DRIVE ME INSANE

DRIVE ME INSANE

“You drive me insane!” you snap, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Yeah, I’d say the feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow, his gaze dropping momentarily to the finger poking his chest as though he’s admiring your nerve.

pairing: CEO! satoru gojo! x f!reader

summary: cheating on your husband who couldn’t care less about you, satoru gojo — your fervent lover — has a nasty habit of showing up unannounced, threatening to ruin all the lies you’ve built for your husband so far by leaving all too visible marks after a hot session. however, after a very first argument with him, you’re determined to throw all your anger at him. but neither of you can ignore the tension between the two of you, especially when satoru is ready to take full responsibility.

warnings: +18 MDNI, smut, nsfw, cheating (the husband does it first but according to the timelaps it’s explained all along in this silly fic :p), CEO! gojo, lover! gojo, kinda slight toxic! gojo but he’s just desperately in love, angst, hurt/comfort, angry sex (i tried at least), sex (p in v), rough sex, possessive! gojo, overstimulation, unprotected sex, fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! receiving), he’s rich asf, fanart by @/kiyoro2 on X.

wc: 8,193

a/n: second warning before reading this fic if you didn’t read the warnings: you need to know that the husband in this story cheats on the reader BEFORE her. he’s cold, not loving her anymore and cheating on her BEFORE the actual timelaps but you’ll know it only while reading through, got it?

i don’t like writing about cheaters because they’re horrible but this is just a “revenge” not really said out oud (you have to guess). this is just a warning so some of you won’t catch me with hate/discourse or anything around it because i would have written an “unfair cheater” lol. enjoy reading, tho!

“Hey, darling.”

The sweet melody of Satoru’s voice rings to your ears, sending a crude shiver that runs down your entire spine. Among all of the several times you were alone, with your husband gone to work like a hooked on it, the white-hair man always shows up at your door when you do not expect it.

So, of course, you’re always on the lookout, nervously stealing glances here and there at the door, through the window to check the parking lot of your apartment block, or even your phone if the miracle of him sending you a message occurs. Despite the thousands of times you’ve warned Satoru, the latter doesn’t seem to listen to you.

Your lover goes into your apartment, a classy decoration without any warmth of household — just a simple apartment.

From the cooling fireplace, to the pristine couch and the American kitchen where you are doing the dishes, Satoru always comes to the ‘warmth’ he was craving at your place.

You.

As simple as that.

He’d ignore your groans when his arms find your waist to hug you from behind. And the only sensation of the flat of his torso pressing to your back quiets down every thought, every breath you’d take, every worry and word that would escape the barrier of your lips.

It was just him. Satoru Gojo.

Not your husband. But your lover.

Maybe a word that had a deeper meaning behind any kind of link.

And what hurt the most was the fact that you would crave calling any man that was yours ‘my husband’ in any situation to bring that pride up your chest.

Yet, the last time you’ve pronounced those exact words, was the day you met Satoru.

You were doing the queue for a coffee shop near his headquarters, but how would you know that detail, hm? It was fate, he thought when he approached the queue and ended up behind you as your eyes were glued to the menu card in order that you could choose your drink.

And yet again, he couldn’t help but feel intrigued by you. Your silhouette standing still, vaulted shoulders, a small frown on your lips portraying your hesitation and two beautiful and mesmerizing eyes...

Oh, Lord, that was the only detail from you that this poor man will never forget and will haunt him every single next second.

And, of course, Satoru Gojo isn’t that kind of man who lets fate dictate his life.

He was the only one distracting it. Wanted or not. Period.

“An Americano coffee?” he spoke with his lowest voice to not scare you. He stepped closer to you, his form hovering you as his face lowered to the height of your shoulder. “Thought pretty girls like you always chose espresso.”

Your head jerked up and your eyes met him for the first time.

“W-What…?”

The most unfair, charming smile tugged at Satoru's lips’ corners. “Why don’t you take an espresso? Is it because of the price, darling?” he cooed.

Unsettled by his more-than-strange intrusion, you replied without thinking twice, “Since when, espresso is better than americano?”

And, oh, dear, dear Lord, why were you testing him like this with such an angelic mortal like him? Couldn’t you let him live his life like it was meant to be? Why does this futile and innocent frown have such a ravishing effect on him? Tearing his heart apart, grabbing and stealing his breath to run away with it so he won’t be able to find any air but yours to use to survive in this old world?

“I don’t know. It’s more boring. Not elegant, and not fitting the vibe you give off, darling.” His blue eyes fell down on the ring around your finger, and his mind unconsciously prayed that you weren’t taken.

“It’s my husband’s favorite coffee,” you just responded like an irreversible sentence.

But Satoru didn’t let the situation get him down.

“Oh, so my pretty lady is taken? What a shame.” A little smirk spread his lips, and widened even more when he noticed how low was your affirmation. “I suppose he has bad taste in everything… but for women.”

A furious blush flustered your cheeks. “How dare you—”

“Yes, I dare, darling,” he almost hummed. “You really need someone to show you what is good coffee. Nothing but starting with that. What do you think?” he offers.

The queue moved on, and the chic café provided all the atmosphere of having a nice cup and a nice drink just to chat with anyone on a sidewalk seating area.

But, no, you were newly married. Your husband would be devastated that you’d let yourself be seduced by a complete stranger.

Although not so simple, considering how beautiful he was, with his perfect good looks, no one seemed to see anyone but him. And he couldn’t see anyone but you.

“So what, darling?” he insisted with a gentle tone. “Let me take your order and show you what coffee is.”

He pauses.

“If you may.”

The thought of letting him buy you a cup of coffee had obviously heightened your sense of unease and betrayal. But the memory of your husband leaving early in the morning without hello in your bed, his eternally neutral and unpleasant tone, his female co-workers leeching off him and all the effort you put into making your house feel like home haunts your mind.

With a resigned nod from you, Satoru almost jumped for joy and did a happy dance in front of the whole café.

How long had it been since he’d wanted to act like a child?

Satoru requested a small bottle-green round table on the sidewalk seating area, whose sunshade above unfurled like a fan protecting you from the bright sun of the day.

“By the way, I’m Satoru Gojo,” he introduced himself. He settled into the chair opposite you as the waiter left to take your orders.

You quickly introduced yourself. But the young albino didn’t fail to notice how lovely, humble and charming you were.

The perfect woman for him.

“I’m a CEO,” he added, maybe to impress you.

Surprise streaks your features. “Oh.”

He had expected more of a reaction from you, but you ended up disappointing him.

So he tried to restart the conversation to break the ice that had formed between you and him. He wasn’t one to usually go after people who were already taken. Yet, his instincts told him to stay with you. As if the north and south poles couldn’t help but attract each other, Satoru was slowly but surely drawn to you.

The orders were placed delicately on the table, and your lovely espresso cup, so exquisitely prepared, almost broke your heart at the thought of ruining its beauty by drinking it.

“This café serves the best coffee in town, you know. I come here often enough to say that with confidence, and also to notice that you didn’t know it,” he said, taking a sip from his own cup before propping his elbow on the glass table to rest his chin against his hand. “Admit it, you walked in here by chance.”

You almost choked on your sip of espresso, startled by his perceptiveness.

“It’s written all over your face, darling,” he said with a grin.

Still reserved, a hint of embarrassment flushed your cheeks with a soft blush that Satoru could have died to kiss.

“So?” he changed the subject. “How’s the espresso?”

“Very good,” you mumbled, lifting your gaze to meet his. Then you hesitated to continue with your real thoughts. Would he get bored listening to you like your husband usually did? Would he cut you off to end what he might see as pointless chatter?

“Just very good?” His eternally sincere and attentive smile lingered on his lips. He was definitely ready to hear every word you had to say.

You took a small breath. “Actually, the espresso has a sweet vanilla aroma that gives it a smooth taste on the palate, lingering just enough to make you want more. The foam is also very pleasant because it’s neither thin nor too frothy. The texture is creamy and at the perfect temperature to avoid burning your tongue.” You let out the last breath that the whole monologue had cost you.

“In short, it’s perfect,” you added softly.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Satoru murmured, his eyes locked on yours as if they would never let go, haunting forever the memory of the moment you two met.

“Glad you like it, by the way.”

For a first meeting, it could have seemed trivial. When it was time for you to leave, Satoru found the courage to ask for your phone number. To your own surprise, you accepted without hesitation. His company was pleasant, after all. He listened to you without ever interrupting, and seemed genuinely interested in you. And as a bonus, he was easy on the eyes.

So, was it really surprising that you looked forward to your next meeting with him?

“It’s not a date,” you reassured yourself in front of your mirror while applying gloss and straightening your clothes to keep them spotless.

The second time you met, it was at the same café.

The same orders.

But with a little more joy.

And with every meeting, there were a little more laughs, more teasing, more good moments, fewer bad memories flying away, and your doubts fading into the tranquility that Satoru Gojo brought you.

He quickly became an excellent friend. As you started opening up more and more to him, he began to allow himself to give you advice, rolling his eyes approvingly during your ranting sessions about your husband, where, despite the pang in his heart, Satoru kept repeating that you deserved better.

And as time went by, your bond with him grew stronger. You didn’t feel so alone anymore. He always found time for you, even when he was busy at the office.

Your husband’s absence quickly became just a minor detail in your life.

Especially when Satoru started showering you with gifts you categorically refused. If it was a dress one time, the next it was a necklace of genuine pearls, or lunch at fancy restaurants you never thought you’d set foot in.

The guilt inevitably crept up on you from every angle.

Whether it was over the fact that Satoru’s devotion to you made you feel illegitimate in receiving so much from someone who wasn’t even your partner. Or your husband.

Was it betrayal?

You weren’t cheating on him.

You were just spending time with someone who made time for you.

How could one equate cheating with this friendship, right?

This question lingered until the day, during a dinner with Satoru, when he had stepped away for a few minutes to settle the bill, a young man approached your table, trying to flirt with you and convince you to end the evening at a nightclub his friend owned, where they’d be delighted to meet you along with the rest of their crew. With all due respect, you refused, despite the young man’s persistence.

And when Satoru returned to the table, he immediately sat beside you, his arm infuriatingly well-placed around your waist to keep you close.

“Can I help you? My wife seems tired; tell me what you need,” Satoru chimed in, his tone icy as he glared at the young man.

“You’re married?” the man choked out, his tone echoing the same shock you felt internally.

“Yes, I’m her husband. Isn’t it obvious?” he confirmed.

Later, in the chilling silence outside the restaurant, Satoru restrained himself from pulling you into a tight hug as the two of you walked down the street. You walked at a more reasonable distance from him, your chin lowered in guilt toward the ground.

The night sky was a deep navy blue that evening. The stars barely sparkled, and only the snow added a touch of brightness to the urban landscape, where the yellow and orange streetlights could never match the glitter in the sky.

“You alright?” Satoru asked softly, stealing a concerned glance at you.

“I’m… fine,” you muttered.

He couldn’t hear any more of that. “Hey, if this is about what I said earlier—”

“Who said it’s about that?” you snapped defensively. Suddenly, it felt like all the perfect moments had turned into nightmares.

“I didn’t mean to make you unco—” he began, but you cut him off again.

“Who said I was uncomfortable?” you bit out, your brows furrowing as if you couldn’t take any more. “It’s not like I feel like a cheater—”

“Don’t call yourself that. It’s him,” Satoru interrupted sharply, immediately grabbing your wrist to hold your hand. “It’s all his fault. So, please, don’t feel—”

“God, I’m a married woman, Satoru, for fuck’s sake!” You tried to pull your hand back, but Satoru held it tighter.

“And a woman who also deserves better than to feel bad for her shitty husband who’s probably cheating on her!” he fired back with the same intensity. “Do you even see what you’re losing with him, at least?”

“Where is this conversation going?” you asked, squinting. “What the fuck do you mean? For weeks now, you’ve been telling me I deserve ‘better’!”

The situation felt so wrong yet so right at the same time. But it was only in Satoru’s eyes, watching you with a worried crease between his brows, that the truth lingered.

Of course, he didn’t want to lose you.

“Because you do,” he mouthed.

“But with who?” you cried out in despair.

“Isn’t that obvious?” he whispered, echoing his earlier words.

Even though the two of you had stopped walking and now faced each other, the wintry wind continued to swirl around you, biting at your cheeks already burned by the cold, screaming the answer behind his words. Snowflakes tangled in your hair, scarf, and coat. On Satoru, it was different — the snowflakes melted into his hair, his nose and cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and every exhale left a white cloud trailing from his lips.

Only his eyes remained untouched. Fixed on you. Truthful.

“You can— You cannot,” you finally sighed, ignoring how your body felt simultaneously on fire and frozen. You staggered toward a nearby wall. “Take back what you just said, not to me,” you whispered almost pleadingly. You shut your eyes for a moment, as if trying to wake from a nightmare.

Satoru closed the distance between you in a single stride.

He gently took your hand and placed it against his chest. “Yes, you’re right. I cannot. My heart is yours. I cannot deny it. I cannot control it. I cannot help it. Do whatever you want with it. Even broken and unrequited, my heart is yours and only belongs to you.”

His breath brushed your cheek so tenderly it felt unreal — yet so undeniably real.

And this time, from your point of view. No longer his.

The suffocating closeness became unbearable. You were about to break. He needed to step back, to leave, to go.

“I— I…” you stuttered.

Thoughts swirled in your mind, just like the snowflakes around you both. Every thought blurred together, and only one tried to rise above and clear the chaos.

But it was the worst thought of all.

And yet, the only one capable of deciding the next move.

In a spontaneous gesture, you bent your head toward Satoru’s lips, sealing both the kiss and the fate he had always fought against.

It didn’t matter if you both ended up hurt.

No matter what the consequences.

Now was not the time to think about that.

As you tried to pull away from Satoru to catch your breath, he pulled you against him the next second to taste you once more, the heat intensifying even more to the point of melting the snow falling on you. Each kiss exuded forbidden desire and despair.

And even when you two pulled away, you didn’t keep any gap.

Just you and him.

As it was always supposed to be.

To feel.

To live.

Fluttering your eyes open, you come back to reality.

How did you get here?

It's a familiar scenario, or not.

Satoru arriving unannounced, you busy with household chores, your husband away for perhaps the next day.

But a premonition clouds all common sense.

This day is different. You don’t know from where, or who or what, but one thing is sure.

This time spent rambling has made you forget all about the dishes still waiting for you, while a plate and a sponge damp with foam hang from your hands. Another very humdrum day. Grey sky, water-logged clouds ready to pour and burst in a storm that never comes.

Satoru’s arms wrapped as a feather’s touch around you doesn’t feel as good and soothing as before. 

“Missed ya,” he mumbles close to your ear. “How are you, darling?”

“You know that he could be here,” you scold in a low voice. “You can’t keep showing up at my door unannounced.” You continue with your dishes without returning any embrace. Nothing seems to fit. Your response is borderline nasty.

“You’re alright?” he asks softly anyway, not detaching himself from you.

His voice resonates like a cave inside you. A cheater who’s also unfairly mean, how can a better description describe you? you think.

You hum.

One of Satoru’s large, rough hands tenderly caresses your waist. “Do you have time for me? If you’re not tired, of course. I can’t help but need to crave your presence.”

Your heart slowly contorts in your chest, hidden beneath the cage of your ribs. “I didn’t mean to be rude, sorry—”

“Don’t apologize, love.” He presses a sluggish kiss on your cheek. “You must be so tired.”

Only the sound of the water rushing down in the sink can be heard in the kitchen. You close the tap and sigh, hands resting on the edge of the sink. “I need to finish the dishes and some chores, maybe you can sit on the couch and rest?” you offer, slightly turning your head around to meet his gaze.

How can a man be so perfect?

“I can help you,” he offers too, then puts a long forefinger on your lips to quiet you. “It wasn’t a question.”

If only this man could be your husband. Life would be easier in his company, wouldn’t it?

About half an hour later, Satoru fully joins you in your cleaning mission, tackling everything from the remaining dishes to the dusting and other tasks that make him scrunch up his nose in mild disdain.

As he wanders into the bedroom you share with your husband, Satoru passes by a photo frame he hasn’t truly noticed before. It’s a simple picture of you, smiling brighter than ever alongside a man who should be him. The man with HIS arm wrapped around your waist. The man with HIS lips pressed against your temple while, in Satoru’s eyes, you radiate as the sole light of his life in your wedding dress.

You pass quietly behind Satoru, a clean cloth in hand.

“Toru?” You rise slightly onto your toes to peek over his shoulder, noticing what has held his gaze for so long, leaving him as still as a statue. “Oh. I was going to clean that.”

Taking the frame into your hands, a pang of guilt twists your heart as Satoru’s blue eyes follow every inch of the photo. His gaze weighs on you, heavy and suffocating with discomfort.

One sweep of the cloth, and the modest frame gleams.

“Why do you keep it?” he asks in a breath.

You look up, your gaze as lost in his as you are. “What do you mean?”

“This picture,” he says, pointing at it with his finger. “Didn’t you say you wanted to throw it away?” His low tone brushes your cheek with a soft rumble, and his features tighten in a small frown of confusion, the weight of which seems to press on your soul.

“I—” You sigh. “My husband put it here. I don’t know why.”

“And you didn’t throw it away.”

You open your mouth to respond but hesitate, unsure of what to say.

“...You know I can make your life easier, don’t you?” Satoru murmurs as he slowly, almost theatrically, lets his arms wrap around you after tossing your cleaning cloth aside.

“I know,” you murmur, as if it’s the most obvious truth. As always, your body melts against his, the way two souls inevitably fuse together.

“Would you leave this life behind and finally settle down with me?” His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against him as he takes a deep breath into the crook of your neck. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

The atmosphere in the room thickens suddenly. Guilt surges within you, as it always does. It seems like it can never leave you alone.

Of course, Satoru is hurt—that much is clear.

“I really would, Satoru, but right now, it’s complicated,” you breathe against his collarbone, the corners of your lips tugging downward.

“When will it stop being complicated, then? If not now, when?” His grip on you tightens.

“It’s not that simple.” Familiar terror coils in your stomach now, threatening to drown you. This conversation is heading toward turbulent waters.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to align his face with yours. His eyes search yours for answers. “You know, sometimes I wonder how long I can keep waiting for you to finally decide if I really matter.”

You blink twice, stunned, before resting your hands on his shoulders. “Hey. What do you mean by that? You matter to me—you know that, don’t you?” Your brows furrow gently, your expression softening despite the rising tension.

“I don’t want to hide anymore. And I don’t want to see you stressed about hiding either,” he whispers in a gruff tone. His expression mirrors your own: lips slightly pursed, brows furrowed, and eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and worry.

“I’m… sorry,” you murmur, the only words you can manage. They are genuine. They are truthful. Just like Satoru always is with you—never a lie.

Even when he leans down to kiss you slowly, you can feel his emotions pouring into it.

Hurt. Today, you ponder, returning the movement of his lips as your eyes flutter shut.

Quickly, the pressure of his lips grows more intense. Each time your mouths part, Satoru makes sure they reunite as swiftly as they separate. Breath soon becomes scarce, and things take a turn when his hands grip your hips so firmly you fear marks might be left behind. You try to pull away quickly.

“Satoru, wait— I need to be careful this time, you know,” you whisper softly against his fervent lips. “It’s been a while now that he’s started wondering why I don’t want to have sex with him.”

“You always come up with an excuse, don’t you? A few marks won’t mean anything,” he mutters, eyes closed, as though the fire within him burns hotter than ever for you.

“He’ll see them. I just want you to be careful,” you insist. But your attempt is futile, as his kisses grow more passionate. Each one is placed meticulously on the sensitive spots of your body while he gently guides you toward the bed, lowering you onto it.

“I want to please you so badly,” Satoru confesses, his vulnerable gaze meeting your half-lidded eyes as he hovers above you. His eyes brim with an intensity that makes your heart ache.

“Let me take care of you.”

Your expression softens immediately, the growing heat between your thighs matching the fire in your chest. “I want it too, baby. But are you sure you want to do this?”

He nods firmly. “I’m sure. And you?”

“I am.”

In the moments that follow, you no longer plead for him to avoid leaving marks. Deep down, you doubt he’ll listen to you on that.

Especially when his lips press against your neck, your collarbone, the shell of your ears, and the valley of your breasts. His mouth kisses, sucks, marks, nibbles, and even gently bites at your skin—all to draw whimpers, moans, and sighs of pleasure from your lips. The same lips he endlessly worships, just as he does every inch of you.

~~~~

Fresh out of the shower, alone but with your phone, you receive a message that immediately catches your attention as you sit cautiously against the edge of your bathtub.

I might be a little late tonight. Have dinner without me.

Your heart immediately falls into the pit of your stomach.

Is this for your co-worker again? Can’t she finish her work on her own like everyone else?

A minute later, a message appears:

It’s normal, I’m her superior.

At the same time, your eyelids contract around your eyeballs. You feel a rush of heat, and adrenalin tingles your insides.

You know I don’t like her. And yet you continue to spend more time with her than with me. Do you think that's normal?

Why do you always have to get mad? Just admit that you’re jealous.

And the last word is like a slap in the face.

This is how you started.

Part of you knew it all along. But another part was in denial. It was shortly before Satoru became your lover that your husband started seeing a female colleague far too often, making eyes at her while you stood there like an idiot, watching them exchange glances where your voice would carry the same weight as the silence of their own eye contact: nothing.

Satoru had warned you.

He tried to prevent your heart from breaking as much as possible.

And this is the result when denial wins out over reason:

...You like to call me ‘jealous’ these days, tell me?

And the irony reeks in your message.

Of course, he started calling you ever since that infamous colleague showed up.

It’s as if he’s implying every time that you’d be envious of something you don’t have. So, it’s easy to figure out now, isn’t it? Why would he even talk about jealousy otherwise?

And why does he just leave your message on ‘read’?

~~~~

“I told you to be careful.”

“You always know how to escape him.”

“I’m running out of excuses.”

“You’re smart. You’ll fix it. As you fix everything.”

And who to fix me?

Sitting in front of your vanity, you swallow, feeling sick to your stomach as the purple and blue marks Satoru has left on your body from his hickeys don’t disappear from your view even as you discreetly pinch your arm to check you're in a nightmare.

Unfortunately no.

After pressing your anxiety-stricken face into your trembling hands, you lift your head to meet your reflection once more. In the corner of the mirror, Satoru’s silhouette lies casually, a smug, teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Your shaky fingers grab hold of your cheap foundation, the cap refusing to budge under the weakness of your frantic movements. Every second wasted only fuels the growing panic — your husband could walk in at any moment.

The beauty blender, however, seems just as uncooperative. Each attempt leaves you looking more like a clown. No coverage.

Only regrets. Regrets you can no longer conceal, no matter how much you try.

A heavy, trembling sigh escapes you despite your best efforts to stay calm. From behind, Satoru lets out a distinct chuckle, rich with amusement at your growing frustration.

He’s moved closer now, standing right behind you, his gaze almost entertained as he watches you struggle to mask the marks with concealer this time. But no layer of makeup can save you. None is thick enough or looks natural enough to hide what you’ve done.

“Why are you even trying? It’s not going to work,” Satoru whispers close to your ear. “Why not just give up and tell him the truth?”

“Satoru, get out.”

“Make me.” His tone is dripping with that insufferable grin.

You clench your fists, fighting the urge to smash it right off his face. Your heart hammers in your chest like cannonballs, threatening to break free from your compressed rib cage.

Everything can’t fall apart this quickly, can it?

Not after all the effort you’ve put in.

“You look like a clown, by the way,” he quips, the bluntness of his words scratching your heart. You let out an involuntary, quiet, “Ouch.”

“Did you just come here to use me as your personal slut? To call me a clown? If I knew, I wouldn’t have let you in at all,” you spit as you turn your head, locking your glare onto his.

Satoru’s expression softens at the sight of your deepening frown. “I didn’t come for that. And you’re not a slut. Why are you so mad?” He cautiously places his hands on the backrest of your chair, his movements calculated.

You scoff bitterly. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“You’re still mad about the marks? It’s just a few bites and hickeys—it’s not that big a deal,” he says, though his face mirrors yours: tense, confused, and searching for answers.

He’s never been like this.

“If you’re hurt, then I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I just want you to stop stressing over some bites. I’ve always done this. I haven’t changed, you know.”

You turn completely in your chair to face him, blood rushing in your temples. “Tell me this is a joke. Or a prank.”

“I said I’m—”

“Why didn’t you listen to me about the marks? About the fact that I don’t have any excuses left? He’s going to find out now. And instead of helping me, you’re mocking me because I look like shit with this?” you shout, pointing at the streaky, cakey makeup smeared over your collarbone.

Is this what a couple looks like? Fighting to hurt each other as much as possible?

Satoru can see how deeply his behavior wounds you. The way you swallow carefully, trying to keep your emotions at bay. The way your eyes are beginning to redden, signaling the impending arrival of tears.

Lowering his voice, he speaks, hoping against hope that you’ll break down and let him handle everything. Let him erase this life with your husband and give you a better one. He knows you can keep living under a mountain of lies, but he’s suffocating.

“Okay, I’m really sorry if I hurt you,” he murmurs.

“If you were that sorry, you wouldn’t lie about using me whenever you please. You wouldn’t just act how you want without asking me what I truly want or need. Why? Because you’re selfish, Gojo,” you snap, your voice cracking slightly. You rise abruptly from the chair, intent on leaving the room before you explode.

He immediately grabs your wrist, pulling you into him, and tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. The panic in his movements betrays him—he’s afraid you’ll say something that will tear him apart.

“Don’t—Don’t call me that. Sweetheart—”

“You know what? Just tell me I’m your slut. Because that’s clearly what I’m meant to be for you,” you cut him off, tears pooling in your eyes and threatening to fall. You yank your wrist out of his grip with a sharp movement.

His hands move to cup your face, desperation bleeding through his trembling fingers, even as he tries to conceal it.

“Okay, I messed up. But please, don’t degrade yourself. You’re not my slut. You’re the only person I love and care about. I—” He exhales shakily, his jaw tightening and relaxing in quick succession. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just… I’m so damn jealous. I get so jealous when I think about him… with you. I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Is that all this is? Jealousy? What’s the fucking point of it?” you retort, shoving his hands and arms away with enough force to make your blood boil. Then, in a blind fury, you hurl the concealer bottle across the room, the sound of it hitting the wall echoing like a final, deafening blow.

Satoru flinches slightly at the sound of the concealer bottle hitting the floor. He knows you’re holding back, teetering on the edge of exploding. “It’s not just jealousy,” he admits softly. “It’s fear, anger... and love, I guess.” He runs a tired hand through his snowy hair, sighing deeply. “And knowing I can’t have you the way I want to… that drives me insane.”

A vein pulses visibly in your temple, your frustration bubbling over. “You drive me insane!” you snap, jabbing your finger into his chest.

For a brief moment, Satoru’s lips almost curl into a smirk, but he stops himself when he sees the fire blazing in your eyes. He knows you’re serious, that this isn’t the time for his antics. Yet he can’t help but find you captivating like this—unapologetically yourself.

“Yeah, I’d say the feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow, his gaze dropping momentarily to the finger poking his chest as though he’s admiring your nerve.

The silence that follows is suffocating. The only sounds are your heated, shallow breaths, echoing in the small space between you.

You take several slow, deliberate steps back, your eyes fixed on his ocean-blue gaze. You catch the flicker of a moment—a split second where his eyes dart to your lips.

The tension between you is almost unbearable. The faint brush of his hips against yours as he steps closer sends a ripple of unease and anticipation through you. Your breaths mingle in the narrowing space. You both know exactly what’s happening, yet neither of you moves to break it.

“I hate you, you know that?” you whisper, pouring all the bitterness and hurt from your chest into the words.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his face a mere breath away from yours. His broad, powerful form looms over you, trapping you against the wall without lifting a single hand. The tension radiating from him is magnetic, suffocating.

“That’s a lie, and we both know it,” he says, his voice soft and calm, but laced with that maddening confidence.

His heart pounds wildly in his chest, the light graze of your body against his and the fiery defiance in your darkened eyes making him dangerously close to losing control. He wants to kiss you—devour you—so badly it hurts. But he knows he’s already crossed lines, already messed up.

He clenches his fists, willing himself to stay composed. He would never take advantage of you like this. He’d rather let you hurt him, use him, break him into pieces.

Oh, screw it.

“Sweetheart,” he mouths, barely audible. His lips form the words so softly that you have to read them. His intense eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering. “What are you thinking right now?”

“This isn’t the time for your stupid jokes—”

He silences you with a single, long finger placed gently on your lips. “Answer the question, love.” His towering frame looms closer, his voice a deep rumble, and the tension only thickens.

You take a shaky breath. “Y-Yell at you, hit you, throw everything I have at you to finally make your goddamn mouth shut for good,” you hiss, your anger slipping through the cracks in your voice.

“Do it, then. I’m the one who’s wrong.”

Your lips part, and your eyes widen in surprise.

Satoru grabs your trembling hand and firmly places it against his chest, right over his racing heart. His voice softens. “Go on. Yell at me. Hit me. Use me however you need to.”

His pulse mirrors yours, beating in sync, loud and unruly.

Your gaze catches the subtle flicker of his eyes darting to your lips again, the ever-so-slight sway of his body bringing him closer.

When you lift your hand, Satoru doesn’t flinch. He braces himself, ready to take whatever you’re about to give him.

But instead of striking him, your hand fists the collar of his shirt. With one hard tug, you pull him down, crashing his mouth onto yours in a desperate, fiery kiss as though it’s your last breath.

Satoru responds immediately, kissing you back with the same raw intensity. His large hands snake around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips, teeth, and tongue all move in a fervent, chaotic dance with yours, each touch more intoxicating than the last.

When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, his lips still brushing against yours. He doesn’t let you go, his arms holding you close as if letting you go would shatter him.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice low and rough, chest heaving against yours. His hand trails to your neck, then your jaw, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you thinking now?”

His warm, uneven breaths ghost over your lips, and you fight the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. Your anger hasn’t fully subsided, still simmering beneath the surface.

“You. You’re haunting me. Sometimes so much that I can’t think of anything else,” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion.

His eyes burn brighter, the ardor in them impossible to miss. “God, sweetheart…” he murmurs, pressing soft, fluttering kisses along your neck, his lips scorching your sensitive skin. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. Only you. No more lies, no more heartbreak.”

Each kiss he plants on your skin draws breathy, unsteady sighs from your lips. “Y-You’re selfish…” you manage to say between ragged breaths, your nails digging into the firm muscles of his biceps. “So fucking selfish…”

“If being this desperate for you, for your love, is selfish, then I’m on my knees, my love,” he replies, his voice like velvet. He kisses the marks on your skin, the ones you tried to cover, with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “I’m all yours. Completely yours.”

He slides the strap of your tank top down, revealing more of the skin he adores. His lips graze it gently as he whispers, “I didn’t mean a single word about you looking like a clown. I just want you to be happy… with someone who loves you and doesn’t cheat on you.”

His hands cup your face delicately, tilting it up so your eyes meet his. His voice drops to a whisper, raw and sincere. “I’m deeply sorry, sweetheart.”

The genuine vulnerability in his gaze hits you hard.

You punch his chest — not out of anger, but because you don’t know what else to do with the emotions clawing at your chest. “I hate you, remember?”

A smile spreads across Satoru’s face, soft and warm, despite the tension in the room. “As much as I’m obsessed with you.”

Your free hand tangles itself in his silky white hair, tugging lightly as your fingers weave through the strands. With just enough force, you pull him down once again, capturing his lips in a searing, passionate kiss that holds every ounce of anger, frustration, and longing you feel for him.

As surprising as it may seem, Satoru lets a smile stretch against your lips — pressed together in a sloppy, wet kiss that blends tongues, lips, and teeth. Your chest, magnetized to his, feels the pounding of his heart, each beat drumming against you like a bass drum.

Your teeth part, biting his lower lip cruelly, hard enough for a faint taste of blood to seep into your mouth. Yet, he doesn’t seem fazed by it. In fact, he lets himself get intoxicated by your steamy breath, swallowing every gasp of air you exhale as if it’s his only source of oxygen.

With a natural ease, one of Satoru’s hands grabs yours and pins them above your head, pressing them against the wall as his pelvis grinds into yours. You feel the growing bulge you’ve provoked pressing against you.

“See what you do to me?” he breathes in your ear, breaking the kiss sloppily.

“And you’ll lose it completely when I fuck you until I’m the only one you’re thinking of,” you snap back, wrapping one leg around his hip before climbing fully onto him. With both legs now locked around his waist, your back is pinned to the wall, and your newly freed hands are poised to ravage your lover.

Blood rushes through your temples, creating a buzz in your ears. Your flushed ears mirror the crimson tips of Satoru’s. Supporting you with one arm, he uses the other to trace a finger across your lips, smearing the remnants of his blood there.

“Can’t wait to think even more of you — even though you already fill all my dreams and nightmares,” he murmurs with a sly grin. Then, both hands slide to your thighs, gripping them as he carries you to the bed—the same bed where you had your last steamy session with him.

Kneeling at the foot of the bed, Satoru settles between your legs while you lay back comfortably, fully aware he plans to take care of you before you ruin him. With practiced ease, his rough but tender hands remove your pajama shorts and panties, discarding them to the floor with a soft rustle. Your skin is adorned with earlier marks—purplish bruises, handprints, and hickeys — all of which tell a story (a decidedly sexy one, at that).

Just the sight of your spread legs, offering him an unobstructed view of your glistening, swollen folds — still slick from earlier—ignites a fiery tremor in his core. He’s practically salivating at the sight but regains focus when your heel presses sharply against his shoulder, a silent demand for urgency.

“Don’t make me wait,” you mouth, locking your gaze with his as his mouth inches dangerously close to your core.

Impatience mingles with the tension crackling between you. The moment his lips close around your clit, a hiss escapes your mouth.

Your fingers thread through his snow-white hair as though it’s the only lifeline keeping you from falling into the abyss. His warm, skilled tongue laps at your folds with slow, ravenous intensity. Every stroke of his tongue sends jolts of pleasure surging through you, spurring him to drink you in until his thirst is quenched.

“Satoru, f-fast—ah,” you stammer when his tongue flicks your now puffy, sensitive clit with pinpoint precision.

Your eyes roll back, your breath quickens, and your body trembles with each wave of pleasure. Your hands tug incessantly at his hair, driving him absolutely wild.

“Faster?” He looks up at you, his mouth still latched onto your center. “Is that what you—lick—want? Keep ripping my hair out, then.”

And that’s exactly what he makes you do. Your hips buck involuntarily toward his face, and he grunts in approval, gripping your hips with his large hands. Then, he lifts your legs over his arms and shoulders, perfectly positioning himself to devour you even more deeply.

Determined to make you cum as quickly as possible, the tip of his tongue teases your dripping, needy entrance. He feels your walls fluttering, your core pulsing and throbbing, empty and desperate.

The idea of filling you crosses his mind.

“Poor thing needs to be filled, huh?” he chuckles darkly, his voice thick and gravelly.

When he slides a long finger into you — slowly, carefully — the way your velvety walls clench tightly around him nearly makes him lose control on the spot. You grip his digit so tightly, drawing him deeper, that every movement inside you elicits louder, breathier curses laced with frustration.

“Don’t try to mock me, you bast— ah!” you moan, throwing your head back on the mattress the second after the pad of his forefinger reached your cervix — a spot that you can never reach yourself and even your husband. “Oh my God, I hate you so much…”

“You know what I love the most when we’re doing it?” Satoru whispers with a smirk, bringing his damp lips back to your clit to suck your bud at the same time as he’s fingering you. “When you lose all—kiss—your—lick—control—suck—only from my touch, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he purrs against your core, his finger curling up right in your sweet spot. “Say you hate me baby, I’m just waiting for you to be ready and take care of me.”

“I—you buck your hips harder—hate you,” you groan louder and firmer than earlier and clench around him right before cumming hard, hips bucking up against him and arching your back with no control over it.

Your vision blurs and star-like spots pop on your darkening vision. The intensity of your orgasm crashes over you so hard that for a few seconds, you’re losing almost all your senses — hearing, sight and touch — because of your mind going dizzy.

When the sensation wears off, a quick glance to the side reveals an already undressed Satoru, his impatient length just waiting for your attention — already twitching and hard like rock for you.

With a wry smile plastered to his lips, he reaches over you to grab your hips and gently lift you up and switch places — him lying on his back and you sitting so sensuously on top of him with your thighs delicately wrapped around his hips. He can't resist submitting to you completely.

Your still pulsing core rests straight on his cock, like you are riding him for real — or not yet.

Your senses restored, you don’t wait long before raising your hips, Satoru’s hands still holding them, and taking in his drooling length of precum with one hand. As you lower your hips, the fat tip of Satoru's dick pushes forward your hole and gets trapped in your walls glistening with your juices.

You both moan at the same time, head throwing back and mouth open ajar from the strong pleasure. Each inch that was moving further more into your cunt until the mushroom tip kisses your cervix was already being milked because your walls are so fucking sensitive that it’s making Satoru’s eyes roll back and babble nonsense.

“Sweet— Sweetheart, don’t squeeze y-yet, I need time to—” But you cut him off with your forefinger pressed against his handsome lips.

“Nuh-uh.” You lean in with a mischievous smile plastered on your face, eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of being on top of him. “You’re going to be a good boy and take my pussy, understood?” And you punctuate your warning with a sharp bounce of your hips that makes him moan with pleasure then nod hurriedly.

“Mhh—hmph!”

So you start moving your hips up and down with purposeful slowness.

Your hand wraps around his throat and squeezes gently. Your hips bounce harder each time, and you ignore Satoru’s uncontrolled moans, which, despite his clenched jaw, can't help letting out moans and whimpers of pleasure.

“Who’s a good boy, tell me?” you ask, thrusting down your hips along his cock harder once more.

“N-Not gonna say it, sweetie,” Satoru chokes out between breathless hiccups because your hand squeezes his throat harder. “You can bet it— God…” He can feel your walls tightening around him, your core pulsing and his length throbbing inside you and at the verge of spilling out all the cum his sensitive balls were holding back. His hands grip your hips with more force that it’ll leave marks but you both don’t care anymore.

It’s just you and him having sex to see who will break first.

Your heavy, noisy breaths — not to mention the wet sounds of your skin slapping against each other — fill the room. Hot blood courses through both your veins, but nothing can stop your hips from slamming mercilessly into Satoru, tightening every time you’re bouncing on him.

Even though you two are at the verge of reaching orgasm, you wanted to have your way with him this time.

“I hate you, Satoru Gojo,” you groan, leaning your chest against his before moving faster as your breath. His arms wrap around your back to get you close and then he can start matching your movements.

He presses his lips on your ear and whispers breathlessly, “I’m your, utterly yours,” right before cumming at the same time as your, his semen filling immediately your cunt as you clench around him and let out a similar pathetic whimper like him.

Toes curled up and eyelids shutting down, you both hug each other until the orgasm goes away. Not before a good one minute. Silence fills the room before your brain melts away to focus on the still rapid beating of your heart against Satoru’s chest.

“After this, I’ll help you pack your important things and we go home. Our true home, okay?” he murmurs against your ear. “I’ll give you the life you want and deserve, sweetheart. No need to think about anything or anyone else.” And he concludes with a loving kiss on your temple as you nod, resting your cheek on his collarbone.

His big hand runs through your tousled hair before continuing to tenderly kiss your burning faces.

“I hate you,” you mumble, your mind growing heavy for a sleep.

“I love you too.”

a/n: it's been a while that i didn’t write a long one-shot like this one but it’s relaxing in a way lol. a big thank you for @/lymsfm for helping me through this hell, i genuinely don’t know what i would do without you and sorry for all my rants and your patience by listening to me getting crazy for literally everything 😭. so on this, i hope you guys enjoyed this fic and see you soon! <3

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422

@drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @catrizzz @sanemistar

@monokaix @moonlitwitchdaisy