Latest Posts by surainlaiyq - Page 2

working out together ♡

꩜ trigger warnings | this is 18+ content. contains mentions and/or descriptions of man handling, choking, size difference if you really squint

caleb definitely gets off by using his strength on you. it really gives him a kick knowing he's stronger than you, faster than you, that he can manhandle you in whatever position he pleases with little to no strength even needed. whether it's letting you sit on his back while he does pushups or throwing you over one shoulder when you whine about not getting your way, caleb loves the idea of it. even more so when he's got one thick arm wrapped around your throat in a headlock while he pounds you from behind, the soft coo of his voice a stark contrast from the way his cock assaults your poor fluttering cunt, murmuring, "look at you take it like such a good girl, huh? you like it when I get a little rough with you, hm? yeah, you do. I can feel you clenching around me." you can hear the smirk in his voice. "nasty thing."

10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

caleb has a habit of tilting his head down when you're talking to him, especially when you're standing close. it's not dramatic, just enough to catch your gaze, brows slightly raised like he’s listening to you and only you.

it's the kind of look that makes you forget what you were saying for a second.

the worst part? he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. he'll lean an elbow on a table or rest a hand against a doorframe, letting his height naturally create that downward angle: eyes low-lidded, mouth relaxed, totally unbothered. and you'll just stare, cheeks heating up, heartbeat skipping.

and when he does know?

he tilts a little more, lowers his voice, and murmurs, “you were saying?”

yeah. he knows.

dilf!nanami x virgin!f!reader (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

nanami shoving his big cock in your tight little pussy :( you two met at a bar the other day, you’re barely twenty one and he’s already in his early forties.

imagine his shock when he finds out you’re still a virgin at twenty one?! he stifled in a laugh at that, he didn’t want you to think he was making fun of you. you guys ended up hitting it off that night and started to meet each other more, from coffee dates to small pecks on the lips.. and the age gap didn’t seem to bother either of you, if anything you were into it way more than he was.

then you finally give him the words he’s been waiting to hear, that you want him to take your virginity.

and as he expected, you were as tight as a vice. he said he’d be gentle with you, (unfortunately he promised you) but he wanted to fuck you hard already. “such a pretty pussy, baby,” he coos, his voice is so perfect. deep, soft. just like how he was entering you.

“s-slow, please,” you mumble, your hand coming up to grab his, interlocking fingers tightly. his eyes almost melted at the sight of your beautiful expression, the way your breath hitched and the way your hand was sweaty. “i’ll be slow, promised you, remember?” he watches his thick cock go inside you inch by inch, you could feel yourself getting stretched out. it was oddly pleasurable yet a bit painful as he pushed deeper.

he watches you nod your head and bite your lip, before speaking up again. “let me hear your voice pretty girl, that was our deal right? i want to hear all your sounds.” his free hand that was guiding his cock in your walls came to rub your inner thigh softly, his thumb rubbing lazy circles on your plushness.

“feels good yeah? say it feels good for me honey,” he talks again, you nod your head, “feels good, you.. you feel really good,” that makes him smile.

you can feel his shaft deep inside you now, but not fully bottomed out yet, and you wondered how big he truly was.

a few moments later of slowly pushing alllll the way in, he bottomed out, and he let out a deep groan at the way you felt. “you’re perfect, y’know that?” he whispers.

he disconnects his hand from your own, earning a soft whine from you that made him chuckle. he grabs your calf’s softly with both his huge hands and scoots you closer, lifting your body up so he can have better access as he puts your ankles on his shoulders. “this is much better..” he hums.

“you can move now,” you finally say after a minute of adjusting to his size. and what went from moving slowly became him thrusting into you a bit more roughly, if it was up to him he’d have you on your knees, spanking your gorgeous ass as he praises you, but this was nice too- especially because he loved the way those moans escaped your pretty lips and he knew this was what he wanted, what he needed.

© damsalindistress - do not plagiarize / translate my work

i got too lazy to finish it but dilf nanami supremacy !!

expensive kisses

"Doll," Toji calls, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your bodies remain bare after your love making session, your lower bodies still tangled up in the sheets.

"Toji," you respond, a lazy smile curling on your lips as he presses a couple more rapid, chaste kisses on the same spot. "What, baby?" You ask, your voice entirely soft on his ears.

"Love you," he murmurs. "I'm gonna crush you. Just let me... let me do this, first," he hums, pulling your body into his overly tight embrace. He's almost suffocating you, but you expected it, knowing how he gets after spending hours tangled up with you. "Aren't you gonna say it back?" He mumbles, his voice somewhat muffled by your hair.

A soft laugh is expelled as a breath through your nose. "Love you so much, my sweet, kind bear. And before you say anything, yes, you're still tough and scary to everyone else."

He chuckles, the sound warm and familiar to your ears. You know him so well.

"What about you? Am I tough and scary to you?" He asks, planting another kiss on the top of your head, his lips curling when a twinkle of your laughter reaches his ears.

"You're very tough, as for the other thing... I can pretend to be scared if you want."

"Boo," he tests, his voice as calm and gentle as its been this whole time. There was no actual attempt to make your heart drop with fear, but seeing the way you kept your word of acting scared lured a soft chuckle out of him. You let out a dramatic gasp and you jolted, but really there isn't an ounce of fear in your body. If anything, you feel even more calm, knowing that you're in the arms of your safe space. You trust, wholeheartedly, that he will always be that for you.

"Did I scare you?" He asks, a lazy grin gracing his lips. His fingertips trace the invisible line of your spine, up and down, before his hand settles on your shoulder blade.

"Maybe a little bit," you mumble, leaning forward to leave a kiss on his collarbone. Your lips trail upward towards his neck, soft kisses on his warm skin and rosy blots blossoming in their wake.

"Keep kissing me like that, see what happens," he almost purrs, and you do keep kissing him like that, because you do want to see what happens. You press little butterfly kisses on his face—on his chin, his cheek, the tip of his nose. Everywhere but his lips.

"Last chance, pretty," he warns. You don't stop, though. Your lips continue to caress patches of his skin, leaving evidence behind, carelessly. You hum as you trace his face and the side of his neck all over again, and though time is ticking for Toji to give you the consequence for your actions, he doesn't want it to stop just yet, and every second that passes serves as more of a delay.

"My baby," you murmur softly, a barrage of kisses landing on the corner of his lips, after. "Love you sooo much."

And he snaps. The second his lips are on yours, he begins the process of taking all the kisses you "refused" to give him on the lips. You giggle when he flips both of you and settles between your legs. His hands glide over your sides, collecting your arms and bringing them up above your head.

"Ba--" you're interrupted by his continued, seemingly endless wave of kisses. "B--" you laugh at your inability to get the term of endearment out. One more time. "Bab--" Nope.

"I warned you, ba-by," he over-enunciates, mocking you. "But you wanted to find out, didn't you?" He murmurs against your lips. "You wanted to know what would happen, huh?"

He loves that your amusement never dies, even when you've been in this same room together for hours, now. Giggles and squeals flow freely, your hearty reactions to him returning your affection—doubling it.

"You didn't like my kisses?" You ask, unable to hold back a laugh when his lips graze along your jaw.

"Liked them a little too much... Can't get enough of you," he murmurs between wet little kisses on your cheek. "And I warned you, sweetness. Now, you're gonna get tired of me."

"Will not," you deny, as he nears your lips. His grip tightens around your wrists, luring a soft smile from you.

"Say it again," he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours.

"I'll never get tired of you," you say—a promise forged right before him. "'Cause I can't get enough of you either, baby," you respond, before welcoming the all consuming kisses he gives you. His grip does not loosen one bit throughout his mission to steal your breath. It's as if he's trying to keep you steady, unmoving, so he can take as much from your sweet lips as he wants. He takes kiss after kiss, like it's an endless fountain of affection, and you only prove it to be true when you push your lungs to their limits.

"I need you," he murmurs, something desperate and utterly debilitating in the low timbre of his voice. The hold he has on your wrists is finally released, returning the freedom of your hands' mobility.

"I'm right here," you assure, instantly making use of your hands by tenderly cupping his cheeks. "I'm yours," you vow.

"Yours," he returns, before picking up where you and him left off a little while ago.

Gentleness and intimacy conquered the bed and wrinkled sheets you both laid on, and the outside world was shut out, only able to reach you through moonlight.

it takes you a handful of minutes before you notice satoru's head resting against your thigh. he's staring off into space. there's a barely noticeable pout on his lips that replaces his trademark grin, and he looks... dejected.

albeit a little clumsily, you slip out of your seat as quietly as you can and lower yourself onto the ground beside him. satoru perks up once he sees you next to him, and everyone else around you two converses noisily, oblivious to you two crouched under the table like little kids.

you give your boyfriend a curious tilt of your head, and he smiles sadly.

"hi there, pretty."

"hi. who are we hiding from?"

there's a flush to your cheeks that is entirely from the drinks you've had tonight. your eyes are a misty haze — and in your intoxicated state, you fail to notice satoru's thumb brush over the small, velvet box in his hand as he tucks it back into his pocket.

tonight had been the night satoru wanted to propose to you. he'd give himself at least a dozen pep talks between waking up and picking you up for your umpteenth date — then, he'd taken you to your favorite restaurant, a modest little place tucked into the outer edges of the city.

he thought it was perfect. despite all the extravagant things that came along with dating the satoru gojo, he wanted your proposal to be personal and special. just the two of you.

what he didn't expect was to run into all of your sorcerer friends and co-workers.

satoru supposes it is kind of his fault for not telling anyone about his plans to propose to you tonight. of course, he planned to tell everyone after you two were formally engaged, but he never considered the possibility that you two could run into others.

before he knew it, tables were being pushed together and chairs were being dragged around to make room for everyone else to join. shoko, suguru, and a few other of your co-workers had all finished up a late night mission and headed to the nearest restaurant — which inconveniently happened to be the one you and satoru were dining at.

"no one in particular," satoru finally says, trying his best to mask his disappointment with a dorky grin as he pokes your cheek.

you catch his hand, eyes squinting as you look closer at him.

"you look sad. is it because i ate your spinach dip?"

your boyfriend gasps, loudly and deeply offended by the accusation as you break out into a silly giggle, telling him to shush before everyone eating notices you two under the table.

"is food the only supposed source of my emotions?" satoru laughs, and you shrug with a slanted grin

"if the shoe fits."

"oh, you are asking for it little miss—"

his hands find your sides, and you quickly cover your mouth to stifle your laughter as you squirm against him. eventually, shoko's head dips under the table, and her loud burst of laughter manages to distract satoru enough to allow you to pry yourself out of his grip.

"come on, satoru! you didn't even try the chocolate fudge cake yet. nanami accidentally ordered three, let's try and snag one to take home." you suggest with a grin, rising on wobbly legs from under the table and wiggling back into your seat as satoru follows

"ooo — quick! before utahime eats it all!"

his first attempt at proposing was a total fail. but, honestly, satoru can't even be mad. you had a great time tonight with him and all of your friends, so what's there to be disappointed about?

his next try will be better, he's sure of it. and maybeee somewhere on a remote island where the chances of running into anyone else was in the negatives.

in a few years, satoru's hopeful he'll be able to look back at this moment and laugh about it with you. so, he'll forget about the ring in his pocket for now and focus on the present — which was competing in the 'who can eat the most cake without barfing' competition against you.

spoiler alert: he ends up winning :P.... fatass <3

Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

Pleaseeeee, I'm begging you.... I need to know how Nanami react when his wife finally tell him she's pregnant and his not crazy this whole time.

click 4 context :)

nanami swears he's never seen you eat deep-fried... anything. it wasn't that you weren't keen; it just never fell into your lap. whenever you two ate outside of home, you found yourself walking hand-in-hand through the doors of your favorite hole-in-the-wall ramen shop.

but, tonight, you begged him. nearly cried with a jutted lip for something you never had, but doom-scrolled past on social media.

now you're sitting in front of him, back straight as an arrow as you uncharacteristically shovel steaming-hot slices of gyukatsu between your glossed lips.

he watches you hardly, flicking his eyes every few moments to catch the way your lips shake, or how you do that stupid little happy dance when you get the perfect bite. he's tending to his curried rice, eating slowly—your exact opposite. he smiles to himself, letting the table remain quiet with your content hums until you bite your tongue and whine out.

"slow down, my love." he speaks after swallowing his bite, leaning back. he can see the slight flush heading across your familiar neck as you react to his buttery voice.

"i'm so sorry. how impolite of me."

"well, i don't care much. just don't want you to burn or... bite yourself further." he nodding towards the sizzling hot stone just in your reach—a dangerous pairing with your eagerness.

flushed under fluttering gold lighting, kento swears you're beaming just a bit stronger. there's a tint to your cheeks that isn't usually there, a gleam that didn't exist until a month ago. he furrows his eyebrows.

"don't stare!"

"thank you for indulging me tonight." you smile as he bends at the knee to remove your shoes at your doorway. you're leaning a hand on the frame, body and mind full of wagyu and kento. "I know you've had a long day at work."

"long day or not, when you tell me you want something..." he pauses, grunting as he stands. "I listen. always. well, most likely."

you giggle, reaching up to hold the back of his neck. the small buzz of his undercut feels fuzzy and familiar—like home. "you're a good husband."

you don't notice, but kento does. the small lisp you give him in speech—he knows it's from your bruised tongue—he hums. "does it hurt a lot? your poor tongue?"

shaking your head, you're smiling. "no... yes... a little bit."

"may I see?" he's so close to you that his words bounce off of your lips like smog—so salty and warm. you nod immediately, always letting him in. "open up."

you're giggling again. "yes, sir." then you keep them parted, dropping your jaw so he can see inside of your warm mouth. you can hear his breathing in the closeness, the drag of his voice against his vocal cords as he inspects.

it's when he presses his finger against the side of your tongue, does it hit you. a debilitating, familiar wave of dizziness. then, you're weak and dipping, knees falling.

right before kento catches you with a single-arm hold on your back, he doesn't make a sound, but the look on his face is terrified. "nanami? are you okay? can you stand?"

it takes you a moment to focus, but his words make it easier. you shake your head, gently. "must've been the exertion."

"why don't you go sit? i'll bring you something, would you like tea?"

"i would love it. thank you."

so, he trusts your balance, but he lets you go like he's nervous. it's only to walk to the couch, but it seems as if you just can't catch your footing. then, you stall and lean to the side—he rushes you, sweeping you up in a cradle.

"no. straight to bed."

"i'm sorry." you whine, burying your head in the pillow when he places you on the mattress.

"i'm calling the doctor now. i've never seen you like this." he's keeping his promise in his perfect timing, scrolling through his contact list with a shaking head. you're staring up at him in horror, heart hammering in your chest, because you don't need a doctor. you know what's wrong.

"n-no, please don't... it's so late."

"doctors take call just like i do." then, he finds it, and just before his thumb presses that shiny green 'call now' button, you're stuffing your face into the pillow, letting it muffle your breathing.

"i'm pregnant." you whine into the fluff, hands twisted tight in the material. you hope he can't hear you, but it's far too late to take it back.

"hm?" kento heard you. crystal fucking clear. but, he's doing that unsure little eyebrow cock, thumb shaking as it hovers over his phone. "what?" he repeats.

"p-pregnant... i'm pregnant." it feels like lava pouring from your soul, so white-hot and shameful, because you've been hiding it for well over two months.

he scoffs, putting his phone down and burying his forehead in his big hand. there's a smirk there—very slight. you don't see it. "ah, well... yes, I suppose that explains it... all."

"please don't be mad at me, it's your fault."

"mine? how?"

"if you just..." you're still talking into the pillow, letting it do the heavy lifting. "you're always on top of me; it's like I can't keep you away."

kento laughs again, it's the most joyless sound that sparks so much within you. he nods, then sits down right next to you, smoothing a hand over the swell of your hips. "if it were possible to choose, i'd like to die on top of you—or inside of you."

"not funny." you're on the verge of tears, feeling the hormonal angst hit you like a ton of bricks.

kento clicks his teeth, then pushes your shoulder to get your flushed face free. "I wasn't trying to be... look, I am not mad-the direct opposite, actually." he's whispering, tracing that hand over your face. you're so warm, so free, now. "I am so happy. relieved that it wasn't something else, too."

"but i'm so scared."

"that's okay. so am i... both happy and scared and relieved; in love with you, your ways, and your spirit." that hand trails back down your side, then it rests right over your lower stomach, thumb rubbing across the covered skin. "and this little one we created together." when he presses, he can feel the firmness that wasn't usually there. "I don't think we will be very good at first, but i'd like it very much if we taught each other how to be the gentlest parents possible."

now, you're crying. it's falling in waves and buckets, snotting up your pillow and eliciting embarrassing sounds from your throat. you're kicking your feet, so built up and unsure where to expel it. "whyyyy," you sob, reaching to twist your smaller fist in his shirt. "why would you say that to me? I'm gonna explode—it's so-

"what are you talking about?" he cuts you off, cradling your clenched fist to his chest. he really just wants to wipe those tears away and make love, but he's kind of... afraid. you'll probably bite him just like your tongue.

"when you talk to me like that... it's so... i can feel it."

"hm... do you think our baby can feel it? i wonder if she can hear us."

"she? i feel like it's a boy."

"no." he whispers, shaking his head, and so sweetly purrs, "definitely a girl."

NEED to see gojo and toji with a good girl. maybe you can do how they react to having the opposite. only if you want 😋

┌─ .✦ WITH THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT THEY PREFER part one

characters. multi jjk.

authors note. I too wanted to see gojo with a good girl. so here you go angel face! also i couldn’t come up with a better word than ‘prefer’ 😭 BUT WHATEVER YOU ARE!! THEY PREFER YOU

✦ — gojo satoru, with a good girl.

at first, he’s amused. like really? no fight? no attitude? but once he sees how sincerely you want to please him, something inside him shifts—gets more gooey and slow. he likes corrupting you. his praise is so filthy it’s practically degrading. whispers sweet things after he break you. in the end though he’s the love drunk one. “fuck—you’re really letting me do whatever I want… you’re dangerous, baby.”

✦ — geto suguru, with a brat.

he laughs when you act out. he likes watching you throw a tantrum. he breaks you down with patience by using rope and eye contact. keeps you restrained and aching until you beg him to take control again. he’s not mad. he’s disappointed—and that’s worse. “are you done embarrassing yourself, or do you need help remembering your place?”

✦ — naoya zenin, with a brat.

he’s pissed. his ego demands respect and you decide to challenge him? he snaps. he doesn’t get flustered though—he gets mean. “you think mouthing off makes you strong? pathetic.” grabs your jaw, fucks you face-down ass up, makes you cry for being disrespectful. every bratty act gets met with punishment until you learn to bow. he won’t stop until you’re trembling and whimpering his name.

✦ — toji fushiguro, with a good girl.

your obedience catches him off guard. but once you obey without question? he gets mean in the most delicious way. he tests just how far your obedience goes by fucking you like he hates you. imagine his surprise when he sees his good girl taking the rough pounding like it’s love. “tch. so fuckin’ obedient… bet you’d let me ruin you and still thank me.”

✦ — nanami kento, with a brat.

visibly annoyed. the glasses come off and the sleeves roll up. but deep down? he enjoys putting you back in place by edging you for hours so he gives you rules he knows you’ll break. he’s known for being calm and clinical, but underneath that? he’s filthy. you don’t act out for a while after he’s done. “I suggest you get it out of your system now.”

✦ — sukuna ryomen, with a good girl.

he thinks it’s boring—until he realizes how much power he has. a girl who worships him? you become his entirely. calls you his little worshipper. makes you beg for his cruelty—and calls it love. “you’d kneel for me without even being told? fuck. I could do anything to you.”

✦ — choso kamo, with a good girl.

he’s… stunned. like emotionally overwhelmed. this soft, obedient energy? he doesn’t know what to do with it. he gets so gentle with you and your body but later? he starts testing—just a little roughness, a little teasing—trying to see if you’ll still be good. and when you are? he falls harder. calls you his girl in the softest voice you’ve ever heard. “you… trust me? just like that?”

.𖥔 COGNITIVE DISSONANCE ⭑.ᐟ⸻ Nerdjo

⸻୨ৎ"𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭"୨ৎ⸻

pairing⸻𖥔 boyfriend Nerdjo x reader

cw ────୨ৎ──── university/college au, Nerd Gojo Satoru, MDNI, NSFW, established relationship, fem reader, mentions of food, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, minor spit stuff, bunch of making out, lowkey exhibitionism, p in v sex, backshots, dirty talk, begging, overstimulation, freaky Gojo, obsessed Gojo, Gojo with specs, bunch of yapping about the theory and other biological phenomena, nothing too complicated I believe, i am open to discuss them in the comments lol.

a/n: art credits @/nekozuu_ on instagram. this was one of my fav theories back in high school.

Gojo Satoru lives by his beliefs, which are firm and rigid—in the sense, they are unshakable until proven wrong.

And one of those beliefs happens to be his positive regard for knowledge and education. Satoru finds his own comfort and joy in knowing he may be smarter than an average pedestrian crossing the road with him. If odds and variables are in his favor, then he's just about the smartest person you'll cross a road with. And he likes that. He likes the feeling of superiority and fulfillment in those achievements. Especially when they are recognized by others.

So it is only natural that as your boyfriend, your great and supportive boyfriend, he supports all your hobbies, and indulges in your favorite activities; despite their overall redundant effective outcome in his perspective. He still accompanies you to those silly movies you watch just for fun and forget about them the next day because they are of no substance, he'll go to a party with you where it's so crowded it defeats the purpose of socializing. 

He will buy you books that do not really add to anything but give you entertainment, and he will watch every trashy reality show you want to watch with him on a Friday night. He’ll even go and buy you the most unhealthy, and unethical brand of cookies if it means you are happy. Even when it is probably that he knows better shops that make better stuff, but if you do not want it, then he will respect that. Because ultimately it is not that it interferes with his convictions, these are compromises he is willing to make for love.

So when all he asks of you is to focus on your grades a little bit more than what you are currently, how can you say no to him?

And of course he is there to help you through all of it! Helping you with notes, going to the library with you and even sweet talking the librarian into helping you return those books you were long overdue to return, just because she loves him. He makes you coffee, and lunch boxes, and even asks your professor for some additional pointers on your behalf.

Then why is it that when you actually get so engrossed into studying he is there in a corner, ignored, and dejected, plotting to burn down the university? The same place where he tops every single academic chart, and competitions. Either beloved by the professors or hated by them for his very capable brain.

Gojo Satoru has strict beliefs, and behavior that corresponds according to those schemas. Then why is it that he is not able to come to a certain conclusion? Does he want your affection at the cost of your grades? Of course not! That would not be something Satoru would even dream about!

After all this is the same guy who helps Suguru with his assignments the day before their submission, one too many times. He helps Shoko with her pre-med preparations, and even helps out his juniors by providing them his notes and pointers for free.

So why is it that he is performing these contradictory behaviors that cannot justify his beliefs?

He is snuggling you up in the bed when you are surrounded by loose notes and papers, even lying on top of them and crushing them in the process. Throwing a fit when you scold him, and pushing them off on the ground out of spite; like a big overgrown, bratty, spoiled house cat. So he gets kicked out of the bed after being heavily scolded by you. 

He is sliding his feet up your legs and between your thighs, at the library, not stopping even when someone comes and takes a seat beside you. Taking pleasure in watching your face twist and turn, even though it is hidden a bit behind your laptop screen, he still gets a peek. He wouldn't stop, he cannot stop, it's as if his mind goes into this ‘must always touch the love of my life’ mode, even when it's disputing his usual functions. So he gets kicked in the knees by you, and also gets abandoned there.

He cannot help but pull you into random empty classrooms to make out with you, even when you are late for your classes. 

“It-*kiss*-will be-*kiss*- alright”

“No, N-*kiss*-you have to-” Shoving at his shoulders is useless. Just resisting his kisses is simply near impossible. 

Good luck trying to get out of his clutches. Telling him to stop is not happening when he has those pretty pink lips trying to silence you with kisses. Trying to push him off is also ineffective. Once, you are in his arms, on his lap, in the back of an empty lecture hall, Satoru is taking full exploitative advantage of the situation.

He will be only letting you go when he hears someone enter the class. He will pick you up with him in one go, and walk out of the entrance at the back as fast as he can. He has been banned from kissing privileges for a whole day, during exam season for doing this. 

And honestly he'd risk it again. Only because he knows how to plead his way back onto your lips, and in between your legs.

"Pleaseeeeee sweets i am so sorry, look how sorry i am." Curse Gojo Satoru and his big blue puppy eyes, and your unfathomable amount of love for him.

And if begging does not work, which hardly ever happens—he would just start with kissing around your neck, and snuggling into your side, while you try to not give him any attention; and then quickly it would turn into dirty talking into your ears, in his own eccentric way, until you give in.

“You know sweets, condoms are not biodegradable.” You are not sure what made a shiver run down your spine. Was it what he said or the bite on your earlobe, or his wandering hands creeping up your stomach under your top? 

“W-what?”

“Just saying that, we should do it raw, right now, for the environment. You know?”

Maybe it is just the fact that you look so hot when your eyebrows are all scrunched up when you focus. Something is very sexy about you trying, actually trying, for his sake. And it just simply turns him on. How hard you try to ignore his advances, and how it shows so clearly that you get so easily affected by his little touches and silly words. It looks exactly the same when you cum for him, just the difference is that your eyes remain open in this case. 

He is not one to have types, if you asked him whether this reckless behavior is because he's into nerdy girls more—then he'd simply say an adamant no. Because he doesn't care. The only reason he is being like this is because it's you. Everytime you whine and push him away, when he tries to distract you, despite it, you just melt so pliable and soft in his arms, that even your actions seem despite your words. Just like him. The thought burns his skin, makes his heart palpitate, leaves him panting, and his vision gets all blurry—that maybe you love him as disruptively, as he loves you.

Dichotomy? Contradictions? He can live with those. But dissonance? That he cannot do. His entire existence is about the perfect synchronisation of his cognition and behavior, achievement of homeostasis, so he can be the most functional version of himself.

He cannot have that when his mind is shouting at him to stop himself from distracting his girlfriend, while his hands are doing nothing to stop themselves from sneaking into your skirt.

So his love for knowledge and education can crash and burn when it tries to rival his need to be practically attached to his girlfriend, and always have all of her affections and undivided attention, like the selfish bastard he is.

Especially when he has your ass up in the air, giving you some of the meanest backshots of your life, while you are trying to solve an equation.

How is that fair?

"B-baby, can you-can you focus?" And no, he does not mean to imply that you should focus on your studying, he means focus on him.

"I am trying to focus here, Toru. Just another page and I'm done with this set, one second."

He continues to thrust harder and harder. Your almost entire body moves forward with each one, and just the fat of your ass jiggling from the impact, while his hands definitely leave an imprint around your waist—how are you even using that calculator right now?

“You sure, that-oh god-this is what you'd rather do?” He says before shutting his eyes and pushing on your body a bit, making your top half lie flat down on the bed, while your ass remains in the air, high and perfectly in his grasp.

“Yes Toru.” With a sigh you added more, “But please, continue.”

So he does. How can he disobey you? I mean if you look at it from a different angle, you can look at this like Gojo Satoru keeping his girlfriend motivated! Sure. 

How exactly? Well if you think about it, he is sort of helping you out with exhausting you, and making you get some sleep, and his kisses alone are very motivational, very inspiring. Or so he would like to think, definitely not distracting or attention seeking.

At least that is what he'd like to tell himself, like when after being ignored by you for one and a half hours, he finally decides he's had enough. And he abandons his own work, and crawls off your bed, to your desk, where you are sitting, trying to focus—keeping a healthy distance between you two, since the exams are practically the day after tomorrow.

And from the corner of your eyes you can see Satoru crawling towards you. Maybe he thinks if he crawled like a cat, he would go unnoticed, which is a very dumb assumption for such a smart guy. But he gets to your chair, and slightly turns it so you are no longer facing your desk, but him instead.

“You're hurting me sweets.” He laid his face on your thighs, and looked up at you with pleading eyes. Sitting on the floor, he looked so dejected and kicked, while moving your feet on his lap, and caressing a hand up and down on them.

“Do not start with me, Satoru.” Despite sighing at his big blue desperate eyes, hiding behind his metal frame spectacles. That now sat crooked on his face, as he further pressed his cheeks in your thighs, you still slipped one of your hands in his hair, scratching his scalp like a big clingy cat purring in your lap.

“‘M just askin’ for ‘m sweets to pay attention to me.” Both of his hands wrapped themselves around your shin, and he further shoved his face in your lap, mumbling and grumbling like a kid.

And when you don't reply to him, because you get busy with your worksheet again, he has no choice but to let the impulses run him. 

Is it so bad to distract your girlfriend the day before her exam? 

If you asked him this before he met you, he'd say yes. But now—the answer would be very different. A kind of, very cheeky ‘Nooooooo’. Since he is currently working to take off your shorts, and to get a taste of you, anything but a ‘no’ would be the incorrect answer. And why did you not try to pry him off as he lifted you up from your seat, with his sheer strength alone and dragged your shorts off? 

Let's say you're too used to his antics to be bothered by it. There have been days where he has gone to sleep with his mouth on your tits, and even taken naps with his face down, and pressed into your clothed pussy. You kind of got a scare that day that maybe he suffocated himself, when he would not get off of you.

But you never shy away from indulging his delirious or conscious insanity. You'd always pamper him after all the nighters he pulls to cover his syllabus in a day, months before exams; or if he stays up all night to finish a level of Zelda. It could be that he is just too happy to get full marks on his test, or that he's upset over his grades being not good enough—you’d kiss him, and let him do whatever he wants, to make himself feel better. You'd never stop him from trying to get his fill.

So when he puts both of your thighs up on his shoulder, and pulls your panties to the side to give your cunt a long lick; sure you whimper and your grip on your pen gets tighter—but you don't stop him.

“S-Sato-” The stutter of words got stuck in your throat, when his face plunged into your pussy with more vigor.

“AH. OH-FUCK-MY GO-GOODNESS. SATORU!”

His left hand remains tightly wrapped around your right thigh, while his left hand crept its way up to your hole, circling around it, and teasing to go in by a centimetre or so, to then only pull back and trace around your entrance.

“Hmm?” He hummed around your clit, as his tongue worked around it in a steady and perfected rhythm.

Well, Satoru has a system when it comes to eating you out. One thing he knows he'll never get conflicted over, is that he can die with his mouth on your pussy and he will die happy. He might even come back as an apparition instead of going to heaven, because his heaven is between your legs.

The way he eats your cunt is strategic, and yet very sloppy. And when it comes to your clit, sucking on it can do the job, as he has observed—but what truly gets you worked up is when he is tracing the pi symbol on your clit. That makes you shower his face with your juices. 

And honestly this was entirely an accidental finding. It just so happened that one day he needed a break from this equation that was making his head hurt, so as usual, he found refuge with his face between your legs. Unintentionally he started thinking about the equation again while eating you out, and when his tongue off mindedly started to trace the pi symbol on your clit, it made you squirt, which you had never done before.

Just to solidify his hypothesis and to draw an inference, for the next seven days, he spent most of his waking free hours between your legs. And everytime he pulled out the pi, you came more than ever.

This little side quest experiment cleared his head so well, he solved that equation within minutes after he came to his conclusions.

“P-please Toru- trying. Fuck. Try-trying to get .Fuck fuck fuck. this page is done.” You did not know these little details. You don't need to, because as long as he can make you cum like no one else has, all you need to remember is, his tongue.

“Be a good girl and finish it then, sweets.” The two fingers that he delved inside your hole, to push against those spots in your wall, that made you scream uncontrollably and want to grip his hair—he took them out, and used that hand to slap your clit with sharp and accurate movements of his wrist. Neither his taunting words, nor his little moans, could rival yours. But it sure did go straight to your pussy, quite literally.

“To-Toruuuu” You twitched with every little slap that came down on your clit. And your worksheet looked like a toddler started solving it by the end. The vibrations of the sounds he started to make in his own pleasure only made it worse for you.

“Yes, sweets?” He finally pulled off from your cunt, with his lips and nose glistening with your juices, and his glasses fogged up and smudged, so he had to look up at you from the gap above his glasses. 

And he truly could not look more fucked out. If someone saw you two, it'd be hard to tell who's brain has gone more mushy.

“If-hah-I cum, w-will you stop?” The proposition was tempting and risky.

“Hmmm? You're asking as if you can hold back.” And without another word, he dove right back in, with more determination, more fingers, accompanied by his tongue inside of you, and more of his spit just rolling down the mound of your cunt—he ate you out like a starved man, until you came.

And if you thought you could bargain with Gojo Satoru; you are, oh so, wrong. 

Satoru didn't let you go until you came again on his face on the bed next, and then again while sitting in his face. And by the sixth orgasm, you've had enough, so you passed out on him. 

Next day as punishment for himself, he refrained from doing anything to you, and helped you study while studying for his own exams. And when the urges started to override his beliefs, yet again. He ran back to his dorm room. And locked himself in there until the exams were done. He went as far as to not even touch himself to the thought of you, and kept contact with you minimum. Texts, only five per day; calls, only two per day; and video calls, once if he is about to pull out his dick and jerk it to pictures of your face on his phone. And he wished that maybe this distance will get rid of the discord in his head. 

By the time the exams ended, Satoru felt more than confident, not only in the fact that your grades are about to get better, and that he is going to top yet again; but also that his problem was under control.

Gojo Satoru has fixed his dissonance. His cognition and his behavior are in perfect synchronisation.

“Toruuuu!” You yelled as you ran towards him from across the hallway, to pick him up after his exam.

No, Satoru’s behaviors did not suddenly start to align with his beliefs. In fact, he figured it's better to align his beliefs with his behavior.

“Missed you sweets, so much.”

Gojo Satoru is not that fond of PDA, but like right now, he would never refrain from kissing you with tongue and all in the middle of the hallway. It doesn't matter that his glasses get pushed up to his forehead and he looks silly when you back away, because he will always chase your lips, as you giggle at him and try to fix his glasses.

“Missed you too baby” Your giggles went straight to his head. Making him see hearts floating in front of his eyes, all around you.

So, Satoru cannot keep his hands off you, big deal. Fuck his beliefs. He can, and he should, be able to touch you whenever and however he can. He is lucky enough to have you, to have you love him so dearly to indulge all his silly thoughts and his obsessive love sick behaviors.

It was only about time that his brain also understood that it cannot fight the phenomenon that is, your existence in his life. So why try to pull back his muscles from naturally reaching out to you, and why not just have his hands all over you? Because answer to homeostasis is not to battle with the anomalies disrupting his equilibrium; with all his physiological and psychological might; but to achieve self-regulation and changes from within, to allow proper functioning and survival.

Because Gojo Satoru’s brain may be able to fight anything and everything. Perhaps even find answers to the unknown—but it's always at your mercy, just as his entire being.

a/n: Art credits @/nekozuu_ on instagram, other pictures are from ppinterest; i could not find the exact sources.

full quote is by Leon Festinger (cognitive dissonance was mainly theorized by him) “A man with a conviction is a hard man to change. Tell him you disagree and he turns away. Show him facts or figures and he questions your sources. Appeal to logic and he fails to see your point."

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojao @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @rriwyu @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @soupicidesquad @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @gojosconsort @ricecake-mochi @veahhcarothers

inspired by this post!

you going on a work trip was the worst thing that could’ve happened to your little family.

you and girldad!sylus’ little bundle of joy (or, currently, despair) wails in his thick arms, chubby face scrunched up as big, sad tears stream down her flushed cheeks.

he tries to bounce her, follows all of the motions you usually do: cooing, rocking, bouncing, taking numerous laps around that expansive house, putting on that white noise machine that usually has her out in minutes.

nothing is working.

sylus is resilient — if something is wrong, he’s determined to fix it. the deep(er) bags under his eyes are evident of that. issue is, his little girl is just as resilient, if not more so.

the n109 zone’s princess is beyond displeased, and it’s obvious why, because he feels the same way: she misses you.

they both miss you.

he heaves a quiet sigh. “it’s okay, it’s okay, sweetie. papa’s here. and mama will be home soon, hm? she’ll play with you and sing to you and—”

he stops.

wait. duh. sylus can just sing.

babies don’t know what vocal keys are, right? and when you sing, it always soothes that viscous little temper of hers, screeching cries wilting down to tiny sniffles and happy coos.

he’ll just follow your lead.

sylus shifts his darling girl in his arms, tucking her a little close to his face and chest. his brain flips through an endless list of songs, filtering out the ones that would be most effective and appropriate.

he picks out a tune he knows you sing often and gently clears his throat. it’s now or never.

if this doesn’t work . . he doesn’t know what will.

sylus starts to hum, low in his throat and definitely off-key. it sounds nothing like your heavenly voice, and while he knows it, he really hopes his lovely little girl won’t.

her cries stutter to a pause, wide, teary crimson eyes locking onto sylus’ weary pair, and her hands loosen from their angry fists.

. . .

it’s working. she’s not crying, and—

slap!

one tiny hand comes up to cover his mouth, stubby brows furrowed in a way that scarily resembles a certain wife.

your daughter starts to babble, as if she’s scolding him for such horrendous singing. well. he never claimed to be beyoncé, now did he?

but it did work, his pride be damned.

she stops crying, the bright red flush slowly starting to leave her round cheeks as sylus trudges his way back to the nursery and sets her down in her crib.

he wastes no time pulling his phone out and calling you, using one big hand to push his glasses up and rub at his face as he plops down in the rocking chair.

“. . hello?”

your voice sends a jolt of energy through him like he just snorted a line of coke, and he looks up at the phone screen, greeted by the sight of your worried face and the blurred background of your hotel room. “what’s wrong?”

he chuckles, a weary sound that does jack shit to convince you. “nothing, beloved, it’s just . . our daughter is very opinionated, yes?”

you sigh, but a small smile creeps onto your face regardless. “really? what’d she do now?”

you two talk until sylus’ eyelids get unbearably heavy, his responses teetering off into quiet “mhms” and “yeahs” and “mms”. if you listen hard enough, you can even hear the faint snores of your darling babygirl. and you’ve only been on the phone for fifteen minutes.

“goodnight, sylus.”

the house was quiet today.

it wasn't rare, but this kind of quiet was different. still. heavy. soft in a way that made your chest ache.

sukuna sat on the couch, one arm curled protectively around your newborn daughter, her tiny body pressed against his chest. she wore the tiny knitted hat you picked out—white with kitten ears—and strands of her soft pink hair peeked out from beneath it, sticking up since they refused to behave.

his other hand held a crumpled piece of paper, gifted with pride by the small artist on a sugar-high right now, bouncing around the living room. your son, still learning how to pronounce his "r"s, had grinned wide with his toothless mouth and yelled, "i drew us!" before dashing off to play again.

sukuna stared at the drawing, red eyes darting around the paper like he was analyzing every detail. or trying to make sense of whatever a four-year-old could manage to draw.

three stick figures, one labeled "me," with messy hair, a big open mouth, and two teeth missing from the middle. another labeled as "mommy," in a giant, triangular pink dress with stars and hearts all over, holding a little pink scribble labeled as "sister," and "daddy"— huge, lopsided, four arms, fangs, and "ROAR" scrawled next to his head in red crayon.

you sat down beside him, resting your chin on his shoulder. "he's so proud of it."

"...i look like a demon," he muttered, eyes still locked on the page.

"you are one, sometimes." you teased gently, "but he still thinks you're the coolest."

he went quiet again, then exhaled. something unsteady in his breath. "i didn't want this," he admitted quietly, his voice low like he confessed to something awful. "didn't think i had it in me. didn't think i'd be any good."

you glanced down at the way he was holding your daughter. soft. careful. his thumb brushing over the rim of her hat, her pink hair catching the light.

"you're better than good, su. they adore you." you said, your own expression softening as you ran your fingers through his hair.

you kissed his arm, right above where your daughter's tiny hand was curled in his skin.

"you're doing good, daddy," you whispered. "even if you do look like a monster in crayon."

he chuckled, and the sound was raw. honest. he pressed the drawing to his daughter's back like a shield and held her just a little tighter.

"she's never gonna draw me like that," he muttered. "right?"

you smiled. "nope. she'll make you a princess."

"...i'd frame it."

Firefighter!Sukuna stumbling across your ex-boyfriend inside a burning building and just leaving him there.

thinking abt soft!toji..

Toji Fushiguro is a scary, mean, mean man.

He’s all teeth, all bite, and he bares them at any innocent passerby without a second thought. His hands weren’t made to hold—they were taught to destroy. He was forged from gunmetal and a wolf’s hunger, his bite laced with stinging venom.

But even the roughest exteriors hide something secret, something tender. Every cage has a heart, and every lock has a key—and you, somehow, are Toji’s key.

He comes home with blood on his calloused knuckles, eyes still burning from the fight, but he washes it off carefully, like he’s trying to pretend he’s a clean man. Then he crawls into bed with you, tracing slow, lazy circles on your bare back after pressing kisses from your ankles to the tips of your ears, leaving a hungry fire erupting in your lower belly.

Before every mission, he stands at the door, letting you smear gloss all over his grumpy face with a dozen goodbye kisses. He grumbles, complains, rolls his eyes—but he loves it. Loves the sticky shimmer that never fully fades from his scarred cheek, a mark that reminds him his woman is waiting for him at home.

When you’re out walking, tugging at his arm like an overexcited child, chattering about all the places you want to see that day, your shoelace comes untied. You trip. Reflexively, he catches you—effortlessly. It’s automatic for him.

You’re a klutz, and he finds it so adorable. You get so absorbed and full of excitement about the things you love that you forget your surroundings. So keeping an eye out—and a hand ready—is second nature to Toji now. Just like bending down with a grumble of, “Watch where you’re going,” or, “Lazy ass, tie your own damn shoes.”

Which is funny, because you hadn’t even asked him to tie them. Well, you were about to—but he was faster. You try to insist, yet like always, he cuts you off, already finished. It’s like that with everything.

He runs your bath water before you think to ask. Brushes your hair. Zips up the back of your dress without a word. “It’s just easier doll,” he says, but you suspect otherwise.

Like when you’re craving something sweet—always. Toji hates junk food. Will soapbox for hours about how awful it is for your health. But he still answers your call, listens to your sugar-fueled ramblings, and walks those familiar candy aisles, filling a basket with your favorite sweets.

Or when your nail appointment gets canceled last minute—on date night, no less—which means you can’t wear your new strappy heels.

So he scoops you up bridal style, the straps of your heels clenched between his sharp teeth that are, somehow, so gentle against your skin. He sets you on the couch, rummages through your cosmetics bag, and finds your favorite wine-red nail polish.

He sits with your foot in his lap, kneading the arch with those quick hands as he paints your toes with furrowed brows and a string of muttered curses.

No matter how tired or bloody he is, no matter how brutal the day was, he always makes time. He pulls you into his lap and rubs your tense shoulders, works at the knot in your neck you get from hunching over your sketchbook or your laptop for too long.

Those same hands—designed to take life—become something that gives you life. Full of comfort, they press slow circles into your aching muscles, melting you down, easing the ache from flesh he was never meant to touch this softly.

masterlist link here.

taglist: @xoxojisu @candiiee @luvseraphh @cvnt4him @soundtrqck @chlosology @lotusstarr @cupkiki @wokasiv @badslittlemuffin @princessshnazzy @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @notartemis777 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @gethexxed @moonstonejpg

everyone’s talking about nerd gojo (thank you @to00fu for the meal), but what about nerd nanami? and i’m not talking about just any nerd nanami, im talking about letterboxd nerd! nanami — 

who wears a “directed by quentin tarantino” tshirt under his suit because he's a bit embarassed about unironically liking this type of merch, and who actually reads through all the letterboxd published articles from cover to cover.

his profile is so organised and he leaves such beautifully written and critical reviews that people who read it go crazy and spam the review’s comments section with “who is this diva 😭” and “WHO LET BRO COOK 🗣️” (he doesn’t understand the meaning of these phrases, but yuuji told him they’re positive phrases so he lets them be).

he's very selective about who he follows — a few of his irl's do know he's on letterboxd, but when they ask him for his profile he does not bother entertaining them. it's not that he's ashamed of his profile or taste, he just likes to keep his irl's seperate from his online activity. 

letterboxd nerd! nanami is heavily against piracy, and he refuses to opt for the “easy way out” when it comes to watching regional films. (he once took a flight all the way to paris on a weekday just to watch a movie that hadn't started international screening).

not to mention, he has a lot of friends that are directors, producers, script-writers, actors etc…it's not even a flex, he was genuinely the most supportive figure in their lives when they were starting out, and often times he gets free tickets or VIP passes to special movie screenings as a way of thanks.

letterboxd nerd! nanami is always one of the top three or five reviews in most trending movies on letterboxd, but imagine his horror when casual letterboxd user! reader bests his review and pushes him down to seventh place.

the horror.

and it's not even a “good” review, as nanami says —  it's just a rant about how hot the cast is. and for some outrageous reason, everyone seems to be upvoting your poorly written review instead of his meticulously detailed review about the script writing, acting, soundtrack, camera angles…you get what i mean. 

naturally, letterboxd nerd! nanami is pissed. 

and he's even more so when he realizes that casual letterboxd user! reader doesn't even log films on the daily — no, it seems more like you just remember this app exists and then log in whatever you just watched. you didn't even bother putting up a profile picture up until yesterday. and why the hell have you rated most of the disney movies a 5/5? do you not know what an objective rating is? 

letterboxd nerd! nanami, after stalking your watched list, prays you never come online to log your films again. he can't afford to be bested by you again. until he sees a notification that makes him groan out loud in annoyance — 

y/ncore has started following you.

bonus: nerd gojo and letterboxd nerd! nanami are mutuals and close friends on letterboxd (under aliases of course), but both of them hate each other irl — nerd gojo mocks him for spending time on “lame” things like movies, while letterboxd nerd! nanami scoffs at his blatant attitude of “not appreciating cinema.”

he picks up his phone on the first ring, ‘yes sweetheart? did you already reach? where are you?’

‘i’m almost there ken but i think i’m gonna need a minute or two to recover’

concern flooded his mind ‘recover? what happened-‘

‘i just saw the most beautiful man ever!’ you squeal through the phone.

what.

‘he’s drop dead gorgeous ken! and he’s not even doing anything, he’s just- standing there’ you sigh dreamily.

‘oh my god ken, his jaw is so chiseled i could grate cheese on it’ your squealing continues.

‘my love, what are you talking about?’

were you being serious right now? was his jaw not chiseled enough to grate cheese? was he not gorgeous?

why were you calling him, your dear boyfriend, to gush about some man guy?

‘and he’s in this light blue dress shirt which you already know is my personal weakness’

wait. oh.

just then, a small smile makes its way on to his face.

‘ken ken ken he just smiled! i think it might be my favourite smile ever! oh god, it’s so beautiful’ you’re swooning on the other side.

‘really? tell me more’ he’s full on grinning now.

‘i could go on and on but you know what? i think i’m gonna shoot my shot and ask him out. i’ll let you know how it goes later. bye, i love you’ you hang up and he has to stop himself from laughing.

he pockets his phone when sees you crossing the road to get to him.

you throw a small wave at him ‘hey, i was on my way to see my boyfriend but then i saw you and you’re just so beautifully sculpted and i decided that i’d rather spend my life with you instead. what do you say?’

‘i’ll have to ask my girlfriend about that’

clicking your tongue ‘of course a guy like you is off the market’ you feign defeat ‘but i bet i’m more prettier than her’

his eyes scan you from top to bottom ‘you’re ok i guess’

scoffing ‘gee ken thanks a lot. what’s the harm in playing along for a little bit?’ you pout, making him snicker.

you and your antics never fail to amuse him.

you feel his arms wrap around you then and pull you to his chest as you melt into him.

‘i’m not lying. my girl is the prettiest’ he says.

‘and i wasn’t either, you really do have a jaw for grating cheese’

(rblogs appreciated🤘🏼)

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . nanami kento doesn’t argue… except this time he does. and he fucks you while he does it.

18+ MDNI, nanami is kind of a meanie :(

nanami kento is a man of undeniable patience and unwavering calm. a think-first, speak-later kind of man—never quick to argue, and always one to listen attentively before offering his own thoughts.

but when you “accidentally” forget to tell him that you’re going out with your friends after work, and spend hours worrying him sick and not answering your phone? now that really pisses him off.

clearly, you had forgotten to follow one of the most important, fundamental rules the two of you had set for each other—always let the other know of your whereabouts. 

seems like nanami had to remind you somehow. and today, his method of choice was fucking it into you. 

“you just can’t” thrust. “do” thrust. “what” thrust. “i tell you” thrust. “huh?” he drives each word into you, his thick cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside—making sure you feel exactly how much he means it.

your face is buried in the sheets of your shared bed, tears staining the pristine white bedsheets. nanami has been at this for hours now, pounding into you—every thrust harder and more punishing than the last.

“ ‘m sorry k-kento please” you sob pathetically into the wet sheets, voice barely audible in your helpless position. a strong hand fists a handful of your hair, pulling your head up closer to his. 

kento leans over, his warm, ragged breath brushing the tip of your ear, staying buried deep in your quivering, tight walls. 

“what was that?” he whispers, keeping a strong—almost painful grip on your hair. 

“i’m s-sorryyy kento i forgot” 

“mmm sweetheart” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky, whisper “that just won’t do.” he finishes, deliberately moving his other hand from your waist up to your sensitive, hardened nipples. you let out a mewl of pleasure as he rolls one between his fingers—the sound quickly turning into a breathy whine when he pinches down.

“please” you barely choke out the plea between sharp sobs. 

“please what? use your words baby” he mutters, hands now kneading the soft flesh of your tits.

“i’m s-sorry” is the only thing you can manage to say—pathetic and ruined in your fucked out state.

kento frees you from his grasp, letting your head fall back down into the mattress. his bruising grip on your waist returns, and he slowly starts moving his hips again. 

“i don’t think you are” is all he says, before quickening his already harsh pace. kento fucks you like this—like he’s trying to make you understand—for the rest of the night.

and you do understand. you understand that you’ll never make nanami mad again.

true love waits

three | gojo's ghost hunting guide

seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of

synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!

pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader

content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, ghost giving head, roommates-to-lovers but one of them is dead lol, paranormal aspects ofc, fem reader, idiots falling in love, petty reader, gojo being a DORK, she falls first + he falls harder, oral (m! receiving), kissing, gojo whimpers

art by @chu-cho + divider by @petalpxl

Three days.

Gojo had been sleeping on his own couch for three days.

Banished from the bedroom, the door shut and locked. To be fair, he had the key, could easily check the cameras. But it felt wrong to snoop even more than he already had.

Whatever the reason, he'd try to respect the fact you clearly weren't comfortable with him digging into your past. Despite how much it was killing him to not know the answers to the million-and-one questions regarding your (after)life.

Were you stuck here forever? Would he be trapped wherever he died too? Or was there some other reason you were stuck with him, some unseen, unfinished business?

Still, he cared more about the damage he'd done to your relationship (if he could call it that) than to anything you might've done to his stuff during the last few days.

Those were all just physical.

Things that could be replaced.

There was only one of you. (Or had been.)

He was tempted to crash at Geto's place, but it sucked enough to see his stupid smug smirk when Gojo showed up to lunch without the so-called proof he swore he'd have by now. Plus, he sort of hoped to see that dumb door open each time he came home, for your cold hands to help him take off his jacket or a bottle of water to be waiting for him on the coffee table.

If there was anything he couldn't take, it was the quiet.

So he just ended up grabbing extra shampoo and conditioner at the corner store and convincing Geto to go out shopping with him for some new clothes, skipping over the reason being he currently didn't have access to his closet.

Could it be considered the silent treatment if you never said anything to him in the first place?

"Fight with your girlfriend?" Geto baited after noticing his unusually somber behavior, picking a black sweater off the hanger and holding it out for him to look at.

Gojo huffed, taking it and glancing over his shoulders to search for a dressing room. For some stupid reason, he couldn't help but wondering if you'd like it.

"What do you do?" He started, pausing at the amusement faintly flickering in Geto's eyes before forcing himself to continue. "When a girl is mad at you, I mean?"

"What I do? Or what I think you should do?"

Gojo didn't understand what the difference was, but then again, he didn't understand girls either. He shrugged, and Geto let out a low chuckle before answering anyway.

"Buy her flowers."

Ignoring his best friend's arched brow and suspicious stare while he handed over his credit card to the cashier half an hour later, he was unsure how to deal with the growing discomfort in his stomach whenever he thought of you.

Which was often.

He already tried talking to you from the hallway, slipping I'm sorry notes under the door and promising he didn't even see anything. But his pleas felt less effective when he still had no clue what your name even was.

Begging for forgiveness from a girl whose face he couldn't even see.

He hoped Geto was right.

Gojo turned the key in the lock when he returned home, a pretty bouquet of white lilies and shopping bags in hand, plus a small box tucked under his arm as he twisted the knob and peeked inside.

"Angel?" He called out, immediately cringing when it didn't come out quite as smooth as he hoped. Idiot. Who wants to be called angel after they died?

But then he heard it - the creak of a door opening, soft footsteps down the hall.

"Hey," He quietly spoke, walking in just enough to set the box and bags down on the corner of the couch before standing up straight and holding out the flowers. "I, um, got these for you."

You didn't take it from him - but a stem bent, a few of the petals rustling like you were touching or sniffing them.

"Do you like them?" Gojo tentatively asked.

He wasn't a virgin. Technically.

But he'd still ever bought flowers for someone else before. He wasn't sure what kind to get - and it felt more than a little morbid to imagine the last time you received flowers was probably for your funeral.

He hesitated, brows scrunching up in worry as chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he'd just lost his last chance as another bleak thought crossed his mind.

"Fuck," He winced at what he'd forgotten. "I don't think I have a vase."

You laughed.

It was soft, maybe even just a figment of his imagination, but God, he'd never heard anything so pretty. A small little giggle, one that rang in his head as you plucked a single flower from the bunch, the lace ribbon that tied them together unravelling.

He felt like he was unravelling with it.

"I'm sorry," Gojo murmured, probably for the fiftieth time in the past few days. "I wasn't trying to pry. I just-"

You broke the stem in half, a small flash of green falling to the floor as you tucked the flower behind his ear, held in place by the thick frame of his glasses.

And he was so distracted by your smaller hand slipping into his, he didn't realize just how close you were until your lips were pressing softly on his. Cool, tender. Blinking back surprise for a second before he was suddenly leaning down to deepen it, knuckles turning white around the rest of the flowers as he tried to wrap an arm around your waist.

When it actually worked?

He was kissing you back twice as hard, trying to squeeze you into existence, fingers digging into flesh that wasn't actually there as he almost moaned into your mouth already. Sucking on your bottom lip like his own life depended on it, teeth nipping at it knowing there wasn't any blood to be drawn, no hickies he could actually leave on your neck, across your breasts, no matter how much he wanted to.

You squeezed his hand, your thumb delicately tracing a little pattern over the back of it, and all he could picture was one of those hearts of yours etched into his skin - seeping through his skin and into his soul.

The flowers were tugged free from his grip as you pulled back, twisting around to gently place them on the table, careful not to crush any of the petals. He tried to tighten his grip, but your presence weakened at his attempt to hold you still, forced to let go and scared you wouldn't stay.

But two firm fingers pressed into his chest, pushing him down onto the couch. He breathed, struggling to find words for the first time in his life. A blink, and his zipper was being tugged down. His jeans and plain white boxers wiggled down his hips before you pressed another kiss to the white fuzz of his happy trail.

Your breath was surprisingly warm, the ridges of your teeth briefly grazing over his exposed midriff as you planted feather-light kisses across to the sharp bone of his hip.

Admiring him.

You toyed with the band of his boxers, low enough you could see the thick patch of his hair, his cock throbbing painfully hard, and then you were running your palm over the clearly outlined bulge.

Gojo groaned, low and deep, head reclining back on the couch and legs spread wide as you nestled between them.

He had never wished so badly he could see you.

Dying to know what color your eyes were, if they were wide and glossy as you peeked up at him, lashes fluttering and lips parted. Your touch flickered between soft and firm, your fingers sending shivers down his spine when you finally freed his cock.

It was almost embarrassing how hard he was, how red and swollen his tip was, pre-cum smeared around it already. It'd been months since he'd jerked off, something he'd been abstaining from thanks to you.

And shit, he was sensitive.

The second you wrapped your lips around him, the second he felt your surprising warmth, the drag of your tongue over his pulsing veins, he was moaning like he'd never known the touch of another woman.

All other memories erased, scrubbed from his brain so he had more space to catalogue every searing sensation of you licking and lapping at him, sucking softly while your fingers wrapped around his base to stroke what didn't fit.

Did ghosts have a gag reflex?

Or was he the first human in history to receive a blowjob from a ghost?

His cheeks flushed, the lump in his throat bobbing hard as you gradually took him deeper, his thick cockhead bumping into the back of your throat, pleasure building brighter, hotter inside him, his fingers shakily reaching out until he felt for your cheek, your soft skin.

Fuck.

Gojo caressed your cheek, groaning loud enough his neighbors could definitely hear him. Finding a loose strand of your hair and wrapping it around his finger, vaguely wondering how you managed to get him so wrapped around your own.

He wondered if he'd be able to to see you with the pair of thermal goggles he hadn't gotten to use yet, or if that would kill the mood.

Your free hand slid up his thigh higher, squeezing him as his cock grazed against the roof of your mouth, and he was barely holding on by a thread. Sanity ready to snap, white-hot need he'd never felt before ripping through him.

He couldn't help it, bucking his hips up and damn near losing his mind when he hard the muffled little moan you made, like you could feel him too, and the thought you needed him even half as much as he needed you right now had him feeling for the back of your head to hold you closer, eyes scrunched close as a particularly lewd whimper escaped him.

All his muscles were pulled taut, abs painfully tense when you suddenly cupped his balls while you were already practically choking on him, and he was cumming before he could stop himself, trying to pull out just for you to swallow his cum anyway.

You'd never eaten food before - not as far as he was aware.

Shit. Could you eat? Had he accidentally been starving you?

Panicked, he pulled out, reaching out to touch your face, a thumb brushing over your lips before you suddenly pressed another kiss there too, suddenly sucking on it until his knuckle was between the ridges of your teeth.

His cock throbbed, threatening to get hard again.

"W-was that okay? Um, a-are you hungry?" He was stammering, tongue-tied as your presence suddenly shifted, taking his fingers out of your mouth and holding it so his palm was facing up. Then, you traced several simple letters out.

Y-E-S. N-O.

He breathed a sigh of relief, chuckling as he realized you were answering his questions.

"Can you say something again? I want to hear your voice," He nervously admitted, hoping you didn't notice how much clammy his hand was, unable to wipe the sweat away when you were holding it.

He was painfully aware of the fact his cock was still out, but he didn't dare move to put it back up, not when you were trying to communicate with him, when forgiveness still felt so fragile.

There was just more silence, but somehow, your presence felt a little stronger, your form a little more solid. Light streamed in through the thin curtains, and when it caught just right, he could almost swear he saw little slivers of you, movement his brain couldn't fully perceive.

"Um, did you?" He awkwardly asked. "Say something?"

Another Y-E-S.

"Shit," Gojo muttered. But his disappointment was hard to hold onto when you were still here, when he could still touch and talk to you, even if he couldn't see or hear you. Yet. "Try again tomorrow?"

S-U-R-E.

He stared biting his lip, debating on what he could do for you. But for every question he got an answer for, ten more seemed to pop up.

Gojo guessed there was only one more he couldn't live without knowing. His face flushed, blinking hard as he tried to pull himself together enough to ask without stuttering.

"So, uh, do you like me?"

a/n: the amazing @madamechrissy inspired this <3

taglist: @fati27ma @soraairo @s-guru @shokosbunny @ssetsuka @deathofacupid @kayskow @pillkits @inoluvrr @baepsays @imm0rtalbutterfly @heartcam @littlenutmaestro @mia-can-yap-too @bbatzvil @sugarcoatedsoul @designerpvssy @gravity-valley @stellasloth @dostoevskyzz @aldebrana @lashaemorow @monstersholygrail @mai-505 @itsinherited @gojosprettyprincess @mimiluvzu2 @poopooindamouf @emochosoluvr @nina-from-317 @beautiful--macabre @gris3o @petalshxwer @oneirataxiaa @onixsky @flowerpot113 @ryuvies @anyx404 @herefor-tojis-tits @takethechai @miizuzu @entr4p3 @nonamebbsblog

How to breakup with your boyfriend ⸻ not a guide.

tw: mentions of food, just NSFW stuff, mention of periods, oral (m. receiving, f. receiving), p in v sex, no clear pronouns used for the reader, but written as a fem oriented person, insecurities, trauma responses.

If someone asked you what's your boyfriend like? — you'd say, "GREAT!"

And no it is not to compensate for the fact how badly you want to break up with him. It is infact that he is just great! No complaints really. Gojo Satoru was perfect.

He was kind, caring, attentive, and sweet. He knew when to just sit there and agree with you when you're telling him about this horrible fight you had with your parents, and not give you unwanted and unsolicited advice. He also knows exactly at what time to feed your cats, water your plants, how you like your coffee, which days you do your laundry — how you like them done. Which specific clothes are supposed to be sent for dry cleaning, and he drops them off on his way to work and pick them back up when they are done.

Satoru knows what foods you are allergic to, and which ones you're 'allergic' to (read: do not like to eat)—so he will be the first one at a table full of people you've known for decades, to say something like, "oh this dish has corn? Ah. Y/n can't have corn, allergies you know."

He also knows which detergent to pick up, which fabric softer you use. He knows your period dates and the brand of tampons and pads you use. He remembers your birthday, your cat's birthday, your parents' birthday, your bestfriend's birthday! He gets you your favourite cake to celebrate your promotion. He will watch every bad movie, every gore or horror movie and whatever you want, it doesn't matter if he doesn't like them.

He is one of those people who will cover the head of the car's entrence after opening the door for you so you don't hit your head there, he'll cover the corner and the sides of the table as you move around to find something you dropped and urge you to sit back up, so he can pick it up for you.

When you guys kissed for the first time, he let you take the lead, to make you feel comfortable knowing that you're quite inexperienced. He'd rather eat you out for days on, tongue inside you, on your clit, fingers and all than have you give him a head. Unless you want to! And sometimes you do want to. And when you do, despite his urge to push your head down on his cock, he resists. His hands are always in your hair, pushing it back in a comfortable ponytail. Always complimenting you and telling you how well you're doing. He won't leave marks on you if you don't want him to cause of an important work event, he'll even resist his impending urge to bite you. Even sex is just very sweet, he's the most gentle when pushing himself inside you. He simply worships your body and-

Ugh! You get it! He is absolutely picture perfect.

So back to the matter at hand. Why would you ever want to break up with a person like that? Maybe because he is just TOO perfect. There is a thing called overbearing, sometimes it feels like— he's too overwhelming, and all too consumed with you.

You do not really mind the last part—but maybe you don't want a man who's straight out of fiction! You weren't familiar with such treatment all your life really, this all can be too new. You do see him treating others more roughly when needed. But he's just so delicate with you. Not that it is a bad thing, but sometimes you'd rather he stayed rough around the edges. Being treated like a fragile doll to the maximum does sound great in theory, but in practice it can make you feel pathetic.

You have tried to breakup with satoru on multiple occasions. First you started dropping hints here and there, seeming to be uncertain about your future together —all he'd say is, "don't worry your pretty head about the future sweets, I'm planning accordingly."

You've started picking unreasonable fights with him more often, whether you'd get genuinely pissed off or not, you'd fight him over the most silliest things. "Why did you turn over the pillow on this side?? You should know I don't like this side! How could you not know!? It's like you don't even know me Satoru!"

All he'd respond with, "I'm so sorry sweetheart. I am genuinely so disappointed in myself. I hope you can forgive me please. I'll make sure to know which side you prefer better from now on. Please sit down and let me finish painting rest of your nails."

Yeah so that also didn't work out huh.

So you opted for for this weird strategy. You told him you wanted to get a nose job — to make it bigger! (No shaming anyone for wanting that just saying this is a very silly strategy you've decided upon). Satoru just smiled and kissed your nose, told you that whatever you'd like to do, he'd love you anyway (Insufferably loving man).

Then you stopped reciprocating his kisses, doging them even. You went as far as to try to not have sex with him. But this bastard is too good, and unfortunately for you despite wanting to break up with him you just still really love him. Too much. And he loves you. Too much.

You'd move your head away and he'd cradle your head in his hands and make you look at him, then let this staring contest go on until you just give in and pull him into a kiss. He'd be very sly about his choice of clothing, his touches, and get you all riled up that you can't just help it! "What happened to the sex ban sweets?" Satoru would whisper smugly in your ears while thrusting in you. Bastard! Even trying to control your expressions mid sex to make yourself seem disinterested was not on the table! He's just that good.

And infact satoru is better than what you think of him. And he's much more perceptive than what you give him the credit for. Because he picked up on this little mission of yours the exact day you probably thought to yourself —i need to leave him. You stayed up the whole night one day and silently went to the living room to go on the internet and search up articles about 'how to break up with my boyfriend'.

I wouldn't say he was not hurt. But he also understood you. He understood you more than yourself at times. He understands that you haven't had the best childhood and the best parents around, resulting into this hyper independent mindset you've curated. You'd rather bleed to death than ask for help. And he gets that you can sometimes get in your own head about things. But he was ready to tackle those things head on the day he signed up to fall inadvertently in love with you. And if you want to make excuses to your friends about him being too soft for the reason behind wanting to break up with him—

He can show you rough. As long as he gets to keep you all to himself, love you and cherish you. However you want.

PART TWO>>

A/n: dividers by— @/omi-resources. To check out more of my stuff click this.

morning, munchkuna! / sukuna fic

part 2 to this! 🍮

*ೃ༄

inf: u forgot how sukuna woke u up when u were still together. ferociously, amazingly good head. || reader gets ate OUT, definite smut, morning sex, sukuna is a softie in the morning, minors go away!😾

You are so cute when you’re asleep.

You’re even cuter when sunlight leaks through your curtains and hits your drooling face, one loud snore erupting from your throat when you turn so your back is to the window. So adorable.

At least, according to Sukuna. All details included in his summary. Not that he wants you back, of course.

Last night was one time only. One.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──———── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

But why do the remnants of last night still stick to your bed, then? The stained, rumpled sheets, your robe and lingerie in heaps on the floor, the gorgeously tattooed, black-haired absolute hunk next to you . . .

Yes, all remaining from the night before. The night you’d tried and failed miserably to convince yourself that you didn’t want your ex-boyfriend back, you wanted the nerd guy — what was his name again?

You mumble something incoherently in your sleep, turn over. Your legs twitch. Something fuzzy is between your thighs. Or furry? What is the difference, even? All you know is you’re dreaming of a bunny between your legs.

Your thighs twitch again. Shake a little. Quiver. What is that?

You almost jolt yourself awake, before your body reminds you. Youre in bed with your ex, who was at one point your boyfriend. And how had your boyfriend woken you up?

Your lashes flutter awake, your fingertips stretch to the sky when you yawn, grumbling sleepy things and then a moan falls from your plush lips —

Oh.

Slowly, your gaze falls to the culprit of that moan. The raven-haired man whose face is in your legs, whose nose is brushing your clit and sending that electric shudder through your thighs.

True, you have a beautiful guy in your bed, his veiny hands propping your thighs apart tenderly.

But he’d also stayed. And that makes your eyes water more than his mouth is.

“Morning, Kuna,” you mumble, letting your hand ruffle his hair.

He barely looks up at you. All his attention is focused on that slick wet pussy of yours. “Mornin’,” is all he grunts, eyes flicking up at you with that familiar look again.

His tongue drags up your cunt, lapping at your clit like a kitten to milk, his fingers plunging in and out of you. Where was your alarm now? “S’kunaaa,” you mewl, thighs shivering like they’re cold, your hand knotted in his hair now. “You stayed.”

“Figured my girl would need me to wake her up like usual,” he says, his breath hot against your pussy. “Guess she did. Gotcha all wet for me, hm?”

His lips pull at your swollen clit, his fingers are probably pruned by now; he moves down to pull with his teeth.

You are yelping and moaning now, thighs twitching and squeezing his head like how he’d squeezed your hips last night.

My girl. He’d called you his.

Without even looking up from your cunt, his nose still nuzzling your clit, his tattooed arm reaches over to your nightstand, opens the drawer, pulls out that pretty baby blue vibrator you kept after you’d kicked him out three months ago.

He eats you out like a man starved, passionately, growls at your pussy and delving his tongue in the places that his fingers aren’t filling.

Per usual, he turns on the toy he’d grabbed with his thumb. Lowers it to the second lowest setting — it is nine in the morning, after all — gently presses it to your clit.

If he’d made you feel good last night, this was even better.

“Suku..,” you moan, your hips bucking into his mouth with the toy buzzing into you on top of his ravenous mouth.

“Missed wakin’ ya up like this,” he grumbles into you. “You missed it too, yeah?”

His fingers curl up into you, hit that spot that has you unraveling. “Yeahh, Suku, missed you,” you murmur, breaking off with a cry as his fingers hit that spot again and again.

You near your climax, taking in the glory before you. Your ex’s face covered in your slick, yet he doesn’t stop eating. His hips rut into the mattress, hes without a doubt hard again. Doesnt matter. You’ll take care of that later.

“Kunaaa.,” you moan louder this time, almost fully awoken. “I’m s’close..” Your hips buck unconsciously, thighs twitching but you just need him closer.

“Yeah?” He grunts. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me.” Fingertips only just grazing that spot, he removes the slick-covered toy from your cunt, watches you come undone underneath his mouth.

Your legs tremble around his head, cum oozing out of you, your body shaking as your legs roll back. And he laps up all of it, gathering your fluids on his tongue like hes still hungry. “S’kuna, ohhh..,” you groan as you cum, voice drawling, slurring, hips rutting wildly into his mouth like you need more.

Of course, hes doing the same — just more subtlely, pounding into your mattress like how he’d done to you last night. You can tell he’s picturing the soft, creaking bed as your body (don’tcha wish it was?). His groans quieter, nose scrunched up and strong hands gripping your thighs.

“Lemme help you, Suku,”you murmur, coming down from your high, gaze fixed on each thrust he ruts into your bed.

“Just look at me, baby,” he says breathlessly, “s’all I need.”

And it’s true. You’re all he needs for him to come undone, your eyes never leaving his even as he comes, cock twitching, hot cum spurting out and he moves his body to hover over yours,

Cumming all over your body, covers your already wet folds with his spent, your eyes still locked together.

“I love you, Suku. Missed you,” you murmur. Maybe your head is still in the clouds when you say it. He can’t tell, but it affects him all the same.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunts, gently taps a towel to your swollen cunt, doesn’t meet your gaze. “I’ll bring you that guy’s head. Don’t think I forgot.”

“What?! Kuna!” You yelp, sitting up and remembering that you’d told him nerd guy’s name in the midst of your haze last night.

But he’s already standing up, pulls on his boxers, waits at your bedroom doorway. “Aint say nothin’,” he grins. “Come on. Made breakfast while you were snoring your pretty little head off.”

And for a moment, as you get up, following him in your enamored trance, you forget why you even broke up with him in the first place. Because you forgot what a gentle giant this man is,

(Even if he is gonna kill the guy you were hooking up with).

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──———── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

a/n : & the crowd goes mild! i actually do love this fic tho. if u didnt catch it, part 1 is here. luv ya baby cakes! 🍮🪽

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings- mentions of sex and sexwork, masturbation (M and f) back shots, threesomes on set w/ Suguru and Sukuna, cum drinking, weed smoking, drinking, lots of longing, reader is innocent DON'T read if you don't like that, pining, obsessive, he can't get hard if it's not you, whipped ass Satoru because that's how I NEED HIM, a lot of mentions of sex, cum, etc- it's about porn so lol. A lil bit of angsttt, a lil bit of cuteness, demisexual reader, hoe Satoru what a pair.

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!? WC 10k!

Based on Pornstar Satoru- Playlist- Chapter Two>>>

Chapter One

Satoru Gojo was one of the most famous pornstars there are, and the baddie arched right in front of him, sucking on one of the other most famous stars’ cock - Satoru’s best friend Suguru Geto - shows exactly why he is. When he slams his latex covered cock so deep inside her she screams, squirting all down his cock while she chokes down Suguru…

That’s not just for the camera.

Satoru knows every spot on his co-stars, shouldn’t it be fun for them too? He never would let a single one of them not cum several times, hence the long, long line and insane demand he has. The amount of onlyfans collab requests he gets, along with shoot after shoot, he has to be extremely picky, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t eat up how desired he was.

Even now, he winks right into the camera, knowing how many people were watching this livestream, gripping his costar’s hips and slamming his cock so deep, while Suguru is gripping her face delicately, moaning. Blue eyes and violet eyes meet the camera, dual smirks while they make this girl shatter for them, until they know it’s time for the money shot.

She’s eagerly on her knees, at the most perfect angle in the room they use as a stage, fully lit with pro lighting, and the comments and tips from this livestream are going insane, all while she looks up at both of them. Satoru takes off his condom, while she strokes him, sucking his cock and then Suguru’s, so huge and heavy, though Satoru loves to brag that he’s just a little longer, and Suguru brags he’s thicker.

They love competing, including who cums more, both of them moaning, though Satoru is a little more occupied with how good his abs look in the camera, fuck they’re glistening really, as she starts jerking them off now with practiced hands. Suguru looks at Satoru then, brushing back dark locks.

“I’m gonna cum way more than you this time.” He murmurs, so that the camera’s couldn’t hear, but the girl stroking them giggles a bit, clearly fucked out.

Satoru stretches his arms up, folding them behind his head, as the strokes get faster, as she laps up his milky precum from his perfect pink tip. “Nah, no way, I will this time.”

“So competitive, hmm?” She says, drawing their attention, then she hits that twist just right, and Satoru and Suguru are cumming all over her eager face, her hands, her open mouth, shooting milky ropes and groaning out.

Satoru gets paid to cum on pretty girls faces, and he gets paid a lot, with his best fucking friend - just how do you beat that? He grins as the livestream is popping off, and Suguru is delicate in swiping their cum all over her for one more money shot, Satoru leans over, stroking himself right on camera once more, to the many happy tips and replies of all his fans.

“And that’s a wrap.” Satoru’s cocky voice follows a click, as he takes in just how much they made, whistling. “Goddamn, we should celebrate.”

“Um… guys…” Satoru turns then, as his co-star is covered, and he laughs a bit, rushing to grab soft wet wipes for her.

“I’m sorry, shit!” Him and Suguru carefully clean her up, and now her manager walks in, along with Satoru’s and Suguru’s, a freshly cleaned costar hugs the two of them.

“Thank you for letting me join, my OF is gonna blow up!” Satoru smiles then, while their managers all spread out the cut.

“Of course, you did great.” She beams, hugging Suguru now.

“Amazing, love.”

“You all are the best!” Soon it’s just Satoru and Suguru with their managers, and Satoru is yawning, bored, still not dressed, cock just swinging and still huge on semi hard, much to his manager’s annoyance.

“We have a big shoot tomorrow, don’t be out partying.” He says, avoiding Satoru’s cock in his vision so much Satoru laughs.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Satoru and Suguru absolutely listen…

Not.

They’re smoking a blunt right in the middle of a Hollywood party, lit off their asses, perhaps they partook in a little coke to celebrate, but who’s to say, just a residue of white in their nostrils to really know. They’re surrounded by women, free drinks all over of the highest quality, to celebrate breaking the bank with the star they shot with, why should they turn it down?

Satoru Gojo loves his life, really.

It feels good, it’s always busy, full of pretty women and an insane amount of money and fame, shit he loves to read comments on himself, but he wouldn’t admit it, about how badly everyone wants him. And why wouldn’t they? Satoru finds himself attractive as fuck, first and foremost. But at times, alone in that penthouse when Suguru would leave for days at a time…

Sometimes he got a little lonely, if he was being honest. Hollywood was full of fake and fleeting friends, and even costars wanted his fame, his cock, his money, not really him. But that was something Satoru shoves far, far back, instead returning his mind to the party at hand, a sea of bodies in a huge mansion right on the coast, littered with entangled and dancing bodies.

It all seems perfect, until Satoru sees someone walk in, a pretty girl who just doesn’t fit in, she just sticks out, nervously clutching a teddy bear cased phone, pushing up her tortoiseshell glasses. As Satoru leans forward, and Suguru hands him a blunt, he can’t get his fucking gaze of the girl, her baggie tan sweater, white pleated skirt and converse.

She stands out completely from the half naked women, many blondes with fake bodies, fake asses, fake tits… not that Satoru minded, he loves all tits and asses, silicon or not. But you look natural, your lips don’t have all that filler, the lips you’re biting, but when your teeth release them, they’re still full and fucking gorgeous, just a bit glossy, the low soft lights glinting off them.

The music of the party fades, everything fades, it’s like some stupid nineties rom com where the room parts, and it’s just this girl. A sweet girl with her hair falling over one shoulder, the other bare, and if Satoru could pick a body part that’s oddly turning him on, it’s your bare shoulder, your collarbones, with a pretty necklace that looks like it must be your zodiac sign.

Someone comes up to you then, handing you a glass of champagne, and he watches you shift a bit, looking down shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear, eyes traveling up and down your body, dying to know what your outfit is hiding. Your eyes catch his suddenly, a sweet, shy smile that just fucks him up, it’s like you’ve punched him in the fucking chest.

“Satoru… Satoru… earth to fucking Satoru… M’gonna smoke all this blunt myself, then-” Satoru finally realizes Suguru is calling for him, when he waves a hand in front of Satoru’s face, ruining his field of vision. 

“Who is she?” Satoru and Suguru know most of the industry, sex workers and actors alike, and he sure the fuck has never seen you. Suguru eyes you then, his lips quirking up as you look down shyly once more, poking at your phone.

“I don’t know, she’s pretty though.” Satoru scowls, and Suguru leans back on the crushed velvet couch, purple as his eyes, handing Satoru the much smaller blunt than he previously saw.

How long had he been staring?

“Looks like a good girl, don’t corrupt her.” Satoru glares deeper, blue eyes glinting as he snatches up the blunt, wrapping his lips around the tip and inhaling that smoke deep in his lungs, leaning back and blowing the smoke up in a puffy cloud.

“Just curious, looks like she doesn’t belong here.” Suguru shrugs, taking the brown paper tube back, ashing it in a tray along a dark black table, humming a bit to himself.

“We don’t date.”

“And?”

“She doesn’t… she looks like… she dates.”

“Huh, you can tell that?” Satoru raises a thin brow, and Suguru sighs, smirking a bit.

“I know lots of things.”

“Yeah, whatever… I’m talking to her.” Satoru stands up now, brushing his hands down his white dress shirt a bit, taking a breath.

Fuck is he nervous!?

Satoru Gojo, who strokes his dick on the camera, who grins as people comment that they want it in their mouths, their cunts, fuck- their asses, all their holes - filled up with his white cum. Satoru Gojo who is the top .01% of anyone on his OF, who has pro roles in the highest quality porn there was, was not a shy or nervous man, especially with women.

Why are his hands sweating then? His blood rushing through his ears every step he takes closer to you, your eyes lower a bit, so shy and cute and fucking precious, he has to smile a bit at you, drink in his hand, his other in the pocket of his dark armani slacks. He casually leans over a bit, as your eyes meet his, behind dark shades, his grin bright and enigmatic.

“Hey sweetheart, Satoru Gojo.” He expects you to notice maybe, but you just smile, oblivious, holding out your hand, small in his huge grip, and Satoru has some insane urge to kiss it, that he gulps down.

The fuck is this.

This feeling just touching your skin, inhaling your scent, fuck you smell sweet like some cupcake, you have him intoxicated as his eyes dart to those lips, teeth indentations he feels an urge to run his thumb across. Your eyes look up from behind your own glasses, as the two of you just hold hands for a moment, just a moment, and Satoru can hardly describe just what it is drawing him like a magnet.

You give him your name, and he repeats it, making your own heart race just a bit at the tall stranger, when his blue eyes glint as he slides off his shades, snowy lashes lowering over beautiful blue irises, your breath is caught in your chest. Swirling blue storms unlike anything you’ve ever seen, so intense and beautiful it’s almost difficult to look right at.

“Are you new to the area? Or…” You giggle a bit, sipping on the bubbly champagne that tickles your nose just a bit.

“I look that out of place huh?”

“No, you’re cute. Very cute. Pretty.” He’s stuttering damn near, Satoru fucking Gojo, watching the flush that decorates your cheeks, as your lips touch the rim of the glass, and he can’t stop thinking how much he’d like to kiss those little bite marks away.

“Thank you, that’s sweet.”

“Sweet is not what I’m usually called.”

“Oh really? What are you usually called?”

“Daddy.” You nearly snort out your champagne then, covering your face in a fit of laughter, and he pouts now, swirling those shades casually.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh yeah. They all do, they can’t help it, you know.”

“Mmhmm.” You’re giggling so much you snort, so cute Satoru can’t help but laugh with you, the first genuine one he’s done in a minute, not so forced to always appear so carefree. “I snorted, oh no!”

“It’s cute.” He brushes your hair between two of his fingers, and the both of you pause now, taking a breath, your lids lower just a bit, stepping closer, like Satoru himself is pulling you with his gravity. “What brings you here?”

“My friend invited me! She said seven, so I came a little early… but she’s not even on her way.” You sigh then, and he smirks just a bit.

“LA time is different. Twenty minutes late is on time, and forty minutes late is ‘fashionable’. No one comes early.”

“Shit!” You smack yourself in the forehead, and he takes your hand once more, enveloping your little one in his own.

“I can keep you company, want another drink?”

“Um… sure.”

Soon the two of you are sitting on one of the many couches in the taupe and white decorated mansion, the splashing and screeching of people in the pool mixing in a cacophony with the people dancing and the music inside. Satoru’s enraptured as you begin to talk, soft and thoughtful, while sipping on another glass, his arm just a bit across from you, behind your neck, fingers brushing your soft cashmere.

Every time he does you heat up that much more, you haven’t been with someone you felt this comfortable with in… maybe, ever. The instant feeling that he’s a sweet guy, natural, funny, and you almost wonder why he’s wasting time on you, with all the elegant women in various states of undress. But his eyes don’t even leave yours, his beautiful azure depths.

You can’t be so interesting or beautiful, sure you are very pretty, but more soft and sweet and not the Hollywood babes that were all over. But he’s laughing right with you, he soon starts busting out purple and white fuzzy weed, breaking it up and starting to roll a blunt, and you’ve never thought about being a paper until you watch a wicked pink tongue dart across it, long fingers sealing it.

“What’s wrong, don’t smoke, sweets?” The nicknames make you shift nervously, he’s too charming, too handsome, fuck not even handsome…

Pretty.

He’s too pretty to be real.

“Are you an actor, or model?” You blurt out, you don’t have much… thought before your words. He blinks a bit in surprise, flipping that blunt to smoke it now, lighting it up, you watch the orange and red of the cherry as he inhales.

“Hmm, a bit of both.” He exhales the puff of smoke, leaning closer to you, so close his thigh brushes yours, just that alone has your tummy fluttering.

“What are you in? I’d love to see your work.” Satoru starts coughing now, uncontrollably, eyes wide, as you stare in concern, coming to tap on his back. “Are you okay!?”

“Shit… yeah…” He’s coughing more, covering his mouth before looking away a moment, taking a breath.

Satoru was not ashamed of what he does for a living, and he never fucking will be either, but suddenly he doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, am I being nosy?”

“No, no… want a hit?” Clearly trying to avoid the question, you wonder… was he in some flop of a movie or something?

“I’ve never smoked.” You’re looking down again, those converse pointing in as you shift once more, so adorable he really can’t stand it.

“Never?” You shake your head, and he grins, teeth glinting as he leans even closer, holding the blunt up high, the smoke swirling around the two of you, creating an even headier atmosphere, like you could get high off him.

“No…”

“Let me be your first.”

“What now!? You’re teasing me!” You cross your arms as he bursts into laughter, taking another hit.

“You’re too adorable not to.” You can’t help how good that makes you feel, he makes you feel… reckless, this stranger. “I can blow it in your mouth?”

“Blow it in my…” You bite your lip again, Satoru leans forward, thumb releasing it from your row of teeth, and the action makes you both pause.

“You bite it too much.” He murmurs softly, and just touching your soft lips, thumb touching the plush of it, is hotter than cumming on a girl’s face this morning, in fact he’s not done something so sensual.

The man who last night was banging a co-star in a mating press, the night before he had two women, one on his face, one riding his cock. The other day, him and Suguru shared another girl, this time dual penetrating her, fuck they were both in her pussy- she clearly was miraculous to take it. This week alone he’d done six shoots, with the best Hollywood had to offer.

But this girl blushing, who’s never smoked a blunt, is so fucking sexy he barely holds back.

He’s leaking precum from your proximity.

“Will blowing in my mouth get me… um, high?” Your words shake him from his revelry, where he’s still touching your pretty little chin, making him clear his throat, plastering on a cocky smile like your scent alone doesn’t have him throbbing.

“A little, but not as intense as a hit yourself. Call it shotgun, you’ve really never heard of it?”

You shake your head, scooting closer and leaning forward, that tan and brown sweater falling just a little more over your shoulder, as your lips are too close. Any other girl by now Satoru would have on his OF, or have in a bedroom, a bathroom, maybe just here on this couch for everyone. He’d have his fingers on them, have them sucking him off.

But he’s just enjoying barely touching you.

Satoru shakes his head, wondering if he’s so high he’s imagining how intense this must be, but looking back down into your pretty eyes behind your glasses, he can’t shove it down. “Trust me?”

“Should I?” He wiggles his brows, grinning.

“Maybe you shouldn’t, maybe it’s a ploy to kiss you.” You’re giggling again, sighing now, and tilting your chin up, your hand resting on his thigh, while he cups your face.

“I doubt you need to ploy anyone into kissing them.”

“Never have before, no.”

“Then… I trust you.” You lean forward again, eyes fluttering shut, your lashes just barely brushing the glasses, and he pauses, before inhaling the blunt deep into his lungs, tilting your chin up and opening your lips.

“Suck in.” His words carry far too much intent, when he blows his smoke directly into your mouth, and you do just that, sucking in all the smoke you can, as he sighs into your sweet mouth, lips full and plush on your own.

Fuck.

Satoru blows all the smoke, and you’re sucking it in. “Good girl.”

Fuck.

You almost die then, coughing a bit, embarrassingly wet for him, and this is not normal. You’re a girl who has to have a relationship to have sex, you’re a girl who has to really know someone, feel so comfortable, but Satoru Gojo was completely wrecking you now. You let the smoke go, the fog rising, when he leans low once more, one hand pulling you closer.

“Another?” He asks in a whisper, you can’t stop but nodding, watching his plump lips circle that blunt again, and he’s blowing it back in your mouth, pulling you closer, while you inhale it deep. He pulls back a bit now, as you’re holding it, sighing. “Blow it back in my mouth.”

You do as he asks, and soon your tongues touch, sloppy and drippy wet, making you whine out from the back of your throat, the sound making Satoru fucking feral. You kiss fully, your hand slipping up his shirt now, lightheaded from the smoke and his ardent kiss, how he possesses your fucking mouth, and the blood rushes to your ears, your head so light and fuzzy.

“Fuck…” His words come out in a low growl, pulling you even closer, until one of your thighs is over his, and he’s pressing a kiss across your jaw, up to your ear, you’re gripping his soft, expensive shirt like your life depends on it, whimpering so softly only he can hear. “Taste so sweet, do you everywhere?”

“I… huh… I… mmm…” You’re dizzy when he nips your ear, a big hand brushing your waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before he pulls back, eyes so bright, his pupils shrunk to little pinpoints now. “Gojo…”

“Satoru.”

You’re blushing furiously, eyeing your surroundings, when you’re soaked now, it feels so… naughty but exciting, fuck. You have to gather yourself, taking several shaky breaths, as he’s leaning down further, your heat against one of his thighs now. “Satoru um… I need a moment. That was intense.”

“Shit, of course.” He pulls back, taking his own breath, putting out the blunt now, eyeing the glossy redness of your now swollen lips.

He can picture them so perfectly wrapped around the tip of his cock. So innocent, did you do that? Would he have to show you, direct you? The perfect angle of your eyes, the way to open your mouth, how to take him deep down that little throat, one he can imagine seeing his cock bulge out of. All the thoughts are running insane while you lean back a bit, hands loosening their grip on his shirt finally.

“Want a drink, sweets?” You nod now, your eyes are so dilated they look black, glasses just a little fogged from his breath and the smoke.

“Yes, please. You didn’t tell me um, what movies can I find you in?”

“Like looking at me?” He’s cocky, conceited, but you just nod a bit, making him falter now. “Indie films, low budget, obscure.”

“Oh? I love indie flicks!” He grimaces now, a girl who’s never smoked weed and screams inexperienced may not like him if she knew he cums on girls' tits and their faces for money.

He wants to just say it.

But…

“You’ve not heard of ‘em. Let’s get you a drink, hmm pretty?” You nod shyly, standing with his help, and soon the two of you have made it in the center of one of the main party rooms, there are women getting lines done off them, men with several women on them at once, all kissing, grinding, along with those dancing. And now Satoru has your hips in his grip, showing you how to roll them.

You’re not a dancer, a little awkward and off beat, but you’re laughing, a pretty peal of a sound that melts him, and he can’t remember the last time he has had so much fun, as he does working you in a figure eight, kissing your neck teasingly. You’re ticklish, he really notices when his fingertips graze your hips under your sweater, earning your little gasp and look up at him.

“Cute.”

“You keep saying that, like I’m a little kitten!”

“Maybe you are. Or a little bunny.”

“Oh!” You’re giggling though, when you turn and get just a little dizzy, but he captures you, and you finally say it. “Um… why talk to me?”

Satoru frowns now, thin brows together, as the song is slower, and you’re damn near grinding against his thigh, with how he holds you. “What do you mean why?”

“You’re so… there’s so many…”

“Shh.” He puts a fingertip to glossy lips, taking a breath. “I’m enjoying myself, are you sweetheart?”

“Yes but…”

“Want a secret?” You nod and he leans down, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You’re the prettiest girl here.”

“No way!”

“Mmhmm, and I’d know. Expert.” You tuck your face against his chest, giggling again, as your arms wrap his torso tighter.

“You’re being too nice.”

“No, just saying what I think. But your cheeks turn a really pretty color, don’t they?”

“Shh.” You look back up, eyes glittering, and it takes everything for Satoru not to take you then and there, lap up that heat he can feel emanating from your surely pretty little cunt. You peck a kiss on his neck, earning a little exhale, when Satoru pulls your little body even closer against his, so huge, tall, hard, everywhere. “Satoru…”

Suddenly your friend hits your field of vision, pausing and widening her pretty eyes as she takes in the sight of you two. You clear your throat, tapping Satoru then, whose hands are dangerously close to gripping your ass, your scent overtaking him, the feel of you in his arms driving him insane with need. He blinks a bit, as he then turns where you’re pointing.

“My friend!” You’re grinning then, and Satoru’s heart drops just a bit, when he recognizes her, since he’d been inside her just last week.

Shit.

“Come meet Satoru!” You’re bouncing practically as you drag Satoru by his hand, and your friend smiles just a bit, as Satoru clears his throat, and you’re adorable and oblivious.

“We’ve met.” You blink a bit in surprise at her words, looking at Satoru, who’s put back on his shades, hand that was on the small of your back falling.

“Oh, where? A movie set? She does some acting too!” Your best friend takes your hand then, as Satoru looks away.

“Yeah, a set. Um, can I steal you baby?” She asks, brushing your hair back, you nod with a pretty smile.

“I’ll be back!” Satoru smiles a bit, cursing softly, when Suguru comes walking up to him, sipping on a whiskey, eyeing the two girls.

“Didn’t you…”

“Fuck her friend? Yep.” He answers with a pop of his lips, hand brushing his hair back then, sighing. “Shit I really like her.”

“Like her or want her?”

“Both. More. Shit.” Suguru contemplates his friend, then eyes you and your friend together.

“Her friend is Jenna Juggs?”

Satoru’s lips quirk up a bit. “She is indeed. Fuck I need a drink, I am sure she won’t want to talk to me now.”

“Since when do you care?”

“Shut up.” Satoru’s all pouty, and you frown now, looking up at Jenna, who is tugging you far away.

“What’s going on? You always say I need to try to meet someone!”

“Yes, but…” She sighs now, looking over at him, then back down at you. “You really don’t recognize him?”

“He said he’s in like… indie films?” She snorts just a bit then, shaking her head and sighing.

“Indie films huh. Babe aren’t you on my OF?”

“To support you! I’ve never looked, oh god.” Jenna giggles, sighing.

“I thought you peeked a bit huh?”

“No. I read my porn.”

“So classy.” You both giggle, and you feel blue eyes boring across the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you look over your shoulder.

“I’m not any better than you because you like to watch or… participate. But anyway, what’s OF have to do with it?”

“We… collabed last week.” You watch her shift a bit, eyelashes lowering as she now giggles at the memory, and you feel your tummy clench just a bit, eyes catching Satoru’s again, he’s leaning against a counter, ignoring everyone that comes his way with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Collabed as in…” She nods a little, and you exhale. “Oh.”

“He’s a huge name, like the top porn star there is, him and his friend over there.” You see him now, long dark hair, as tall as Satoru, leaning against the counter right with him, but Satoru still hasn’t peeled his eyes off you. “It was a big deal to get him to join, and he’s really sweet but…”

“But?” You raise a brow now, and your friend brushes her hair back, looking in their direction again.

“He’s amazing in bed, like the best I’ve had.”

“Ah… that good?” You’re clearing your throat nervously, drinking your glass slowly, trying to ignore the odd feelings in your tummy.

Were you really envious right now?

You shouldn’t feel this way, she’s your best friend and you don’t even know him, but also you could never just…

Could you?

“He hasn’t dated a single girl in the eight years he’s done porn, him or his friend, notoriously single even for the industry.”

“Shit are they together?” She laughs a bit then.

“People certainly ship them but…”

“Ship, like characters, are they that famous?”

“Mmhmm. Now if you just want to have fun, he’s amazing but I know you.” She puts one of her hands on your shoulders now, cool thumb running little circles on your bare shoulder. “You’re sweet, innocent and you want love.”

“I’ve done things!”

“With how many people?”

You sigh now, drinking the rest of your drink in a gulp. “Just my ex.”

“That’s what I figured, and that’s fine baby, if you need a connection, or something deep? He’s not it. That’s all, I see how much fun you were having, and I don’t want you hurt if he gets… what he wants and goes. In this industry how you see sex is very different.”

“Ah. I get it, you think he just wants to…” You can’t even say it, fuck you’d been wet, ready, and you were never like that with a stranger, your experience as a demisexual just is limited, where you crave connection, comfort, and meaning behind sex, you can’t just ‘have fun’.

But he’d had you questioning it all, because you felt something in that kiss- was it just his experience?

“He’s walking sex, I can’t blame you one bit. And I support anything you do- shit I highly recommend it. But you…”

“Yeah no, I am not into hooking up. I’m glad you told me but… something about him…” You trail off then, swallowing nervously, as her hands come to your sides, and she hugs you closely.

“I know, it doesn’t mean you can’t talk to him, but you had to know.” She nibbles on a nail then, lashes lowering. “He gives mean backshots, if you go that route.”

“Jenna!” You’re both giggling, and the party goes on then, the two of you smiling and waving as you keep finding each other around the room, soon Jenna is good and sauced, and you know you need to make sure you both get home okay. But you can’t help but stop by Satoru before you go, nervously fidgeting with your hands in front of you.

“Hey sweets, heading out?” He asks softly, a hand coming to grip your wrist, swallowing it with his long fingers, you eye the connection, feeling yourself heat up at it, trying to remind yourself, it’s him ‘dripping sex’ it’s his job. Maybe he thinks you’re pretty enough not to fuck for a shoot, maybe he’d actually like to know you a bit, but her words hit hard.

“Satoru, do you date?” Your words make him pause. “Not me, just in general.”

“Do I date?” He blinks a bit, lips opening, then shutting. “She told you.”

“I would never judge, my best friend does it, if anything I’m envious that you all can just do that.” Your eyes are glimmering just a bit, now his hand slips up your wrist, thumb brushing the delicate veins there, sighing. “I just wanted to clarify that part.”

“I haven’t dated since like college, no.”

“And you’re…”

“Twenty eight.” You nod a bit now, calculating, a good eight years since he’s dated- since he’s been in the industry. “I was enjoying our time.”

“I was too, very much. Got me high you know.” He grins then, and you can’t help but smile back, heart racing in your chest - and you realize it, Jenna is right. What you’re feeling from one meeting could hurt you. “I’d still like to be friends?”

“Friends, hmm?” You nod as he leans down, his other hand pressing against the nip of your waist, pulling you against him, watching the catch of your breath, the dilation of your pupils. You’re biting that lower lip again, a little soft whine in the back of your throat escaping.

“I’d love to be. I really like you, Satoru.” He melts for you then, at your cute little smile, your hand slipping up his chest. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“So did I. Friends, then, I could use some.” He kisses your lips softly, a mere brush, that’s not what friends should feel from a little kiss, right? That ache between your thighs, your pulse racing, as he can’t stop thinking how good you feel in his arms, thinking he’d like you to stay.

“Me too, maybe you’ll make me a stoner, hmm?”

He laughs then, genuine and charming. It’s hard to think of him ‘giving Jenna backshots’ a mix of sweet and charming, you try to remember just that. “So she didn’t have a bad review for me?”

“Quite the opposite, you’re apparently the best in the industry.” The softness and break in your voice makes him pause, usually he’d be cocky about hearing that, but he doesn’t know just how that makes him feel. “I haven’t watched your kind of work, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t think so. Too obscure.”

“Clearly.” You both laugh softly again, you are leaning back now, taking a breath, trying to remember yourself, but it’s hard when all you can think of is his lips.

“Can I have your number?” Satoru Gojo has never asked for a girl’s number, but he damn near gets giddy when you nod, slipping out your phone, giving it to him then, which he saves under your name.

“I don’t do casual, I’ve never even kissed someone I’m not serious about. Um… but I really had fun.”

That innocent?

He figured close to it but…

“Did I corrupt you so much in one night?”

“Maybe so. I have to get my friend home safe, so I will talk to you sometime?”

“Any time.” He brushes your hair back again, kissing your cheek once more, your eyes shut at how good it feels, sighing.

When you’re gone, Satoru does not like the feeling left.

The rest of the party is dimmed now, he can’t stop thinking about you, about watching you inhale that smoke, about watching your cute, shy little fucking smile, but why would you like him, he fucked your best friend last week. And you’re clearly a good girl, a sweet girl, and that’s what he would do - corrupt you.

But the thoughts of corrupting you start taking over, so intense he can hardly stand it, imagining teaching you everything. How to arch your ass up just right for him, have you cum so hard you’d squirt and drip down his cock, fuck he’d love to watch your eyes roll back in your head, as he hits spots he’s sure no one ever has, cumming so hard you cry pretty tears.

It’s so ridiculous he’s throbbing, and as some of his co-stars come and flirt with him, he can barely give them a little smile, a playful wink, turning down the endless opportunities tonight with one excuse- ‘he’s tired’ - is about all he can come up with. Because what is this!?

What’s the feeling that night when you’re laying in your bed, scrolling through your friend’s OF for the first time, heating up as you scroll, you’ve seen her naked a ton, you’ve taken her pictures, but when you see her bent over, and that sexy white haired man wrapping an arm around her waist? His other hand, wrapped around her throat, and her eyes rolled back?

The scene alone without clicking play is too much, you’re trembling, imagining pressing play, hesitating. You barely know him, but something clicked tonight, you had fun for the first time in forever, but to know that you maybe already developed a crush on someone unattainable seems a cruel joke.

Hopelessly single because you’re so picky, because a lot of time your interests don’t align - how could you like someone who doesn’t think Lord of the Rings is a classic, for example - or if you’re not feeling something. Your friends think you put too much into it, they think you should let go and have fun, and maybe you did, tonight, but that was because of him.

You keep furiously flushing as you go back and forth, thumb hovering over the screen, Jenna wouldn’t care if you saw, and maybe Satoru wouldn’t, but something feels so different to you, so naughty, like inhaling smoke from his mouth tonight. You keep shutting the phone off, then turning it back on, when suddenly you get a text from him.

Satoru - Hope you got home safe, sweets.

He’s sweet, he’s thoughtful, he’s fucking gorgeous and…

He would never date.

It’s a really mean joke someone’s playing on you.

You - Thank you, I did! I hope you did too.

You can’t look at the video! Can you?

Satoru’s laid up in his bed, picturing you, god he can taste your lips on his still, swiping a hand over his face as you send some little emoji, far, far too cute, so cute you make him ache. He wonders then just what is it about you, surely you’re beautiful, but it can’t just be that.

He can’t get you off his mind.

You can’t stop yourself from pressing play.

Your breath catches when you finally do, and you see it, him fucking Jenna, looking right at the fucking camera, a smirk and blue eyes, as he thrusts up inside of her. You don’t enjoy porn, it’s not intimate enough for you- but looking at him makes your cunt throb, you touch it to find it hopelessly drenched, watching him manhandle and flip her like she’s nothing, right on her back.

You watch him put your best fucking friend in a mating press, watch him smack his cock against her tummy, pulling his condom off, cumming on her then. When you get a good look at his pretty pink tip, veiny long cock and ropes of fucking cum, you mindlessly touch your cunt, soaking your sleep shorts, crying out before you catch yourself, cursing.

You shut it off, huffing and yanking the blankets over your face.

It must be… the drinks, the smoke, him, making you act this way. A good book with meaning, a perfect man in your head, that’s what you want, what you need, right? Not whatever he was doing to your mentality, fuck it’s your friend too, how could you ever get wet to that?

“Fuck this.” You grumble, swiping away from your friend’s OF, but the image is firmly burned into your mind, of Satoru moaning with his lips parted, jerking his cock along her in pretty patterns. You pull up your book instead, filling your mind with anything and everything else, when another text pops up.

Satoru - Good night, sweetheart.

You just watched him cum, now you feel horrible, ugh! What is up with you tonight!? He’s probably being friendly and you’re over here touching your sensitive little clit watching him. You struggle to compose yourself, finally having to go wipe up, splashing yourself with cold water in your little bathroom, you dry your hands on a towel, looking at yourself in the mirror for a moment.

You look fucked up.

You finally text him back.

You - Good night, Satoru, sweet dreams.

Satoru can’t stop the dopey smile on his face, cock annoying and throbbing, and instead of letting it get taken care of, he’d just focused on how badly he wanted you, how much he can’t get you off his mind. Fuck just your shampoo and whatever heavenly fucking body spray spritzed on you made him harder to remember, how pretty you’d look in his bed, under him.

‘Friends’, you’d like to be ‘friends’.

Satoru doesn’t think anything in his mind was friend appropriate currently, not when he’s stroking himself, crying out and picturing just peppering your shoulder and neck with kisses, biting you, marking you. Leaving bruises along a perfect neck while you grip his hair, crying out, head falling back. Having your heat he could still feel on his fingers.

As you’re struggling to calm down, Satoru’s giving up, jerking off for the first time maybe in forever alone, sure he does for videos, but he doesn’t have to make himself cum often when everyone was lining up to suck him. But instead he’s stroking a famous cock thinking of a sweet girl with a brown sweater that falls just so, hiding a body he’s dying to know.

As you’re finally asleep, mind racing, he’s cumming ropes into his palm, picturing much better places for this cum- like inside your sweet little cunt - and that’s one thing Satoru Gojo does not do. Trying to come down himself, cleaning up, he looks in the mirror, seeing the pink of his own cheeks, shaking his head then.

He looks fucked up off you.

*****

While you are at work that next monday, sitting at your desk typing away, Satoru Gojo has an entirely different sort of work to accomplish, this time with his costar Sukuna, who he frequently worked with, and the two of them either popped off on each other or competed for who could make the girl squirt the most. Sukuna was currently lapping at the co-star’s cunt with his pierced tongue.

She’s she’s bent over sucking Satoru’s cock with expert suction, and he should be loving it, he’s worked with her before and she is a sweetheart and highly fucking skilled, and this shoot pays extremely well. A win win, even with Sukuna running it, currently at least his mouth was occupied. The director zooms right in, maybe that’s what’s bothering him, the cameras, the bright lighting.

Satoru’s cock is not staying hard, even as she’s choking back moans with the pink haired munch of a man going so intense, her nails gripping Satoru’s thighs so tightly, pressing in. He tries to focus on how it feels, shutting his eyes, but all he can think of is you.

Your lips.

Your eyes.

Those glasses on the bridge of your nose.

How you shift your fucking thighs, heated from desire.

God, he can’t stop thinking of you, what if you saw him on a video? Would it make your surely pretty pussy wet? He’s suddenly hard fully once more, grabbing his co-star’s hair and shoving his cock so deep she’s choking, gasping, but he can’t manage to open those eyes until the director says something then.

“Gojo, the eyes- look at the camera.” He sighs now, they were part of his money, the eyes that no one had, the ones that entranced so many, he manages to open them, eyeing the camera, but instead of his usual smirk there is a pout, and his co-star pulls back, frowning just a bit, as Sukuna pulls away from her cunt, tattooed face glistening.

Amongst the most famous pornstars, Sukuna rivaled Satoru- the alternative, rougher version perhaps to the pretty boy, he slips two fingers in her cunt, and she moans, as he eyes Satoru. “Who’s fucking her first?”

“Me, of course.” Sukuna chuckles, her cunt is so loud it’s squishing and clicking, much to the delight of the director, and Satoru has her on top of him then, as Sukuna guides her onto his cock, slapping her ass loudly. Satoru struggles, gulping as she sinks on him over his condom.

It feels warm and good but…

He can’t even look at her.

She’s bouncing up and down him while Sukuna plays with her from the back, and Satoru forgets he’s even on a set, lips parted in a sigh as he looks away, and realizes he’s gone soft again. “Is something wrong?” She asks softly, he shakes his head now, gripping her hips.

“No, no it’s fine, wanna ride him for me?” She nods, and Satoru then helps her ride Sukuna’s cock, as he kisses down her shoulder, shutting his eyes once more, trying to hide how soft he is and failing.

“Cut.” The director calls, Satoru sighs, as Sukuna moans, yanking her down his length, and her head falls back. “I said cut.”

“We can fuck while we’re waiting for him to get on board.” Sukuna grins up at her as she giggles, and Satoru glares. “Go get a viagra.”

“I don’t need one, fuck it’s just… the lights.”

“Need a break Gojo?” His director asks, and he manages a nod. “Go ahead to the dressing room, we’ll… make sure they are ready to go when you come back.”

“She’ll be fucked out before you get it up.”

“Whatever Sukuna, fuck you.” Sukuna snorts in laughter, Satoru stomps over to the dressing room, cursing then and resting his head against that door, taking several breaths and scowling at his cock. “Work, shit…”

What is this!?

A pretty girl at a party shouldn’t ruin his whole cock, ruin his enjoyment, cloud his goddamn mind, a girl who’s a - friend - what’s his problem!? He’s sitting down on the couch then over a towel, still literally naked, stroking it, once, twice, three times. Nothing helps, the condom hanging just so off his cock, when he grimaces, pulling it off and tossing it in the trash, pulling out his phone, and he pauses at your name.

Satoru - Hey sweets, I don’t have a pic for your caller ID, could you send one?

He tenses as he sees you immediately typing, cock twitching right back to life from three stupid dots wiggling. He bets you’re biting that lip.

You are.

You’re nervous as you look around your quiet workplace, you’re a graphic designer and it’s a little late, so you’re nearly alone, finishing a project, when you see he wrote to you. The man you have not looked back up, but it’s taken every bit of self control not to watch his content, and boy does he have so much, up to and including his own asmr.

That’s dangerous.

He’s dangerous.

Because you could never just enjoy him for who he is, you would want more, fuck you already feel it, the odd sensation knowing he’s likely fucking someone constantly, picturing yourself wildly for a moment with him behind you. Surely you couldn’t be a co-star, you’d flip on camera, too shy, but you keep envisioning it regardless, him choking you as he sinks deep.

Stop that.

You turn in your big black chair, spinning it just a bit, seeing the beautiful soft lighting of the upcoming evening pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, deciding it’s good lighting. Your chest rises and falls with your nerves, you didn’t know how to be sexy in photos, but do you want to?

You do.

Fuck you do.

You’re leaning back and angling the phone just so, glasses off for a moment on your desk, since they’d been giving you a bit of a headache, throwing a peace sign and parting your lips, you don’t know exactly how to pose. You knew what art was, what beauty was, but a little clueless how to angle yourself like your friend Jenna has always been able to.

After peering through a few photos, brows drawn together in concentration, you send one his way, he’s viewed it and he instantly hearts it, making you exhale, relieved that maybe he thinks it’s cute enough. But little do you know, you have him full hard now, thumb brushing his leaky tip, making him whimper, picturing rubbing his cock right on those pretty lips of yours.

God you’re just in a blouse but he can see your nipples pressing from the material, begging for him to pluck them, suck them, and he can’t stand the longing, the need making his body ache. He curses softly, wiping a sticky thumb on his towel, trying to compose himself, he’s acting like some stupid lovesick boy, not the entire star he knows he is.

And your eyes, eyes he didn’t get a good enough look at, so fucking gorgeous, it’s hard to look away, but as he does, he notices more, your bitten lips, the gentle slope of your neck, the way you have little marks from the pads of your glasses on the sides of your pretty nose. God, all of you is delectable.

Satoru - Gorgeous, thank you. Saved.

You - Thank you, Satoru um, can I have one too?

He smirks now, because if he was good at anything - aside from making women cum - it was taking the perfect selfie. He’s lifting the camera high, showing far too much of his strong chest, his rippled, cut abdomen, down to those v cuts and his veins running just above his snowy white pubic hair. Not his cock, of course, but enough for you to get the idea.

He sends it with a smirk, and you open it with a gasp, eyeing a body you saw somewhat in the shoot, but nothing looks quite like what’s in front of you right now on your screen. He’s got his brilliant eyes bright and lidded, tousled white hair, lips parted just so, making your lips tingle at the memory. You touch them longingly as you study his body, glistening with sweat.

Fuck he’s sexy.

You shift in your office chair, sighing, putting back on your glasses for an even deeper inspection- and since when are you so turned on by looks? You’re into who someone is, of course looks are great, but to have your pussy clenching over a picture is insanity.

And for Satoru to have a raging hard cock over a selfie is batshit insane, but here the two of you are, you saving an obscenely sexual photo, and him saving a demure little picture, both smiling at them. But then you frown a bit, taking in the couch, the lighting, realizing it then.

You - Are you on a shoot?

Satoru - Yes.

Why does that make you feel just a little envious of whoever gets to kiss and touch on him?

Why does it make you a little jealous of who gets him on them, his plump lips on their skin?

You shake it off, smiling tremulously as your hands shake, typing a 

I know you’ll kill it, have fun! Got the pic saved thanks. <3

Satoru leans his head back again, before looking at your photo once more, rushing out before his cock decides not to work again, slipping on another condom. When he’s gripping her hips and smiling at the camera as he does, however, he doesn’t know if he can keep it up, luckily he’s so huge she barely notices, while she’s gushing down his latex covered cock.

He’s encouraging her, pressing his thumb against her clit, while she’s sucking on Sukuna, and he tries to remember how amazing his life is, and focus, surely this is something that will pass. Some infatuation, and he’ll get back to normal in no time, he’s sure of it.

Right?

******

Wrong.

After a string of highly unsuccessful shoots that Satoru’s had to push off on Suguru and Sukuna, he’s decided the only hope for it is to give in and jerk his cock to your pictures. That week you’ve sent others, all cute and innocent, but how do you manage to make him so obsessed? Every pretty inch of skin you show he’d litter with bruises.

Not that there was much skin shown, the plush of your thighs over cute knitted knee high socks, and god you’re as hot with your glasses as you were without, he couldn’t figure out what he liked more. Your shoulders are just a little bare, begging for his teeth to sink into them, since when he is so turned on by hints of skin than soaking wet costars?

The first time he jerks it, he cums so much he knows the best solution, to focus on his solo career, at least until whatever the fuck this is - this obsession - could pass. He’s making bank as he does them, actually, and he can’t help but grin as he’s become the top onlyfans creator, stroking his cock for so many of his fans, all while he can prop his phone up and look at what new selfie you’ve sent.

“Hah- I know, it’s pretty, isn’t it?” He’s winking right at that camera, stroking faster and faster, spitting down on his tip, spreading it with a lewd squishing sound as the comments go insane.

Satoru cum for us!

It’s so pretty

Want a taste

Want it in me

What a win-win, making bank for stroking it to you, all while getting his ego filled by all the comments, he’s stroking his ego with his length, smirking as his free hand uses the mouse to scroll down. “Ah, I know, it’s huge, is it sensitive, mmm… a little bit if I do this.”

He’s twisting just so, eliciting a little cry, when he sees a name pop up, pausing his movements- and you’re staring right at Satoru Gojo’s live stream, heart hammering, worried he’d notice you. His little look of shock confirms it, as his hand finally slides back down his shaft, and your eyes follow the movement, so hungry for him you can’t stand it.

When Jenna teased Satoru had a live stream - she clearly knows now that you are infatuated with him, god he’s all you can think about, daydreaming at work, in your sleep he’s kissing you everywhere with those plump lips. You couldn’t help but talk to Jenna about him again, and she sighed, smiling at you.

“You never know, people change, maybe you two should at least hang out?” You’d repeated it softly, shaking your head. “No?”

“Why would he want to?”

“Well, I heard he’s had no shoots for a bit, and is doing solo things, maybe you could peek?”

You can’t believe you’re on Satoru Gojo’s onlyfans live.

You can’t believe you fucking subscribed to him, too.

And now it’s like he’s looking right fucking at you.

Shit.

He begins stroking his cock once more, murmuring - “I see a new subscriber here, like what you see?”

He’s so pretentious.

But…

You do love it, his veiny cock, which leaks precum on his flat belly button over tense abs, pale thighs spread, muscled and perfect, god all of him was. But something was a little more than just his looks, which sounds insane, but it wasn’t those looks that made you - fuck, lowkey obsessed!?- with him, it was so much more. His eyes elicit far, far too many feelings.

You take a breath for courage, before leaving a comment.

Do you taste sweet everywhere?

Your comment sends him as he reads it, blinking snowy lashes and pausing, while on the other side you’re covering your mouth, panicking- did you really just say that, shit!? You’re taking several breaths, hand on your mouse, ready to leave the chat, as the comments pop off, going insane, asking the question over and over, but Satoru strokes his pretty cock ever so slowly, leaning forward.

He cums when he starts picturing your cute little embarrassed face, he can’t stop himself, knowing you’re watching has him so sensitive, he’s cumming so much it feels so fucking good. His moans are low and gutteral as his cum starts pouring over his slick fist, and you’re watching avidly, breath caught in your chest, heart fucking hammering, so wet it’s dripping through your panties.

You’re on the edge of your seat when he finally opens those blue eyes, to the endless tips pouring in for him, but he’s thinking of just one viewer-

You.

“Do I taste sweet everywhere?” He’s murmuring your name- you’re so dumb to have it as your real name, shit- but the way he chuckles, his eyes going insane as he lifts his hand off his cock then? “Let’s see.”

He’s bringing a white, sticky coated finger to his mouth now, sucking his own milky seed off them, cheeks hollowing as he does, and you can’t help the soft whine that escapes, grinding against your seat, desperate for some fucking friction. He’s insane, surely, you’ve never even thought of it, a man sucking his cum up, it’s so sexy and just obscene it fucks you mentally.

Just who is this freaky ass porn star!?

He’s chuckling now, like he can somehow see your damn reaction from behind the screen, it’s like it’s just you and him, and not a fucking stream full of people, as the tips go insane. The comments are going so quickly he can’t keep up with them, grinning as he sucks more of his cum off another thick, long finger you’d love buried inside of you.

“Hmm, I do taste sweet.” He watches as you tip hundreds, smirking before you log completely off.

He pauses now, you’d had him so fucked up he went full out, he wonders if he’s scared your innocent ass off, sighing now, ending the stream with a laugh and a friendly little good bye, as he always does. He has made so much money it’s stupid, and surely you encouraging his little stunt helped, but now he can’t help but call you after he’s cleaned up the mess you’ve made of him.

You watch the phone vibrate and ring, jumping damn near, covering your hands with your mouth as you see his name, with his half naked fucking picture. Shit, shit, shit…

You slowly pick it up, eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what- did you like the show?” His voice is so arrogant and cocky, but you hear it then, the vulnerability under his layers. “I liked that you joined.”

“You did?” Your voice is practically a squeak, he chuckles a bit, laying back on his bed now, phone against his face.

“I did. Now, what did you think?”

“You’re… really… this is embarrassing!”

“It’s not, I promise. I’m flattered.” You sigh now, leaning back in your seat, wishing the air overhead would cool your overheated skin. “Answer me, be a good girl.”

“Satoru, god.” He’s chuckling, but your nipples are pressing out, taut and needy, cunt gushing so much it’s embarrassing. “I liked it but I never do these things.”

“Then I’m more flattered. I’m taking all your firsts.”

“Stop it, you're so ridiculous.” You’re laughing with him then, softly, shaking your head. “How’d you notice me with all those fans?”

“You certainly stand out.” His husky admittal makes you feel far too much, and the next thing out of your mouth makes you question everything.

“Satoru this is stupid and reckless-”

“Perfect, sounds fun!”

“Hush.” You sigh as he grows quiet, words stuck in his throat, how he’d do anything just to see how you taste. “I watched some of you with Jenna.”

He pauses, heart hammering. “Shit, yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re really good at it, um, pleasing.”

“I love to have a pussy drooling on my fingers,” he’s murmuring so fucking soft now, you’re struggling to compose yourself. “My mouth, my cock, fuck my whole face soaked, I love it.”

“Oh?”

He’s chuckling again. “Oh. Cute.”

“Shh. Give me a moment, what if you showed me some things? Off camera, please, I could never-”

“Huh!? What!?” You’re panicking again, embarrassed as he can’t believe his fucking ears.

A chance with you?

Fuck.

“Sorry it’s so rude- that’s your job, and I know you don’t date, but I thought maybe since I feel so comfortable-”

“You feel comfortable with me?” His words are softer now, your eyes shut, sucking in a breath.

“Very. Oddly comfortable, and well I’ve only been with one person, I am sitting here waiting for some romance book love I guess? It’s stupid.”

“Why’s it stupid?” He frowns as he leans his head against his mirror now, standing and trying to pull himself together, cock leaking already thinking of you in his bed.

“I don’t know if it’ll happen but, you’re so sweet and gorgeous and… I’m going on too much.”

“Just say what you want, sweetheart.”

“You to show me things.” You’re shutting your eyes again, waiting for the rejection, but he shocks you once more.

“Then I’ll send a car to get you.”

“Now!?”

“It’s LA, it’ll be thirty minutes at least, if you live where you said, over by that coffee shop on Main right?”

“You remember?”

Of course he does.

“You wanna learn, sweetheart? I’ll teach you anything.”

“Like, free?” He’s chuckling again, the sound so genuine it just makes the ache grow, you’re crazy for this, right?

“Yes free, you’re adorable. Okay then send your address and get ready. Eat something, drink something with electrolytes.”

“Wha-!?” He’s smirking as he eyes his shower, surely he has enough time to wash up for you first.

“Gonna need energy, sweetheart. Lots of it.”

When you’re standing there at the door of Satoru Gojo’s penthouse, and he leans down, his hand on the doorway, veins bulging from his bare arm, hair tousled and still damp, you know it then. When he brushes fingers across your damp hair, bringing it to his nostrils and inhaling your scent, you know it more. But especially when he tilts your chin up, and murmurs - come in.

He’s going to hurt you, but you’ll enjoy the pain.

Ahhh I can't believe all the love the hcs got, like that blew me away, I SO hope you love this, and will enjoy where these two go! I always say - oh this will be four parts- but they always go longer so lol. I hope you all enjoyy I'm so excited to hear what you think! Taglist is closed bc it's so long I'm sorryyy

Taglist 1 - @rjreins @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @gojoslovelylover @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay

pregnancy hormones don't stand a chance around your husband, nanami

"hope that books not more interesting than me," you whisper, propped against the open bedroom door, dressed in nothing but a lacey babydoll lingerie set. your four-month pregnant belly peeks through the lace delicately, and your features are on fire.

kento gives you a little peek. "was wondering what took you so long." he's replying, flicking his book to the next page. you're standing, pouting in his presence.

"hello? i'm horny."

"and you do look very tantalizing in that outfit."

"so come take it off."

he gives you another look, this time lowering the leather-bound book enough to see his face. you pose, crossing your knees and jutting out your hip. you can feel those dark hazels fall over your jutting breasts, then to your widening hips, and finally to your swollen, pregnant belly. his little girl's home.

so, he sits up straight, shoving his book to the side table and ushering you over. "come on, love."

"needy girl..." kento is whispering against the back of your shoulder, pressing kisses there and letting them linger. you're hovering over his lap in reverse cowgirl, tongue pushed from your lips as you focus on staying steady.

"let me have it." you slur, cunt milking obsecnely over his bare lap. he's got a thick fist tight around his erection, making sure you're stable and comfortable before he lets you take him.

"i want you to, but i don't want you to hurt yourself... how about I be on top?"

"—no." you insist, shaking your head violently. he won't let the grip he has on your thighs loose, so all you can taste is the bulbous tip of his familiar, blushing cock.

"why do you insist on being so bratty?"

"I don't want to bottom, baby slides up and into my ribcage and ugh.." you're shivering, and if it wasn't for the abnormal influx of hormones, you'd be turned off just thinking about the pain.

the baby kento pressed into you all those months ago, was an active little girl. she kicked the hell out of you whenever you slept on your back, leading to long nights with little sleep. kento knows this, so why he's telling you to just lie there and take it, is lost on you.

though he's stubborn at times, kento is largely well-trained by you, so he lets you take him like this. his grip starts to loosen, and you can finally feel the stagnancy of his cock start to peek through your sticky folds and into you.

filled to the brim with need, you shiver instantaneously. "oh, please, pleaseplease. all the way—mmgh!!"

he's chuckling behind you—actually breathing a stupid laugh from his nose at your blatancy. "you're shaking already?"

to answer him —you're cumming, and it's a release you've never felt before. his fingers are pressing into your belly, keeping you strong and at his mercy as you cream helplessly all over him. your thighs are shaking, eyes rolling back into your skull as you cry and whine.

it feels like every single one of your nerve endings is being fanned and flamed, driving you absolutely apeshit like you've never been touched a day in your life.

"oh, baby... love."

"sh-shut up."

"that feel good?"

"keep—just keep going." you're begging, drool dripping from your lips as his cock massages that sticky, spongy bunch of nerves at an angle only his cock could hit. he's circling his hips under you, tongue tracing licks across your neck.

your pretty lace panties are ripped and disregarded as the night goes on, and your teddy is busting at the seams, sticking to sweat and dipping off your shoulders. kento's big hand reaches to cradle your swollen breasts, growling in your ear as he fucks you just right... so perfectly and deep that you can feel the slick cervix kisses every time he bottoms out.

you're crazy, and fucked off of five orgasms that night.

thank god for pregnancy hormones—thank god for your husband and all his raw talent. sure, he'll bicker softly just to ignite your needy fires, then he'd give you what you want, exactly how you want, until you're sick with it.

what a thoughtful husband.

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

There's overprotective, and there's Suguru Geto.

"Ah- you'll hurt your eyes, baby, let me handle it"

You're just about to start dicing your onion when Suguru comes up from behind you –fully enveloping you in his warmth– and gently rests his palm on the back of your clenches hand before prying the knife away.

"And this" He runs one long finger along the edge of the blade, from heel to tip "is too sharp for you"

..That damn tone.

Suguru only speaks to you this way when he's about to succumb to the voices, the ones that tell him to scoop you up to hold you in his palm forever, to lock you inside his rib cage and keep you warm, to hold you in his arms and never loosen his grip. You know your faith is set when he begins to rub his cheek against yours, a mother lioness and her little cub.

Smothering.

You have reason to believe that Suguru seriously considers baby proofing the house in its entirety.

"Suguru..." Your disappointed expression only gives him more fuel and now he's audibly cooing at you. How sweet, the precious little baby kitten in his palm, pouting so sweetly, how can you have the nerve to go around being so adorable and acting all bothered when he finally gets his hands on you?

"I'll handle the rest, you should take a rest, baby"

He'll handle the rest? Seriously??

"Suguru, i haven't even started anything yet" you whine, and it's enough to make him run a hand through your hair before pushing you against his chest with one large hand on the back of your head.

Bastard, he knows what he's doing.

Your world shifted the day Suguru learned that his chest can also be a tranquilizer.

Your tense figure immediately relaxes, the rumbling laughter you feel run through his chest tells you all you need to know, and it being that you have once again, lost.

"There you go.." comes an almost taunting coo "isn't this so much better? I like you best this way" And it really, really does, it feels amazing, it feels wonderful being fussed over this much, cared for like this, coddled like a fragile little baby.

"I got here just in time, what if you got hurt, hm? I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if my baby was harmed and i wasn't there to stop it" the whispering voice of a siren, how you managed to stand your ground this long is a mystery to you, Suguru is a force to be reckoned with.

So you put up with it, and let him have his fun, let him play the role of the sweet doting overprotective husbans, because like this, everyone wins and everyone is happy, he gets to care for you, you get to be cared for, perfect.

Aren't you both just a match made in heaven?

Toji’s behind you again. He always is for some reason. One second you’re grabbing something from the top shelf, the next you feel his big hands on your waist, his hips flush against your ass like he owns you or something.

“Still walking around in those little shorts, huh?” he mutters, dragging his fingers down your sides. His voice is low, rough and practically dripping with want. “Y’know, what that does to me, baby”

You gasp when he rocks into you— slowly but roughly. You can feel how hard his cock is through his sweatpants. His hands are already slipping under your shirt and he’s mouthing along your neck now, all needy and fucking shameless.

“Five minutes,” he breathes warm against your skin. “Just lemme bend you over real quick— right here”.

You’re about to respond— half breathless and laughing because of how needy he is when a door creaks open down the hall.

“Dad, have you seen—”.

Megumi’s voice cuts through the kitchen. Silence.

Toji’s hands freeze on your waist. You freeze too, staring wide-eyed at the floor, blood rushing to your cheeks.

Megumi stands there, holding an empty water bottle, staring like he just walked into the worst possible timeline. His expression is absolutely horrified like he’s seen a ghost.

“Dude. Seriously?” he groans, immediately rolling his eyes and turning around. “In the kitchen?”.

Toji doesn’t miss a beat. One hand casually drops from your waist, and the other scratches the back of his neck, completely unbothered.

“What? You knocked?”

“I live here!”

“Then get used to seeing a man in love,” Toji shrugs, already leaning back into you like nothing happened.

You try to wriggle away, completely mortified, but Toji just pulls you in tighter, grinning against your cheek.

“He’ll get over it”.

Deceiving Dreams

(Toji and His Shy Girl)

Toji woke up sweating, a foul feeling in his chest after what he just dreamt. You were the star and your co-star was not him, but some random dude who was way too comfortable with touching you. His hands would brush over your shoulders and your thighs like he was familiar with your body, but what was absolutely stomach churning, was the way he kissed you softly and slowly. You didn't even push him away, instead you reciprocated the gesture. You did the sweet things that you only do with him, like smiling at this man in that way that makes wonder brim your eyes. You kissed the corner of this stranger's lips, on the same side that Toji's scar is on, coincidentally, and you wrapped your arms around this stranger with that same amount of hesitance you show Toji, as if this person you've known for mere minutes summed up the butterflies and electric feelings your lover makes you feel in that short span of time.

Toji hasn't been this unsettled by something regarding you since the time you cried during an argument that spiraled out of his jealousy. Things got out of hand, but since then, he's learned that he can't do things that way with you. He can't shut you out, and he can't snap at you or you will crumble to the ground.

Patience is a hard thing to learn, and though being with you has taught Toji how to be more careful with his words and to be understanding of your struggles to communicate certain things, at the end of the day, he's still learning. How does anyone deal with this kind of thing in a gentle and unassuming manner? He can't just spring such a question on you without it rubbing you wrong. "Are you cheating on me?" No. That is a recipe for disaster and just asking for unwanted distance. You wouldn't do that to him. He knows it, but that dream... It just seemed so real.

Hey, ma. You awake?

It's two in the morning, and you probably won't answer, but as Toji lies there in his bed, waiting for a response from you, he realizes he can't wait to hear from you, so he does the next best thing—he calls you.

The line rings a couple times, and by the third time, he's ready to end the call before he gets sent to voicemail, deeming his reason for pulling you out of sleep so early in the morning to be ridiculous. It was a dream. You're not cheating on him. You wouldn't do that to him. He knows this, yet, here he is, trying to sleep in your bed with you, like a child who woke up from a nightmare, tiptoeing over to their parents' bedroom.

"Hi, Toji," you answer, your voice quiet and slightly raspy with sleep. "Toji?" You call, again, when you get nothing from him. "Are you okay?"

He feels somewhat embarrassed for having woken you up for this, but if the deed has already been done, then he needs to make the most of it.

"Hey, sweetheart. I'm doing just fine. Everything's fine. Listen, would it be alright if I came over?" He asks, already sitting up and getting out of bed.

"It's a little late, isn't it? It's..." you hum as you quickly check your phone, "...two seventeen," you respond, trying your hardest not to nod off as you lie comfortably on your side, your phone placed between your ear and your pillow, again.

"I know. I'm sorry. You don't have to wait up for me, though. I can let myself in. You gave me your spare, remember?"

You blink, tiredly, and remain silent for a few seconds until Toji calls for you. "Yeah, okay, then. Drive safe. It's raining really hard."

"Will do, mama. I'll see you soon. Love you."

"Love you," you mumble, before hanging up the phone. You went right back to sleep, afterwards. The sound of the rain pouring outside was soothing and the coldness that came with the weather made the perfect contrast to the warmth of the blanket you bundled yourself in.

Toji got to your place twenty-something minutes later. His hoodie was heavily spotted with the raindrops it caught during the walk to your front door from his car. He fishes out his keys from his pocket and looks for a shiny, bronze key on his keyring. Once he has it, getting into your warm home goes smoothly. From taking off his shoes and setting them beside yours, to removing his hoodie so that the wetness doesn't touch you, he moves quickly. He doesn't stray from his path to finding you, not even to grab a snack from your kitchen cabinets like he normally does, no matter the time—he just goes straight to your room.

When he opens the door, Toji is met with nothing more than the adorable sight of you curled up in bed, like a puppy sleeping peacefully under a heap of toasty blankets. He shuts the door behind him, quietly, and moves swiftly, but carefully, so that he doesn't wake you up before he even starts crawling into bed with you. He gently lifts the blanket off the vacant side of your bed, and slides into his place beside you. Instantly greeted by the warmth you generated, he feels the urge to pull you into his arms and just hold you all night.

"Sorry, baby. I know i'm cold," he says, softly, when you stir at the iciness of his fingers dragging up and down the side of your neck.

You blink your heavy eyes open and take in the sight of Toji right in front of you. Him calling you wasn't part of a hyper realistic dream, he's actually in bed with you.

"What's wrong?" You ask, concerned for his reason for wanting to be there in the early hours of the morning, rather than just waiting until later on in the day. You had plans to meet, anyway. What is so important that he couldn't wait until then?

"It's nothing to worry about. Just wanted to be here with you," he responds, not totally lying, but also not telling the whole truth.

"Remember what I told you when we first met?" You mumble, not satisfied with the vagueness of his response. There seems to be more that he isn't telling you.

"You said a lot of things to me that day," he responds, with a low chuckle.

"I did," you agree, smiling softly at the memory. "I also told you something important that day, didn't I?"

You watch the contemplative expression on his face, the outward appearance of his brain whirring. It's cute, even in his handsomeness. "Do you want a hint?" You ask, though when you see his eyes widen a little, you know he won't need it.

"You're better at listening than you are at talking," he recites, with a smirk, like he's patting himself on the back for being able to remember.

"Right. So, if there's something wrong, I want to know about it. I know i'm not the best conversationalist, but you know that I always try for you."

Now that you're more awake, Toji doesn't feel so heartless for handling you like you're merely a teddy bear, so that you're lying on top of him. He wants you close to him all the time, but when you say things like that, he instantly feels the need to bring you closer. It's pure instinct by now.

"You ever get tired of me just scooping you up out of nowhere?" He asks, lips curled in amusement as he watches and feels you wiggling around, trying to make yourself comfortable. Finally, you rest your head on the upper part of his chest and let your arms go limp beside him.

"Never," you respond, simply, smiling when a low chuckle rumbles out of Toji's chest.

His arms tighten around you a little more when the room goes silent, and then he remembers why he's here. He can't lose this. Your warmth, your careful affection, the way you constantly look at him like he's the reason the moon and the stars shine at night. He never wants you to look at him another way. There's absolutely nothing hard about loving you, and if you can't believe it on your own, he'll prove it to you.

"You know how much I love you, don't you, doll?" He asks, his palms finally warm enough to work as heating pads for your back.

"I do," you assure. Maybe this is his concern—that he's not showing you enough love. No, that can't be it. If that was it, he would've waited until later on in the day to see you and talk about it.

"And how much I need you? Do you know that, too?" To that, he doesn't get a response from you. He knows you aren't sleeping, because he can feel your legs shifting against his every once in a while.

"Doll?" He calls.

You let out a soft breath, before responding with your truth.

"I don't know if you need me, Toji. When you tell me you love me, I believe it, because I feel it and I know it, but I don't think you need me."

"Don't..." he sighs, not expecting this as a response from you. "...don't say that. Don't you dare say that. What does that even mean? Because I don't fucking get it. I really don't, ma."

Your heart rate picks up a little, but you try to keep yourself as calm as possible. You understand that this isn't something he wants to hear, as the one who's helped you through so much, but you can't help but share how things feel on your end.

"Don't you ever think about how much better it would be for you to love someone who makes things easier on you rather than overcomplicating them? Someone who tells you what they want straight up, instead of having you basically pry the words from them?"

Toji stays quiet this time, not because he agrees, but because he's figuring out how to say things without it being explosive. He knows that those few seconds of relief will be followed up by a tidal wave of regret. It's not worth it. You're his little sunshine and he would never forgive himself if he was the reason for why your light died out.

"I love you, Toji, but I think about that a lot. I want you to know that if you ever get tired of me-"

"Don't finish that sentence," he cuts. "I don't wanna hear it."

There's no playfulness or warmth to his tone. Nothing but the weight of his words. Your heart feels a little heavier, but you brush it off and utter a phrase that you're all too familiar with.

"Sorry."

You feel nervous, and not in the "good" way. Not in the way that makes your cheeks heat up and your stomach swarm with butterflies, but instead the way that makes your chest feel strange, and like there's a knot forming in your throat.

"I don't wanna hear that either, doll," Toji says in response, his tone softer, now, his thoughts collected. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you like that. You know I love you." He presses a kiss to the top of your head and rubs the center of your back in soothing motions. The silence that returns makes your heart beat even faster. You wonder if Toji can hear it through the lack of sound in the room.

"I had a really stupid dream," Toji finally confesses, a low, humorless chuckle vibrating against his chest. "I mean, really stupid. Can I tell you about it?"

"You don't have to ask, baby," you respond. Your cheeks go warm at your use of the pet name, but it felt right in the moment. Maybe this is what's been lodged in his mind this whole time. You want him to feel as comfortable as possible as he recounts it to you.

Toji smiles softly at the term of endearment you used for him. Somehow, the way you said the word made it sound softer and even more cushioned than it already is.

His arms readjust around you, tightening the perfect amount so that you're secure against him and he can feel more of your body's warmth on his. He peppers a few more kisses on the top of your head before going on to tell you about his dream.

"So, I kind of just spawned into a room where you and some random guy were sitting on a bench, and he was getting really touchy with you. His hands were rubbing your thighs and your shoulders and..." He pauses. This is his least favorite part. He didn't like any part of it, but this part took the cake, because no one kisses your lips but him.

"It's okay," you say, encouragingly. You rub his side a few times and endure a squeeze of his arms—the equivalence of a rush of emotional support in a gesture.

"Well, you and him started locking lips, and it looked like you were really enjoying it. Your eyes were sparkly and you were smiling at him all pretty." He sighs, bothered anew, the same way he was when he first woke up. "See, I told you it was stupid," he grumbles, mildly embarrassed. "Obviously not stupid enough for me to sleep in my own bed for the night. It's fucking ridiculous. Sorry, doll."

You utter another phrase you're all too familiar with—not one you say often, but one you hear from Toji plenty.

"Don't apologize," you murmur. A few seconds pass, and you know just what to say. "Toji?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

You say it like it's as easy as breathing, because it is. There's nothing hard about loving Toji. He's good to you. It's a love you've never experienced with another, and you do your damn best for him, which is why him showing up at two a.m. isn't a problem. Him crawling into your bed, and reaching for you with hands that are cold as ice isn't a problem. He needs comfort this time, and all you can do is hope that the way you console him is enough.

"Only you, and that's how it'll always be. Your brain thought it would be funny to trick you, but it grayed on the fact that I suck at talking to people."

That made him snicker. It wasn't a reaction meant to ridicule you, rather one of immediate relief, due to the confirmation you gave him about his place as your only love.

"Not that i'm interested in pursuing others, but how am I gonna go for someone else, when I can barely talk to you?"

Now that made him full on chuckle, and you just lay there on him, withstanding the crushing sensation of his arms squeezing you impossibly tighter. You fear he might break you, but you would endure that momentary loss of breath any day if it means his heart remains whole.

"God, I love you so damn much," he murmurs, low against the top of your head. "I love you," he says, pressing yet another affectionate kiss to the area. "And I need you. I want you to understand that by... now. I need you to understand it, right now, baby."

"I don't think that's how it works," you say, humming out a soft laugh.

"Well, we're gonna make it work. Alright? You're gonna understand how much I need you."

"Okay," you say, resigned to his perseverance.

"Okay?" He repeats.

"Yeah," you confirm, lips curling, amusedly.

"Yeah?" He copies once more, knowing it'll grant him one of his favorite little sounds from you.

You giggle. "Yes, Toji."

With that, he's flipping you over, his position expressively dominant, now. It's dark in your room, so you can't really see much, but you can make out most of his handsome features, and you can feel his body heat embracing you, just as much as it did a few seconds ago. His hands are planted right beside your head and he's peering down at you, smirking at the way you look at him, like you haven't caught up with how he handled you so delicately yet efficiently to switch positions.

"You always look so pretty under me," he murmurs, leaning in closer. You in so that you see nothing but him. His hands ball up the sheets beneath them, carelessly wrinkling them as he remains merely inches above you. You slowly release the breath you've been holding in. "You mad at me, baby?"

"No," you answer, trying to remain calm, despite the heat that is beginning to seep into your face. "You've done nothing for me to be mad about, so why would I be mad at you?"

His lips press against the lower part of your cheek—a deep kiss right above your jaw. "'Cause i'm kinda dumb and do shit like this. I woke you up, and now you're losing sleep," he murmurs, against your skin.

"It's okay, Toji," you gently reassure. "I understand and I'm not mad at you." Your hands come up to his back, tentatively, feeling the body warmth that seeps through his shirt.

"No?" He asks, pressing a soft kiss closer to the corner of your lips. "You promise?"

As if trying to further comfort the giant hovering over you, you rub his back in gentle motions.

"There's nothing to be mad about. You've done nothing wrong and you're always welcome here, love." You smile when he continues planting little kisses on your cheek while you keep talking. "You have my spare key, because I trust you and I have nothing to hide from you. If giving you that key means you show up here in the early hours of the morning, because you don't want to be alone, that's okay, too. So, yes, I promise i'm not mad."

A low hum comes from Toji as his kisses inch towards your lips. A few land on the corner of your lips, then he's just a little bit off, and then finally, his lips center on yours. You feel butterflies begin to flutter around your stomach as he collects kiss after kiss from you.

"You tired, pretty baby?" He asks, his voice only audible between you and him. Not even the thin walls of your room can take away the intimacy.

"I wanna be awake with you," you respond, your voice matching the low volume of his.

"You sure?" He asks, and you do your best to convince him that you are. Your hands pull away from where they once rested on his back and you raise them to cup his cheeks with slightly shaky hands. Your touch is gentle, maybe even a little hesitant, as you begin to slowly stroke the softness of his skin. This is one of the very rare times when Toji accepts your actions in place of your words.

Your thumb brushes over the scar on his lips, and before you can even process it, his lips are on yours, again. You can feel the flourishing warmth of his face beneath your palms as he kisses you with an unexpected amount of fervor. You hear soft panting from him, as a result of him hungrily chasing kiss after kiss from you. He challenges your lungs, letting them feel a slight burn when he doesn't pull away after you've reached your limit. It's not until you're breathing heavily that he lets you go, and begins to scatter soft kisses along the side of your neck.

"Baby," he hums against your neck, leaving another kiss behind. "My sweet, pretty baby. How do you do it?"

"Do what?" You ask, smiling as he continues to let his lips feed off the warmth and softness of your skin.

"How do always manage to keep things so peaceful?" He responds. His heart beats slightly faster when you release a precious laugh at the question. "Things are just... so damn simple with you," he says, softly, as he goes lower down your body. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and begin to slowly roll it above your stomach. He instantly takes note of the goosebumps that rise when his palms graze your bare skin.

"I know how much you try for me, and fuck, i'm not dismissing your effort, but I also want you to understand that it's not hard to treat you right." His hands grip your waist, loosely, and he leans in to place a kiss on your stomach.

"There's nothing hard about being with you..." he murmurs beneath your ribs, "...and waiting for you. You aren't difficult like you think you are, sweet girl."

"You promise, Toji?" You ask, glancing down at him as he continues leaving kisses on your skin.

"I promise," he assures, meeting your gaze as he presses another kiss right beneath your chest. "You want me to stop?" He asks, aware of the lack of coverage for your chest under your shirt.

"You can keep going," you respond, willing yourself to relax under his touch. He doesn't waste any time, and immediately buries his face in your bare chest. For a moment, there's no major movement coming from him, just his breathing. You think maybe he's just savoring the warmth that you've accumulated after spending hours under your blanket, but he full on melts into your body. His arms go beneath you, allowing him to wrap around you tightly once more, and he releases an audibly heavy sigh.

"It's okay," you say, softly. You keep one hand on his upper back, while the other gently plays with his hair.

He's not sure if he deserves the tenderness your touch holds for him. He tries to be as gentle and careful with you as he can, but he's so scared that one day you'll shatter and it'll be his fault. You'll walk away from him with no intention of ever coming back and something that was so good to him will be gone. You deserve to be happy—always. He knows this, but he doesn't want to picture somebody else making you happy like he does. He can't accept that. You're his girl.

"Toji?" You call. You know your little place isn't the most high end of them all, but you also know that it's not falling apart. There's no way for the rain to reach your skin if there's no hole in your roof.

"Toji?" You call once more when he doesn't answer. Your hands still on him when you feel his shoulders stutter. You have your own glum cloud resting on top of you. You feel something wet land on your chest—it's starting to rain a little.

"It's okay," you whisper, resuming the gentle motions on his back and the back of his head. "It's okay." You feel him begin to leave languid, spaced out, featherlight kisses on your chest, and you want to freeze. You want to express how impactful the gestures are, and how they animate the butterflies that reside in your stomach, but you can't. You can't and you won't do it, because it's your turn to prove that you'll take care of him when he's not at one hundred percent.

"It's... it's gonna be okay. I have you," you assure, feeling the softness of his hair between your fingers as you repeatedly thread them through, and the movement of his back beneath your other hand as he breathes. "And you will always have me, and I love you with all my heart, Toji. I need you to understand that, right now," you tease, lightheartedly, echoing his earlier words back to him in an attempt to make him feel better. You hear a congested sound, something between a laugh and a hitch in his breathing.

Not another sound is made for the next few minutes, no words spoken. Your skin catches a few more of Toji's tears as he continues to brush his lips against the entirety of your chest, reveling in the warmth of your skin. Toji can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest—the way it always is whenever he's around you. Normally, he teases you about it. 'Your heart's gonna explode if you don't calm down.' 'We don't even have to do cardio to get your heart going.' Sometimes, he just holds his fingers against the pulse point on your neck and laughs at the rapid thrumming against his fingertips. He finds it endearing, but right now, it's a comfort.

You don't mind the occasional slight pinch of his lips—the more physical proof of his appreciative affection. You simply remain focused on soothing him and reassuring him of how strong your love for him is and will always be.

"Don't know what I'd do without you, ma," he mumbles, his cheek resting on your chest. He could fall asleep so easily to the sound of your heartbeat in his ears, the feeling of you playing with his hair, and the way you slowly rub his back, but he's torn between staying where he is and coming back up to hold you close through the rest of the early morning.

"I promise I'm not going anywhere," you assure, wholeheartedly.

With that response, Toji makes his choice. He pulls his arms out from beneath you and sits on his knees, between your legs for the quick second it takes him to fix your shirt. After, he lifts the blanket and reclaims his rightful spot beside you.

"Come here," he murmurs, pulling you into his arms without an ounce of struggle. He waits for you to settle, back against his chest, before fully enveloping you in his warm embrace.

"It sounds like pebbles hitting the roof instead of raindrops."

"Mhm," he hums, into your neck, letting his hand slide beneath the front of your shirt to caress the soft skin of your abdomen. "If your roof starts leaking, you're coming to stay with me." It's not a question or an offer.

You laugh. "The rain isn't that bad."

"Mm..." His lips home to your shoulder, a gentle peck placed on the concealed area. "Love seeing your pretty face first thing in the morning. You stay with me if your ceiling ever caves. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, through a giggle. "You'll be my first call."

"Good," he murmurs.

"I'll make you breakfast later, when we wake up."

And though Toji responds with, "Sounds good, ma," all he can think about is how you're going to struggle so hard to get out of bed because he's going to make it nearly impossible for you to do so. The gears are already turning in his head. He'll pin you down, he'll strengthen his hold around you, he'll roll on top of you "in his sleep". You're too polite for your own good, you most likely won't try to wake him up. He'll swaddle you in the blanket, he'll tie your shirts together in a tight knot-

"Goodnight, Toji," you mumble, feeling your tiredness return as he continues drawing little lines and shapes on your stomach.

"'Night, baby," he murmurs, feeling much more content and at peace with the idea of sleeping knowing that you're in his arms, not in anyone else's.

“my fuckin’ pussy” simon says as he’s pounding you in a mating press. your heel-clad feet are hung over his burly shoulders, flopping with every thrust.

“mmmn, yer fuckin” pussy” you slurred back.

“oh my, we’ve gotta talker, doing a little repeat after me? fuckin’ simon says, huh?”

he’s such a tease.