STRONGEST - G.S.
STRONGEST - G.S.
Synopsis. The strongest. The most feraI. Gojo Satoru’s powers aren’t the only thing that goes out of control after a battle.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, fix-it, Shinjuku showdown, Gojo wins, established relationship, FÉRAL Gojo, Gojo’s powers, ínnapropriate use of jujutsu, oraI (fem. rec), fíngering, limitless, pússydrúnk Gojo, máting presses, overstím, rough s, he’s a little bit ínsane, brief male mast., size kínk, tummy buIges, squírting, cervíx kíssing, p sIapping, making him whíne, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 8.2k
A/N. I’m Gege I say this is canon mhm.
BIoody. Broken. Breathing.
Only that last one came from Gojo Satoru— the sole person in the entirety of Shinjuku’s ravaged battleground that was.
Twitching, he could sense sorcerers rushing out of their hiding spots to inspect the disintegrating, blob-like form of the former King of Curses before they even moved. Others sprinting medical instruments towards Fushiguro’s sprawled-out - alive, Gojo made sure to keep his boy alive - figure.
Not many dared to step towards the strongest, who towered in the midst of the chaos.
After all, it was only Itadori who could grit his teeth and force himself to walk through the waves upon waves of magnetic cursed energy radiating off of his teacher. Bulldozing, gasping- “G-Gojo-sensei!”
And all at once, the power ceases.
For the first time since the showdown started, everyone could finally breathe without the pressure of over a thousand sorcerers emanating from the body of one man.
That is, until Gojo snaps his eyes behind and mankind flinches. “I need my wife.”
Oh.
By destroying one monster, they might just have created another.
.
.
.
You didn’t want to be here - you couldn’t.
Planted prettily like some prized porcelain doll behind the countless wards of the Gojo Estate, its location so classified that it wasn’t disclosed to even you.
You knew why you were here; your husband may be the strongest, but that didn’t stop Ryomen Sukuna from being the most treacherous. And in the unfortunate fate where he might’ve - heavens forbid - won, it was obvious that one of his next targets would be you.
A war prize for a war-bringer.
Your chest tightens at the notion, and you’re struggling to manually lug in smoggy pants- no, that couldn’t happen. Fingers seconds away from shattering the dainty ceramic bowl of tea that you’d made out of pure nerves, it couldn’t.
“Damn higher-ups.” You’re hissing into the now-frigid drink, and yet it still blisters down your tastebuds. Almost as much as the memory of those orders to stay put lest you wanted something to happen to Gojo’s precious students. A warning. A threat. “Leaving me here to rot- fuck, when I get out I’m going to kill those ol’ toads- oh!”
Your sip of tea was a tightened ball of lead that simply refused to go past your larynx– and your brows furrow as the pale glass slips like water flowing between your fingers.
Tumbling. Shattering a puddling splash on the tatami-covered floor below.
And yet, you don’t even remember weakening your grasp - almost as if the cup was magnetized towards the edge of your decadent bedroom.
“I must be going mad.” You’re muttering to yourself, feeling even more so as you do. Shaking your head to some semblance of clearance, you crouch down with a sigh to pick up the chipped shards-
Only to find that the ground was trembling.
What…the fuck? Urgently smoothing the mountains of your palm flat on the firm mats below, it felt like something was thundering. Rampaging.
Something was happening.
You should run, you should surrender.
But you stay rooted to where you are, feeling the tips of your ears tingle with a whirrrr of energy clashing against energy, a monstrous sort of crackling power in the air. Tummy tensing as the ancient protective jujutsu of the estate bends and bends and bends - generations of power that snaps!
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.
Right in time with three sharp, repeated raps from behind the paper-thin sliding doors to your chamber.
Impatient.
It certainly couldn’t be one of the elders, they’d no sooner left you here to brace the impact of Sukuna’s looming victory and die rather than keep you company. Perhaps one of Gojo’s students? Shoko?
The King of Curses himself?
Squinting at the yolky outline of shadows drawn by the setting sun, your heart soars at the shape of those familiar broad shoulders and unruly hair.
Ones you could never mistake.
“Sa…Satoru.” You’re breathing, voice strangled as if not even your own words believed you.
Your calves sting with the impact of your running before you even register it- Satoru. Satoru was behind this door. Satoru won.
Almost out of breath once you reach the entrance, it’s all you can do to startle out a happy chuckle as your finger knot on the lattice handle and draaaag it open– “Sato- oh.”
Except…the man behind the door wasn’t your husband at all.
At least, not a version of your husband that you knew.
Because the Gojo rampant at the door was slouching, heaving.
Loooong, rasping breaths that made the mahogany doorframe clutched underneath his tense white knuckles crack into the tiniest of splinters. Every second wheeze fills the air up with so many charged atoms of cursed energy until you could barely even move.
Skin-tight black compression shirt torn in a jagged scratch right down the middle, billowing white pants tattered and sagging until you could almost see a few curls of creamy white. Could see allll of his washboard abs.
It looked like he’d clawed through hell himself just to take you there with him.
As your mouth opens and gapes wordlessly, your husband takes - well, more like stumbles - a singular step towards you that makes the expensive mats underneath break into a crater.
You’re catching the way his meaty thighs tremble through the cracks of his trousers, a singular dewdropped bead of sweat trickling down the side of Gojo’s flushed temples - almost as if he’d…run the entire way here instead of his usual teleportation.
Breath bated, your eyes cross over the lines of his sculptured deltoids to look at the destroyed mess of the hallway leading up to your room. Only your door was left untouched.
So he did run.
“Oh- Satoru.” Your voice drops into a sweetened tone unknowingly, and that makes Gojo stiffen with a hoarse breath.
With every pretty sound falling from your mouth, the sweltering hot atmosphere sizzled so many temperate degrees higher, until your skin was humid with power and want and power.
Instantly fighting against the rigid air to close the distance, all you wanted to do was hold him. “Are you- are you okay- what happened-”
And then Gojo lurches- as if he’d just been struck with your presence and it had electrocuted him, until he’s raising his eyes up to meet yours and-
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
Never in your life had Gojo Satoru looked at you like that.
Heavy lids only half-open, the semi-crescents of his pupils so dilated that they shone Stygian black, tendrils of miniscule blue lightning shoot from the corners of his gaze as Gojo fights to keep his long lashes from fluttering shut.
He looked ravaged.
The very instant you’re thinking of inching yourself closer to wrap his bruised body in a long-overdue embrace, he’s flinching.
Like he’d read your very mind.
And maybe he did, because in mere nanoseconds, Gojo’s kissing you and kissing you until you’re tasting everything iron and him-
Fuck, you couldn’t even stickily part your lips from his plush, puckered ones to breathe without him letting off a pained grunt. He’s so engulfing. “My wife.”
You’re gasping at the pressurized layer of power that sticks to him like a second skin - and it fights, yearns until you’re being pressed flesh-to-bloodied flesh. Drinking in the scent of candy and something metallically sharp, “Satoru.”
A few calloused fingers tighten ‘round your tender throat so that Gojo could drink all those cute wailing whimpers of yours.
Crushing you to his toned front, you weren’t sure if your fingerpads were digging into his chiseled shoulders out of his magnetism or pure greed. Still reminding yourself to be careful of his injuries-
“You-” Words warbling like never before, the crowned edges of your digits skim his undercut. Struggling through loudly snogging crashes of his lips, “Wh-what happened? Can you stand? Does it hurt somewhere? Do you need me to-”
“My wife.”
Oh…
“My wife.” His parched throat slackens to suck on your pinkish tongue like his favorite candy, “My wife-” Ivory lashes trickle your cheeks, and suddenly his honed canines nip your wobbly lower lip. Tugging sensually, “My wife.”
He couldn’t get enough.
“T-Toooru–” Your maw slicks with a thick gloss of spittle, and Gojo immediately catches the dangling strands on the flat of his lecherous tongue to laaaap it up like he was a man who’d been dying of thirst for eons.
“Need you.”
And it was the way he said it - so low, strained. A guttural groan that sounded almost like a growl, spat right through Gojo’s clenched pearly whites.
Devotion and power overflowing so much that he simply had to have you. He had to.
Silky locks of ivory brush your sweat-simmered forehead, “My wife- you- need you.” He’s snarling against your tightly smeared lips, almost as if stringing together coherent sentences had wrenched out whatever was left of his control, too.
In only two flaps of your shocked lashes, Gojo’s trailing his hotly opened maw down your neck. Fangs dipping right near your throat to feel the way your pulse pounds. Power thrumming underneath his touch, air stifling– “Need you always.”
Your lips buzz at the sheer cursed energy flowing through him, vocal cords too smoky to produce a proper noise, “Need- Toru–”
But the strongest didn’t need you to struggle out your words right now.
He’s widening his blazing sapphire peripherals once your weakened legs squeeze almost unnoticeably together. Nostrils flaring slightly and-
Ah. There.
Gojo Satoru knows the exact moment that particularly gummy droplet of slick escapes from the crevice of your throbbing pussy - because he can smell it.
Oh, that heady, hypnotic aroma that has your husband collapsing onto his knees in front of you with a resounding CRASH!
So hard, so rough that you’re wincing at the way his very own limitless flickers and falters to make Gojo’s capped knees bruise against the floorboards. Ground now shattered underneath his inhumanly strength- “Fuck- Toru- you just came back from-”
But any and all shrilling words evaporate on your tastebuds, replaced with the tangy excitement of having him loll his head drunkenly between your jittery legs to sniiiiff–!
“Neeeed you-” He’s croaking out, oh-so-raw. Your spine works as a runway for your goosebumps as he’s letting his cherry-pink lips twitch up into a sleazy grin. “-my wife.”
Perhaps it’s your melty brain trying to make sense of things, perhaps it’s Gojo’s teleportation working in overdrive - because one split-second you’re slouching your weight on his sturdy figure to hold yourself standing, and the next you’re being splayed out on the cool tatami floors like such a slut.
Gasping, head swimming.
The moment your legs fall open with a slurping pop! already talking from your oversaturated pussylips, you huff. “Did- did you just teleport us onto the floor, Satoru?”
“Teleport?” He’s barely removing his glassy pupils from the adorably damp spot peeking from between your legs. Gojo’s eyes flicker with faint recognition as he airily looks around like he wasn’t even sure how he got here.
All pinning you to the mat with one massive palm clung onto your hips, shuffled downwards so that the scorched breezes of his breaths hover over your clothed cunt in muggy lil’ gusts.
It takes your squirming buck for Gojo to finally, finally realize his position and startles out a shocked chuckle, like he himself didn’t even realize whether he teleported.
“Are- are you okay, Toru–?” You’re breathing out, concern rippling the rational part of your brain.
Jostling back your satiny skirt to bare your slick-sheened inner thighs to the chill air, Gojo only halts his laughter to answer - airy, about five octaves higher than you were used to.
“Do I look okay, sweetheart?”
Fuck.
You didn’t doubt that he wasn’t.
You were fucked.
Because the very second Gojo tugs down your skirt, “Fuck- fuck.”
“Toru, do you need h-” And riiiips it straight off of your hips to take a good - good - long look at the sodden, see-through underwear flimsily bunched at your quivering pussy, his half-opened eyes quiver shut.
You can’t even complain about your skirt being limited edition because Gojo just looked so ruined. And you were addicted.
Icy brows furrowed, jaw ticking, you’re watching speechlessly once he’s taking another deeeeep inhale. Pecs constricting, the curvaceous edges of his smirk dapples with a slight geyser of drool at the sweet, sweet smell of your cunt.
“Fuuuck, my sweetheart- my wife.” The flesh of your inner thighs clam with a thin layer of perspiration at Gojo’s reverent whisper. Taking in yet another deep breath- “All mine.”
And there’s something so primal in the way the edges of his sharpened teeth come snagging down on the thin layer hiding your pussy. The very slimy tip of his tongue grazes that slight moistness of your panties and the man finds himself snickering.
Gnawing down on the fabric– you don’t know if he realizes, you don’t know if he even cares that he’s teasingly nibbling on one of your plump labia.
“Missed you- missed this- fuck.” He’s only making his mouth grow more waterlogged, his teeth toyin’ and grinding near your aching hot pussy– Gojo slurps up another taste of you and his hips come humping down on the firm ground. “Missed her.”
Before you know it, Gojo’s superhuman reflexes have hooked a slender finger underneath your panties and he’s tearing them. Biting them. Clean off.
“T-Toru!” You’re squealing, your dripping hole slopping out yet another splosh! of sap at the act. Your heat races as your husband lazily trawls that translucent skimp of fabric up, up, up over to give it another drunken gnaw–
Groaning, “Oh, my wife-” His darkly predatory gaze snatches back open at the cloying dredges of syrup that tack onto his tastebuds, wide. Wild. “My wife- my wife.”
There it is again, and you’re just about opening your mouth to ask about his sultry little mantra- before Gojo’s bullying out every syllable in the back of your throat with a sudden, firm push of his tongue - flopped out right where your folds were leaking the utmost.
“O-oh my ngh- god!” Your dewy lashes moisten because his probin’ muscle was just so big. And he was never this urgent before, this hurried.
Never this filthy.
Gojo only nuzzles your flinching thighs further to give you such a sinful view, gawking at the way his bubblegum-pink buds spread wiiide open to act like a lil’ road for all your ribbony wires of slick. Every puddling bead slipping from where his tongue was plunged inside you n’ down to the target of his throat, “O-oh.”
Oh?
And Gojo was stuttering, just one taste of your soaking wet pussy and he’s letting his high cheekbones burn a bright blossoming red. Hips bludgeoning forwards to press his aching, heavy bulge into the floor.
He was a man gone.
“So sweet. Wet- s-so wet.” He’s sucking in a few breaths before veering up a single hand to plant a rude spank right on your soaked lips.
And imagine the strongest’s raw, carnal delight when that only makes your saccharine cunt even wetter. So drenched that your globs of slick were gathering on the point of his chin and formulating a slick puddle.
Voice wavering, stuttering. Almost like he couldn’t even believe it even though the evidence was clinging and dripping from his very maw, “So…wet. Like a waterpark- dessert- oh…So wet- f-fuuuck s’she drooling f’me? F’me?”
“For you- o-only for you.” You’re whimpering as his hand comes slamming down again.
Slap after slap after slap, until you swear his fingertips were starting to buzz with power. Speckles of pearly sheen flying from the knobs of his fingers and straight into his parched mouth.
“Ohhh don’t say that- don’t you say that.” He’s warning, “S’gonna make me- make me…” Prolonging the crown of his tongue to take more of you and stretch and stretch inside your elastic cunt. “Oh- fuck, m’fucking you-” Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with a gasp– he’s tasting you. He’s really, really tasting you now. “-I’m h-haaaa…fucking you.”
“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, Satoru you’re being so…”
Insatiable? Depraved?
“Can’t stop-” Comes out his ragged gulps, wanting to coo at your cutely twisting expressions and yet unable to even bear the thought of breaking his lewd French kiss with your cunt. “Can’t stop, sweetheart- fuck!”
He really couldn’t. Swabbing ridges of his tastebuds just keeping on swirlin’ into the tenderest spots of your gummy walls, and Gojo’s tongue is so long that every thrusting push past your snug hole leaves you feeling so dizzy.
You’re sucking in a sharp inhale, “T-Toru-”
Faring worse off, he couldn’t even speak.
Instead of an actual answer, the only sign that shows he even heard is one of his visceral flinches, as if just the way you said his name was enough to drive him crazy.
The scratchy tip of his tongue scours in a welcoming heart right where your hole was and playfully back - no hesitation, no shyness.
“Puh-please, Satoru–” He was fucking into you now. A great big helping of saliva slobbers down the side of your mouth, your foggy pupils starting to circle at just the exact tempo of his dipping tongue.
The only thing you’re able to let off is the wetly glistening gush of another clingy wave of sap. Swashing Gojo’s swollen lips until they’re soaking wet, your fingers scrape their way through his sweat-matted strands. Babbling, “M-more.”
And there you said. There.
You knew the instant that those strained syllables ripped from your throat that it would not bode well for your poor pussy.
Because Gojo’s Herculean shoulder muscles tense, lengthy lashes flapping, and you wonder if he’d stopped fucking breathing.
Not even the slightest gust of air leaves him as he’s wafting his eyes to your teary ones in shock– “M-more?”
You can’t even tease your dear husband for the way his husky bass was cracking at the very ends, because simply repeating the words makes his cerulean irises spark with bolted lightning. Staring dead-on as he keeps muttering away to himself—
“More?”
You’re mewling as soon as his fat wad of spittle strikes your heated core, slimily slithering straight down your puffed-up lips.
Just the sight of your glistening entrance so vulgar that, without even a second thought, Gojo’s once more surging his lips against your other pair until his pointed chin. So hard that he’s slapping the base of your treacly pussy until his skin’s all delicate n’ raw.
The curved ends of his jaw slipping n’ glissading up and down while his tongue sliiiides in.
“More-” He’s half-giggling to himself, the straight line of his nosebridge crushing your perked clit and sending your spine sparking. “More more more more- my wife- hah!” You swear you feel the cute crater of his dimples press against the skin of your thighs. Drooling, he’s crooning– “My wife wants more.”
And it’s the last thing said before your eyes blotch pure white with a sheer rummaging stretch. Wider n’ wider - not only was Gojo snaggling your leaking hole open with his tongue, he was adding in his long fingers, too.
The nearly six-inch length of his middle finger tucking between your slick-stained folds with a thundering squeeeelch–!
“Want more- gonna get it-” You can make him uttering in a gravelly tone against your swollen lips, grunting. Repeatedly swervin’ his padded digits back n’ forth, “-gonna- gonna get it.”
“Toru- Toru oh my god- fuck, s’too good-” Your knees tremor weakly as they bend in the air, head tumbling backwards as your eyes roll to the dark depths of your skull.
“Raise.”
It’s all you hear before a scouring tendril of cursed energy curls around your neck and your head is being forced to tilt upwards and stare deeply into Gojo’s dimly-lit eyes. Ravenous.
You didn’t even think that he had the ability to do that, but with the way he was ruining your cunt from the very inside out you wouldn’t be surprised.
And you think this might be the dopiest you’ve seen Gojo’s pretty smile. Something that would be so completely endearing if it wasn’t for the way that his azure eyes were flickering with cursed energy. “N’ let me ruin you, my wife.”
It wasn’t a promise - he was already doing it.
Barreling the tippy-tops of his two slippery digits so far deeply into your g-spot that you’re drooling. A wave of spitballing drool flapping from your gluey lips, “Are you- Toru are you- using Six Eyes?”
Fuck, that’s what it was.
That had to be it - he’s treating the treasure trove of your sweet spots so meanly. Like a lil’ dartboard that he’s carving out the exact spheroid circumferences of his fingertips, again. And again. And again.
Until his manicured fingernails were leaving that lil’ bundle so overstimulated that even the merest, slightest graze had you weeping out in slicked drool.
You’re crying out by the time that Gojo’s tucking the edges of his tongue inside your gaping entrance with three girthy fingertips - sweat-sleek brows knitting as he pushes and pushes against the resistance.
Doubly filling you up, and it was such a stretch that it left your hip restless.
“M’n-not gonna hck! last, Satoru.” Your lips pucker into such a cute sob, the melody of it going straight to the plump, aching tip filling up his pants.
He’s rasping, mouth barely giving the time of day for anything other than making out with your creamy pussy. “Cum.” Urgent, rapid strokes of his fingers like he was dragging that stormy high from you. The faster his sloppy movements were becoming, the more crazed his eyes were becoming. “Cum.”
And even though you were too dumbstruck to notice it now, Gojo was so feral for your leaking pussy that loose pieces of furniture in the room had begun to clatter.
Torrents of cursed energy zipping down to his fingers and concentrating there, “All f’me.” Breaths hoarse with belated pants, he’s groaning when the bzzzz–! of power on your battered g-spot makes your back arch prettily.
Like a perfect bullet vibrator that was precisely and never-endingly whacking your favorite area, faster. Sloppier.
So, so filthy.
Gojo was already widening his eyes and letting his spit-adhesive lips crack into a wild smile by the time you’re trilling about your orgasm - because he knew. Oh, he knew.
His Six Eyes could see it coming from a mile away; the way your heart was racing in a pitter-patter that matches the flicks of his narrowed tongue. Every sopping slap! making you clench your scalding insides ‘round him instinctively until it was almost difficult for him to press back against the mushy recoil of your g-spot.
But the strongest always got what he wanted.
And what he wanted was you cumming right now, your nails clawing adorable crimson rainbows all down his shoulders, his neck. “T-Toru- cu-cumming- ngh! M’c-cumming, fuck fuck fuck–”
Gojo would throw his head back and moan if it didn’t mean moving his rovering lips away from your pretty pussy.
“No- c’mon c’mon c’mon- wanna taste. Need to taste-” He’s letting you ride your peaks of euphoria out on slobbering drags of your hips. Face crinkling, his free hand darting up to cushion your tempo with reverse cursed energy so you won’t get too tired n’ stop.
He wouldn’t have been able to handle it if you did.
Wouldn’t have been able to bare- “Again. Again-” Slapping down a hand on the slick-shined inners you’re crying out once the energy-capped crowns of his fingers inch dangerously towards your clit. “Taste- on my face. All over my face, alright?”
He didn’t just want you to cum - he wanted you to squirt.
“O-oh my god, Tooooru!” Your mouth clogs up with both spit and sultry whines, heels starting to dig into the dimples on Gojo’s sexily flexing back. “M’so sensitive, dunno if I can-”
“No.” He’s cutting you off, and you almost startle. A dull thud! emanating from where his v-line angrily hits the floor in a grindin’ push, another sparking spank punishes your sobbing slope. “No no no no- have to. Wanna taste- think m’gonna die without it.”
Practically begging on his knees right now. And if you thought that the vibrating sensation of his fingerpads were bad, then you surely weren’t ready for the way that Gojo’s lacquering his sizzling tastebuds over with a flimsy layer of energy.
“C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon–” His reverse cursed energy bolts mindlessly from the left hand attached possessively to your waist, and you’re tearing up all over again with a fresh batch of salty tears when that thrumming tongue of his flops over your driveling hole.
The textured vibrations just felt so good that it was making your mouth flap sappily open, you’re sure that the only reason you could even think right now was because of his reverse cursed energy.
Circlin’ your fleshy folds, where your plugged-up hole was being thrashed with all his pummeling fingers, then up, up, up to your twitchy clit.
Gojo’s nimble muscle was drawing circles- no, hearts. No, a cursive T-O-R-U ♡
He wasn’t even trying - didn’t even have to - to let buzzing bursts of power flicker at your cunt. So teasing on purposeful, those shockwaves were making your thighs twitch with bliss each n’ every time. Every part of him.
“What does that saaay?”
“Toru- Toru” Right before you throw your head back and get steamrolled by your high like never before, such a crashing, blissful wave. “I-I’m…”
You don’t even have to finish your soft gasping moan because your squelching pussy does so for you. In the loudest, rawest sluuuurp that Gojo laps up gratefully- a drink made especially for his dry throat.
Ears popping, skin all tingly - you can only slouch your legs further open and take it.
Stringy, wadded splashes of syrupy sap that escape out of you even if you tried to stop. “Gonna fuck-” He’s grunting, throatily. Ruminating growls locked away in his chest, he spits into your fluttery cunt. “-gonna fuck you- fuck you so good.”
You’re so wet that Gojo’s finding himself soaked-through all the way from the tips of those creamy white curls by the shell of his ear down to his chin. A round goblet of slick glues to the sharp line of his jaw and makes a slithering trailway doooown his bobbing throat.
“S’here-” Letting go of your hips, he’s pointing to the mouthfuls of you that fill up his sloppy maw. “Down, down–” The very tip of Gojo’s lecherous finger points a pathway doooown his pale, handsome neck, “-down. All inside. Finally got ta t-taste ya, sweetheart.”
You’re still blinking back the full vignette of your vision by the time that your husband’s pulling his dexterous digits out with a noisy squelch!
Letting the proud layer of juicy slick smear all over your pussylips once he’s giving your cute, quivering clit a lil’ piiiinch. “And m’s-still thirsty.” He’s grumbling, grinning. Watching as your mouth falls into an awe-struck ‘o’ when you feel his buzzing cursed energy flowing through him again.
“Toru- fuck fuck fuck–!” It takes every ounce of strength in your body to lift yourself up onto your elbows. “Want…” You wanted him - namely that aching hot bulge you could peek at if you angled your head just right.
And even pushing your trembling thighs together doesn’t do anything to falter Gojo, because he’s simply pushing himself deeper between your gooey legs and gasping. Not for air, not for a breath, but for another taste of you.
Poking down the mushed tip of his tongue until he was pressing on your buttony clit. Hard. He’s seriously happy to die a death suffocated between your pretty thighs, “But why–?”
Walls clenching needily, you shoot your hand to clutch the strongest’s angelic hair and pull–
“Fuh-fuck–!” Gojo’s dizzy head falls back, breaking off from your syrupy pussy with such a sinfully wet pop! Through your tears you see his right hand shake, quiver down between his trousers.
And it makes your mouth water greedily to watch the schwf! of tattered fabric motioning back n’ forth as he’s grabbing his rock-hard bulge and thrusting. Angrily. Furiously. “Look what- look what you did- what you- ngh!”
Before you know it, Gojo’s clawing his free hand somewhere in the air hovering above you - all that it takes for him to snap his jujutsu powers and help draaaaag you down like some glorified doll.
Charred breaths labored, his meaty knees clatter on either side of your body. So urgent that you wonder whether it doesn’t hurt him to scramble up your figure this way, alllll up until you’re finding your face straddled by a heaving Gojo Satoru.
“S’your fault.” He’s grouching out in a gruff tone, and you’re taking the moment to just fully admire him in all his sinful glory.
Skin-tight clothes still hanging off of him in tatters, back oh-so-arched, and his expression– oh, his expression almost made you regret pulling him away from your cunt.
With a rosy blush flooded all the way from the tips of his ears to the back of his perspiration-glossed neck, heady gaze practically shuttered, lips dripping wet with all your essence still. A few glittery spatters of it slobber down from his cheeks to hit your own face once Gojo lets his lips fall into a soft oh!
Wheezing, “S’your…” You can only gape as he’s tugging down the ivory hem of his pants just enough to let his swollen, heavy cock free. “-fault.”
He was throbbing and big, flinching from the very tip of his lollipop-red cockhead just as soon as he’s feeling the cold breeze of your bedroom. Gojo’s biceps flex sexily as he nudges the moist skin of his tender shaft against your left cheek and pumps.
Sloppy.
“Didn’t have to be s’fuckin’ sweet-” Gojo hisses through gleaming clenched teeth, your blinking expression too gorgeous. “Didn’t have to be- so- ohhhh– m’gonna marry you. M’gonna marry you m’gonna marry you.”
“Toruuu–” You’re cooing out, gazing as he’s biting back into a snarl. Drooling strawberry orifice sprinkling a wispy jetstream of white, vulgar. “-we’re already married, baby.”
Fuck- and then he’s cumming.
He’s cumming and cumming so much that Gojo’s overworked brain half-wonders when he might stop. The rounded curve of his ballsack squeezing with every elongated ribbon of seed that he’s letting out- more once he catches sight of the way it glissades in a sheeny polish down your features.
Steaming hot and aching, just as much as he was.
“Th-there’s so much, Toru-” You’re whining when the salted caramel flavor edges near your tongue, every fat goblet of sap positioned exactly to drool down your face. “-Toru?”
Gojo was on cloud nine, and you didn’t even know he was even listening to you.
Only letting out a dreamy sigh, the knobbly curve of his thumb comes brushing down that pooling slick mess he was making on you.
Giggling - giggling, “Whoops.” He’s prodding over those webs of seed past your poutily puckered maw, purposefully gliding his fingerpad alllll the way down your wobbly bottom lip. “-missed a spot.”
You’re ogling with an ajar mouth once he glistens it over like some sultry lipgloss, you just looked so beautiful like this that Gojo feels his heart race. He feels his breath hitch, his wide length throbbing-
“Oh.” He hiccups, still sensitive with the shivering wracks of his high. And Gojo’s gaze hastily flickers behind him - to his second favorite pair of lips, after your mouth, of course. “Missed a spot there, too.”
Whatever shred of practicality left in him promises he’ll make it up to you later, he’ll take it slow and make mind-numbing love to you later. Much, much later, but for now: you’re being pushed against the bouncy mattress of your bed.
You gasp, “A-again? Toru you-” Faltering weakly for just the slightest second when Gojo corners you on the bedcoils and rids of his shirt. All pale, chiseled muscles and power for daaaays. Fuck, he was so hot. “-do you even hck! realize you teleported us?”
The only answer he gives you is a savage grin, voice dipping into just deepest territory as he muses. “No.”
He didn’t. He really, really didn’t even register it when his powers were thrusting you into the bed and making the bedroom lights flicker once he all but tears off those damn overlarge pants.
And then he gets closer.
Cornering you, a soft pant of shock lets off from you at the faint scars and cuts decorating those familiar muscles of his toned front. “W-wait, Satoru, are you feeling-”
“What? This?” With the click of his fingers, most of those bloodied injuries fade into obscurity. Leaving only a few scars and the remnants of reverse cursed tingling in the air. “Now ruin me, my wife.”
“Fuck…”
“Can’t think.” Gojo’s rasping voice wafts over your lips, making sure to draw out a wet sluuuurp when he suckles on your white-topped maw. Tasting you, tasting himself. His eyes flare madly wide, “-don’t want a-anything but you…”
You’re squirming sluttily at the faint bolts of lightning that decorate his creamy skin, flickering down from his eyes- down to where his ravaging cock was hanging low between his thighs. Slapping a wad of drooling precum on your inner thighs.
Gojo was so big and hard that you could count every ba-dump–! his ruby crown was thumping against your poor bloated folds. Squelch after squelch, you got the feeling that he was repeatedly rubbing his chubby tip just to drive you mad.
“Don’t have- condoms.” And Gojo could merely lift himself off to grab those familiar foil packets in that bedside drawer - hell, he could even teleport himself there.
But doing so meant that he had to be away from you and this cutely drooling cunt of yours. And though you didn’t mind if he went in purely raw, Gojo had another idea in mind.
Whimpering, “Then give it-” Gojo’s breath catches when you buck your hips impatiently, “Need you, Sato- fuck!”
He was never one to disappoint, of course.
Your eyelashes flap tearily at the sudden snagging streeeeeetch being pressured between your glued pussylips. Gasping, struggling to take a look and-
“S’gonna work.”
“I-it’s not.”
“It will.”
“Won’t- mmpf–!”
Pushing and pushing to try and fit the limitless-capped ends of his length into your tight hole. “Gonna-” He’s poking the reddish tip of his tongue between his teeth in a way that sends shivers down your spine, “-gonna work. Trust me- hck! Trust me, sweetheart.”
If you thought you’d ever gotten used to the maddening girth of your husband before, then you sure weren’t ready for right now.
For when he’s coating his near-ten inches, thick inches with a layer of crackling limitless. Forcin’ your poor entrance even more full, the pointed corner of his head slips once more between your sandwiching lips and Gojo growls.
“Fuck- fuck!” In both your carnally muddled minds, you’re barely registering the way something in the bedroom shatters. Sounding halfway through tears, “Not even the tip- Gotta fit- s’gotta. I have to.”
You’re whining with every rutting push, “Wh-why the hell are you so big, Satoru–?”
“Shhh m’gonna make it fit- gonna hah- make it.” He’s urgently soothing you with a big hand on your forehead - not just to caress your forehead, no. Gojo’s clawing your sweaty crown and pushing you down onto where his bulky length was pulsating. Desperate.
And the smooch of his boiling hot length was so wiiide that your vision is shattering into something bleary.
Pupils rolling until your eyes were only pure white, you almost don’t catch the rippling forearm being planted right in the middle of your line of sight. “Bite.” Gojo grits out, tension ticking. “Bite.”
So you do - hard enough to draw blood, and that’s exactly the way he wanted it.
“Yeah- yeahhh jus’ like that.” He’s groaning underneath his breath once you’re gnawing, letting off the prettiest noises when Gojo keeps pulling his hips back and forth. Like some animal, he’s dolloping out a slimy topping of pre on top of your cunt and rutting– “Take it.” Somehow easing in his ridiculous length, “All of it, like my g-good wife now. All-”
And he meant it.
Slamming his toned hips so hard into yours that sparks - literal, powerful sparks - are sent flying from his body. Pants raspy, maw slackening, “Where is it?” Roaming his eyes rapidly down your body, your skin prickles with atoms stood on edge. “Where- fuck! Where am I…ah. H-here.”
“Here?”
“Here.” A trembling, vibrating finger of Gojo’s comes drifting absent-mindedly up from the start to your folds. And the deeper this fat, vein-covered cock was bludgeoning in - the further his digit was drawing. “Here- m’riiiight here, sweetheart.”
It’s only then that your saccharine brain thinks to understand that he was using his Six Eyes, targeting the sight where his swollen cock was probin’ around your sweet insides.
“Watch me- watch me get deeper.”
You’re watching with an unfastened jaw as Gojo precisely draws where his bulbous tip was smearing out your walls to their maximum. Subconscious, short jabs back and forth back and forth baaack and forth.
Just to fit inside.
“S-shoooo deeeep–”
“Not deep enough.”
Stupidly prattling with every knock of his size. Gojo was so damn big that you didn’t even need his outlining digit, your goopy innards were already bulging with his size. A bumpy cylindrical outline that only went deeper, deeper-
“-deeper.” Gojo rests his woozy forehead on top of yours, just as ruined as you. So close now that his chiseled abs gliiiide down your front, “F-feels good, huh? My cock so ngh- deep- my limitless. So, so…deep.”
And it’s at that very second that once your husband bottoms out, that he breaks.
SLAM!
His sanity, his palm collapsing down to splinter the headboard, and limitless. All at the same time.
Hours and hours later, you’ll both be told that there was a suspicious spike of cursed energy in this area during this exact time. One so strong that it alerted almost every sorcerer in the territory.
But right now you’re too focused on the way that Gojo’s mushy, furiously leaking tip was crashing head-first into your sponged cervix. And suddenly it’s not just the airy feeling of his limitless, it’s the feeling of you.
Warm and wet. So so wet.
It’s then that Gojo gnaws down on his rosy, trembling lower lip and stalls. It’s then that he’s scrunching his eyes to stop the outpour of power. It’s then that he gasps–
“Didn’t work.”
Letting out a high, wild bout of laughter that makes you wonder just how high the kill count would be.
Confused, “Wh-what?”
Gojo only removes his hand from the bedframe to reveal a scalding handprint exactly in the shape of his, a few shards of wood falling onto the floor.
“Didn’t…work.” His voice was hard, rough. And there was a jagged tone to them that you hadn’t ever heard before- “It didn’t- work- fuck fuck fuck- didn’t work. Didn’t work didn’t work.” All that he could even think to bellow out in moans every time that Gojo rocked his hips thoroughly. “And I…you…”
Running out of the fucking syllables, he’s letting go of your scalp to fully throw both of your legs over his shoulder and buck. So soft.
“S-soft-?” You’re making out through your pressured eardrums, clinging onto Gojo’s broad shoulders for dear life. You almost - almost - miss the way that his mouth drops, shit- he said that out loud?
Well, now that he started - Gojo couldn’t stop.
Spitting out nonsense between every jackhammer- “Y’feel s-so…soft.” He’s continuing on in an airy tone, gripping a good handful of either side of your hips. So strong that it barely take even a fraction of his strength to jostle you hip n’ down to meet every thrust, “So…sweet- fuck! Even sw-sweeter without a ngh- condom.”
So fucking looooong that every jackhammer from the tip of his geysering divot to his hefty hilt felt like it took ages. Your toes curled helplessly every time he was stirrin’ your insides right up to your cervix, crazed.
“M’really hitting her-” His breath fans your face in steamy gusts that humidify your skin, “-really, really can feel her.” Peking you once, twice, thrice. “Kissing you- kissing her-” A slam to your cervix, “-there, too.”
You’re letting off mumbled whines of something that sounds like “yes!” and “Toru!” as Gojo slows his craving pace down just a tad to splash out a stringy drawing of a heart right at the bottom of your pussy.
Long, thorough digging drills that bruise his exact circumference size, “N’ m’seeing her- seeing her take me so welllll, oh…deserves a lil’ treat.”
Too nervous to think about what he would consider a ‘treat’, you’re shoving your face into the clammy crook of Gojo’s neck and biting. Leaving him just as rawly red and stinging as his cock was, the action was enough to make him nibble his bottom lip.
Babbling, “Yeah- yeah, a t-treat. A treat for my good girl- my wife.” You’re feeling it before you register it, that stickily sweet buzzzz–! of cursed energy coating Gojo’s fingertips.
He unabashedly drags it all the way across your hardened nipples - giving just a lil’ pinch - down your tummy, that bulging outline he was fucking into you, down.
Until Gojo had his sparking fingerpads locked around your throbbing fat clit and refused to let go- “You like that? Yeahh fuh-fucking like that-” Hiccuping, every new roll of his hips plapping against yours made him twist your perked nub just the way you liked. “-like seeing me like this? Th-the strongest fucking you like this?”
“Yes-” You’re sobbing out, your hip gyrating lewdly upwards in tandem with his. And it makes both you and the ancient bedsprings sing in unison when Gojo reaches so deep, “-like it, like it- ngh! Love it.”
Oh.
Oh.
If you thought that Gojo had nothing left to lose at this point then you were wrong, because with a rummaging spank of skin-on-skin, he’s probin’ a kiss so deep into your g-spot that you can almost taste Gojo’s candied caramel flavor.
Swiveling his hips just right to maze his lustrously crowned head into that filthy, filthy target. Thumping veins bloated enough to circle your elastic walls and make you remember each lightning bolt pattern.
Pulse leaping through your mouth, your head bangs backwards into the plush pillows, “There- there, Toruu–!”
“I already know.” Fuck, did he know - and he almost wished you could see the way he could with his Six Eyes. Just how lecherously you glutinous walls were bending to gulp him up straight into your plush g-spot. Every whack thrashing dead-on into that bullseye, “There- there. M’right there- fucking you right there.”
He was pounding into you like he was crazed at this point, and with every white-hot star of pleasure bursting behind your eyes, you could feel yourself sinking further into the cushy bed.
“-the bed, huh?” If you were in any better state of mind, you’d have been wondering about the fact that your husband seemingly had the ability to read minds.
But even Gojo doesn’t seem to realize.
A simpering smile falling over his features as he hoists your boneless legs further up his shoulders - locking them with a simple curl of his cursed energy. Before bending down, down, down until you’re all folded in half like a lawnchair and helpless.
Completely at the mercy of his sloppy, spanking cadence, “S’what I k-kept thinking about- ngh- a-allll today.” At just the mere mention, Gojo’s throwing his head back with another wave of excess power.
“R-really?” You’re questioning cutely, and he’s forced to concentrate on a lil’ patch of limitless on top of his weepy crownhead to stop himself from fucking cumming right then, right there.
“Thought about you- ngh- your lips. Your smile.” That explained why he was so ravenous, biting back grunting whimpers at the throbbing clench of your melty walls - molding ‘round his barreling girth. “And your…pussy.”
“S-so filthy, Satoru.”
Your features crinkle with a tiny, blissful twitch - so faint that you almost don’t even register it.
But Gojo does.
Fuck- of course, he does. He’s slouching forwards until the drenched tufts of his stark white happy trail scratch your already-buzzing clit. Until his superhuman senses can distinctly make out every slurring mwah-! being pulled out from your soppy folds, nodding along as if in conversation.
“Yeah- mhmmm–” He’s tittering at your starstruck expression, kissing away the clumps of dumbfounded drool splattering from your lips. Gojo squeezes the bullet vibrators of his fingers harder ‘round your clit and lets his eyes glow once you squeal, “-knew it. You’re close, my sweetheart.”
“I-I am?”
“Mhmm—”
And his Six Eyes was never incorrect.
Within only a few more vulgar, touching strokes you could feel that familiar tightness at the bottom of your tummy. Gojo’s giving your cunt another good spank to keep your legs twitching, “C-close.”
“Yeah? Yeah?” Taking on that maddened tinge, “Gonna cum- gonna cum f’me.” He’s giggling into your open mouth, letting a few oodles of spit let slip. “Can tell- so close so lose that- ooooone—”
Your hips jiggle hysterically up into his feverish pace, chasing your high with every uncontrolled thrust. Every spark of power– “Two- two.”
“Twoooo–” He’s calling out after a confirming glance downwards with his Six Eyes, manhandling your restless body pliably. Spattered specks of sweat hit your chest when he’s aligning his tip for once last crash into your tenderest spots. One. last- “Thr- fuck–!”
Right on time. And it wasn’t just you crashing into your high, it was Gojo, too.
Every bedroom light shattering, loose furniture hovering copious inches.
Gojo was like a monster, his skin decorating with sparks of blue lightning after every long, aching bout of overstimulated euphoria that make the strongest’s famed eyes blur with big, fat goblets of tears.
Whimpering - whimpering - in muffled noises as he fucks you full with a roped, creamy sap. It knocks around your deepest insides and pushes up in fat wads against your cervix, that little puddle swashing around to and fro with every pump. “Milk me- yeah yeah milk me.”
He’s fucking and fucking you until his rock-hard cock rubs red n’ raw.
Your own high simply zapping tingles by now from the arched curls of your toes up to your sweltering head, Gojo slides his puffy veins just past your g-spot and your legs go weak.
“P-pleeeease–” You’re mumbling through streaky cries of your own, the feeling so filthy that you didn’t know whether you wanted more or to crawl away.
Before a splat! of something wet and viscid on your shoulder jolts you out of you reverie - and only then do you realize that Gojo fucking Satoru was drooling.
“Don’t you fucking run.” Before you know it, both Gojo’s handless cursed energy and his own right hand curl around your throat to draaaag you back into his ruthless hips.
His shivering thighs against yours, the stony ridge of his v-line grinding into your stinging ass cheeks just so. Gojo’s pounding you so full of his seed that you feel oh-so-sluggish, “But- but Tooooruuuu–” You could already feel every ounce of blood in his body rush to make his cock twitch, dangerously. Oh. “-a-again? More?”
It’s like the very word is enough to make him jolt. “More?”
“Will it even ngh- fit?” Your lower lip juts out into a pout, feeling the gluey mess of syrup sticking your thighs together. A few gumdrops of pearly cum already pouring out of your sheened hole and dripping right down onto his base.
“Well…” Gojo’s peripherals were so very hazy now, and they take their languid time falling to the cumflated bulge he’d jackhammered into you. Chuckling - pitched high, he’s plugging those escaping ribbons back into your milky pussy and licking off the excess. “-how many?”
“Wh-what?” You’re gasping as he leverages the hold at your throat to spit the mess right back onto your tongue.
“How many kids d’you want, hmmm-?” Gojo purrs right back, nuzzling the sweat-stuck side of your face. He’s whispering into your ear, “Because my Six Eyes tells me it h-hasn’t taken-” One thrust, and just about millions of angels and stars flashing behind your lids. “-yet.”
Reversed curse technique was just seeping out of Gojo, and for a second you wonder what time it was. What day- sore arms wrapping around his neck, you’re muttering your answer.
And he only chuckles– “B-because- limitless void, my wife.” And there’s a soft breeze of cracking energy washing over you - soft, loving, and so Gojo. Twinkling eyes drifting meaningfully to your humming cunt, “-m’gonna make you my ngh- cum…dump.”
He…did he just- your eyes widen, he did. Abusing that limitless void on your bawling pussy…oh, how it made you clench with need.
Power having him crazed.
The bedroom air prickles with a gush of energy so thick it makes your skin burn slightly, and makes Gojo throw his head back with a whine. A whine.
Eyes ablaze until only its faint bolts and the dusky sun were your sources of light right now - yet, little did you know that none of Tokyo had power, either. None of its wards. None of Japan.
The surge of power so ridiculously high that your comfy bed was sagging on one end, furniture unruly, the flowers of the estate’s gardens blooming.
He’s letting go of your skin with a faintly steaming handprint, breath catching at the mark- Gojo similarly guides his own zapping fingers to brand your own steaming initials on his v-line. Electric. Twitching.
“N’ who knows…” Giving you a probin’ dig of his swollen, ravaged cock, your husband grins. “-maybe I'll summon my haaaa- clones for this next round.”
A/N. Also I know most of y’all probably don’t celebrate but happy Sinhala and Tamil new year! Smooching all you lovelies <3
Plagiarism not authorized.
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THIS CLIP 🤭🤭😔
Kaomojis
ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹
୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶ
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
˙ᵕ˙
𓆩♡𓆪
꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱
𓁹‿𓁹
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
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(✿◠ᴗ◠)
꒰✿ˊᗜˋ ꒱ ‹3
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ᗜˬᗜ
(⸝⸝⸝╸▵╺⸝⸝⸝)
☆★✮⛧⋆｡°✩⛦࿓⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
^_< -★
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◌𓆩☽❀☾𓆪◌
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( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)
☆〜（ゝ。∂）
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I'M LOSING IT
Apparently Miles is a JJK fan (in the comics)
If you put these two in a room together I think the result would be adorable 🥺
PUSSY TALK! FT AOT MEN
STARRING - CONNIE, ONY, ARMIN, EREN
SYNOPSIS - just aot men, and times they wanna eat you
WARNINGS - very suggestive (duh), boys being downbad, cursing, gramar errors, reader is black and female.
CONNIE
peering over the edge of your phone screen to see a very tired looking connie, his shoulder sagging as he makes his way towards you slowly. you allow him to push your legs apart and slot himself between them, landing on your tummy and rubbing his face agains the material of your (his) shirt. naturally your hands come to scratch his head, which is freed from his usual beanie, smiling at the soft hum he lets out because of the action.
"hi papa." you say with a soft voice, continuing to scratch his head while you scroll through your tumblr feed. he shifts momentarily the pressure on your stomach gone as he gets up but before you can question him you stiffen, the feeling of lips pressed against your cunt has your phone almost landing in your face as you sit up on your elbow to look down at connie. He presses his lips against it once more before pulling away with an exagerated 'mwah' which has your body heating up, and your thighs closing as you look at him with wide eyes.
connie licks his lips, leaning towards you and caging you into his forearms, his nose brushes against yours as he leans in to peck your lips. "you so nasty." you whisper, scrunching up your nose at him playfully.
he gives you a panty-dropping smile, dimples showing and all. "she looked like she wanted a kiss though." rolling your eyes, your arms move to wrap around his neck pulling him towards you so that you can kiss him. moaning into the kiss connie leans back, lifting up your legs which makes you fall back with a squeak, he licks his lips again when his honey coloured eyes drifts down to your pussy and back to your eyes.
"m' so hungry, mama. lemme eat your pussy, please?"
ONY
you can feel his eyes on you as you talk to your homegirls, drilling into the side of your head and making you feel warm all over. yall only fucked once, and it's like this undeniable tension between the both you since then. shifting on your feet you turn your head to look at him, rubbing your glossed lips together because of how good he looked.
white dress shirt tucked into his slacks with a few of the top bottons opened, his gold chain flashing brightly and matching the grills on the bottom row of his teeth that looked so good with his jaw-dropping smile. he was so shameless, not even attempting to hide the fact that he was staring at you, not giving the person infront of him a glance as he talked to them, no, he would rather have his eyes on stuck on you.
clearing your throat you turned back towards your friends who all had raised eye-brows and a amused look on their face. "girl please do not tell me yall about to fuck at this wedding." one of them said, laughing loudly as you bit your lips with a smile and played with the wine glass in your hand. you shook your head as you brought the glass to your lips, "bye, it's not even like that."
the table suddenly went quiet, and everyone looked over your shoulder with shocked looks on their face they started giggling which caused your face to scrunch up in confusion. "what's funny?"
they shook their heads looking at each other as they sipped on their wine, one of them waving behind you with a smirk. "hey ony." your back straightened as you felt his warmth surround you his chest pressed against your back causing your homegirls to look at you with wide eyes and smiles, you tried to feign ignorance continuing to drink your wine with a blank face.
"hey, girls."you could hear the smile in his voice, and by the way your friends were reacting you knew he was. he leaned down so that his mouth was beside your ear his chain brushing against your bare back causing a shiver to run down your spine. his next words not helping your case either.
"tell your lil friends buh-bye so I can eat your pussy, and stop playing with me."
ARMIN
armin was fidgety. spacing out way too oftenwhen eren or anyone else was asking him questions. everyone was over your house for some party, and you decided to dress to impress. weain a cute little dress that fitted your figure perfectly, not to mention the colour compliemented your sun-kissed skin very well.
his eyes were constantly scanning over the room, looking for you watching the way your glossed plump lips widened as you laughed at something sasha said. feelings eyes on your, you looked over at your boyfriend smile widening when you see his gaze already on you.
you excuse yourself and walk over to him, sitting on his lap a warmth fluttering through you when you feeling his hands immediately find their way to your waist. a strand of blonde hair is twirled around your finger repeatedly as you look down at him, cheeks flushed with a pretty blush and ocean blue eyes glossed over, his pretty pink lips pushed out almost in a pout-like manner. "hi blonde."
he kisses his teeth at your nickname, squeezing your waist as he leans up to kiss your lips only for you to press a finger to his lips. shaking your head with a smug look on your face, armin's eyebrow raising as he looked at you. "nope. spent way too long putting this make-up on, your not about to ruin it."
it's cute, the way you think he needs permission to kiss you. the way you think he ould actually care to listen to your words.
armin leans back, pushing up his hips to the 'fix them' which pulls a gasp from your lips. his lips curl up, head tilting as he looks you up and down with a glint in his eyes. "so I can't eat your pussy?"
your eyes widen at his words, slapping his chest which causes him to snort, looking at you through his lashes with amusement. "why are you so vulgar?" you hiss out moving to get up off his lap only for him to hold you down, you rub your lips together staring at him, feeling your pussy pulse at the way he looks at you.
"m not being vulgar. one way or another im gonna eat that pretty pussy, even if it 'ruins' your make-up."
your make-up was ruined btw!
EREN
coming up behind you eren delivers a slap to yout ass, squeezing the flesh and snickering at the way you cuss him out under your breath. it becomes silent as he takes in your attire, your bottom attire to be specific, his hand linger on your ass while the other comes up to rub your waist.
"this new?" he pinches the material of your tights between his finger, eyes glued to your ass and how nice it looked in the material. you hum, not paying him much attention as you wash the plates.
"yeah, you like it? got it offa temu for - eren!" the water splashes as you jump, erens hand cupping your pussy pressing as his face holds a smug look.
"yeah, makes your pussy look fat. your ass too." his voice is raspy, he applies pressure unto your cunt with one of his finger, smirking at the moan you let out. a mouth is on your neck and you unintentionally lean back as eren fingers you through the material of your new tights, you'd be sure to cuss him out later for ruin it but for now you feel too good to say anything.
his chest vibrate as he hums, burrying his head in your shoulder. "you smell good." whimpering at his words, the pace of his finger sped up and your back arched into him pawing at his wrist as you felt yourself getting close.
eren suddenly removed his finger, spinning you around, teal eyes almost seeming dark as he looked down at you, his fingers squeeze at your waist as he swallows.
"lemme eat you out, pretty please?"
STUCK WITH YOU - GOJO SATORU
summary. Gojo Satoru—strongest, cockiest, and, according to him, the hottest man alive—bows to no one. Until you came along and suddenly, he’s on his knees.
word count. 10.6k (i..dont know)
content. mdni fem! reader, zombie apocalypse au, violence, blood, pet names, satoru is a certified tease, cute banter because we love that here, they're so down bad for each other, smut, oral (fem rec.), p in v, loss of virginity (reader), breeding, creampie, soft satoru <3
author's note. i miss my man
The sky had been burning when the world ended.
You were fifteen—just a kid with scraped knees and a heart too big for the horrors it was about to witness.
Sirens wailed through the streets, helicopters thundered above, and the sharp stench of smoke and decay clung to the air like death itself. One moment, your parents were urging you to run, voices trembling with fear. The next, everything shattered. A scream. Blood. The gurgled breath of something that wasn’t quite human anymore.
You had survived. Somehow. Alone.
But the cost of survival was everything.
-
The woods are silent, save for the crunch of your boots over frostbitten leaves. The moon hangs high above, pale and cold, casting everything in an unforgiving glow. You keep your knife gripped tight in one hand, the other cradling your growling stomach. It’s been three days since you last found anything remotely edible.
Every snap of a branch, every whisper of wind feels like a threat. Years alone have trained you to expect the worst.
Then you pause.
Smoke. Just a wisp of it in the air. You sniff again, slower this time. It's faint, but definitely there.
You move like a shadow, quiet and cautious, weaving through trees toward the scent. And then you see it:
A flickering campfire nestled in a hollow clearing, throwing gold and orange light onto the figures beside it. Two men. Asleep—at least, you hope they are. One is lying flat on the ground, the other propped against a log, limbs long and sprawled, a blindfold covering his eyes.
There’s food by the fire. Real food. Bread. Cans. Water.
You inch closer, heart hammering. It’s been years since you’ve seen other people. You don’t know if that makes this moment safer… or far more dangerous.
You creep into the circle of warmth, fingers itching toward the supplies. Just one thing. That’s all you need.
You barely breathe as you crouch beside the campfire, the heat brushing against your frozen skin like a long-forgotten comfort. Your fingers tremble as you reach for a loaf of bread—real bread—but just as your hand closes around it, your boot nudges something metallic.
CLANG.
The tin can hits the ground, and for a moment, silence swallows everything.
Then—movement.
You whip your head toward the two figures by the fire. One shoots upright in an instant, long-limbed and alarmingly fast. The other groans awake, slower, disoriented. You don’t even have time to run.
"Don't move," the taller one says—voice low, commanding. You meet his gaze and—holy hell.
Snow-white hair, cerulean eyes. He stands like someone who’s fought the world and won. His blindfold hangs around his neck, exposing everything. It's him—the one with the voice that makes your skin prickle and a face that doesn’t belong in this nightmare world.
"Well, well," he drawls, taking a step forward. "And here I thought we were the only pretty faces left."
You swallow, frozen. His companion grabs a weapon, steps forward too, more cautious.
"Who are you?" the second man demands.
The white-haired man’s eyes never leave yours. He smirks.
"She’s hungry. Look at her. Poor thing."
You clench your fists. You’ve survived too long to be pitied.
"Touch me and I swear to god—"
The man raises his hands, mockingly innocent.
"Easy, sweetheart. No one’s touching you… unless you want us to."
You scrunch up your face, disgusted and his grin widens just a little.
You lift your knife. “I don’t want trouble. I just need food.”
“I’d say knocking over our supplies in the middle of the night is kinda trouble,” the dark-haired one says. His hair is tied back, strands falling loose around his face, his grip on his weapon steady. “Who are you?”
You swallow thickly. It’s been so long since anyone’s asked you that. Your voice is hoarse. “Just someone trying to survive.”
The white-haired one takes a lazy step forward, hands raised in mock surrender.
“Chill, Suguru. She’s not here to kill us,” he says, and then turns back to you. “You got a name, mystery girl?”
You eye him warily. “…Why do you care?”
He grins. “Because mine’s Gojo Satoru. And this grumpy one is Suguru.”
Suguru rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell her our names, dumbass.”
But Gojo—Satoru, apparently—just shrugs, looking far too amused for someone who just woke up to a stranger trying to rob him.
Your fingers tighten on your knife. But something about him… those eyes… that voice…
“You really gonna stab the guy who might be your best chance at staying alive?” he asks, cocking his head. “Come sit. Eat. Or run. Up to you.”
Your stomach growls loudly.
Satoru grins wider. “That’s what I thought.”
You slowly lower your knife, but don’t put it away—not yet. Your eyes stay locked on them as you inch closer to the fire. The warmth should be a comfort, but your muscles are still taut, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
Satoru sprawls back onto a log like he’s done this a hundred times. He’s still smiling—lazy, smug, like he’s enjoying this little show. Suguru doesn’t relax. He stays seated, but his eyes follow your every move, knife still held tight in his hand.
You kneel beside the fire, close enough to reach the food, far enough to lunge away if you need to. There’s a dented pot with some kind of stew, still warm, and a few pieces of bread wrapped in cloth.
“Help yourself,” Satoru says, waving a hand like he’s offering a royal feast. “We even warmed it up for you.”
You shoot him a glare but reach out cautiously, taking just a little. You sniff the stew first. Watch them.
“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned,” Suguru says dryly.
“That’s what someone who poisoned it would say,” you mutter, tearing off a bite of bread.
Satoru snorts. “She’s got a mouth on her. I like her.”
You ignore that. Instead, you eat slowly, eyes flicking between them. They don’t move. Suguru keeps watch. Satoru lounges like this is the most interesting thing that’s happened all week.
“How long have you two been out here?” you ask finally.
“Long enough,” Suguru says, tone clipped.
"Too long," Satoru says, tossing a pebble into the fire like this is just another lazy night for him. "We move around, but we've got a base. Old prison, about twenty miles from here. You?"
You don’t answer right away.
“Alone,” you say after a beat. “I’ve been alone.”
The fire crackles between you.
Suguru’s gaze softens—just for a second. But Satoru’s smile stays.
“Well,” he says, stretching out his long legs, “you’re not alone anymore.”
You narrow your eyes. “I’m not staying.”
“Didn’t say you had to.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But something tells me you might not leave either.”
He’s not threatening. He’s just… certain.
You’re crouched by the fire, still tense, still not entirely trusting, when Satoru leans back on his hands, head tilted.
“You should come with us,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You’ll be safer.”
Your eyes flick to Suguru—he doesn’t hide the way his jaw clenches.
“She could be a liability,” Suguru mutters. “You don’t know her.”
“No,” Satoru agrees, grinning at you. “But I like her.”
Suguru sighs, deep and disapproving, but you see it—that soft flicker in his eyes that means he’s already given in.
Satoru turns back to you. “We’re heading out at first light. If you’re in, pack whatever you’ve got.”
You nod, hesitant. But, maybe… maybe this is the start of something.
-
A gentle nudge to your shoulder. Then a voice, light and annoyingly cheerful.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. Big day today.”
You blink awake to Satoru crouching beside you, white hair a wild halo against the rising sun. He grins.
“You snore, by the way.”
“I do not.”
“You do. It was cute.”
You groan, dragging a hand over your face. “Remind me why I agreed to come with you again?”
“Because I’m charming,” he beams. “Now come on. We've got a long way to go—and Suguru’s already in a mood.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe he wouldn’t be if you stopped talking.”
“Ohhh, savage!” he clutches his chest, stumbling back like you just stabbed him. “You wound me, stranger.”
You roll your eyes and sling your bag over your shoulder. “Not a stranger anymore, remember? You practically adopted me last night.”
Satoru grins, falling into step beside you. “True. You’re my problem now.”
“Joy,” you mutter, but your lips twitch despite yourself.
Suguru’s already waiting up ahead, arms crossed, brow arched like he’s already tired of this nonsense. “You two done flirting or should I keep walking?”
You open your mouth to protest, but Satoru gets there first.
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Suguru.”
“I will leave you in the woods,” Suguru replies flatly.
“You’d miss me in an hour.”
“You wish.”
You stifle a laugh and glance between the two. “Are you always like this?”
Satoru flashes you a grin. “Buckle up, sweetheart. You haven’t seen anything yet.”
-
The trek through the forest had been relatively quiet—birds rustled above, trees whispering overhead, and Satoru talking your ear off. But midway through the journey, something shifts.
Suguru’s head tilts first, eyes narrowing at the faint crunch in the distance. Not a squirrel. Not a rabbit.
You hear it next.
Low. Guttural.
A hiss.
Then another.
They come from the trees. Slow at first—one stumbles into view, then two, then more. Rotting limbs. Glazed-over eyes. That sickening gurgle of hunger.
“Aw, shit,” Satoru grins like it’s a party. “Looks like we’ve got company.”
Suguru already has his blade drawn, calm as ever. “Don’t play around, Satoru.”
“No promises.” He rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck with a sharp tilt. “Time to impress the new girl.”
The first zombie lunges—and Satoru moves. A blur of motion, too fast to follow. The undead’s head twists unnaturally before it even hits the ground.
Suguru moves more fluidly—clean, precise slashes. No theatrics. Just deadly efficiency. His blade slices through two more, not even a drop of blood on him.
But they just keep coming.
Your heart pounds in your ears. Adrenaline surges. You’d been careful to avoid confrontation all these years, but this is different. You're not alone anymore. And you won’t be dead weight.
You draw your blade—sharpened scrap metal turned makeshift machete—and steady your breath.
One charges. You duck, spin, and drive the blade clean through its skull. Another reaches for you. You kick it back hard, burying your weapon in its chest before pulling it free with a grunt.
Satoru whistles low. “Well damn.”
“Focus,” Suguru mutters, cutting another down.
You move together now, three separate forces of destruction.
Satoru’s grinning like a madman, whirling and laughing with every kill. “You seeing this? She’s got bite!”
Suguru flicks blood off his blade. “You could take a lesson from her.”
Zombies litter the ground within minutes. The forest falls silent again—except for your panting breaths.
Satoru walks over, brushing blood off his cheek. “Well, that was fun. You good?”
You nod, chest still heaving. “Peachy.”
“Okay, badass,” he says with a grin, then nudges your shoulder playfully. “I take it back. You’re not just some lost little stray. You’ve got some claws.”
Suguru simply gives you a once-over, silent approval in his gaze.
You sheath your blade. “Told you I could handle myself.”
Satoru grins wider. “Yeah, and it was hot.”
-
The journey's been long, your legs aching from the endless trek, your guard never once lowered—not even with Satoru’s ridiculous jokes or Suguru’s unnervingly sharp eyes on you.
But when the trees begin to thin and the rusted silhouette of a massive abandoned prison looms ahead—walls towering, fences lined with jagged barbed wire, and lookout towers standing tall like watchful sentinels—you feel something you haven't in years:
Hope.
Gojo stretches lazily, like the walk didn’t faze him at all. "Home sweet hellhole," he grins. "Bet you weren’t expecting this kind of palace."
Suguru doesn’t say much, just gestures for you to follow. The guards on the watchtower whistle low when they see the trio approaching, and the gates creak open. Inside, the prison yard is alive—people bustling, fires burning in steel barrels, children laughing (actual children), and survivors moving with purpose.
You're stunned. You didn’t think this kind of order still existed.
A kid runs up to Gojo. “Satoru! You’re back!”
“Obviously,” he winks, tossing his jacket at the kid. “Miss me?”
You stare, wide-eyed.
“You’re like… respected here?”
“Terrifying, isn’t it?” Gojo deadpans. “Stick with me, newbie. I’ll show you the ropes. Maybe even let you survive.”
Suguru glances back, quiet for a moment. “Don’t get too comfortable. It’s safe, but it’s not paradise.”
Gojo leans closer to you as you're led through the gates.
“Don’t worry. If anything tries to eat you—aside from me—I’ll kill it.”
Your face burns and he just smirks like he’s got you all figured out.
“Aww, don’t get all shy, now. Where’d all that bite from earlier go?” he teases, voice low and entirely too smug.
You shove him with a scowl, cheeks still flaming. “Shut up, lecher.”
He stumbles back with a dramatic gasp, hand clutching his chest. “Lecher? Ouch. You wound me, sweetheart.”
Suguru sighs ahead of you. “Ignore him. He gets like this when he’s not punched often enough.”
Gojo just throws an arm around your shoulders, unbothered and still grinning. “Admit it, you missed human interaction.”
You glare up at him. “I missed silence.”
“Too bad,” he chirps, “you’re stuck with me now.”
You follow Gojo through the looming gates of the old prison turned fortress, the creak of rusted metal echoing off cold concrete walls. The place is… intimidating, but secure. High fences, makeshift watchtowers, guards with weapons patrolling like hawks. Survivors glance your way—curious, cautious—but no one approaches just yet.
“Well,” Gojo grins, throwing his arms out dramatically, “welcome to paradise, sweetheart.”
You shoot him a glare, but before you can answer, a voice calls out.
“Don’t call new recruits that, Gojo.”
A tall woman leans against the infirmary doorway, cigarette dangling between her fingers, lab coat stained with faded blood. She looks you up and down, then flicks ash to the ground with a sigh.
“Ieiri Shoko. I’m the doctor over here,” she says. “You look like hell.”
“…Thanks?”
“She means ‘you’ll fit right in,’” Gojo says brightly, nudging your shoulder. “She’s got a warm heart under all that… nicotine.”
Before you can respond, another figure approaches—sharp, calculating, blond hair swept neatly back and a stern face that reads no nonsense allowed.
“Nanami Kento,” he introduces himself. “I hope you know how to follow rules.”
You stiffen slightly. “Depends on the rules.”
Gojo chuckles. “Play nice, Nanamin. She’s new.”
“And she’ll stay alive longer if she learns structure.”
You barely have time to absorb that before someone barrels into the conversation like a human golden retriever.
“Gojo-sensei! You’re back!”
A pink-haired young man skids to a stop beside you, eyes wide with excitement. “Whoa—new person?! Hi! I’m Itadori Yuji!”
You blink, overwhelmed by the sudden burst of energy.
“Yuji,” Gojo sighs fondly. “Tone it down a little, yeah? She’s been through it.”
Yuji’s smile softens. “Right, sorry. Still—welcome. You hungry? We’ve got canned peaches! They’re not that bad if you hold your breath.”
A scoff cuts through the chaos.
“That’s how you welcome someone? ‘Peaches if you hold your breath’?”
You turn to see a girl with sharp eyes, short auburn hair, and a confident stance stroll up like she owns the place.
“Kugisaki Nobara,” she says, hand on her hip. “Don’t let the dumb smiles fool you—Yuji’s annoying, but he’s not dangerous. Usually.”
Yuji pouts. “Rude.”
And last, from the shadows near the barracks, a low voice.
“Don’t overwhelm her.”
A tall boy steps forward, dark hair, brooding expression. Cold eyes meet yours briefly before shifting away like he’s already bored of this interaction.
“Fushiguro Megumi.”
You blink. “Nice to meet you… all.”
“You’ll get used to the chaos,” Nobara says. “Eventually.”
Gojo’s grin widens, like a proud dad watching his weird little family.
“See? Told you you’d like it here.”
You’re not sure yet. But for the first time in years, you’re not alone.
-
The base is a repurposed prison, all concrete walls and rusted bars, but the way Gojo walks its halls, it might as well be a palace.
“Welcome to paradise,” he grins, pushing open a barred door that creaks like it’s complaining. “Don’t let the charming décor fool you. The rats love it here.”
You roll your eyes but follow him in. He gestures with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “Your very own cell—er, suite.”
The room is small, but clean. A bed shoved into one corner, a patched-up mattress, and even a chipped mirror on the wall. You nod, impressed despite yourself.
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I gave you the one with a window. You can thank me later.”
You smirk and step back out into the hallway. “Trying to impress me, Gojo?”
“Oh, absolutely. I’m a peacock in the apocalypse, baby.”
You laugh under your breath and follow him down a narrow hall. There’s a dip in the concrete, a crack in the floor you don’t notice until your boot catches—your heart jumps as you pitch forward, but Gojo’s arms are immediately around you.
Strong. Steady. Warm.
“Careful now,” he murmurs, voice all silk and smugness. “You fell for me already?”
You’re pressed against his chest, your breath caught in your throat, face heating up. He doesn’t move right away—his hands settle on your waist, casual and intimate in a way that makes your stomach flip.
You shove him off with a flustered glare. “Shut up, lecher.”
He grins, wide and infuriating. “That’s more like it.”
The rest of the tour is quieter. You pass rooms where others sleep, the mess hall, the infirmary where Shoko’s set up shop. You even glimpse Yuji hauling supplies with Nobara snapping at him in the distance.
But then Gojo stops in front of a heavy iron door—no windows, no markings. His face changes. The joking fades.
“Whatever you do,” he says, voice low, “don’t go into the commissary. Not alone. Not ever.”
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness.
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His blue eyes sharpen beneath his snowy lashes.
“Because even monsters like us keep our secrets somewhere,” he says softly. “And some doors are locked for a reason.”
You stare at him, heart knocking against your ribs.
Gojo Satoru, unshakable, untouchable… looking haunted?
Your skin prickles.
But he flashes you that lazy grin again, like nothing happened. “Now come on. You haven’t seen the courtyard. Yuji likes to wrestle people out there—it’s horrible. You’ll love it.”
And just like that, the moment passes… but the warning stays.
-
The rooftop’s quiet late at night.
The chaos of the base fades into a hush, just the distant hum of wind brushing over cracked cement and rusted fences. You lie back against the cool surface, arms behind your head, eyes fixed on the sky above. For once, it’s clear. A spatter of stars gleam like glass shards across a velvet sky.
You let yourself breathe.
No infected. No screaming. No fear.
Just the stars.
Footsteps approach—light, familiar, cocky.
“I knew you were a stargazer,” Gojo says, easing himself down beside you with a dramatic sigh. “You’ve got that dreamy, melancholic look. So poetic.”
You don’t look at him. “You’ve got that annoying, uninvited energy. So parasitic.”
He barks out a laugh. “Ow. You wound me, sweetheart.”
A beat passes. Then another.
You can feel him watching you, but for once, he doesn’t speak.
And somehow, that’s more unsettling.
“…You alright?” you ask, finally glancing his way.
He’s leaning back on his elbows, white hair messy from the wind, blue eyes locked on the stars—but they’re distant. Quiet. A far cry from their usual teasing glint.
“I’m heading out tomorrow,” he says casually. “Scouting mission. Few days tops.”
You blink. “Oh.”
Something flickers in your chest. It shouldn’t. Not like this.
“Oh,” you repeat, softer. “Right.”
A part of you wants to ask why he’s going. Another part wants to pretend it doesn’t matter. You settle for neither, chewing your lip, trying to ignore the weight settling in your gut.
Satoru glances at you then, his smirk lazy but his voice just a touch softer.
“Try not to miss me, yeah?”
You scoff. “I’ll throw a party the second you leave.”
“That’s what they all say,” he murmurs, leaning just a little closer. “Then they realize how boring life is without me.”
His smile is all mischief—but behind it, there’s something warmer. Something real.
And for once… you don’t fire back. You just look at him.
Maybe you’ll miss him a little. Just a little.
-
You don’t expect his absence to linger. But it does.
You feel it in the small silences—the way the mess hall feels quieter without his dumb jokes echoing through it, how sparring sessions feel colder without him barging in with some smug, offhanded comment about your form.
At night, you find yourself back on the rooftop. The stars are still there, but they don’t sparkle like they used to. It’s stupid, you tell yourself, because what kind of person starts depending on a man like that?
He’s loud. He’s infuriating. He teases you relentlessly.
But… he saw you. When you thought no one ever would again.
Shoko notices the way you’ve been spacing out more. She doesn’t say anything until the third night.
“You okay?”
You nod. Too quickly. “Fine.”
She squints at you. “You’re not fine. You’re moping.”
“I’m not moping.”
She clicks her tongue. “Acting like someone’s girlfriend.”
You nearly knock your cup over. “I’m not—!”
But you don’t finish that sentence. Because the words feel too close to something you’ve been avoiding.
You try to bury it—tell yourself it’s just concern. You’re just… grateful. It’s not like that. You don’t miss his stupid smirk or the way he always stands too close just to fluster you. You don’t care about how his hair always looks so damn soft, or how his voice drops a little when he’s serious with you.
You don’t.
You don’t.
Then the whispers start.
“No signal from the scouting team.”
“They were supposed to be back by now.”
A cold chill snakes down your spine.
You start going to the gate more. Just to check. You pretend it’s coincidence.
It’s not.
You catch yourself gripping the straps of your bag harder than usual. You’ve never hated waiting so much in your life.
Until one evening—
The gates finally creak open.
Your breath catches in your throat as the guards call out a name. Several figures walk through the archway, dust and blood clinging to their clothes.
And there he is.
White hair, blue eyes. One sleeve ripped off, a gash on his collarbone, dried blood staining his neck—but he’s alive.
“Satoru,” you whisper, already walking forward.
His eyes find yours instantly. That grin pulls at his lips like it never left.
“Aww, did you miss me?”
You don’t answer. You just hit his shoulder. “Idiot.”
But then your hands linger, and before you can stop yourself, you’re pulling him into a tight hug.
He stiffens, just for a second. Then his arms slide around you, strong and warm.
“Try not to cry too hard,” he mutters, voice light—but there’s something tight beneath it.
“I hate you,” you mumble into his shirt.
“Sure you do,” he chuckles, and when you pull back, his smile softens.
You don’t know what this feeling is. Or maybe you do. You just don’t want to name it yet.
But you know this: You’re glad he came back.
And for now, that’s enough.
-
You wander the halls of the prison alone, the hum of fluorescent lights above your head flickering inconsistently. Satoru had taken the kids out back for training, and with nothing to do and no one to bother you, you figured you’d finally explore the rest of the base.
The place was massive—too massive. Each cell block looked like the next, corridors looping endlessly into each other until your curiosity outweighs your sense of direction. One door, rusted and slightly ajar, catches your eye.
You should’ve turned around.
You push it open.
Inside is dark, dusty. Shelves line the walls, broken crates and old rations tossed everywhere. You wander deeper, hesitant but unaware. That is…until it hits.
The smell.
Rotting flesh, stagnant air, the thick, unmistakable stench of death.
And then—movement.
Shuffling. A low groan. Shadows twitch. A hand smacks against a shelf and knocks it over with a crash.
They're here.
Your eyes snap wide and panic sets in instantly. There are so many.
You run.
You shove a metal shelf in their path, throw an old stool, anything you can get your hands on to slow them down. Your breaths are shallow, desperate. But just as you near the exit—
Your ankle gives out.
A sick snap, searing pain, and you crash to the floor with a cry. You scramble backward, pressing yourself against the wall, using your good leg to kick anything that comes close.
This is it. This is it.
You squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding.
Gunshots.
The sound like thunder crashing right next to your ear.
You blink up, barely processing the white blur tearing through the undead like paper.
“I told you not to go in here!” he shouts, voice slicing through the chaos.
“Satoru—!”
The zombies turn just in time for Satoru to drive his fist into the nearest one’s chest, cracking bone and sending it flying back into the others like bowling pins.
“Seriously?” he growls, stepping in front of you, his broad back shielding your crumpled form. “I leave you alone for five minutes.”
One lunges from the side. Gojo ducks effortlessly, grabs it by the throat, and slams it into the ground so hard its skull splits open on impact. Another claws at his shoulder, but he just grabs its wrist, twists, and kicks out its knee in one brutal motion. It collapses, and he doesn’t even look as he drives a sharp piece of wood through its head.
And then—you're in his arms. Just like that.
Lifted effortlessly, pressed against his chest as he strides out of the hellhole.
You cling to him, trembling.
“I didn’t know it was the commissary,” you whisper between sobs. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know—I just—God, I’m so sorry, Gojo, I—”
His voice is low, firm, but gentle. “Hey. Breathe. I’ve got you.”
You look up at him, lip quivering. “I—I made you worry…”
“Yeah, you did,” he says with a wry little smirk, but his eyes are too soft, too relieved to match it. “Don’t ever do that again, got it?”
You nod.
“Good,” he murmurs, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face. “Because if I lost you... I’d have to kill the rest of the world just for pissing me off.”
Your breath hitches.
You stare up at him, heart pounding, face flushed from more than just the sprint for your life.
“W-What kind of psycho logic is that?” you mutter, trying to deflect, your voice barely steady.
Satoru smirks down at you, still holding you effortlessly in his arms like you weigh nothing. “C’mon, don’t act so surprised. I’m dramatic, haven’t you noticed?”
“You’re insane,” you whisper, trying not to combust under his gaze.
“And you’re blushing,” he points out smugly, nose nearly brushing yours. “Kinda cute, actually.”
You twist in his hold, hiding your face against his shoulder. “Shut up,” you mumble, voice muffled.
He laughs softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Can’t. Teasing you is the only thing keeping me sane these days.”
You can feel the tension slipping away, replaced by something heavier, warmer. He lowers you gently onto a nearby bench just outside the danger zone, kneeling before you like it’s second nature, hands skimming your calves as he examines your ankle again.
When he looks up this time, his expression is different. Less playful. More raw.
“I meant it, you know,” he says quietly. “You scared the hell out of me in there.”
You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” he cuts in, hand brushing yours. “But next time, brat, wait for me. No solo adventures.”
Your lips twitch. “You’re calling me a brat now?”
“Borrowing the title. Think I earned it after saving your ass.”
You huff a laugh, cheeks still warm. “…Thanks.”
His grin softens. “Anytime.”
And just like that, you both sit there—his fingers still wrapped gently around your hand, his thumb rubbing absent circles over your knuckles—as the adrenaline fades and something else takes its place. Something quieter. Heavier. Charged.
-
Satoru insists on carrying you the whole way to the infirmary, ignoring your every protest.
“This is unnecessary,” you mutter, burying your face in his shoulder to avoid every curious glance.
“You twisted your ankle and almost got mauled. Humor me,” he says, smug but gentle, like the two can coexist in him with ease.
He kicks open the infirmary door with his foot.
“Delivery for one idiot who wandered into a no-go zone,” he calls out casually.
Shoko looks up from her desk, raising a brow at the sight of you both. “Well, well. If it isn’t the base’s golden boy and his damsel in distress.”
“I wasn’t distressed,” you blurt out instantly, wiggling in Gojo’s hold.
“Oh?” she hums, amused. “You sure? Because I could’ve sworn I heard ‘Gojo! Help!’ from all the way down the hall.”
You splutter. “That’s not— I mean—”
“Loudly,” she adds with a pointed smirk.
Satoru just laughs and sets you down on one of the cots, his hand lingering a little longer than necessary on your back before stepping aside.
“She’s fine. Just the ankle,” he says. “But maybe check if she sprained anything else. She fell pretty hard.”
Shoko moves closer, completely ignoring the medical part for now, because she’s too focused on watching the both of you squirm.
“Ohhh,” she teases, eyes sparkling. “Look at the two of you. Cute. Almost like a couple.”
You and Satoru freeze at the exact same time.
“Nope!”
“Not a couple!”
“Definitely not!”
You shoot each other a panicked glance and then immediately look away, flustered messes in stereo.
Shoko snorts. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
You glare. “Can we just focus on my ankle now?”
“Fine, fine,” she drawls, clearly enjoying herself. “Just sayin’. Wouldn’t be the worst match. You get saved, he gets to play hero. Very fairytale.”
“I hate all of this,” you mutter under your breath, while Satoru just smiles to himself, unbothered but definitely pleased.
When Shoko starts wrapping your ankle, he leans against the wall with his arms crossed, watching.
And you swear you see it—that tiny, knowing glint in his eyes.
Like he wants her to say it again.
Because maybe, just maybe… he doesn’t mind the idea.
-
It’s later that night when there’s a knock at your door. You’ve barely had time to settle in, still awkwardly hobbling around on one foot with your bandaged ankle.
“Who is it?” you call.
“It’s your favorite,” comes the unmistakable voice from the other side.
You roll your eyes but can’t stop the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Didn’t know Nanami suddenly got chatty.”
A muffled chuckle. “Ha. Hilarious. Open up.”
You limp to the door and unlock it. Satoru is standing there, a little disheveled, hands full.
“Brought you dinner,” he says casually, holding out a tray with two mismatched bowls, steam still curling from the soup. “Figured you might be tired of Shoko’s painkillers and snark.”
You blink, caught off guard. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he says dramatically, stepping in without being invited. “That’s what makes me so noble.”
You laugh despite yourself, and he grins like that was the goal all along. He sets the tray down on your little desk, then gestures toward your bed.
“Come on, sit. Can’t have you falling over again. One near-death experience per day is my limit.”
You sit, trying not to look too charmed when he settles next to you—close, but not too close—just enough for your knees to brush.
“I still feel terrible about earlier,” you say after a moment, poking at the edge of your bowl. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“You didn’t worry me,” he says too quickly, too nonchalantly.
You glance up. “Liar.”
He sighs and leans back on his hands, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“Fine. Maybe I panicked a little. Sue me.”
A silence lingers, not uncomfortable. Just… warm.
Then, softer: “Don’t do that again, okay?”
You look at him, really look at him—the shadows under his eyes, the slight dip in his brow, the way his voice softens when it’s just you and him.
And something in your chest stirs. Something that’s been creeping in, slow and steady, ever since he offered you food by a fire that first night.
You nod. “I won’t.”
He glances over, catches your gaze—and doesn’t look away this time.
There’s something unspoken passing between you. Familiar. Intense. Safe.
“You’re really something, y’know that?” he murmurs.
You raise a brow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
He smirks. “Depends. You gonna fall harder for me if it is?”
You flush instantly. “Satoru—”
He laughs and nudges your bowl toward you. “Eat before it gets cold, princess.”
You grumble under your breath but dig in.
And Satoru?
He watches you with that same lopsided grin, heart doing something stupid in his chest.
Because yeah—maybe you fell.
But maybe he’s been falling, too.
-
It’s past midnight when you stir.
The pain in your ankle has dulled to a throb, but it isn’t what wakes you. It’s… something else. A presence. Warm. Close.
You blink against the low glow of the hallway light seeping under your door, and when your eyes adjust—
You see him.
Satoru.
Slouched in the chair by your bed, long legs awkwardly folded, head tipped to the side, snowy hair falling across his face in soft, messy tufts. His mouth is slightly parted, breathing slow and even. His arms are crossed, like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep there.
Like he was just keeping watch.
Just in case.
Your heart does a little flip.
You shift quietly, trying not to make a sound. But even with all your care, the mattress creaks—barely. His eyes snap open immediately, hand twitching toward a weapon that isn’t there. Pure instinct.
Then he sees you. And relaxes.
“Oh,” he breathes, voice gravelly with sleep. “You’re awake.”
You sit up slowly. “Were you… here all night?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Not all night. Just since… y’know. Evening.”
You squint at him. “Satoru.”
He sighs. “Fine. Yeah. All night.”
You stare at him. “Why?”
He shrugs, suddenly sheepish. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t wander off again and get yourself eaten.”
You frown. “You should’ve slept in your room.”
He smirks. “What, and miss out on babysitting you?”
You chuck a pillow at him.
He catches it easily and grins. But when he sees you holding his gaze, that grin softens.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he admits, quieter now.
Something gentle settles in your chest. You pull your blanket up and scoot slightly to the side.
“…There’s space. If you’re tired.”
He blinks at you. “Are you asking me to cuddle, orrrr…”
You glare. “I’m offering you a more comfortable sleeping arrangement.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
He slides in beside you carefully, so carefully, like you’ll break if he jostles you too much. And then you feel the warmth of him next to you, his presence steady and solid and safe.
“…This okay?” he murmurs, his voice a whisper in the dark.
You nod.
And slowly, slowly, you feel his fingers brush yours under the blanket. He doesn't hold your hand—not yet. Just touches.
Testing the waters.
You don’t pull away.
And in the silence that follows, you hear his breathing even out again.
But yours?
Yours is all over the place.
-
Morning sunlight filters through the barred window, casting soft stripes across your face.
You're warm. So warm.
Your cheek is pressed against something solid. Something that rises and falls gently beneath you. And there’s a hand resting at the small of your back, pulling you closer, keeping you there.
Your heart skips.
Your eyes blink open—and there he is.
Gojo Satoru. Asleep. Face relaxed and serene, messy white hair haloed in gold light. His other arm is curled under your pillow, supporting your head like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And you're lying on top of him.
Your breath catches in your throat.
You should move. You need to move.
But just as you're about to untangle yourself—
Click.
The door creaks open.
You freeze.
“Oh my god,” comes Shoko’s voice, casual, amused, and way too smug. “Well, well—what do we have here?”
You nearly leap out of bed, scrambling to sit up—only for your body to protest painfully, and you wince with a hiss.
Satoru wakes with a start, blinking up at Shoko in confusion before slowly realizing the position you're in.
“Oh,” he says blankly. “Morning, doc.”
You swat his shoulder. “Say something useful?!”
Shoko just leans against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning like she’s discovered the world’s juiciest secret. “No no, don’t let me interrupt. I was just checking on the patient, but clearly, she’s in very good hands.”
You’re burning. “It’s not what it looks like!”
Shoko raises a brow. “Oh, so you weren’t cuddled up like two lovebirds all night? Should I tell Nanami you’ve finally found someone willing to put up with your nonsense, Satoru?”
He stretches lazily and pulls the blanket back over himself with a smirk. “Actually, yeah. Tell him. Maybe then he’ll finally stop lecturing me about responsibility.”
You groan and bury your face in your hands. “I’m never going to live this down.”
Shoko chuckles, walking away. “Nope. I’m telling everyone.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
Silence.
You glare at Satoru through your fingers. “This is your fault.”
He grins. “You offered me a spot on the bed, your majesty.”
You shove a pillow at him. He catches it—again.
And then he smiles, soft and teasing, voice still a little raspy from sleep.
“...So. Want me to sleep over again tonight?”
“Get out.”
-
The first few days are rough.
You try to walk without limping. Try to reach for things on your own. Try not to feel like a burden.
But then there’s him.
You wake up to warm food at your bedside, Satoru leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin. “Brought you breakfast in bed, sweetheart. Don’t get used to it—I’m not always this nice.”
He very much is.
He offers his arm without asking when you need support. Doesn’t mention it when you wince or grit your teeth. Just lets you lean on him, like you’ve always belonged there.
You try to carry something heavy across the hall—he appears out of nowhere, snatching it from your hands. “Tsk. You trying to die or what?”
You try to help in the kitchen. He catches you wobbling and swoops in with a hand around your waist. “Whoa there, Bambi. What happened to ‘taking it easy’?”
You try to sneak off to explore the base again. He corners you in the hallway with a look that says absolutely not. “You’re still healing, brat. Unless you want me to carry you everywhere again?”
Cue your entire face combusting.
He’s annoying. Cocky. Ridiculously persistent.
But…
He adjusts your blanket when you’re asleep on the couch. Tucks a water bottle by your side without saying anything. Teaches you how to balance properly on one foot so your ankle can recover without straining the other.
And at night, when you think everyone’s asleep, you catch him checking on you—quietly, carefully. Making sure you’re okay.
You pretend not to notice.
But your heart notices. It notices everything.
-
You stand in the middle of your room, shifting your weight onto your healed ankle, then back again. No pain. No tightness. Just a deep breath and the quiet realization:
You’re better. Finally.
The door creaks open without warning—because Satoru never knocks—and in he strolls with his usual swagger and two mugs in hand. “Morning, sweetheart. Brought you—"
He stops in his tracks.
You’re standing. Not limping. Not clutching the edge of the bed for balance.
Just… standing.
He squints, slowly lowering one mug. “...Why aren’t you in bed?”
You raise a brow. “Because I’m not dying?”
“Oh no. Absolutely not.” He sets the mugs down and points a very offended finger at you. “You don’t just get to get better without warning me. I was emotionally invested in this arc.”
You laugh. “Sorry to ruin your Florence Nightingale fantasy.”
“Ruin? Excuse you, I was thriving. Who’s gonna let me spoon-feed you now?”
You roll your eyes, limping toward him just to mess with him. “I could pretend, if it makes you feel better.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
He walks over before you can say anything else—his hands hover, cautious at first, then one slides to your waist. “You really okay?”
You nod. “I’m good. Really.”
Satoru lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Then he grins. “Alright. Guess that means I can stop being your personal nurse and go back to being your favorite nuisance.”
You’re smiling. He’s back to teasing. But there’s a softness in his eyes that lingers a little too long, a thumb that brushes your hip before falling away.
He missed taking care of you.
And maybe, just maybe, you kind of miss being taken care of.
-
You’re jogging laps around the edge of the prison yard, the early morning chill nipping at your cheeks. It’s peaceful—quiet enough that your footsteps and the rhythmic beat of your breath are the only sounds you hear.
Until a familiar voice breaks through the silence.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite brat, back in action.”
You slow down, a smirk tugging at your lips as you turn toward the voice—and promptly choke on air.
Satoru.
Stretching.
Shirtless.
His snowy hair tousled from whatever ungodly workout he’s been doing, sweat gleaming on the hard lines of his chest and abs like the universe conspired to craft a Renaissance painting just to spite you. His sweats hang low on his hips, revealing that infuriating V-line that should not be legal in a post-apocalyptic society.
You blink. Once. Twice.
He grins, catching the way your eyes are very not subtly stuck on him.
“Like what you see?”
You scowl, instantly turning your gaze to a very fascinating patch of dirt on the ground. “Please. I’ve seen better.”
“Mmhm.” He takes a deliberate step forward, arms crossing over his annoyingly perfect chest. “Name one.”
“...”
“That’s what I thought.”
You huff and start jogging again, forcing your eyes to stay forward. But then he jogs up beside you—shirtless and smug, of course—and easily matches your pace.
“You sure you’re fully healed? What if you, I dunno… trip and fall again?” he says, tone mockingly sweet. “Need me to catch you, princess?”
“I’d rather faceplant into a zombie.”
He laughs, low and lazy. “I dunno, that sounds painful. Better to land on something soft. Like me.”
You glare at him, cheeks burning. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet,” he nudges you playfully with his elbow, “you’re still jogging next to me. Who’s really winning here?”
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth crawling up your neck. But deep down, you know.
He’s definitely winning.
-
After the jog, Satoru insists you “cool down” with some light sparring. You roll your eyes, but follow him to the training mats anyway. He’s already bouncing on his heels when you step in front of him, still shirtless, still smug.
“You sure you’re up for this?” he teases. “Wouldn’t want to break you again.”
“I’m more worried about bruising your ego,” you shoot back, taking your stance.
He whistles low. “Feisty. I like it.”
The sparring begins—light jabs, easy dodges. You’re nimble, focused, but he is... effortless. Every time you swipe at him, he ducks with a grin. When you go in for a kick, he sidesteps and lets out an exaggerated yawn.
“You done yet, sweetheart?” he asks, still dancing around you. “At this rate, I could do this blindfolded.”
“Shut up and hold still!” you lunge at him again—this time faster, bolder—but he grabs your wrist mid-swing and spins you around so fast the world tilts. Before you know it—
You’re pinned.
Back hits the wall. His hand holds your wrists above your head, other arm braced beside you. His body is dangerously close, breath fanning your cheek. His tone shifts, deeper. Rougher.
“You keep mouthing off like that,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming, “I might start thinking you want me to put you in your place.”
Your breath catches. “I—”
“Hmm?” he leans in, lips ghosting your jaw. “No witty comeback now?”
You try to move, but his grip tightens just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that this isn’t a game anymore.
“I could kiss you right now,” he whispers, “and there’s nothing you could do about it.”
Your heart hammers in your chest. “You wouldn’t.”
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.
“Wanna bet?”
Your breathing is shallow, heat rising to your cheeks. You’re acutely aware of how close he is, the way his chest brushes against yours with every breath, the sharp glint in his eye, the smirk that’s far too smug for your sanity.
And then—
His lips graze your neck. Barely there. A soft brush of heat against your skin. You flinch—not out of fear, but from the jolt that shoots down your spine. Goosebumps bloom instantly. His breath tickles your skin.
“Sensitive,” he hums, lips ghosting up toward your jaw, “...cute.”
“Satoru—” you whisper, voice barely audible.
He pulls back just enough to look at you. His gaze drops to your lips, heavy and unblinking. And he leans in, slower this time, like he wants you to feel the anticipation. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat—
And then—
“AM I INTERRUPTING SOMETHING?”
You both jolt like you’ve been electrocuted.
Satoru spins around with a groan, still caging you against the wall. “Shoko. Seriously?”
She stands a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow cocked and a wicked smirk playing at her lips. “Wow. Could cut the tension with a scalpel. Should I come back later or just pass you a condom now?”
“Shoko,” you squeak, face on fire, squirming to escape Gojo’s hold.
He lets you go reluctantly, chuckling under his breath. “You wish you caught the good part.”
“I did catch the part where your face was buried in her neck like a starving vampire,” Shoko deadpans.
You bury your face in your hands.
Satoru just laughs. “You jealous?”
“Please. I'd rather not watch my coworkers dry hump in public,” she says, already turning on her heel. “Anyway. You two lovebirds done? I need one of you to help with supplies.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo waves her off. Then he glances back at you, still all flushed and flustered, and leans down one last time to whisper in your ear:
“To be continued, princess.”
And just like that, he strolls off like nothing happened.
You're left against the wall, heart pounding, neck tingling, completely and utterly undone.
-
It’s quiet for once.
Most of the clan is out on a supply run or patrolling the perimeter. You’d offered to stay behind, helping Shoko reorganize her medical supplies before wandering off with a basket of laundry—warm clothes folded under your arm as you pace the empty corridors of the prison, barefoot, relaxed.
You finally set the basket down in the communal quarters, humming under your breath while sorting through what belongs to who. It’s… peaceful. The late afternoon sun slants in through the high windows, bathing everything in warm light.
Until—
“Picking up where we left off?”
You jolt, nearly dropping the shirt in your hands.
Gojo.
Leaning against the doorframe, casual as ever, sleeves pushed up, hair a bit messy like he just woke from a nap. His eyes are glinting beneath the lazy droop of his lashes, and that smirk—that godforsaken smirk—is unmistakable.
He saunters in before you can get a word in.
“Geez, you sneak up on people like a damn ghost,” you mumble, cheeks already burning as you turn back to the laundry.
“Aw, don’t be shy now,” he teases, coming closer. “You weren’t so shy when I had you pinned against the wall.”
You stiffen. “You got interrupted. Big difference.”
“Oh? So you wanted me to kiss you?”
You glare at him over your shoulder, but he’s already behind you, arms slipping around your waist—loosely at first, giving you a chance to push him away.
You don’t.
“I was thinking about you,” he murmurs against your ear. “All damn day. Thought I’d come see how you were holding up without me.”
“I was fine,” you huff, but it’s so breathless it betrays you instantly.
He chuckles. “That right?”
His hands glide up your sides, slow and sure, fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Just admit it—you missed me.”
You turn in his arms, glaring—but it’s weak at best. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Maybe,” he leans in, forehead brushing yours, voice dropping, “but I still remember how fast your heart was beating last time.”
You swallow.
And this time? There’s no Shoko to walk in. No patrols due back. No reason to stop.
You hesitate for a beat.
And then you pull him in by the collar.
The kiss is feral. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. Weeks—months—of tension snapping all at once. His hands find your waist, gripping tight as he hoists you up like you weigh nothing.
“Fuck—” he groans against your lips. “You’ve been killing me, y’know that?”
You wrap your legs around his waist and tug him closer. “Good.”
He pulls back, grinning. “Oh, you wanna play it like that?”
You don’t get a chance to answer before he’s kissing down your jaw, your neck, dragging that maddening tongue of his down your collarbone. His hands are everywhere—palming your hips, your thighs, sliding under your shirt like he owns you.
Which, at this point, maybe he does.
“Tell me to stop,” he pants, hovering over your lips again. “Tell me now, and I will.”
You look him dead in the eyes, tug his shirt over his head, and whisper:
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Your back hits the nearest wall with a muffled gasp, Satoru’s mouth already on yours, hungry and hot. His hands roam your body like he’s memorizing it with touch alone, fingers tugging at fabric with a frustrated groan.
“Off,” he growls into the kiss, already pulling your shirt over your head like it's offended him. He sets you down to pull your pants down along with your panties. And the moment you’re bare before him, he stands back, breath catching in his throat. His eyes—icy blue and blown wide with lust—roam your figure, landing on your chest like he’s just been given the meaning of life.
“…Can I motorboat your tits?”
You blink.
You laugh, startled and breathless. “Are you—are you serious right now?”
His lips curve into a wolfish grin, and he’s already surging forward to kiss you again. “Maybe next time,” he mumbles between kisses. “I don’t think I can wait to taste you now.”
You arch a brow, teasing, breath catching when he trails his mouth down your jaw. “Next time?”
He chuckles, low and dark. “You think I’m letting you off the hook after this?” His hands slide down your waist, thumbs stroking your hips. “Nah, sweetheart. I’m gonna ruin you.”
Then he sinks to his knees.
The grin fades into something hungrier, more reverent as he kisses the inside of your thigh, dragging his teeth gently across soft skin. “Spread ‘em for me,” he says, voice a whisper but firm. And when you do, he groans like he’s just tasted something forbidden.
You cry out the second his tongue touches you, hands flying to grip his hair. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t want to. It’s slow, torturous—his pace deliberate as he works you open, devouring like a man starved. His moans vibrate against your skin, and when your legs tremble, he just pins them open wider, groaning, “That’s it… let me hear you, baby.”
Your back arches as Satoru licks another slow, devastating stripe up your core, tongue curling at your entrance before he moves to suck gently on your clit. Your fingers tighten in his hair, thighs instinctively trying to close around his head—but his arms loop under your knees, spreading you wider, holding you open like he owns you.
“You're not going anywhere,” he mutters, eyes flicking up, glazed over with lust and something dangerous. “Told you. I’m gonna ruin you.”
Then he’s back at it—slower this time, tongue flattening against you, then circling, dragging soft groans out of you as the tension coils tight in your belly. He eats you out like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you, savoring every movement, every moan he draws. He alternates between deep, dragging strokes and sharp, teasing flicks, lips closing around your clit to suck just hard enough to make your breath hitch.
You cry out, hips bucking up into his mouth, and he growls—low and throaty—as if turned on by how wrecked you already are.
"Fuck—so sweet," he groans, voice muffled against you. “Could stay down here all night.”
And he means it. He shifts slightly, tongue plunging into you now, slow and shallow, nose nudging your clit as he drinks in every sound you make like it fuels him. Every little tremble, every whimper—he devours it.
He doesn’t stop. Not when you start trembling, not when you whine his name in warning. He keeps going, lips slick and relentless, until—
Your vision whites out. Your body tightens, back bowing, mouth falling open on a silent scream as you fall over the edge, pleasure shattering through you like a storm.
Only then does he pull back, lips and chin glistening. He breathes hard, eyes dark and blown, grinning like he just won a war.
“That’s the sound I wanted to hear.”
He stands up again to pick you up, carrying you to the nearby table, settling you on it, completely bare under the low light, legs parted slightly, chest heaving. You’re flushed, trembling—not from fear, but anticipation. Nerves. Heat. It’s all crashing together in your head, and he sees it.
His hands move to his waistband, fingers curling beneath the fabric of his pants. He tugs them down with practiced ease, freeing himself—and your breath catches.
Your eyes drift down instinctively, and your stomach tightens at the sight of him. He’s big. Thick, flushed, already hard and aching.
Your pulse stutters, nerves flickering to the surface. “Oh…”
“Hey,” he says gently, fingers brushing your cheek. “You okay?”
You hesitate, biting your lip. “It’s just… I’ve never done this before.”
Satoru freezes for a moment. His expression doesn’t shift much—but his eyes, bright and blue, soften in an instant.
“…You haven’t?” he asks quietly, tone a stark contrast to the sinful smirk he wore earlier. You shake your head.
He exhales slowly, like he’s grounding himself. Then he leans in and kisses you—slow, patient, loving.
“Well, fuck,” he murmurs against your lips. “Now I really have to behave.”
You blink up at him. “You? Behave?”
He chuckles, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. “Okay, maybe not completely. But I’ll go slow. Make it good for you. You trust me, right?”
You nod.
“Good.” His voice drops a little. “Then let me take care of you, yeah?”
He’s gentle—so gentle it almost breaks you. His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, to your chest. He pauses there, kissing over your breasts, fingers caressing your sides as though you might disappear if he’s not careful.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes. “Gonna remember this forever.”
When he finally lines himself up, he doesn’t rush. He keeps kissing you, whispering into your skin.
“Breathe with me,” he says. “Nice and easy, baby. Just relax.”
The stretch burns, but his voice never leaves you. His hands never stop moving—stroking your sides, brushing your hair from your face, thumbing away the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs. “So tight, fuck—squeezing me like you were made for me.”
Your breath catches, eyes fluttering shut.
“Look at me,” he says softly, “I wanna see your face.”
You meet his eyes—blown wide with emotion, affection, reverence. And that’s when he starts to move. Slowly, so slowly you can feel everything. Every drag, every pull.
“Feels good?” he asks, and when you nod, he smiles like you’ve just handed him the universe.
“You’re perfect,” he groans, picking up pace just a little. “Takin’ me so well, sweetheart. My pretty girl, lettin’ me be her first.”
You moan—part embarrassment, part bliss—and he kisses the sound from your mouth.
“Can’t believe no one’s touched you like this before,” he mutters against your skin. “But I’m glad. Glad it’s me. Glad I get to show you.”
He starts rolling his hips deeper, each thrust slow and purposeful, coaxing pleasure out of you bit by bit.
“Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
You’re already gasping—your body burning, overstimulated from the build-up and the way he moves inside you. Every drag of him is a stretch, a delicious ache, and you’re trying so hard to keep up, to breathe, to hold yourself together—but it’s too much.
And then it hits.
Your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave—louder, sharper, more intense than the last—and your body tightens instinctively, your walls fluttering around him like they don’t want to let him go.
“Fuck—” Satoru’s voice breaks, a guttural groan tumbling from his throat as he stills, trembling above you. “You’re gonna ruin me, baby…”
His grip tightens on your waist, jaw clenched as he tries to hold back—but you’re squeezing him so tight, so perfect, and his restraint shatters.
“You’re killin’ me,” he grits out, starting to move again—deeper, slower, more intentional—but there’s an edge of desperation now. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “Feels so good—fuck, I don’t wanna hurt you.”
You shake your head, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t stop,” you whimper, barely able to form the words. “Please…”
He kisses you hard—like he can’t help himself, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “You’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart. So, so good…”
“‘Toru-” you whimper.
That breaks him.
He groans, slamming into you harder, mouth finding your neck as he nips and kisses down to your collarbone. “Fuck. Say it again.”
You whimper again, brain hazy. “‘Toru…”
He kisses you slow then, deeper. Rough pace never faltering, but his hands gentler now—one wrapping around your waist, the other brushing the hair from your face.
“Mine,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re mine now, yeah?”
You nod desperately, legs locking around his hips. “Yours.”
“Damn right,” he grits, driving into you harder, chasing both your highs with everything he has.
The overstimulation has tears stinging your eyes, your legs trembling, voice catching on every moan. And when that next orgasm builds too fast, too hard—it snaps through you like a live wire. Your body arches off the table, clamping down around him again—
—and Satoru snaps.
“Shit—take it, baby. Let me fill you up, yeah? Gonna make you mine, fuck, you already are—look at you...” he chokes out, thrusting deep one last time before he comes, spilling into you with a long, breathless groan. His arms wrap around you as if to anchor himself, holding you so close, like he needs to feel every inch of you, inside and out.
“Look at you,” he murmurs between pants, pressing kisses across your face. “Takin’ me so well… You’re mine now, yeah? All mine.”
You nod, dazed and boneless, wrapped in his warmth.
And he stays like that, inside you, forehead resting against yours as he murmurs soft, reverent praises—like this wasn’t just your first time.
Like it was everything.
Your body’s still trembling—nerves fried, skin flushed, heart thudding against your chest as if it’s trying to burst free. You’re barely aware of anything except the warm, strong arms pulling you into a careful embrace, the kiss he presses to your temple like it’s the most sacred thing he could ever do.
“Hey…” Satoru murmurs, voice all honey and rasp, rough around the edges but impossibly gentle. “You okay?”
You nod, chest rising and falling against his, cheeks still hot, but there’s a smile on your lips.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Just… wow.”
He laughs softly, the sound low and breathy as his fingers brush along your spine in lazy, soothing strokes. “You were incredible,” he says, and he means it. Every word. “So good for me. So perfect.”
Your face scrunches with a flustered noise, burying it into his shoulder. “Stop…”
“Never,” he grins, nosing into your hair. “You don’t get to be all pretty and sweet and make those sounds and expect me to stay quiet about it.”
You groan. “Satoru—”
“Shhh.”
His palm rests on your back as he holds you close, thumb drawing lazy circles. You can still feel the dull, pleasant ache of him inside you, the heat he left behind. His breath is warm against your cheek. Safe. Comforting.
“You did so good, baby,” he murmurs again, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw. “First time and you still managed to rock my fucking world.”
Your heart stutters. “Wasn’t just the sex,” you say quietly.
He stills for half a second—and then he smiles, soft and genuine.
“I know,” he whispers.
You’re still breathless, body flushed and boneless in his arms when Satoru gathers you close, lips pressed gently to your temple. The air between you is warm, quiet save for the distant hum of life around the base. He shifts a little, glancing down at the table beneath you both, and you catch that flicker in his eyes—guilt, soft and creeping.
“I should’ve…” he starts, voice low, almost sheepish. “Shit, I should’ve taken you somewhere better. A bed, a blanket, something that wasn’t a hardass table. It was your first time and I just—” He pauses, brows pinching like the regret’s eating at him now. “I got selfish.”
You lift your hand to his cheek, thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. “Hey,” you whisper, leaning in until your lips ghost over his, shutting him up with a kiss so soft, so full of emotion it makes his heart stutter.
When you pull back, your smile is small but sure. “It was more than okay. Because it was with you.”
Satoru blinks, breath caught in his throat. And for once, the man with a mouth like a wildfire doesn’t have anything to say.
Until he pulls you tighter into his chest and mutters, “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”
You just grin into his skin. “Guess we’ll go down together then.”
Then silence. Not awkward, not tense—just full of warmth. Full of everything. His arms around you. Your fingers laced with his.
You don’t say it. Not yet. But maybe one day soon.
For now, the way he holds you like you’re something to be cherished?
It’s more than enough.
author's note. finally have time to post consistently! last month or two were BUSY so couldn't do much </3 i'm proud of how this one turned out ^^ also, shoko is such a baddie i love her
COQUETTE SYMBOLS PACK
༺♡︎༻
༶⋆˙⊹｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ ✩ ˛˚.
+*:ꔫ:*﹤
༶⋆˙⊹｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ ✩ ˛˚.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
⋆·˚ ༘ *
˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
✧ : *✧･ﾟ:*
✧.*
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
*+:｡.｡
'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ
✧˚ · .
* .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆
•·.·''·.·•
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
.ೃ࿐ ੈ✩‧₊˚
everyone moved on but i stayed here. satoru with scars
sorry for the noise that’s just me barking
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