satorella

[satorella]

yes, Michael Kaiser knows he’s too big—he wants it to hurt. when you whimper that it won’t fit, when your voice cracks begging him to go slow, he just grins, all teeth and no mercy. “good,” he snarls, pressing in harder, “you’re supposed to cry.”

no, he doesn’t stop when you squirm. in fact, your hands pushing at him only make him thrust deeper. your resistance is pathetic, laughable. “go on, try and stop me,” he growls against your ear, his hips rolling slow and cruel. “you’re mine now—you spread these legs for me, and you’re gonna take every inch.”

yes, he cums the moment your tight hole squeezes around him, your body trembling like you’re about to snap. he doesn’t pull out—not even close. instead, he grinds in deeper, his cock pulsing as he empties inside you. “fuck, feel that?” he pants, fingers digging into your hips. “I’m filling you up, ruining you from the inside.”

he watches his cum leak from your pussy and just smears it in with two fingers, thrusting them back inside you without warning. “don’t waste it,” he snaps. “I want you soaked in me.”

no, he’s not gentle. he spits on your clit, slaps it twice, then starts fingering you again—fast, messy, relentless. “open up, slut,” he hisses. “if you can’t take my cock yet, you better learn.”

you’re shaking now, gasping, pleading for a break —and he laughs. actually laughs. “this is what you wanted,” he mocks, lips brushing your jaw. “look at you. cockdrunk from just my fingers. pathetic.”

but when you finally sob, “please, Kaiser, fuck me again,” all broken and desperate, he still makes you wait. he drags his cock along your slit, slow and heavy, tapping it against your overstimmed clit.

“say it like you mean it,” he murmurs, smirk razor-sharp. “say you need me to wreck you.”

This had been in my drafts for ages💔

[satorella]

riding sae itoshi ✧ cw: swearing, unprotected sex

sae's always in control. whether it's on the pitch, in interviews or in bed - he's composed and precise like he knows how to unravel you with the bare minimum effort. but tonight? he's beneath you. and for once, he's the one gasping.

your thighs bracket his hips, knees pressed into the sheets, hands on his chest. sae's skin is warm under your palms, muscles flexing when you roll your hips and sink down on him again. his head falls back into the pillow.

"shit," he breathes, jaw clenched. you smile soft and satisfied, as you rise and drop back down, your movements measured just like he usually is. but his eyes are anything but calm now, blown wide with hunger as he watches you take all of him.

"s'the matter, baby?" you tease, breathless. "not used to me being on top?" his hands slide up your thighs, rough with restraint.

"i'm used to you being a mess," he mutters. "this is new."

"like it?"

his fingers dig into your skin, not hard enough to stop you but enough to feel you. "mhm," he nods, exhaling. "too much."

you grin, leaning down so your chest brushes his, arms sliding around his neck. and then you roll your hips again, slower this time, dragging him so deep it pulls a curse from his throat. he bucks up instinctively, but you plant a hand on his sternum and push him back down, lips brushing his ear.

"don't move, baby."

sae groans like the surrender alone is painful. but he obeys. his hands drop to your hips, gripping, grounding himself as you start riding him properly. you set the rhythm. every movement so deliberate, fluid and full, until every thrust brushes that spot inside you that makes your mouth fall open, makes his name slip out in a whisper you barely recognize as your own.

he watches you like he's a starved man. like every bounce of your hips, every soft moan and every little tremble in your thighs is something he needs burned into memory.

"fuck, you're beautiful," he mutters suddenly, thumb dragging across your hipbone. "always are.."

you don't can't answer, not when the pressure is coiling so fast, so tight in your belly. your nails dig into his chest as your movements grow desperate. they're faster, sloppier but chasing the edge. sae sits up without warning, arms wrapping around your back as he drives into you from below. he kisses you and whispers against your lips, "cum for me. let go, baby."

and you do. your whole body shudders, hips faltering as your climax crashes through you like a wave. sae groans as you tighten around him, grinding down helplessly while you ride the aftershocks. it only takes a few more thrusts for him to finish too, spilling inside you with a sharp gasp against your collarbone. his hands stay firm on your hips, keeping you close, like he needs to feel every second of it.

you stay like that for a long moment. skin against skin. chest to chest. his arms loose around your waist now, heartbeat slowing beneath your ear. then he murmurs, lips brushing your shoulder: "round two?"

you hum lazily, smiling into his skin. "mhm."

[satorella]

has this been done before

[satorella]

THE WAY LAHAN LITERALLY TATTLE TAILED ON LAKAN FOR ARGUING WITH JINSHI TO HIS UNCLE. CRYING ON THE FLOOR

only one who can reign in the master strategist who's helped to topple nations is his uncle the apothecary

[satorella]

SHE'S COLDER

♡. sae itoshi x snow leopard!reader, smut mdni, established relationship (kinda? not rlly?), based on this req

Men are annoying. But Sae Itoshi might be the exception… if he stops acting like one.

You’re spread out on the couch in his hotel suite, one leg dangling off the edge, scrolling your phone while dressed in the tiniest pair of shorts and one of his shirts — not because you like him, but because it smells good and your own laundry was annoying you.

Sae’s watching you from across the room, shirt unbuttoned, expression unreadable.

“You’re here,” he says dryly, “so you clearly want something.”

You don’t even glance up. “Mm. Air conditioning. Yours works.. mine wasn't.”

He scoffs. “So that’s it? You show up, take over my couch, and ignore me?”

You tilt your head lazily, finally sparing him a glance. “You’re a man. You should be used to being ignored.”

His jaw tightens. He’s quiet for a beat too long, eyes narrowing just enough to make you smirk. You like poking at him. He always acts like he doesn’t care. But you know better.

You go back to your phone.

That’s when it happens.

Your phone’s snatched from your hand, flung somewhere behind him. His hands are already on you — one gripping your chin, the other sliding under your thighs as he pulls you to the edge of the couch.

“You really think I won’t fuck that attitude right out of you?” he says, low and threatening.

You smile. “you couldn't fuck an orgasm out of me even if you tried.”

He curses under his breath. His mouth crashes into yours, all teeth and frustration. You kiss him back only to bite his lip — not hard enough to hurt, just enough to provoke.

“Fucking brat,” he growls.

You gasp when he lifts you suddenly, dragging you into his lap on the bed. His hands are on your ass, grinding you against the bulge in his sweatpants, and your resolve starts to crack just a little.

Just a little.

His fingers push beneath your waistband and slide into your panties like he’s done it a hundred times. They slip between your folds, finding you already wet, and he laughs under his breath.

“So much for bored,” he says, voice laced with triumph.

“Body’s just reacting,” you whisper. “Doesn’t mean you’re good at anything.”

That’s it.

He shoves your shorts and panties down your thighs, fingers curling inside you while his thumb rubs sharp circles on your clit. You jerk, breath catching. He’s fucking ruthless with it — two... three fingers, deep and unforgiving, the heel of his palm pressing against you as his pace quickens.

“You still bored, sweetheart?” he hisses into your ear.

You try to answer. Try to bite back something smart. But your head tilts back when he crooks his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision spark.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, licking the shell of your ear. “Thought you hated me?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders.

He knows he’s winning. You’re leaking onto his hand, riding his fingers like you forgot who was supposed to be in control. Your breath is shaky now, moans spilling out in gasps, your hips moving without permission.

“You talk like you’re better than every guy who wants you,” Sae speaks low, dragging his mouth down your throat. “But you're grinding on my hand like a fucking slut.”

You moan at the filth. You hate that it turns you on. That he turns you on.

“Say it,” he orders. “Say I’m not like them.”

You pant against his shoulder, desperate, dizzy. “Y-You’re still a man.”

He pulls his fingers out and slaps your pussy, sharp and wet. You yelp.

Then he’s pushing you onto your back, dragging your legs apart. He pulls his sweats down, cock flushed and hard, tip already leaking.

“You wanna play that game?” he whispers darkly. “Fine.”

He pushes in without warning.

Your eyes roll back.

He’s thick, deeper than you expected, and the stretch makes you cry out — but you don’t stop him. You wrap your legs around his waist, nails clawing his back as he drives into you harder.

“Still annoying?” he pants.

“Yes! ahh- fuck, sae!” you gasp, “—but at least you’re finally doing something useful!”

His hand wraps around your throat, not tight, just enough to pin you there as he fucks you into the mattress.

“You’ll be begging by the time I’m done.”

And honestly?

You might.

TL: @samm1e13 @demiitria @syleepy @chaoslibra @bontenxo @pinkymangacaps @riinniies @samthesimp1 @sapphireluv @s4turnx1 @nevvynev @cookiesandcreammy @rinniebinniebay @ravenbc @kamelika @luvsymai @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @silverwings920 @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @yanderebluelockfan @valexqpt @bigclownshoes @rinniewinnie787 @satorella @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @mihyas-dieehefrau @ravenbc @greekyoghurtwithberries

A/n: haven't written for my bae, snow leopard, so i had to write sum for her

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[satorella]

gojo satoru was a stranger to being taken care of. he experienced affection and attention, of course, but someone genuinely looking after him...? that's a privilege the honored one had gone without.

then you appeared.

you came into his life much like a spring breeze— warm and carrying the promise of something sweet. following the winter that presided over satoru's life, you were a welcome change of season.

it's the gentle caresses that lull him to sleep when he'd otherwise lie awake, or the lunches you make for him because you know he skips meals in favor of treats.

and tonight, it's the excited grin that greets him when he finally returns home late in the evening.

"'toruuuu," you sing out, all but jumping into his arms.

he lifts you up with a quiet chuckle, spinning around once before gently setting you back on the ground. "hi, baby."

satoru's eyes are soft as he regards you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

it's the way an astronomer looks at the north star or an archeologist looks at the great pyramids, as if to say— there is no me without you.

"how was your day?" you ask.

he hums, picking you up for one more spin and burying his face in the crook of your neck. "much better now."

© awearywritersworld 2025 all rights reserved

[satorella]

satoru gojo—the strongest sorcerer—is an absolute softie when it comes to his wife.

the man could kill everyone in japan if he wanted to, yet when you're around, he's as dangerous as a kitten.

and that confused everyone around him.

how was it that even a murmur of your name would make the famous gojo gush and drop everything to talk about you? he could be in the midst of fighting a curse, but if his phone buzzes and your name is on the screen? that curse might as well accept its fate or be prepared for him to be on call with you for the remainder of the fight.

"toru, are you busy?" "not at all, baby—" his words would be cut off as the curse he was fighting attempted to land a hit on him, and the call would only fill with the sound of crashes before you realized what was happening. "are you seriously in the middle of a mission!?" your question remained unanswered for a second before you heard satoru laugh, "i mean, i was, but did you need something? money? sweets? a photo of your handsome husband?" "SATORU!"

it's clear to everyone that gojo is in love with you. he wouldn't just take a bullet for you, but rather a whole nuclear bomb if needed. he's willing to risk everything for you—even his job.

if he's in a meeting and you call him, he's picking up the phone no matter how many dirty looks he gets. what are they going to do about it? he's the strongest, but with the way he acts around you, you'd think otherwise.

his students have noted that every time you come into his classroom, he'd grin like a high schooler in love. he practically has heart eyes that you can see through his blindfold.

"gojo-sensei?" yuji's voice rang out in the classroom, "yes, yuji?" gojo's tone was filled with boredom as the man was leaning back in his chair—feet on top of his desk while he lifted a finger to pull back his blindfold. yuji was seen with megumi and nobara, and all three of them were pointing at the door. where you, his lovely wife, stood with a bento box. "you forgot your lunch—" "MY WIFE!" the sound of gojo's chair hitting the floor echoed as you took a step back from the doorframe, yet your attempt to move out of the way was pointless as gojo barreled toward you with open arms. his arms wrapped around you in a tight hug, and you let out a quiet sigh as you held the bento box up. "is my beautiful wife here to visit her husband?" "i'm here to give you your lunch, toru." "MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE LOVES ME ENOUGH TO COME VISIT ME!" while gojo continued to ramble with you still in his arms, the three students watched the scene with narrowed eyes. "do you think she ever gets tired of him?" nobara asked bluntly, and yuji only shrugged. they continued to watch as gojo only hugged you tighter, and a soft smile appeared on your face as he continued to talk. "i don't think so..." yuji mumbled before turning his attention back to his phone, and the others did the same thing. except for gojo. because his attention was on you and you only.

comments & reblogs are always appreciated !!

[satorella]

hot girl shit (reading fanfiction on a friday night instead of going out)

[satorella]

Good for you, Fushiguro / p1

[satorella]

Spoiler

I just remembered that the first time Loulan/Shisui meets Maomao, it’s when she’s giving the consorts the sex talk. That’s one hell of a first impression

I mean it could have been one of her doubles, but I’m pretty sure it’s really her by how unbothered and aloof she was during the lesson. Plus, the small scene where Loulan was intensely staring at Maomao

I bet Suirei would have warned her beforehand on how cunning Maomao is. So being summoned for a private lesson with her only for that lesson to be a 101 sex education seminar. What was Shisui thinking during that scene?

Loulan: Damn she weird af fr, i kinda fuck with it tho

[satorella]

ⓘ this user is a satoru enabler

[satorella]

Maomao: If I had a nickel for every beautiful noble with purple hair, surprisingly attractive bodies, eccentric personalities and deep parental issues, who are pretending to be someone way below their class, who gave me hair ties and are deeply in love with me I would have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but it is weird that it happened twice.

[satorella]

in another life, i would make you stay a gojo satoru (fix it) fic

pairing ⸺ reincarnated!gojo x reincarnated!reader

summary ⸺ you are a sorcerer, married to your husband who bears the burden of being the strongest. firsthand, you watch the love of your life fall apart, the world burdening him until, finally, he dies at the hand of sukuna. as you watch him through the broadcast, you blankly volunteer to be next and you die, praying to whatever merciful god out there that, in another life, you and satoru get the happy ending you both deserved— until you wake up from your dream, gasping. why the hell was your dream so vivid? you were some sort of magician? with a smoking HOT husband? and why the fuck does the guy that's ten minutes late to the first day of lectures look EXACTLY like him?

warnings ⸺ eventual smut fluff and angst (the holy trinity of aashi longfics), hurt/comfort, reincarnation fic, basically you and gojo have a miserable life in canon and get reincarnated into a modern au where i fix everything and give you the romcom you deserve, canon typical violence, jjk manga spoilers, mentions of blood and injury, major character death, fem reader implied

a/n i'll see u at the end :3

December 23, 2018.

“How do you feel?”

The both of you lay, side by side on the grass as you stared into the sky. The only sounds that surrounded you were the occasional rustle of leaves, the hum of the late afternoon cicadas, and the soft, almost inaudible rise and fall of your breathing.

The stars were really bright that day.

The sounds of nature were even more tangible in the absence of traffic. After the culling games had roped in both non-sorcerers and sorcerers alike, no one went out, so the roads were all virtually empty.

Satoru frowns thoughtfully, in a way that makes his nose scrunch up. His fingers play through your hair absentmindedly as he comes up with a response. With the way he’s thinking, your heart aches to tell him that you want his honest feelings, his doubts and fears, not some fake image he perpetually paints on for the rest of the world. You temper the urge.

“Fighting Megumi is gonna be…weird,” he says finally, with a sigh. “I’m just glad the real pain in the asses are out of the way.”

You remember the day he had come back from killing the higher ups. There was still blood matting his face and hair, dried and flaking. His eyes had long lost their light, and when you had got him alone in your shared room, grabbed a washcloth to wash his face. While you made sure none of the blood was still there, he had asked: Did I do the right thing?

It had taken three face towels to clean it all. The others had gotten soaked too quickly.

He continues. “I’ve been walking toward changing the system for so long, I forgot how to want anything past it.”

You tilt your head to look at him. His eyes are on the sky, as if trying to memorize every cloud.

“You can still want things,” you murmur. “Even now.”

What is left unsaid from you is, You can run away with me.

It’s a pipe dream at best. He was born with the shackle of the six eyes, born in the prison called The Strongest. Running away from it all was as possible as it was for Sisyphus to escape the burden of rolling the rock forever.

At your words, he huffs out a laugh and turns his head just slightly, eyes meeting yours. The blue of them is softer in this light, dusk and gold turning them the color of worn glass. “I do,” he says. “I want a stupid house with a stupid yard and a dumb dog who only listens to you.”

You laugh, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes. “The dog would accidentally eat your god-awful heap of chocolates and drop dead.”

“Okay, then maybe not a dog then,” he accedes. “I could do with a cat. Just don’t confiscate my chocolates.”

Your voice is a bit stuffy when you reply with, “I would never.”

“Good,” His smile is crooked now, warm. “If I had all the chocolates and the cakes you bake for the rest of my life, I would die a happy man.” 

“You already have those, Satoru,” you laugh wetly. 

“Yeah, but I want grocery lists and laundry days and boring Tuesday nights. Not endless mission reports. God, I’m definitely not going to miss the paperwork,” he groans, and his tone would sound petulant to anyone else; to you, it’s a reminder of how he’s been worked to the bone.

You roll closer to him, forehead brushing against his temple. “We’ll have all of it.”

There’s a beat of silence. The wind rustles through the trees again. He closes his eyes and breathes it in, like he’s trying to make a home of it. You can’t help but look at his serene face and think,

I love you.

It goes unsaid.

Then, “You’ll wait for me?” he asks, almost like a joke.

You turn to him, gaze softening as it lingers on the line of his jaw, the sweep of his lashes, the eyes you’ve loved in a thousand different lights. He’s so beautiful it aches—like something out of a dream or a poem scribbled by a lonely poet on a dirty street, staring up at a beauty wistfully peering out of a window of a high tower.

“Always.”

December 24, 2018.

He looks like he’s watching the sky again.

You are staring down at the shape of him broadcasted through Mei Mei’s crows. The ground is soaked, and the sky doesn’t seem to know whether to rain or just stay gray. His eyes are open.

But you know better. And still, you wait.

Around you, there’s chaos. Your students, in disbelief, are talking loudly but it’s as if everyone around you is talking underwater, none of their words comprehensible. You feel someone shake you, but you’re still staring.

His eyes aren’t closed, but he looks peaceful.

The air thrums with cursed energy, of people in utter shock, and with fear so thick it could choke.

But all you can think about is a stupid patch of wildflowers blooming in your yard. They would’ve been his favorite color—blue, like his eyes when he was teasing you. Like his eyes when he told you he wanted a dumb dog and boring Tuesday nights.

You were going to plant them for him every spring.

You were going to make him cakes every time he forgot his own birthday.

You were going to grow old together.

Instead, you’ll be the one laying flowers on his grave. Alone.

“I’ll go,” you say.

It’s too quiet. Someone protests. You don’t even hear who.

“I said I’ll go.”

You’re already stepping forward. The fight is miles away but it doesn’t matter—you’ll find it. You’ll find Sukuna. You’ll follow the stench of blood and ruin until it leads you to him. 

You know your death is imminent, but there is nothing left to want anymore. Because a future without Satoru is no future at all.

As you make your way through Shinjuku rapidly, you can’t help but think of Yuji—his eyes wide and boyish, despite everything—as he shoved a flyer into your hand and told you to try that ramen shop with him once this was all over.

You remember Megumi’s ginger candies, the ones you had to keep hidden or Gojo would eat them all in one go. They’re still sitting in a dish by the kitchen window.

You remember Shoko’s voice when she said, “Just come back alive, okay?”

You remember Nanami, and Utahime, and Nobara. You remember every stupid, beautiful person you’ve ever loved.

You love them, but love doesn’t always save you; instead, it makes you walk straight into the fire.

Your life had begun when Satoru had saved you from that lonely, dark prison you were forced into; you remember how you had thought that he was akin to a glowing deity, descended from heaven to be your savior. A discarded animal like you, made to believe you were human again by this savior.

So it feels right, in a terrible, sacred way, that your life should end with him, too.

When you finally spot Sukuna, you put up a good fight, but anyone who watches you knows you are resolved, have accepted your fate and prefer death. You don’t scream or cry when it happens; you stare at his face when your body is cleaved into spilling your blood like an endless dam.

You just think: I kept my promise.

I waited.

Then, as you feel everything growing darker and darker, there’s only one thought left, just a silent prayer to whatever god that might still be out there:

Let us try again.

Please��let us try again.

…

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

You wake up from your dream, gasping.

The noise your alarm makes is an unfriendly wake-up call; in your furious effort to locate your phone—which has found itself nestled in your messy blankets—you notice your roommate, Maki, blearily shifting. You madly search to minimize the yelling you’re going to get from her later in the day (you’re already cooked by this point), until silence blankets the room once more.

It’s only until your phone is silenced that you register how fast your heart is beating. Then, when you trudge over to the personal bathroom you and Maki share and flick the light switch, you see that tears had flowed down your cheeks in your sleep.

What a weird fucking dream.

One to have on your first day of classes for the semester, too. You squint at your reflection, the fluorescent light doing your sleep-addled eyes no favors as you grudgingly get ready, brushing your teeth and washing your face and all that. You don’t know why it was so vivid. 

From the dredges of your mind, you first recall the flashing light beams and carnal violence in the destruction of the city, and then you. Were you some kind of magician? It was kind of like…Winx Club, but you weren’t a cunty fairy in cute clothes. Something about sorcerers, so maybe Harry Potter? Hunter X Hunter?

You spit out the frothy mix of your saliva and the mouth freshener. So ridiculous. You couldn’t even blame stress for the weird fanfiction at this point—classes haven’t even started.

Memories of the dream ebb and flow as you try hard to remember what else had occurred as you wipe your face. Gazing upon the white of the moisturizer you’re dabbing on your skin, a flash of white suddenly resurfaces.

Gojo.

A violent feeling overcomes your chest at the name, and you think you’re having a heart attack with the way it clenches like you’re almost about to weep in longing of a beloved. You gasp, cupping the left side of your chest as you try to lower your heart rate.

What hurts most of all is the searing pain, like a spiral of thinly corded string has branded itself on your ring finger. In your rush to look up in the mirror to see what could be hurting you, you don’t notice the red glow it forms. What you see in the see in your reflection surprises you: you’re crying again.

Tears have fully started streaming down your face with the pain, carving wet valleys on your cheeks as they went. After your heart rate slows down, you frown while looking down at your hands. Why were they shaking?

You repeat the name numerous times in your brain, each time causing you to physically tweak. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo, and then resurfaces Satoru, Satoru, Satoru—

It’s after the tenth time you repeat his name that your body seems to calm itself down and get accustomed to whatever emotional shock that coursed through your name after you mentioned his name. His name originally came up because you remember the main person in your dream: the white-haired man. He was the reason you decided to confront that…three armed man? Or did he have four arms? Regardless, you basically offed yourself after he died because you loved him, or something. With the way your body seems to physically shake at the sheer thought of his name, as if the utter image of longing, love may not have been enough to describe what you felt.

Realizing that you’ve drifted off at reminiscing sleepily, you start, as if suddenly animated. You pat your skin, setting in the final step of your skincare routine. Then, you click on your phone screen to check the time.

And notice immediately that you are going to be late.

Then ensues you scrambling to your room, putting on your clothes, tripping on the floor in the process, getting a sleepy glare from Maki that has doubly certified that you are getting a scolding, and then finally making it out the door. The somewhat cool fall weather hits your face as you walk on the pavement, checking your clock repeatedly to ensure it hasn’t hit 9am yet. 

When you make it into the lecture, you realize that it is packed. There aren’t many seats—it is a gen ed class after all, something on some ancient history, and you notice two empty seats, side-by-side, tucked away in the corner of the lecture room. You have to carefully maneuver yourself down the seats.

Navigating the maze of limbs and backpacks, you mumble a series of "excuse me’s" and "coming through’s" until you squeeze past two guys—a stern-looking blond with glasses that scream "salaryman thirst trap" and a loud brunet beside him. Reaching your target, you slide into the seat that leaves an empty one between you and the blond. You’re very pleased about the extra breathing room.

Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

You prepare your supplies to take notes on the first (of many) syllabus reviews to come. In the meantime, you’re privy to hearing the mumble and grumble of people around you; it’s only when a throat clears itself at the head of the class do you see a man—probably the professor of this class, Yaga—who has the slides already up. Ancient East Asian History is branded on the big white screen in bolded, black Arial font. Clearly, graphic design was not his passion.

His voice projects through the mic and is fairly deep and resonant, so it’s clear to everyone, despite the number of people in the room, that class is starting. As expected, the next slide is titled “What is Ancient East Asian History?” 

“Let’s delve deeper into what I mean by East Asian. Asia is a subcontinent that’s home to a diverse set of cultures, and even so in East Asia…”

As Yaga speaks, time ebbs and flows around you. The monotonous sounds of papers flipping, pens scratching on paper, and the clicking of keyboards surrounds you. You can’t help but think the fluorescent lights, harsh and white, had to be designed to keep students from falling asleep, because their intensity paints the lecture hall in this weird lighting. The mood created by it is something akin to the filter horror movies perpetually have on—vivid, but cold and dark. Like when you’ve been up for too long to the point that you don’t know if it’s night, or morning, because it’s still dark out. Then, dawn breaks, the sun enveloping the sky in its warmth.

Suddenly, the heavy set of doors that serve as your lecture hall’s entrance open loudly—louder than someone who is sheepishly entering late. Instead of the usual indifference reserved for a fellow student who had slept in, the room ripples with murmurs and giggles, shattering the silence that had settled—save for Yaga’s lecturing.

You don’t look at first. You look at Yaga, who is pinching the bridge of his nose as he mutters, “In Japanese culture, punctuality is a form of respect—something we are clearly still learning.”

You don’t turn. You don’t need to. But, like a current pulling you under, your gaze follows the crowd’s. And you see him.

Gojo.

Suddenly, your heart clenches violently, and you can only help but gasp hoarsely and shut your eyes. If you didn't, streams of tears would flow down your face once more. You couldn’t help but swear internally; you had thought you had conditioned yourself to be stable at the mention of his name. 

But, almost as if it’s subconscious, you wrench your eyes open, desperate to view the boy. You’d assume something apologetic, maybe. Rushed. Someone with their hood up, mumbling an excuse as they shuffle into the shadows of the back row. But this—

This is someone who walks like he knows the sound of his own footsteps matters. His ivory hair is tussled, like he had just rolled out of your dream. He looks a bit younger than he did when you had seen him, but his eyes are the same unmistakable brilliant, cerulean color.

Now, he’s making his way down the stairs, skipping every third one with his long legs. Something leaves his lips, and it’s something humorous—depending on how girls and guys around him laugh, a shared sense of adoration in their eyes. You can only help but watch as he comes closer and closer to you, and you remember belatedly that the seat next to you is the only empty one in the whole lecture hall.

Yaga huffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in barely concealed annoyance. “Nice of you to join us, Gojo.”

Gojo lifts a hand in a lazy wave. “Yaga, you ever tried finding parking on this campus?” The lecture erupts in barely muted half-sleepy giggles. 

It’s only when a particularly loud high five he receives—by the brunet in your row—that you break out of your reverie and turn to your laptop, flustered. Any attempt to act nonchalant would be funny as if the thing that’s wrong with you—that invisible thing—hasn’t been rippling violently inside your gut the moment you laid eyes on him. Like your body has just been handed proof. Like a wound cracking open in slow motion.

He’s approaching, long legs trying to get through the sheer amount of people to where the empty seat next to you was, and when he’s there, right next to you, you shouldn’t look up.

But you do.

When your eyes meet his, something ancient and awful coils in your throat. A shiver, not of fear, but of recognition so buried it aches.

Pearly teeth and bright blue eyes glistening. A breathless, “Hi.”

And the invisible string, that had spiraled and corkscrewed itself into the jumble it was, pulls—until it is straight and wrung tight. You don’t know this boy. You’ve never seen him before.

So why does it feel like your heart just remembered how to break?

Your throat is dry, but you manage out a “Good morning.”

You turn back to your desk, your fingers quivering. By your side, he’s moving and rummaging through the contents of his backpack quite noisily, one that can be heard throughout the lecture hall if one were to tune out Yaga’s droning. In curiosity of seeing what was taking him so damn long to find, you turn your head slightly, and notice the heaps of wrappers—all pastel colored and bright, like candy and dessert wrappers—that his backpack is almost suffocated with. Then, he pulls out his laptop, opens it, and resumes the game of Run 3 he had paused beforehand.

Respectfully, what the fuck.

As if sensing your stare, he turns to you until meeting your eyes; you were caught. Like a deer caught in headlights, you helplessly stare back at him, heat creeping up your neck, and his gaze leaves your eyes to look at your lips, which you were biting.

Then, he leans in slightly—you also inching yourself back because why is he getting so close and why is your heart beating so fast—and whispers, “Do I know you?”

You’ve never seen him outside of the weird dream you had, and it would’ve been weird to admit that you’ve dreamed about him. “No, I don’t think you do,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.

His lips quirk in response, but, to your dismay, he doesn’t retract. His brows furrow while he stares at your face, as if deep in thought, and nods, flirtatiously saying, “Makes sense. I feel like I wouldn’t have forgotten you if I had met you.”

Despite the cheesy line, heat creeps up your neck, and you can’t help but bitterly look down at your desk after giving him a quiet, “No, I don’t we have. I’m sorry.” If he flirted with a stranger like this, dream you must’ve had a really hard time as his wife. Shameless.

And thus the lecture runs its course. Throughout, you’re tense, the heat of his presence never letting you relax. You feel every movement of his fingers, his forearms, as he played his games or typed miscellaneous things that you didn’t see because you were physically forcing yourself to stare at the lecture slides, back ramrod straight.

It’s only until his leg starts shaking that you start feeling…weird. His reaction is completely normal; you don’t blame him, because Yaga’s been going over the syllabus’ section of projects and how you can’t change project partners for over thirty minutes. But it’s the fact that a steady wave of nausea is building up inside you, until a sharp piercing sensation overwhelms your head.

Then, a vision.

It’s hazy, as if projected on cloudy water. A shaking leg, clad in what seems like uniform pants, underneath a small wooden desk. Then, a hand reaches out to yours, grasping it firmly, and you feel a weird sense of nausea once more. However, it’s not the same feeling you’ve been feeling since your dream—instead, it’s a stomach upturning feeling of being teleported somewhere.

A bed.

It’s a small one, in a room that resembles a dorm. The hand grasping yours isn’t simply grabbing your hand; it’s now trailing up your sock-covered ankle, up your calves, and then under your skirt—

The murky vision gets even murkier until you can’t register anything anymore. Then, you suddenly return, the fluorescent lights being the first thing you register after the weird deja-vu-memory thing. The feelings you felt from the vision linger, including overwhelming feelings of euphoria, lust, and sheer happiness that bloom in your heart warmly, like a flower in fresh spring.

You’re so distraught from the complicated jumble of feelings that have thrusted themselves upon you that you don’t hear Yaga say his concluding words. It’s the jarring, obnoxious screech! of the chair next to you—Gojo’s—that you jump to your senses and realize half of the students have left. 

Thus, you hurriedly pack your things and book it the fuck out of there because you would rather die than be the last person to leave class, lest Yaga think you were staying behind to talk to him. You’ve had more than your fill of East Asian Studies today.

Maybe it’s best if you avoid Gojo, lest you slip up. The dream—and the weird reactions your body seems to be having in his presence—are too…peculiar. If something happened, you wouldn’t know how to recover.

In your haste, you don’t realize you’ve left something behind, nor did you hear the “Wait! You forgot….this” that Gojo had called out to you, staring at the object in his hand—and your retreating back—with a complicated expression.

next. the aftermath (soon!)

a/n short chapter, but this series is going to contain a mixture of: a lot of crack and fluff, yearning (as always, yall know me), and debilitating angst ("who did this to you??" oh i loved writing the angst) and crazy reunion sex. comment down below to be added to the taglist!!

to be clear, unless otherwise indicated, reader is getting these moments from the past as "migraines" / flashes / dreams.

TAGLIST P1:

@nithica @rh-tg1 @tbzzluvr @spookytyphoonfire @vsynical

@totallyuniquenut @yamiyas @nishayuro @nariminsstuff @starmapz

@sylusonlylove @purplemint @elliesndg @gggellaa @arabellasolstice

@arrozyfrijoles23 @yeehawbrothers @that-one-lightskin @candyluvsboba @avaults

@iheartkhloe @angelcherrry @madamechrissy @xxemmarldxx @lovenbesos

@liveforkny @nattie-smack @cherryredribbons @introvertatitsfinest @starlightoru-gojo

@hyori2 @gxldencloset @l0v3m3m0re @cuntysaurusrex @nanamineedstherapy

@oikawasxx @littlemisspoets-blog @anuncalledbridge @watermelonmuntchers @zeyno-14

@k-kkiana @nanamiskentos @kviwi @evawts @forest-nymph420

@bontensh0e @viiennie @blossomedfloweroflove @6isek @dreamssfyre

[satorella]

Drunk Nerdjo

[satorella]

"Satoru."

"Mm."

"Get off me."

"No." Your boyfriend mumbled against your stomach, voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt.

You weren't sure how you got here, standing in the middle of the kitchen with only Satoru's shirt on, the man himself on his knees in front of you with his face shoved into your stomach- Mumbling declaration after declaration about his love for you and how perfect you are, all the while nuzzling into your warmth like a cat.

You tried to move- again, Only to no avail, not even budging an inch as Satoru's scarily firm grip kept you in one place.

"Satoru, I haven't even showered yet," You sighed. "And I look like shit." It was true really, you were fresh out of bed after a night of getting your world rocked by the man on his knees in front of you. Your hair was a mess, you were covered in bruises and hickeys with a mix of various fluids sticking to your skin.

Satoru promised to clean you up after round whatever-the-fuck but you were pretty sure that the man had collapsed on top of you after making you see the pearly gates for 15 seconds, kissed your forehead and said goodnight.

Which brings you here.

"Satoruuuuu-" You shoved his face away from your stomach, earning you a pout from him.

"Oh c'mon, let me love you!!" He complained, whining loudly as he nuzzled your stomach. Satoru couldn't help himself when it came to you really, you just looked so adorable walking around his kitchen, in his shirt, as his lover. The cuteness aggression he got from you was surreal.

"You've loved me a lot last night already, give it a rest!!" You tried to wiggle your way out of his death grip, which only led to him tightening his hold around your legs.

"A lot is not enough!"

"At least let me shower first-"

"Only if I can join you"

"Oh my god, fine." You relented, letting your arms go limp at your sides as Satoru beamed from below you. "Really?"

"Yes, really." In a second, you were raised up into the air as Satoru cheered in victory. He held you by the waist- And thank god for the high ceilings because you felt way too high up in the air.

You huffed in defeat as you were carried back to your shared bedroom, hopefully straight to the bath without any detours.

A.N. Listen. Gojo has been chewing at my brain recently.

[satorella]

riding him senseless ♡

your boyfriend turns into such a whimpering and pathetic mess when you decide to take charge for once, taking care of him in the form of bouncing up and down on his drooling cock as you’re seated on his lap.

he whines so loudly, large hands gripping onto the soft skin of your hips and desperately leaning forward to suck on your pert nipples. with your tits bouncing in his face, your pussy swallowing him whole, the creamy mess that’s frothing between you two, the wet sounds of his balls slapping against your pussy and your thighs hitting back down on his, not to mention how breathtakingly gorgeous you look right now, it’s just too much for him to handle; he’s turning so braindead from how good it feels when you ride him like you own him.

“baaabyyyy.. y’re so pretty,” he groans. “ah-ah! ‘m cumming— hngnhh..mmmfffp— cumming, cumming!”

“yeah?” you reply, breathing heavily. the slick noises contributed from the mess that’s been forming at the base of his cock and your cunt makes you a bit too dizzy for your own liking. “go ahead, sweet boy.. jus’ let me take care of you m’kay?”

he sobs loudly, choking on his whines and moans as he finishes so deep inside you. it shoots up and ropes of his warm, hot cum is spilling into you. he rocks his hips up lazily, trying to get every last drop out. despite this, you’re not done yet. instead, you grab onto his shoulders and shift a little before continuing.

“hnnghh.. ah—ah! no—no stop, m’ sensitive.. can’t..” he whimpers, although his actions say otherwise because he instinctively reaches for your hips again, grabbing you closer and trying to make you go faster.

“hmm.. you’re making a mess..”

“i’m sorry, i’m sorryyy! hahh— i can’t—can’t take it.. so much.. i can’t hold it in..”

feeling the pressure build up, there’s tears forming and his eyes roll back in pure desperation as you keep your pace. it’s too overwhelming for him and his cock is so sensitive to the point where it hurts. he’s about to finish again so easily even though he already came earlier, not too long ago. “i’m gonna… gonna.. i—i’m—“

“shhh, baby.. it’s okay. i’m gonna cum too, wanna make me cum right? be good and fill me up n’ make me cum ‘round your cock?”

“y-yeah, yeah..please.. i’ll do anything, pretty.. don’t stop..”

“‘m so close.. wan’ you to dump your cum into me while i cum okay?”

and that was all it took. with a deep, broken moan that ripped all the way from the back of his throat, his hips desperately bucked up and he couldn’t even form a sentence before his release hit him, his cock twitching so much as he flooded your cunt, like he was trying to give you everything. it hits you in thick waves— hot, heavy, and endless. each pulse sent more spilling out, filling you to the brim, leaking out before he was even done. it was so messy, just pouring into you with no end in sight.

grinding down hard on him as you gasped, “ffuckk, cumming—!!..” feeling the tension in your body snapping as you came all over him.

afterwards, it was silent except for the sounds of both of you panting, trying to catch your breaths as his head was buried into your chest. with a quick kiss to his cheek, you lifted yourself up from his cock, where everything started dribbling out of you slowly.

“shit…” you heard him say.

you pouted. “you’re the one that asked me to ride you tonight.”

he’s still trying to catch his breath as he mumbles, “i didn’t think.. didn’t know it’d be like.. this.”

he looks up at you like a lost little puppy, big eyes and pouty lips as his arms circle around your waist, hugging you in attempts of keeping you closer to him, his chest pressed against yours.

“ah,” he starts, like he’s suddenly got a great idea. “made such a mess, think i should clean you up..”

“huh?”

before you can fully process what he means, he gently pushes you down, your back hitting the mattress as he climbs on top, lowering himself to where your glistening hole is. he looks at you, eyes shining with quiet intensity and a determined look before he starts going down on you, licking and lapping at your pussy, causing everything to smear onto his face. guess that’s what he meant by cleaning you up, huh?

isagi yoichi, alexis ness, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, itoshi rin, jean kirstein, reiner braun, porco galliard, armin arlert, nanami kento, gojo satoru, choso kamo + any of your favs!

based on this request

[satorella]

messy sex with nagi ♡

nagi who’s definitely very appreciative of you. all the girls around him always crushed on reo, so it came as a surprise when he learned that you were interested in him. he’s not very good with words, but he’s so in love and smitten with you, that the best way to show how grateful he is is by fucking his big cock into your pussy.

you’re squealing as he pulls his cock halfway out and slams back in, watching how your slick dripped down around his cock and made a mess between your thighs. he had you all spread and stuffed full of him, your pussy fluttering and so messy from how many times he’s already made you cum.

“ah—mmnh—! ssseiii, it’s so loud…” you whined, face burning as the slick, messy sounds of his cock pistoning in and out of you, balls slapping against your clit echoed through the room.

“so what?” he panted, licking into your neck as your walls clenched around him. “s’just your pussy tellin’ me how good it feels. can’t help it, right?”

“it’s embarrasssing—!” you’re cut off with him shoving his mouth onto yours, tongue slipping in as he kissed you through it, causing your head to go all fuzzy for him.

“means your pussy's really happy," he mumbled, lifting your leg a little higher so he could go even deeper, hitting that spot that made you cry out.

then he leaned in close, head tilted down as he looked at where you were connected, your puffy folds stretched around his cock, all shiny and soaked with your cum and his.

nagi abruptly pulled out, leaving you empty as you twitched and squirmed. but before you can even whine at him to go back inside, it seems as if he’s totally entranced by something, causing you to realize he’s staring at your cunt. his eyes are half lidded, and his big hands are holding your thighs wide open so he could get the perfect view.

you blinked down at him, breathless. “what…?”

“miss me already?” he cooed, thumbing at your folds.

your pussy fluttered helplessly, slick dripping down to your thighs, and nagi only leaned in closer, so close you felt his breath ghost over your skin as he whispered, “y’re so cute…”

you squeaked, “seishiro—stop talking to my pussy!”

finally, his lazy eyes lifted to yours, slow, smug, lips curled in a grin.

“but she’s being so honest with me,” he said, cock nudging at your entrance again. “y’re so shy, angel… but she’s makin’ it clear how much she wants me.”

he kissed your wrist, leaning in to press his lips to yours in a deep, messy kiss while slowly pushing back in, stretching you open again.

“m’bad, baby,” he murmured between kisses, cock buried to the hilt now. “i’ll pay attention to you now, m’kay?”

by now, you’re too far gone, begging him to keep going, whining to him, “y-yeah, please.. ssseiii—make it worse, wanna feel you drip out of me, want it all messy and gross, I don’t care—!”

“if that’s what you want, angel.” he hums, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. he knew it’d be a hassle to clean up later, but how can he ever refuse you?