've wanted to touch you like this for so long. you have no idea how many times i've jerked off thinking about you. thinking about these sounds you're making right now."
satoru’s hips snapped forward a little harder, and you moaned at that — loud and unfiltered — and satoru's eyes rolled back for just a second.
"yeah," he breathed. "yeah, like that. i want to hear you. i want everyone to hear you. i want jaehyun to hear you and know—know that you're mine."
the possessiveness in his voice should have scared you, but instead, it made you clench around him, and satoru groaned so loudly you felt it vibrate through his chest.
"you like that?" he asked, his pace picking up slightly. "you like it when i get jealous? when i talk about how you're mine?"
"fuck—yes," you admitted, because you couldn't lie anymore.
not with your best friend inside you, not with his skin against yours, not with the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
satoru's smile was sharp and hungry.
"good. because you are mine. you have been since the day you let me climb your fire escape."
satoru kissed you then — it was deep and messy, his warm tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that matched his hips. he was fucking you slowly but deeply now, each thrust pushing you up the bed a little, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer.
that changed everything.
the angle made him hit something inside you — something that made stars burst behind your eyes, and you cried out against his mouth, and satoru swallowed the sound, his hips stuttering before he found a new rhythm; faster, harder, still deep, but no longer gentle.
"there?" satoru gasped, pulling back just enough to look at your face. "is that the spot? right there?"
you couldn't answer, you could only nod, your hands fisting in his white hair, pulling him down so you could bite his lower lip. and satoru moaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward so hard the headboard banged against the wall.
"oh—f-fuck, sweetheart," satoru panted. "you're gonna make me come so fast. i can't—i've been waiting too long for this. you feel too good."
his hand slid between your bodies, and his thumb found your clit, and you nearly screamed.
he circled it in tight, fast motions, exactly the way you needed, and the combination of his enormous cock hitting that sweet spot inside you and his thumb on your clit was too much. the pleasure built so quickly it was almost painful, your whole body tightening like a coil about to snap.
"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and dark and completely gone. "cum for me again, sweetheart. i want to feel you cum on my cock this time. i want to feel you squeeze me while i'm inside you."
his thumb pressed harder, his hips moved faster, and he was looking at you — watching every micro-expression on your face with an intensity that should have been overwhelming.
but all you could feel was him. all you could hear was the sound of his breathing, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together, the little whimpers that fell from his lips every time you clenched around him.
"i'm close," you managed, your voice breaking. "oh my god, toru, i'm so close—"
"yeah?"
satoru was practically fucking you in earnest now, his composure completely gone; his hair was a mess, his face flushed, his lips swollen from your kisses.
"you gonna cum for me? gonna soak my cock, sweetheart? i want to feel it. i want to feel you—"
you came.
it surged through you without warning, your whole body arching off the bed, your nails raking down satoru’s back as you convulsed around him. satoru groaned — a deep, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere primal — and his hips kept moving, kept thrusting, working you through every second of your orgasm.
"oh, fuck," he gasped. "oh, fuckfuckfuck, sweetheart—you're squeezing me so tight—i can't—i'm gonna—"
satoru pulled out just enough that you felt the first pulse of his release, hot and sudden, and then he pushed back in and buried himself to the hilt as he came inside you.
his whole body shook, his arms gave out, and satoru collapsed on top of you, his face buried deep in your neck, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he emptied himself into you. he made sounds you'd never heard him make — broken, desperate sounds, almost like sobs — and you felt each pulse of his cock, each wave of his release, hot and filling.
"g-god," satoru whispered against your sweaty skin. "god, sweetheart. i love—i—"
he didn't finish the sentence, maybe he couldn't, maybe he was too far gone.
you held him, your fingers threading through his sweaty hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. his cock was still inside you, softening slightly but not pulling out, and you could feel his cum leaking out around him, warm and wet.
for a long moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, the only sounds were your breathing, slowly evening out, and the distant hum of the city outside your window.
satoru's hand was tracing patterns on your hip, lazy and absent, and you thought maybe he'd fallen asleep. maybe you'd get a moment to process what had just happened.
then satoru shifted.
his hips rolled forward, just slightly, and you felt him twitch inside you.
"satoru," you said, your voice hoarse.
he lifted his head, and his eyes met yours; they were still dark, still blown wide, but there was something new there now. something hungry and determined and a little bit feral.
"i'm not done," satoru said, and his voice was rough. "i'm not even close to done."
he pulled out slowly, and you felt the loss of him acutely — the sudden emptiness, the trickle of satoru’s cum that slid down your trembling thigh. but before you could mourn it, he was flipping you over, pulling you onto your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips.
"i've been thinking about this position for years," satoru murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "thinking about how deep i could get. how loud you'd be."
you heard him spit into his hand — you heard the wet sound of him stroking himself — and then he was pressing against your entrance again, already hard, already ready.
"toru," you said again, and it came out as a pathetic whimper. "i'm still sensitive—"
"i know," satoru said, and he sounded almost apologetic. almost. "but you feel too good, sweetheart. and i'm so fucking obsessed with you. i can't stop. i don't want to stop."
he pushed in, and you both moaned.
it was different from the first time; you were still so wet, still so stretched, still so full of his cum, and satoru slid in easier now, way deeper, until you felt him in your stomach.
satoru paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to the back of your neck.
"baby, tell me when," satoru said, his voice strained. "tell me when you're ready."
you took a breath, then another, the sensitivity was fading, replaced by a familiar ache, a familiar need.
"now," you said. "move now."
and he did.
satoru started slow again, but this time it was different.
this time, he was savoring; his hands completely roamed your body — your back, your ass, your hips — and he leaned over to press kisses along your spine. his huge cock dragged against your walls in a way that made your eyes roll back, and he was murmuring things against your skin; things you couldn't quite understand, things that sounded like praise and worship and desperation all at once.
"you're so perfect," he breathed. "so perfect for me. this pussy was made for me. you know that? made for my cock."
satoru’s pace quickened, his hips slapping against yours, and the sound was obscene — wet and loud and relentless. he reached around and found your swollen clit again, rubbing in tight circles, and you sobbed with the overstimulation of it.
"too much?" he asked, but he didn't stop. "or not enough?"
"m-more," you gasped. "more, toru—please—"
he gave you more.
satoru fucked you harder, faster, deeper, his grip on your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. his breathing was ragged, his moans were loud, and he was talking — talking constantly, a stream of consciousness that was half dirty and half desperate.
"look at you. taking me so well. you're so wet. so fucking wet. is this all for me? tell me it's all for me."
"it's all for you," you said, and you meant it.
satoru groaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward even harder, and you felt a second orgasm building — faster this time, sharper, pushed along by the overstimulation and the sound of his voice and the way he was fucking you like he needed you to survive.
"cum with me this time," he said, his voice breaking. "i want to feel you cum while i'm filling you up again. i want to feel you squeeze every drop out of me."
his thumb pressed down on your clit, and his hips lost their rhythm, becoming sloppy and desperate, and you knew he was close, and so were you. so close—
"now," satoru gasped. "now, sweetheart—"
you came together.
it was messy and loud and overwhelming, your body clenching around him as he spilled inside you again, his hips jerking erratically as he rode out his orgasm. you collapsed onto the bed, and he followed you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside you, still pulsing.
neither of you moved.
satoru’s breath was hot against your ear, his heart pounding against your back, and you could feel him — getting hard again, still inside you, still not pulling out.
"one more," he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the exhaustion. "just one more. and then maybe we can talk about how i'm in love with you."
you laughed — a breathless, surprised sound — and satoru kissed your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw.
"i'm serious, baby," satoru said, his hips rolling forward again, slowly. "i've been in love with you for years. and now that i've had you like this—"
he pushed deeper, and you moaned.
"—i'm never letting you go."
satoru’s hand slid under you, finding your clit again, and you realized he actually meant it.
me when Aerion Targaryen drops this absolutely absurd bar, while blood is dripping from his mouth accompanied by the most deliciously beautiful lighting you have ever seen:
aerion has been HEAVY on my mind lately. i'm obsessed with the idea of him edging reader to tears and finding enjoyment in the tears laughing at us as we beg for him to tell us we can finish like every time we're close he stops everything A (i swear bro can feel it)
my mind is disgusting so i understand if you don't want to write this but i just thought i'd share because tbh you're one of my favorite aerion writers🩷
ding ding 🌸🌷🌸
🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸
Λ🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷
( ˘ ᵕ ˘🌷🌸🌷 ／
ヽ つ＼ ／
UU / 🎀 \
delivery for you
you are the most angel angel ever, thank you so so much!!! i'm just as disgusting as you trust lol i love the nastyyy
sadistic aerion overstimulating and edging you ⊹ ࣪ ˖
his hand is buried between your thighs, his long fingers stroking your slick folds with a maddening, expert precision. he knows every sensitive spot, every place that makes you gasp and arch your back. he's been toying with you for hours, bringing you to the very edge of a blinding release, only to pull back at the last second, leaving you dangling in agonizing suspension.
"please," you whisper, your voice hoarse. "aerion, please."
"please what?" he asks, his voice a low, teasing rumble. "please stop? or please don't stop? you must be specific, wife."
"please let me finish," you beg, tears of frustration welling in your eyes. "i need it. i need you."
he laughs, a low, cruel sound that makes your heart clench. "you need it? do you deserve it?" his thumb finds your clit, circling it with a feather-light touch that's more torturous than pleasurable. "have you been a good girl?"
you nod frantically, your hips bucking against his hand, trying to get more pressure, more friction, anything to push you over that precipice. "yes! i've been good! i promise...just please!"
just as you feel the first stirrings of that glorious, impending orgasm, he pulls his hand away completely. the sudden loss of contact is a physical blow, and you cry out, a raw, desperate sound that's half-sob, half-scream.
"ah, ah, ah," he tuts, shaking his head. "did i say you could? did i give you leave?"
he leans forward, his face close to yours, his eyes dancing with cruel amusement. he reaches out, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that has escaped and is now tracing a path down your cheek.
"no. you finish when i say you can finish."
he kneels between your legs now, his gaze roaming over your naked form, a look of pure, unadulterated ownership on his face.
"let's try again, shall we?" he says, his voice a silky threat. "but this time, i want to hear you. i want to hear you tell me how much you need me, how much you love the way i control you, how much you love me."
"aerion…" you gasp as he sinks his fingers in again and this time fits another finger in,
"come on."
"i love you! ngh…" you gasp, then his mouth descends on yours, a brutal, possessive kiss that steals your breath. his hand finds your core again, his fingers resuming their maddening dance. you're so close, so painfully close, and the knowledge that he could deny you again is a form of torture that's both exquisite and unbearable. you're completely at his mercy, your hips begin to move of their own accord, a frantic, desperate rhythm against his hand. the coil in your belly tightens, impossibly so, and you can feel the first tremors of release begin to build in your thighs. "please, aerion, i'm so close," you sob against his lips. "please don't stop this time. i'll do anything. anything."
he chuckles, the sound vibrating through your chest. "anything? that's a bold claim, wife." and then, just as the wave is about to crest, he rips his hand away again.
a guttural wail tears from your throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated anguish. you thrash beneath him, your body a live wire of denied pleasure. it's too much. the tears flow freely now, hot and shameful, streaming down your temples and into your hair.
"oh, now that's a pretty sight," he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. he looms over you, his shadow eclipsing the firelight. he dips his head, his tongue tracing the path of your tears, licking the salt from your skin, from your jaw to the apple of you cheek and you mewl.
he shifts his weight, settling between your thighs. you feel the hard, thick length of his clothed cock press against your thigh, a promise of what you crave most.
"beg," he commands, his voice dropping to a low growl. "beg me to fuck you. beg me to let your cunny squeeze on my cock, go on."
your mind is a haze of need and humiliation, but his words cut through it all. "please!" you gasp, your voice cracking. "you own me. you own me. please, aerion, my lord, my husband. fuck me. please, i'm begging you."
he seems to consider your plea, his head tilted to the side. he reaches down, his fingers finding your clit again, but this time he doesn't tease. he rubs it with a firm, relentless pressure.
he then takes out his cock with his other free hand and pumps it in his fist a few times, the angry head leaking pearly pre-cum making your mouth water. then he begins to push inside you, a slow, inch-by-inch torment that stretches you perfectly.
the dual sensations are overwhelming. the pressure on your clit and the incredible fullness of his cock inside you sends towards the edge faster than ever before.
"look down," he snarls, his hand stilling its motion just as you're about to fly apart. you look down at how his veiny cock moves in and out of you soaking heat. "you will not finish until i say so. do you understand?"
you can only nod, a choked sob escaping your lips.
he begins to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one a calculated stroke that hits that spot deep inside you that makes your vision blur. his thumb resumes its maddening circle on your clit. he's building you up again, higher and higher, a tower of pleasure so intense it's almost painful.
"i can’t!" you whimper, your body quaking. "i can't...i can't hold on!"
he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "now, come for me, wife."
the permission is a lightning strike. a scream tears from your lungs, a raw, ragged sound of his name that echoes in the rafters. your inner walls clamping down around him like a vise as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, so intense it borders on pain. it goes on and on…
Modern! Jacaerys with witch!reader or Modern!Jacaerys with goth!vampire!reader
thinking…
NERDY!MODERN!JACE WITH ANY SUPERNATURAL!READER UGH.. he would be so awestruck by you. would kiss the ground you walked on and ofc he’d wear glasses CMOONNN
synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.
cw: time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)
notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumber i hope u like!!!!
song rec: drag path — twenty one pilots
Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer.
His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult.
He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.
Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him.
And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs.
He’s exhausted.
The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak.
Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him.
He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things?
One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark.
That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way.
“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery.
He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this.
“Oh hey, you’re home.”
Home?
He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.
You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago.
You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”
First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?
Second, who even are you?
Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger.
Fuck.
“Honey–”
Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again.
“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”
Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth.
There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru.
Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.
“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”
He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”
“You also liked to argue, too.”
“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?”
“No.”
“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“
You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?”
“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you.
“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.”
–
“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere.
“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”
Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”
“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”
“31.”
Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.”
Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.
“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”
“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody.
Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude.
“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion.
He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”
Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?”
“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”
“I tried my best! I swear!”
“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”
“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”
The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.
“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.
The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed.
—
You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand.
“Is the food good?”
“Sure.”
“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement.
“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.”
Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”
“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?”
Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.
“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being.
A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.
“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”
It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital.
“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.
“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake.
“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”
Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.
“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”
Sai wasn’t having that.
Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite.
But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.
“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”
“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself.
You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous.
“What?”
There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”
“She’s weird.”
“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”
“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid.
He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind.
“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious.
He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad.
For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear.
—
It’s been over a month.
Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.
But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort.
Over his dead body.
Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.
So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.
Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising.
Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married.
Satoru looks over your body once.
Twice.
He totally understands his future self.
He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks.
It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you.
You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure.
“Hey… any good news?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“
“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”
You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.
After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”
“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”
The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine.
But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him.
You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.”
It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here.
“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered.
He’s always had a thing for milfs.
Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now.
“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”
You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you.
“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you.
And you fucking miss that.
He opens his mouth to respond.
Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you.
Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid.
His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”
Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”
It’s starting to sound more natural.
“Y-yeah,” she sniffles.
Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried.
His little girl was a dream.
—
Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.
It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world.
He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does.
It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.
With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table.
The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions.
You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off.
“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”
He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?”
“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.”
You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact.
Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.
It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake.
Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”
Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now.
“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone.
Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”
“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“
“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”
“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“
“Kay’ good night.”
Click.
Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head.
He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?”
“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.”
“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him.
“So is waking me up.”
“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”
“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?”
“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.”
Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.”
“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden.
And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.
You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.
“I can take care of that, you know.”
“What?”
“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.
“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?”
“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.”
“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock.
“Feel good?”
His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”
You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.
“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask.
“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient.
His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”
You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are.
His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all.
"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.”
“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.
It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that— lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him.
"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."
You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out.
You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort.
"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."
You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder.
He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”
“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”
“You want me to fuck you harder?”
“Yeah.”
Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper.
“Better?”
He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”
“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.”
He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life.
Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”
“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”
He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch.
Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you.
“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself.
When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him.
You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.
And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.
—
It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back.
What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?
He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.
Acceptance.
He likes his life here.
You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.
No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second.
With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life.
You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache.
He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start.
You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.
“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.
There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”
He’s back.
“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”
—
Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.
Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers.
Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly.
Satoru was fucking devastated.
Nobody knew what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo.
God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point.
One Year Later
“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone.
It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job.
“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”
“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.”
The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable.
He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit.
It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him.
The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time.
“And what can I get started for you today?”
His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.
“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”
“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie.
“Name for the order?”
“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”
He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind:
He only has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.
photographer!satoru gojo x artist!f!reader (18+) FLUFF, SMUT, & angst
art by 3-aem
SUMMARY; you’re an artist with severe self esteem issues whose senior final is to draw a self portrait of yourself. the student with the best grade will have their art portfolio put up in a high end art gallery in tokyo. is your self esteem going to get in the way of this amazing opportunity? satoru gojo is a double major in photography and business. his senior final for photography is to gather a portfolio of pictures that describe: passion. satoru swears he’s never seen anyone as passionate when it comes to art as you. will the road to the deadline be more complicated than you both thought?
warnings/tags; FLUFF, SMUT, angst, 18+, MINORS DNI, college au, family issues, reader has a narcissistic mother, lonely!reader, ofc, more to be added as i write, more details in the chap warning so please check chap warnings!
status; ongoing!
wc; (and counting!)
taglist; open! comment under this to be added!
AO3 link
updates will be as fast as possible! (the more feedback i get the more encouraged i am to write so don't be afraid to leave a comment or hop in my inbox!)
chapter index
chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight chapter nine chapter ten chapter eleven chapter twelve chapter thirteen chapter fourteen chapter fifteen….
hi! happy valentines day𑣲!! i've been planning this since last summer, in july. i still have the draft where i planted the seed for this story. both, the story and relationship between reader and satoru, has bloomed into something i didn't think it'd be. i originally wanted this to be a short 3 chapter story and now its projecting closer to 25!
this entire story is planned from start to finish and i have the first chapters rough draft complete. i just need to write chapters 2 and 3 and then i will be uploading both 1 and 2 as a sort of like double feature.
(if you read all the way down here ily𑣲 i was trying so hard to keep my mouth shut because whenever i post about a work i end up abandoning it. BUT HERES TO CHANGING OUR WAYS!! (i will be using this post to hold myself accountable!)
photographer!satoru gojo x artist!f!reader (18+) FLUFF, SMUT, & angst
art by 3-aem
SUMMARY; you’re an artist with severe self esteem issues whose senior final is to draw a self portrait of yourself. the student with the best grade will have their art portfolio put up in a high end art gallery in tokyo. is your self esteem going to get in the way of this amazing opportunity? satoru gojo is a double major in photography and business. his senior final for photography is to gather a portfolio of pictures that describe: passion. satoru swears he’s never seen anyone as passionate when it comes to art as you. will the road to the deadline be more complicated than you both thought?
warnings/tags; FLUFF, SMUT, angst, 18+, MINORS DNI, college au, family issues, reader has a narcissistic mother, lonely!reader, ofc, more to be added as i write, more details in the chap warning so please check chap warnings!
status; ongoing!
wc; (and counting!)
taglist; open! comment under this to be added!
AO3 link
updates will be as fast as possible! (the more feedback i get the more encouraged i am to write so don't be afraid to leave a comment or hop in my inbox!)
chapter index
chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight chapter nine chapter ten chapter eleven chapter twelve chapter thirteen chapter fourteen chapter fifteen….
hi! happy valentines day𑣲!! i've been planning this since last spring, in april. i still have the draft where i planted the seed for this story. both, the story and relationship between reader and satoru, has bloomed into something i didn't think it'd be. i originally wanted this to be a short 3 chapter story and now its projecting closer to 25!
this entire story is planned from start to finish and i have the first chapters rough draft complete. i just need to write chapters 2 and 3 and then i will be uploading both 1 and 2 as a sort of like double feature.
(if you read all the way down here ily𑣲 i was trying so hard to keep my mouth shut because whenever i post about a work i end up abandoning it. BUT HERES TO CHANGING OUR WAYS!! (i will be using this post to hold myself accountable!)
currently working on a fic rn with these vibes and i’m so excited 🤭🤭🤭 i almost have my outline complete and will post the first chapter after i’ve written 2-3 so that i can be ahead!! (feel free to ask me any questions about it cause i would love to talk about ittt)
