#Slimming technique | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanaslutt · 2 years ago

Note

gojo and vibrator overstim??? he pleasures u like crazy after u guys go to a party and he sees a lot of guys checking u out, but instead of taking it out on u he decides he just wants to worship u😭😭 and he makes u cum a lot of times dkslmds idk

When your girlfriend is too hot for her own good ft. satoru gojo x reader

this is the longest thing i’ve ever written i absolutely loved this prompt..

contains: fem reader, established relationships, whipped!gojo, jealousy, perv!npc’s, vibrators, sooooo much dirty talk, praise, like a ridiculous amount, body worship, cockwarming, overstimulation, mating press, multiple orgasms, no condoms in sight, breeding kink if u squint, squirting for the first time, domestic af

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

After Gojo finished zipping up your dress and hooking the clips at the top to secure it for you, he slapped your ass, grabbing the fat in his palms, “Goddd, i’m so fucking lucky,” he sighed dramatically.

Sliding his large hands around to the front of your body and cradling your hips, resting his head on your shoulder while he admired your current look.

Makeup applied just right, not a glitter of highlight out of place, hair styled in a way that gave his intruding eyes free roam to admire back of your neck, dress fitted perfectly to your body, accentuating every curve and dip of your perfect stature.

Opting to wear your shorter heels because knowing satoru, you two would be at this “party” for a very long time.

Everyone always wanted to talk to Satoru every time he showed himself in public. It was no suprise, considering his popularity throughout the jujutsu world from his incredible technique and strength; maybe a little from his blunt and childish personality too; and non jujutsu sourcerers we’re quick to swarm him from just his handsome looks alone.

Eyes that lit up any room, a perfectly symmetrical and slim face that looked like it had been hand chiseled from the finest stones, and his snowy white hair to top it all off. Satoru always getting asked the same question from girls and guys alike, flirtation laced in their voice when they spoke, “So, is that your natural hair color??”

His height sure didn’t help in making him any less invisible than he already wasn’t.

You two didn’t attend parties or anything of the sort too frequently though, usually only making an appearance at certain events when you had to.

This time it was a little different. Shoko had insisted on Gojo trying out this new club she started to frequent, rambling about how the ambience was just perfect; of course she didn’t fail to mention the high quality liquor they housed in the process.

Satoru hadn’t been to a club in a minute, since he started going out with you. Not seeing the need to anymore.

He only went to clubs before to let off steam after a particularly hard mission, letting some stranger dry hump him on the dance floor, or drinking some too-sweet non alcoholic drink with shoko at the bar, complaining about his day.

He never took any of the strangers home though, he just needed to get out of his head, letting the lights, shitty blaring music, and sweaty bodies overstimulate his mind for a night.

Then he found you. Perfect, sweet, little you. He found that he much rather would wrap his arms around you in the comfort of his quiet, familiar home, and lay on your breasts while you ran your fingers through his hair.

Nails raking comfortingly over his scalp as the stressors of his day melted from his brain. Why was he even stressed again?

See? This was a hundred times better than the club.

But when shoko was insistent, she was thoroughly insistent.

When you stepped through the thick doors of the establishment, guided by satoru’s comforting palm on your lower back, you couldn’t help but notice this felt a lot more lax than what you were expecting.

Music not overbearing, people mingling with each other, and weirdly seeing a lot of familiar faces in the crowd.

“Satoru, where are we right now? I thought this was a club.” you asked, tilting your head up at him while he led you in the direction of the bar, to get you something to loosen you up; he knew how you got antsy at these things sometimes.

“Ah, I didn’t explain very well did I?” he giggled, “Thisss,” gojo paused to splay his arm out in front of him, “Is where Jujutsu sourcerers come to relax!” that explains why you saw so many familiar faces…

“I think that’s why Shoko loves this place so much, people tend to stay away from her here..” pursing his lips pretending to think, “She can be quite intimidating when you know her..” he finished, shaking his head dramatically like he was trying to forget a scary memory.

“Anyways, how are you feeling sweet thing? wanna get a drink first?” Your handsome boyfriend asked you, hand still resting against your back as he gave you a little smile.

“Yeah I uh-“ looking over Gojo’s shoulder before continuing, “I think that blonde guy is trying to get your attention.” pausing your response to your boyfriend as you tipped your head forward, signaling behind gojo.

He turned his neck, shoulders perking up when his eyes focused on the man, “Yooo! How’s it goin!” Gojo waved his free hand at the man as he chirped cheerfully at him. “Was sent on a mission with him once when i was a third year, some ‘rival school bonding’ activity.” he explained.

“Looks like it worked,” you laughed, bringing your hand down to pat him on his firm behind, “You should go talk to him, it sounds like you haven’t seen him in a while.” Encouraging him, starting to slip out from his hold.

“You sure baby?” he asked, slightly pouting, not wanting you to feel awkward or neglected by yourself. God satoru was so sweet. You laughed at his antics before smiling fondly, reassuring him, “I’ll be okay toru, jus’ gonna go make myself at home on a bar stool.”

Gojo gripped your waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he started off for his old acquaintance. Your heels clicked on the ground as you made your way over to the bar in the other direction satoru had gone off in.

You ordered yourself a drink, something sweet, and not too strong, just something to relax your nerves as you were now by yourself in a space you’ve never been before.

Just when you started thinking you should go make small talk with someone there, a tall man walked up to you, noticing the few buttons on his shirt undone. For some reason this made him look less intimidating; you were already walking around like there was a stick up your ass, so seeing someone look a little more laid back eased your nerves a bit.

He introduced himself, giving your figure a quick one over that you missed as you stuck your hand out for the man to shake, introducing yourself politely back.

The two of you got lost in conversation, talking about how harboring your jobs were, the only common subject you thought of to talk about with the stranger.

Gojo had made himself comfortable on the halfmoon sofa adjacent to the bar, conversing with a small crowd now, all catching up and laughing with each other.

After maybe half an hour or so, when the conversation was diverged away from him, he averted his gaze to you, watching you giggle at something the dark haired man said.

He didn’t recognize him, but he did recognize the hungry look he had on his face. The same one gojo had whenever he looked at you.

You looked completely oblivious to the man’s gaze as you continued ranting, the alcohol obviously having some affect on you, looking so relaxed while you talked to him.

Gojo couldnt take his eyes off of the scene in front of him for the life of him. People around gojo’s voices starting to become distorted at he channeled 110% of his focus onto you.

Giving a quick glance around the room and catching two guys staring at your ass. The way you were perched on the stool, body leaned into the counter a bit, making your back arch, poking your backside out in association, made you look incredibly seductive.

One of the men elbowed the other in the ribs, making him look at the sight he was witnessing; that of which being your body.

Gojo stared at them like if he tried hard enough, he could make them go blind with his mind.

Satoru would never in a million years stop you from wearing something you wanted out of the house; scandalous or not.

He loved seeing you feel good in your body, so if that meant wearing nipple pasty’s and a fishnet bodysuit out of the house? so be it, he would be in his rightful place on your hip the whole time.

But right now, he really wished everyone would stop looking at what was his.

He knew you looked good, you always did, but that didn’t give these sleazeball’s the right to oggle you like a piece of meat.

Bringing his attention back to you and the man you were conversing with, he noticed his hand had placed itself on the side of your stool, dangerously close to your thigh.

His lip twitched at the thought of his filthy hands touching your sacred body.

Giving a one over to the people around him once more and realizing that a lot more than just the man you were talking to and the 2 sluts objectifying you in the corner were passing glances at you.

“Gojo? you good?” His old acquaintance asked skeptically when he realized the veins looked like they were threatening to burst in gojos hands as he squeezed at the arm of the sofa.

Satoru stood up without saying so much as a goodbye to the people he was with, not caring about how rude or disrespectful he came off, as he quickly made his way over to your side of the room.

“Haha, I agree,” the man laughed a little to hard at something you said that truthfully wasn’t all that funny, “Mind if I get you another drink cute thing? Looks like you finished that one.” he flirted.

Finally picking up at his flirtations you started to reply, “Oh! uh.” uncomfortably shifting in your seat at the pet name, suddenly way to aware of his hand on your stool next to your leg. When did it even get there?

Looking over to where Satoru was supposed to be, eyes widening slightly, when the familiar face was nowhere to be found.

“Sorry cute thing, did i scare ya?” gojo mimicked the man across from you, staring daggers into his eyes with his intimidating orbs as he wrapped his arms around your body, large frame towering behind you.

“Satoru! jus’ figured you went to the bathroom or somethin’” you said, rubbing his hand that was placed on your torso with your thumb affectionately.

“Uh we were having a conversation.” the man interrupted your affections to one another, not listening to Satoru’s very obvious hints that you were not on the market. He figured he would make it a little more obvious for the strangers dense little head.

“Sorry buddy, i’m not feeling too well right now, so I need my cute little girlfriend to take me home.” emphasizing the nature of your relationship as he pouted his lip fakely at him.

“Not feelin good toru?” you asked, turning your neck around to look at him, face full of concern.

He felt his heart skip a beat at your worried tone. “Yeah ‘m sorry baby, you looked like you were havin a good time, but I really wanna get outta here.” overwhelming eyes glancing over the room, scaring off each and every last person’s ravenous stares on your body.

You stood up, smoothing out your dress as gojo fell into position like always, hand on the slope of your back as he crouched down to lay his head on your shoulder dramatically, trying to get you to baby him.

It worked, your hand coming up to ruffle his hair, “It’s alright toru, my conversation here was just wrapping up.” you referred to the man who unbeknownst to you was trying to come onto you throughout this whole interaction.

Sticking his tongue out childishly at the man when you weren’t looking, the two of you started for the door.

Gojo never got self conscious about himself, but you were different. He didn’t realize how much he really hated people looking at you like you were nothing but a body until you were in situations like these.

He wasn’t scared you would leave him for someone else but…ok maybe he was slightly scared you would leave him for someone else.

He’s the great Gojo Satoru!! The strongest sorcerer of the modern age!! People think he wasn’t aware of how obnoxious his personality got sometimes, but he was. He was aware of it being a turn off for many people.

He never thought that you would feel like that about him though, but seeing all of these admittedly attractive people who possibly had less annoying tendencies than him made him hold your body against him tighter.

“Are you feeling alright satoru? you never wanna leave these things early.” you asked, coming to stand in front of him when you finally exited the building. Standing on your tippy toes to reach his forehead, placing the back of your hand against it to feel if he was coming down with something.

Gojo relished in your warm hand against his soft skin, closing his eyes at the contact and groaning when you pulled away. “M fine, people just have fucking staring problems.” he mumbled under his breath.

“Huh?” you asked confused when he didn’t elaborate. Gojo grabbed your hand, dragging you in the direction of the car.

The walk was a short one. When you finally arrived, he opened got door for you, helping you into the car as he shut it behind you, walking around to his respective side of the car and sliding in before turning on the ignition, pulling out onto the dark street.

You rubbed your hand on his thigh comfortingly when he stayed silent.

“You love me right?” He spoke up, uncharacteristically insecure.

“You big dope, did you get jealous watchin me talk to someone else all night? You left me first remember?” hand coming up briefly to pinch his cheek, making him groan, before dropping back down to his thigh.

“Course I love you.” you admitted truthfully.

“Ugghhhhh” gojo groaned loudly, slightly tipping his head back, being sure to keep his eyes on the road when he did so, “but he was practically fucking you with his eyesss.” drawling our his words childishly, pouting over at you.

“He what?” you asked in bewilderment.

“So oblivious baby, you need to be more careful, someone besides your big strong boyfriend might try to eat you up one day” grimacing slightly as he shook his head at your lack of picking-up-when-people-wanna-fuck-you radar.

“What kinda of weird things are you imagining in that head of yours, huh?” letting out a short laugh at his ridiculousness, retracting your hand back into your own lap.

“I’m seriousss,” he whined, glancing over at you, “He was lookin at you like he could fuck you better than I do.”

You almost choked on your spit at his words, “Satoru gojo!” you chastised at his bluntness.

Now it was his turn to drop his hand onto your thigh, squeezing the fat there when he spoke, “I’ll prove him wrong when we get home, gonna show him how much better I can make you feel.” He said, determination, laced in his voice.

“Satoru I don’t even remember his name.” You replied honestly, not denying that his promise sounded very intriguing though, still internally scoffing at his childishness in the current situation.

“Bet he remembers yours.” Making a point to slide his big hand higher up your thigh.

“Bet he memorized every inch of your body too, fucking undressing what’s mine with his eyes, who does he think he is.” gripping your thigh tightly as he got angry at his own words.

You gasped quietly, thighs squeezing together almost unnoticeably at gojos rough treatment of your leg.

"T-toru you're making stuff up again. You stuttered out, watching his jaw clench under the pressure of his teeth pressing tightly together inside his closed mouth.

Satoru ignored your words completely as he kept voicing his thoughts, "He wouldn't have any idea how to touch you like I do."

"Satoru, please." You begged, starting to feel yourself grow wet at his dirty words.

"What is it princess? The thought of me touchin' you getting you all excited?" Finally stopping his chatter about the unwanted man.

"Yes, please for the love of god stop talking." you gripped his wrist connected to his hand that was still tightly on your thigh.

"But I love making you feel good baby, wanna make you feel good all the time." He wines. You drop your gaze down to his lap and notice the massive tent in his pants, twitching every so often.

He really wasn't lying when he said he loves making you feel good. Figuring that part of the culprit for his huge boner was gojo's own words, working himself up for no reason. Not like you were complaining, as it was sounding like you were about get the best dick of your life soon.

Satoru had nothing to prove to anyone in your eyes, but in his, he had multiple faces burning into his retinas of people from the club that he wanted to line up in front of his king bed, and make them watch while he showed them how to properly treat someone like you.

"You make me feel so good satoru, dont think anyone's denying that, but ur makin' me feel all needy, please shut ur mouth till we get home. Don't know if I can take it." You whine, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand.

He giggled, retracting his hand from your thigh, opting to place his elbow agasint the center console, grinning as he shut himself up, cock still throbbing for attention against his zipper.

The rest of the car ride was silent, air palpable, and thick with the need you both had for each other. When the car came to a park in his garage, he calmly slid out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Walking at a steady pace over to your side of the car while you waited patiently, hands crossed in your lap as you swallowed harshly.

When he slung your door open his hand came into your view, placing your palm in his larger one, he assisted you out of the car, shutting the door behind you. He let you walk in front of him, trailing closely behind you.

Getting your keys out of your purse, you flipped through them, trying to find the one that led to satoru's garage door, shaky hands trying to steady themselves when you felt Gojo press himself against your back.

You felt his clothed boner press against your ass first, followed by his hands sliding over your lower stomach, eyes rolling back at the feeling. Then you felt his plush lips against your neck, leaving soft kisses down the sensitive skin as you fought your brain to work properly so you could insert the key into the door and get on with him.

He whimpered your name into your neck, followed by a "hurry" right when you successfully cracked the door open.

Gojo swiftly spun your body around, pinning you against the door and shutting it in the process, pressing his chest to yours as he assulted your lips with kisses, moaning against you.

He slotted his thick thigh between yours, forcing a whimper out of your mouth as he undid the hooks to your dress on the nape of your neck.

"Bedroom" you managed to get out in between kisses. He started removing his tie, quickly undoing the top 2 of his dress shirt buttons, and pulling you backwards with him when he started for the bedroom.

The light of the night seeping in from his floor to ceiling window wall being the only light the two of you had to be able to navigate through his large house.

You whimpered his name into his mouth, cursing when he slid your zipper down your back while you made your way to the bedroom. You kicked the fabric off your body and he leaned down to scoop you up in his arms, now having unobstructed access to your body.

Wrapping your legs around his hips, panty-clad cunt grinding into the rough material of his pants when you bounced along his body as he walked. "Need you," he muttered against your lips between kisses. while he reached a heavy hand around your back and expertly snapped off your bra.

Bumping you both into the wall quite a few times, easing the tension a bit and making you both giggle into the kiss, before he finally made it to the destination of his bedroom.

Plopping your back down on the bed, legs still tightly wrapped around his hips. Gojo started needily humping against your heat, hand coming down to undo his belt quickly.

"Fuck me satoru." you moaned into his mouth. Gojo had to slap himself mentally at that, gaining a sliver of his rational brain back. He had something he wanted to do before he fucked you good.

"I will baby, I will. don't worry" gojo left his promise all over your lips.

Finding his zipper with ease he slid the metal down, leaning back from your frame to try and slide his pants off, proving to be a challenge when your legs stayed wrapped tightly on his hips.

"Gotta let me go so I can get ready for you princess." He smirked. Your eyes were lidded, face flushed, and lips swollen from his lips assault. Breathing heavily you whispered out an "ok" before dropping your legs against the mattress.

"Such a good girl." Gojo praised, sliding his pants and boxers off in one swift motion, long curved cock flopping up against his abdomen with a wet "plp" sound from he dripping tip. His cock looked so angry, the tip a darker shade of pink than it usually was from how aroused he was right now. Nothing but the thought of pleasing you on his brain.

You pressed your knees together in front of him, trying to relive some of the neediness you were feeling between your thighs at the sight of his thick cock. Your eyes flitted between his deliciously curved member, and his beautiful eyes when he leaned over you again, sliding his fingers underneath the fabric of the panties resting on your hip, and sliding them off of you.

Satoru groaned out loud when the cloth peeled away from your cunt. The part that cupped your mound sticking to your skin from how your wetness had seeped through in anticipation.

"Haven't even done anything yet and you're so fucking wet." he moaned, balling up the panties in his hand and throwing them in the pile he was creating, currently made up of just his pants and boxers, making a mental note to keep that specific pair to himself after this.

Undoing the last couple of his dress shirt buttons he let it drape off his large frame sensually, joining the mess on the floor, leaving him completely nude. You yourself were not fairing any better, having been stripped naked in the hall, expensive dress forgotten somewhere in the living room.

Placing his hands on your kneecaps, he spread you open for him, staring hungrily down at your cunt, shaking his head at his disbelief when he saw the slick practically gushing out of your little hole, clenching around nothing.

"Please do something." You begged. Gojo didn't waste any more time, he wrapped his hands around your hips, and placed his back against the headboard in a sitting position, plopping you down on top of him, smaller hands pressing themselves against his pecs.

His cock throbbed, hovering right under your pussy. If he just thrust his hips up slightly, it might accidentally slip in.

"Want you to face away from me, and sit yourself on my dick." He requested, "Dont worry about movin' jus want you to take it all in yourself." He comforted.

Gojo never got tired of watching you struggle to take in his ridiculous size, little moans and cries slipping out between your lips as your face scrunched in pleasure, tears forcing their way down your cheeks. The latter reaction he unfortunately wouldn't be able to witness this time, as you started into action.

Turning your naked chest away from him; much to his dismay; bracing your feet on the bed, one hand coming back to stabilize yourself against his hard abs while you used the other to align his impossibly hard cock with your tiny hole.

Rubbing the tip and his precum alike against your enterance, before your other hand came down to hold your weight against his abs, cock sliding into you with litte resistance thanks to how wet you both were.

"F-fuuuuck 's so big," You whined, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes shut at the stretch. Gojo bit his lip, hand gripping bruisingly into your hip, relishing in your warm walls constricting around his cock.

"I knoww, takin it so good though princess, just like you always do," He praised, rubbing his fingertips against your skin as he kept talking you through it. Both of you letting out a groan together when you finally bottomed out on his cock.

You let your weight off of your feet and hands when Satoru placed his own on the bed, slinging your legs over his thighs, and making you hold your legs open for him as he placed kisses to the back of your head, "Did so good baby, took the whole thing so fucking good." His words made you clench around him, a feeling he didn't miss, as he smiled against your scalp.

"Satoru...move," you pleaded, noticing how he was staying still. He told you not to move, so you didn't, but you didn't know if you could take it if he only wanted to cockwarm you right now.

"Patience baby," Your body moved with his slightly when he leaned his body sideways, cracking open the bedside drawer and pulling out a baby blue bullet vibrator, clicking the toy on to make sure it was charged, before clicking it beck off when it successfully vibrated strongly between his fingers.

"Gonna make you feel so good princess," Confused at the brief buzzing sound you heard, about to voice your question when you felt the buzzing this time.

Gojo had pressed the vibrator against the inside of your thigh, slowly dragging it up and down your skin teasingly.

“T-toru- what are u doin?” you asked in a small voice, legs twitching, threatening to close in on themselves if it wasn’t for your hands keeping them open.

“Gonna worship you baby, just lay there n keep those legs spread for me ok?” His tall stature meant that even sitting, he still towered over you. This gave him a great view of everything.

Staring down at you he could see the side of your face; and the blush that covered it; the way your body folded, your wetness sticking against your inner thighs. Gojo was in heaven.

Using his free hand, he splayed his massive palm out right under your breast, keeping you pressed against his body.

He felt your pussy twitch around his cock steadily, feeling the heartbeat in your walls as you continued rubbing the soft silicone that coated the vibrator, over your skin.

The continuous pulsing around his shaft was making him dizzy, eyelids drooping heavily on his face, body buzzing with warmth and arousal at the situation.

His teasing finally ceased when he heard you whimper out his name sweetly, begging for the last time without words that you needed him to do something.

Placing the vibrator on its lowest setting against the hood of your clit softly, rubbing it in small circles over the nub. Gojo alternated between the latter motion and pressing it directly against your clit, pushing the hood of your clit out of the way, being forced to make room for the toy.

Your stomach clenched, body jerking in on itself when the toy touched a particular part of your pussy, and the stimulation became a little too much.

“o-oh my go-d toruuu,” you whined. Gojo’s watchful eyes never left his ministrations on your clit, absolutely enthralled with the scene in front of him. “looks like that feels so fucking good,” he moaned into the shell of your ear, wincing when your walls squeezed around his cock like you were trying to milk him for all he was worth.

“s-oo good f-fuck.” your breathily moans filled the air as you tipped your head back on his shoulder. He quickly started pressing little kisses all over your cheeks as you shut your eyes, letting him take care of you.

“That’s right, let go for me baby, I got you.” he softly whispered against your cheek, diverting his eyes back on your pussy. If he looked close enough he could see the way your opening squeezed around him, the sight being almost too erotic to handle.

“Keep your body against me baby,” he said before he left his hold on your torso and joined it down between your thighs with his other hand.

Using a couple thick fingers, he traced around the opening of your cunt, feeling how the soft flesh was pulled taught to make room for his girth.

“That t-ickles,” you wined, feeling him make a V shape with his index and middle fingers, rubbing them around where the base of his cock and your pussy met.

“Does it only tickle?” he asked, proving your words wrong when he pressed the vibrator harder against you, the buzzing sensation making your toes curl.

“So erotic..” he let out a little giggle, “Wish you could see this right now.” he continued, drawing little shapes on your clit and rubbing around the rim of your cunt, “Pussy is stretched to the limits while she’s huggin my cock.” he spoke, amazed.

You whined at his dirty words, silently wishing he would shut his big mouth, but not daring to say it out loud. His words not-so-secretly making you even wetter.

His cock had been leaking steadily into you throughout this entire interaction. Balls tightening with the need to release his seed inside you, to really fill you up and mark you internally as his.

Gojo closed his eyes, relishing in the intamacy, pressing his plush lips to your neck and sucking, leaving little bruises all over the expanse of your neck that he could reach.

After a while, he noticed your breath had started to pick up, cunt squeezing him continuously now instead of pulsing, “T-toru, think i-i’m gonna cum.” you whined softly, tilting your head towards him, making his raise his from his place against your neck, and stare into your eyes.

He smiled, already knowing from what your body was telling him before you spoke. “Go ahead baby, want feel you cum around my dick, you deserve it.” he spoke sweetly.

As much as he wanted to watch your pussy when it gushed out around him, right now he was so enthralled with your face. The both of you staring at each other, breathing heavily, your expression was pulled in an aroused pout, while his lips were formed in a smile.

You knew this orgasm was going to be a big one, stomach tingling with a stronger sensation than normal. Internally panicking slightly before you spoke, “f-feels d-ifferent toru.” you warned.

“Feel kinda like ur gunna pee?” he knowingly questioned. It took every molecule in his body to not cum when you nodded your head twords him, “Aww ‘s ok princess, just let it out okay? promise it’s gonna feel so fucking good.” he encouraged.

You were about to squirt. This was something he thought about in the back of his mind every time he fucked you. Always wishing that when you came, something else would come out too.

You were squirming around in his hold at the unfamiliar feeling coiling itself in your tummy. The steady buzzing and delicious circles he was keeping up on your clit only increasing the intensity of it.

Feeling yourself begin to tip over the edge, you hurried out your words, “T-toru, kiss meee, p-please,” needing him to help you through the sensation that was about to come.

“I got you, I got you.” he giggled, pressing his lips to yours, messily tonguing the inside of your mouth while your moans raised it pitch, whimpering into his cavern.

“mhm, mhmmm,” he encouraged, as he started thrusting his hips up, fucking his dick in and out of you, helping you feel even better as his tip beat repeatedly against your gspot.

Your mouth stopped cooperating, jaw going slack as you felt your orgasm start to wreck you. Eyes rolling back in your head as the waves of your high washed over you, “yesyesyes,” gojo groaned out laughing, feeling the first trickles of your squirt spray out around him.

You were moaning so loud, broke cries of his barely coherent name leaving your mouth as he quickly rubbed the vibrator back and forth across your clit.

Balls finally releasing his seed into you at the feeling and visual of your squirt absolutely drenching the sheets underneath the two of you.

He groaned into the air, breathy laughs mixing in with them while he humped each and every last rope of his cum into your womb, pressing his balls hard against your ass when he thrusted inside.

“Holy shittt,” he dragged out when he started to come down from arguably one of the best orgasms he’s ever had in his life.

“That was so fucking hot, good job baby,” bringing his attention back your face, leaving sloppy wet kisses all over your cheeks, licking up the tears that had fallen.

You looked so fucked out, chest heaving, and cunt twitching around him in the aftershocks, eyes fluttering at the intensity in which you just came.

“You did so fucking well, how did that feel?” he asked? Giving yourself a second to catch your breath before you spoke, you mumbled out, “intense.”

“Awww I bet, looked like it felt so good to let it out though, pussy almost snapped my dick off with that one.” he giggled into your cheek.

“Thank you toru, needed that.” you spoke breathlessly.

“Don’t thank me just yet sweet thing” he said. You cracked your eyes open when you felt him slide out from underneath you, situating you in the missionary position.

Gojo placed the breifly forgot about vibrator back on your oversensitive clit, making your legs squeeze around his hips as he used the tips of his fingers to guide his still hard cock back into your warmth.

“Fuck! S-satoru what are you doing?” you panicked as painful pleasure started wracking your body, trying to jerk and jolt away from the stimulation.

“J-jus came ‘m s-sensitiveee.” you whined, fat tears rolling down your face as he started a rough pace, fucking his cock into your gspot, making your words break up when you spoke.

“Cuming just once isn’t enough for my pretty babyyy, you deserve more than that,” abandoning the vibrator for a second to push your thighs against your head, and placing your ankles over his shoulders as he put you in a mean mating press.

“C-cant t-take it.” you voiced in between thrusts, pussy spasming uncontrollably around his fat cock. Once gojo had manhandled you where he wanted you, he placed the bullet back on your puffy clit, making you scream out.

You were feeling so overwhelmed, thighs burning from being pushed to the limits in flexibility, feeling his weight crush you while he bullied his cock into your drenched walls, and the toy? You swore this would be the night gojo killed you during sex.

“Just let yourself feel it baby, relax your body for me let me do allll the work.” he spoke, trying to reassure you as he dropped his gaze to where the two of you were connected, loud squelches emitting from him fucking into you at how wet you were, gojo feeling lightheaded seeing the thick ring of cum at the base of his dick.

Without warning he felt you squeeze around his length impossibly tight, feeling something spray against his abdomen, realizing you were squirting again.

“Yeaahhhh fuck, that’s what I wanted to see.” He brought back his hips before slamming them into you harder, feeling impossibly aroused seeing this new orgasm crash over you a second time.

Your moans and protests were incoherent at this point, tears and drool covering your face as he fucked you through another intense high.

Satoru started to feel himself reach his peak again but he needed to see that one more time before he allowed himself release.

“Good girl, gooooood fucking girl.” he praised at your lack of resistance when your body went lax against him.

You gave up on fighting the pleasure, really letting your brain go numb at the feeling of, well, everything. There was so much going on, his lips would be on your neck one second, tongue in your mouth the next, babbling some dirty talk you were too fucked out to comprehend.

The vibrator was being slid all over your folds with no rhythm, but it felt so fucking good.

“Cmon you can do it, one more time baby just one more time, need to feel you squirt around me, please.” he begged.

Gojo was fucking you both stupid at this point, he was drooling, feeling so fucking pussydrunk as he mindlessly thrusted his cock in and out of your wetness.

Quickly and sloppily sliding the bullet over your clit one last time before he heard you whimper out a warning of your orgasm, impressed you were still able to form words at this point.

His jaw dropped as he came with you, electricity zapping down his spine feeling you gush around him while he stuffed you full, his moans were so needy and high pitched, overstimulating himself by rolling his hips into yours, making sure your cunt swallowed every drop of his cum.

“F-fuck, loveyousomuch.” he slurred, dropping his entire weight against your folded body, making your tendons scream at the stretch.

“S-satoru..hurts.” you voiced, successfully getting him to lean back, letting your legs drop onto the sheets, thighs and toes tingling when the blood started to circulate through them again.

“God you’re fucking amazing, hope u felt as good as I did.” He murmured into your chest.

“are u kidding? almost died.” you whispered, brain still tingling while you gained your braincells back slowly.

He wrapped his strong arms around your body, keeping his softening cock snug inside you, his chest pressed against your was firmly.

You both relished in the feeling for awhile, intertwining your legs and feet together against the bed, wanting to feel this intamacy for a little longer before you ultimately had to clean up.

“So…think club guy could make you cum harder than that?” he spoke into your breasts.

Using your arms to gather all of the strength you had left, placing your sweaty hands on his cheeks, making him raise his head to look up at you, “Satoru,” you chastised, “don’t ruin this.” falling into a fit of giggles when he groaned in defeat, sending vibrations through your lungs.

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blood-smiles · 4 months ago

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𝐌��𝐎𝐍’𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𐀪𐀪

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 - MDNI TW!! suggestive thoughts and actions coming from yandere . yandere character . defo unprofessional behavior from reader . very gory towards end . This is Yandere, do you need more warnings??? Lmao . I NEED HELP MAKING CONVERSATION FLOW, HELP IS NEEDED (；´д｀)ゞ

╰┈➤ Kicking your shoes on, you made haste of getting ready, you had dolled yourself up, applying your beauty knowledge and professional techniques in and out of your studio.

Grabbing a furry white coat and wringing your keys in the pockets, you kicked the door open and sprinted all the way to your car, getting in the driver’s seat and revving up the engine of your vehicle.

Your eyes wandered towards the moon, the orb in the sky glittered brighter than any other night, a soft blue shimmering off the surface, the centerpiece in the sky amongst the twinkling stars.

You smiled, you had high expectations for this night, was it unprofessional on your part? Oh, yes, definitely. But you honestly couldn’t care less!

You arrived to a beautiful manor, the moon cast a bright light over the white walls of the almost castle like structure.

The door opened softly, revealing the one you were waiting for, your eyes widened, he looked more dazzling than ever.

That.. Hair, his hair was curled, a stark contrast to the straight hair you were used to.. And you felt a strange sense of Deja Vu.

His heterochromatic eyes met with yours, shyly waving at you, he stopped for a moment, as if allowing your eyes to skim over his body.

A sky blue satin slip dress stuck to his body, tailored to fit his body shape in a flattering manner, specifically bringing attention to his slim waist.

A soft white boa hung off his gloved forearms, making him look like a nymph out of a fairytale book.

After snapping out of it you adjusted your clothes, now feeling a little self conscious about your fashion choices.

The car door opened softly, a sweet vanilla smell wafted into the vehicle as Mikhail proceeded inside the car.

Leaning down to not bump his head you couldn’t help but get a view of his chest, soft skin gleaming with fine glitter dust.

Out of respect, you immediately looked away, saving yourself and him an awkward moment.

“You look beautiful.” He breathed out softly, his face slightly colored in a soft pink, deep eyes filled with an indescribable adoration.

Sweat gathered on the back of your neck, taken by the sudden compliment, god. You probably looked so gross right now.

“I-Well, thank you. Y-You look even more beautiful than I do.” You shyly smiled, leaning in for a quick hug.

Mikhail pounced at the opportunity and hugged you back, a little too long and close however. Gently kissing your cheek before sitting back in his seat.

Thank the lord, you didn’t notice how his inner legs were drying off from a sticky substance. Hopefully that pheromone thing people were talking about on social media was true.

You didn’t know he had masturbated to your pictures right before he left the house.

The drive was pleasant as the both of you spoke and joked about the things of life, you didn’t know that Mikhail had such a sharp tongue. He had his own way of saying things, mostly with sarcastic remarks but without losing his air of elegance.

The both of you walked into the restaurant, your arm looped into his and gently holding his bicep. It surprised you he would allow you to be this touchy so far but, a win is a win..?

Moonlight shadowed Mikhail’s face in the most delicate of ways, looking as if it was scripted and was inside a photo studio. If you were oblivious, you would think that there was a light reflector propped up somewhere.

You found yourself really liking this type of lighting and making a mental note of implementing such angle into future shoot.

His face was so familiar.. It tickled a spot of your brain so annoyingly, it felt as if it was being poked and prodded every time you looked at his face and body. There was something just so—

“(Y/N)? Sweetie? Are you alright?..” the silver haired man tilted his head at you, waving at you a little.

You blinked a few times, your mask slipping for a second, only to immediately tilt it back on your face. Offering a small smile to diffuse the situation.

“A-Ah, sorry. It’s just.. Am I crazy or have we met before?” The question came out lightly, almost as if it was a subtle joke.

To your surprise, he scoffed. An attractive chuckle spilling from his glossed lips

“Did it really take you that long to notice? Hm?” He teased, his voice filtered with a slight tone of condescension, putting a hand to cover his mouth.

“..Y-Yes???” You swallowed thickly, playing with the corner of the table cloth “You were that person under the moon.. What was it.. uhm— 3 years ago? I remember you vaguely—“ you toyed with a napkin, folding it and unfolding it various times, making patterns on the once smooth paper.

“You ran away from me when I was going to give you my phone number.. haha?” He paused at that, biting his bottom lip softly as he considered his next words carefully..

“I got nervous, I remember looking at your face and seeing that beautiful look in your eyes and.. I suppose I couldn’t take it and fled like I was used to.” He explained softly, rubbing his arm.

“—That leads me to the next thing, it was thanks to you I am here now. You are the reason I have even pursued this career!” He stopped to breath, his cheeks progressively turning a deeper color as he clutched a hand to his chest, a crazed look taking over his usually serene expression, “I now live in luxury thanks to you, I would be lost without you. You are my savior—My reason to live— My soulma—“

“Are you both ready to order?” The voice of a waiter swiftly cut his lovesick ramble off.

You stared at the model for a moment, still processing the strange and sudden confession from the beauty.

You blinked hard, you blinked once, twice. Hell even thrice.

“U-Uhm. I will have some (food) with some w..wine.” Your voice came out bewildered, your tone sounding off and as if you had been just woken up with an electric shock.

The man across from you glared at the waiter, hate filling his unusually colored eyes. His gaze sharp as a newly sharpened dagger. if you were in the receiving end of his glare, you might have pissed your pants.

“..I’ll have some grilled fish with a salad, don’t forget to get me the finest wine you have.” Mikhail ordered politely, feigning goodwill but keeping his tone as clipped and short as possible.

He was pissed, oh and you could tell. A small vein sprawled across his cheek, the jugular in his neck bulging as he looked at the innocent waiter.

The waiter smiled before turning and leaving.

The mood was.. tense, you suppose. But, this would be a good time to gauge some information from him.

“So.. What was your childhood like?” You asked, clearing your throat and drumming your fingers along the beautiful wooden table.

“..It was alright, I struggled a little in my earliest years though. My parents and I aren’t natives to this country, so we never had any solid footing. I guess I grew up with little.”

He softly related, his fingers picking out lint from his dress.

He continued shortly, “When you found me, I was not doing too well. My mom had passed and I was unemployed, basically homeless.” Mikhail shrugged as if it was no biggie.

His eyes zipped up to yours, establishing eye contact with a fiery look in his eyes.

“Then you found me. No kidding but.. You improved my life in ways that aren’t even describable, and I am seriously thankful and indebted to you for my whole life.” The man bowed his head, his hand grasping at your own and interlocking his fingers in between yours.

“..I wish to learn more about you, talk with you— Share with you. I feel a connection, as if we were bound by invisible threads of fate. Every moment away from you feels like a thousand years of torture.” he took a moment to breathe deeply, mustering his confidence.

“Will you give me the chance to prove that I am worthy of your time and love?”

Wow.. You didn’t even know how to react, your jaw had dropped a little at that whole confession.

“Hahaha.. Wow, i.. I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered..” the nervousness in your tone was clear, you really had been taken off guard by such a thought out message

He stared at you expectantly, waiting for the answer like a kitten waiting for a warm bowl of milk.

“I think we can give it a shot.” You nodded, gently squeezing his hand in a comforting manner.

He shot up from his seat, opening his arms and trapping you in a bone crushing hug while kissing your face everywhere once and over again.

Lip gloss coated kisses stained your visage, on your nose, your cheeks and your forehead. Leaving the main platter for last.

“Oh! Thank you, thank you, (Y/N)!” He cried out, hugging you against his chest when he finished assaulting your face with his lipgloss.

You weren’t able to bounce back after that, your soul leaving your body through your mouth in a small puff.

You merely nodded your head, cheeks going up in flames, the blood vessels in your face working overtime.

He giggled slyly, looking over at the stains he left on your face, the product glistening with the light casted from the candlelight.

It wasn’t very long until the meal arrived, it was painfully awkward for you. Not for Mikhail however, he somehow kept the conversation going for much longer than you thought.

Now the tables turned, instead of you asking the questions, he took the lead and began prodding about you and your life..

“What’s your full name?”

“Can I have your address?”

“Do you prefer lace or silk?”

Strangely, the questions got more personal each time he asked, you tried to answer his questions to the best of your ability while eating your meal.

You turned to the moon, as if searching for guidance on this date. Huh, interesting, the moon was a light pink, teetering into the red color spectrum.

Was there going to be a blood moon tonight?

Damn, that sticky ass lipgloss was getting on your nerves.. You gotta go wipe it off now.

“I’ll be right back!” You dismissed yourself, getting up and taking your bag with you.

“What?..” his smile faltered, eyes sharpening for a moment.

“W-Where? Without me?” His voice turned desperate, his hand tightening over the sharp steak knife.

“I’m not leaving, don’t worry— I just need to go to the bathroom really quick.” You assured him, not noticing how he released the hold on the knife in his hand. His shoulders relaxing noticeably and eyes turning back to its normal shape.

“Alright. B-But don’t be long, darling.”

You turned around, facing the way where the bathroom was. Unfortunately, you failed to notice the server with various drinks in one hand and a many dishes on the other. She shifted her weight on her feet, obviously seeming out of her element and nervous.

When you least expected it, you felt a cold sensation on your clothes and face, dark wine splashing over the freshly washed cotton clothes over your body and hair.

Then came the harsh impact of another body on you, the female server landing on top of you with a loud thud.

The talking around you had came to a complete halt, as if pausing time itself. The woman slowly lifted her head, looking at you with wide eyes as she got off of you.

And you? You were so fucking embarrassed, this girl had just dumped all the god damn staining wine all over you. And—And What made matters worse is that your date was watching you!

“I-I’m so sorry Mr/Mrs/Mx!!!! I-I didn’t.. I don’t—“ she gasped out, hands shooting out to press over your clothes with a handkerchief in hand, only making the situation worse as the wine spilled further on you.

“I..I.. Please get off.” You quietly mumbled out, the smile on your face turning into a frown in a moments notice.

She scattered away, apologizing profusely as she picked up all the ruined plates of food and spilled wine glasses.

You got up as quickly as you could, sipped walking to the bathroom while biting back tears, this was the worst feeling ever.

You had been publicly humiliated, in front of the highest class of people and a potential partner. God, you were an embarrassment.

You stood in front of the mirror, looking at your dirtied face and soiled outfit. You sniffled softly, tears brimming your lash line.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, tears rolling down your cheeks in frustration. This was a mistake, if you had known the night would turn out like this- You wouldn’t have called Mikhail.

This was a waste of both you and his time. Simply because of your pride.

◉

Your date watched with wide eyes as you toppled over with a different server. His fingers ghosting over the knife under his palm, about to shoot yo from his seat and get that harlot off you.

He was too late. Blood red wine spilled over your head, dripping down onto your clothes and staining your whole dress/suit.

His eyes widened, his jaw gaping at the scene. Covering his mouth with one hand to hide his shock.

He saw how that bitch tried to dab the wine away, crawling all on top of you as if you were up for grabs. Did she not see?! You were his! HIS ONLY!

His face contorted into an ugly grimace, something unfit of his beautiful features. Looking

Then he looked at your face, his porcelain heart cracked in two. He saw the vacant look in your eyes, the slight tremble of your bottom lip as you bit back a sob.

Oh. how he was going to make this disgusting server pay the price.

He shifted his focus onto the worker, silently stalking behind her. His footing was light and quiet, being her shadow as she staggered off into the restaurant’s garden.

Alike to an arctic fox, he waited patiently for the moment to strike. This dumb, mindless little chicken being the next on the chopping block.

The red moon cast a sinister lighting over the two of them. The waiter tripping over a stone and doubling over and into the grass.

That’s when Mikhail struck. He threw his weight on top of the helpless woman, raising his arm over his head and plunging his knife into her head.

He laughed melodically, the sound seeming out of place in the gory scenario.

He couldn’t stop. He was going avenge you, Mikhail White was going to fight for your honor and love. And it all was going to start with this small sacrifice.

Stab. Stab. stab.

That’s all that went through his head, his hands gripping around the knife and twisting into the woman’s forehead.

His curls covered his face, the wavy hair shielding the crazed expression of his face.

He dragged the blade across her eyes, watching the blood bubble up as he slashed the almost gelatinous material of her eyeballs.

“This is for looking at my (Y/N).” He seethed out, plunging the knife into her eye further and gauging them out her face.

He retracted the weapon from her face with a wet sound, only to dig it back into her throat and drawing a deep, jagged line over her cheeks and mouth.

his free fist pounded against her teeth, knocking most of them out, blood gushing out of the empty gums.

“This for even speaking to them!”

He let out a shaky breath, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

The assault weapon ripped into her arms, severing them from her body completely. His own hands grabbing at the bodyless limbs and twisting them until they dislocated, bones peeking out from under her skin.

“And this is for even having the gall to touch (Y/N).” He grabbed her head, whispering into here ear cruelly.

He shoved the steak knife into the inside of his dress, mustering crocodile tears as he staggered back into the establishment bathed in crimson.

“H-HELP!! A-A KILLER IS ON THE LOOSE AND—AND THEY ATTACKED A WAITER IN FRONT OF MY OWN EYES!!”

The model cried out desperately, faking a panic attack as he looked for you, frantically clutching his chest as he whipped around frantically.

Soon he found you, looking for him. He immediately crashed into your arms, trapping you in his toned arms.

He kissed your head “T-Thank god you are okay.. I-I don’t know what I would do if I had lost you!!” He sobbed, eyeliner and mascara running down his cheeks in a dramatic showcase.

You hugged him back, apologizing for leaving and not going back for him. He assured you it was alright! It was just so great to see you alive and breathing in his arms..

The blood moon reseeded into a pale white, sirens lighting the scene up.

The both of you were ruled out as suspects, just as planned, he played the role of the victim and you were his concerned partner.

The police felt pity and offered their condolences, letting the both of you go home.

The both of you arrived at his castle like home, he insisted that he was scared for you and wanted for you to stay with him. He couldn’t bear losing you too.

So you did..

He and you stepped under a post light, the soft pitter patter of the rain falling from the sky and over you.

He brought one arm over your shoulder, his other free hand holding your cheek tenderly as he leaned in for a passionate kiss under the moon light.

He led your hands on top of his waist, gently gripping at the stained satin dress.

He closed his eyes, so did you. He indulged completely in the heated kiss, devouring your lips and tongue as best as he could.

He smiled into the kiss, you were his now, he had you right where he wanted. Now all he had to do was offer a diamond ring to you.

“It doesn’t matter how many heads will roll, it’s nothing but a small price for maintaining our beautiful love.”

#Credits for divider goes to @Ianrkives #mikhail posting #yandere x reader #smilesyanderes #yandere #male yandere #male yandere x reader #fem reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #yandere male #yandere blog #yandere x darling #yanderecore

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lost-romantique · 7 months ago

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Blitzø knows how to hold hands...

The way Blitz just gently holds Stolas' hand, his hands are so much larger than his birb's.

The way he slides his middle finger up his wrist, supporting it.

The way Blitzø’s fingers perfectly wrap Stolas' hand like a little protective blanket.

There is so much intimacy with just this one image.

And then he decides to be a self-sabotaging motherfucker. /affectionate

BTB actually doesn't hold Stolas' hand he touches it to guide him off his seat, but he immediately grabs his wrist instead.

Also, BTB is buffer compared to Blitzø who has a more slim muscular build, but Blitzø’s hands are still much bigger.

Stolas and BTB have the same size hands it seems.

Even when Stolas and BTB are dancing they don't really hold hands, their hands barely touch, and instead, they grab each other's wrists.

I find it fascinating that the animators do whatever they can to make Stolas and BTB not hold hands.

And when they do hold hands...

Like, there is no sense of intimacy. It genuinely looks like Stolas is dancing with a kid, with the way their holding hands.

For a man named Better than Blitzo, you are doing a shit job at holding Stolas' hands.

But Blitzø never fails to hold Stolas' hand...

Even on their disaster date...

(Such poor hand holding technique, but I blame their height difference)

Even when Stolas falls and Blitzø catches him, Blitzø always makes sure his hand is really close to Stolas'.

But once Stolas is back on his feet, he immediately grabs Stolas' hands instead.

I just find the details between them so fascinating...

#helluva boss #blitzø #blitzo #helluva boss blitz #ro rambles #stolitz #helluva blitz #stolas #blitzo x stolas #stolas goetia #better than blitzo guy

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 7 months ago

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Lost Somewhere in Time

A/n: don’t ask where this idea came from but I have like twenty more scenarios with this same plot

You time travelled and James wanted to see how much he improved in fucking you???

Warnings: smut, fingering (f receiving), whiny James, dom James, slight daddy kink, praising, double penetration, overstimulation, size kink, it’s not specified but (younger) James is a virgin, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Part 2 Part 3

“You’re not fucking doin’ it right.” James said, swatting his younger self on the top of his head. “She’s never gonna cum like that!” He groaned.

You were sitting in young James’s lap, naked, back against his clothed chest. You were in his room, on his bed, the blonds older version sat next to you and watching closely, judging the younger technique.

“At least I can still get it up.” James grumbled, chin resting on your shoulder as he watched what he was doing, rubbing the general area of your cunt with three flattened fingers. It didn’t feel bad, per se, but you were used to the more experienced hands of your silver devil.

James scoffed. “Yeah, that’s not helping you finger her.” The short haired man said while the other rolled his eyes. “Look, one finger and just push it in slow.” He directed, arms crossed over his chest, watching as his younger self grudgingly did as he said.

Your face scrunched as he pushed a finger in. “Daddy.” You whined, looking to the boyfriend you knew.

“I know, I know, sweetheart.” He assured, rubbing your thigh. “Smaller than you’re used to.”

“Bitch!” James yelled, hand snapping -he wanted to slap himself but stopped, remembering he was still with a beautiful woman that he couldn’t wait to call his- and making you moan.

You’re glad you met James when you did, 80’s James was not exactly great with his hands yet, they weren’t thick like you were used to, slim and flimsy. You weren’t wet, but his older counterpart had at least guided him enough to use his spit as lube.

“Do that.” The older said. The younger looked back to you, pushing his finger in and pulling it out a moment later. “Faster, hard and fast, like a guitar.”

“M’not a guitar.” You mumbled, running your hand up the younger arm, amused at his untatted skin. It was a new sight, definitely a fun one.

“I know, but he’s stupid.”

“I’m you!”

“And I was stupid.” Their voices were different, one higher and cleaner, whinier, the other was deeper and raspier, more commanding and dominant, but they both that boyish sunshine to them.

James huffed, brows furrowed in annoyance and frustration. He looked back to you, placing a few kisses on your cheek and jaw, moving down your neck while his wrist repeated the snapping motion until the room filled with your moans.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl.” Older James encouraged, eyes flickering between your needy cunt , sucking in the younger’s fingers over and over as he added a second and then a third, and pretty expressions, face morphing in pleasure. “Right there, there it is, oh, that’s so good, isn’t it, sweetheart?” He mused, watching you cum, back arching against James chest.

He wore a band shirt and jeans, both clearly having been worn for ages, now there was a wet spot soaking into his jeans. His free hand was on your side, arm over your stomach and holding you tight to him, forcing you to push back into him.

“Give ‘er here.” The older said, nodding to you and gesturing with his hands.

“Why?” The younger asked, getting possessive over you now. Same man, different packaging. “She’s good here, nice and comfy, with someone her own fucking age, weirdo.”

The older man didn’t care for his words and rolled his eyes, pulling you onto his lap. “My turn.” You got nice and comfy in his lap, the familiarity of his size, encompassing you in his warmth.

His hand, gruffer and thicker than the others, went to your neglected clit, rubbing it between two fingers. “Oh, that’s nice, isn’t it?” He asked, kissing the other side of your face, making his own marks on you, darker and more prominently placed.

You nodded eagerly, hooking your knees over his. The younger was given a full view of your anatomy, eyes wide and lips parted slightly.

A wide smile spread across your face as the James behind you rubbed you senseless and you reached for the James in front of you. “C’mere.” You bubbled.

He didn’t need to be told twice, hurriedly getting to his feet, tossing his shirt aside and hopping out of his jeans, nearly tripping over them as they got stuck on his big ass grippers, something you constantly teased your boyfriend over -he put an end to that recently, making you ride his boot after you made a joke on a bad day.

His boxers were soaked through with his cum from earlier, peeling off his hard cock sticky. He climbed onto the bed and reached for your hips, pulling you closer until he was lined up with you.

Oddly enough, he looked up to his older self, who was just giggling at the size difference. Not to say that he was ever really small, but he definitely got better as time went on.

He pushed into you with a groan, eyes screwing shut and jaw dropping in pleasure. He couldn’t hold himself back, hips rutting and thrusting into you, bucking helplessly into your warmth.

“Fuck, you don’t care about her at all.” The silver headed man grumbled, fingers still on your sensitive nub. He pulled away from you for a moment, pulling down his jeans and pulling himself out of his boxers.

As soon as you heard the zipper you knew what was to come but nothing could prepare you for the stretch of double James, eyes shooting open and a cry ripping from you.

You lurched forward, arms wrapping around the younger and clawing at his shoulders, making him groan -the noise was high and really it barely classified as a groan, he moaned right in your ear and they only got needier as he got closer, feeling James grinding against him inside you, it was all too much for him.

The sound of the twins moans and groans, grunts and whines, in opposite ears at the same time, it was melodic. You didn’t even have to do anything but sit pretty on your knees for them, let them fuck you into oblivion.

“Fuck, I-I can’t- oh god.” The younger mumbled, muffling his voice by hiding his face in your neck. His thrusts were losing the little rhythm they had as he spilled his seed in you. He kept moving, overstimulating himself, cock twitching and pulsing inside you, tears brimming his eyes.

The older of the two leaned down to your ear, nipping your earlobe while he chuckled, a low grumble of a noise. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not even close yet.” It was a brag, a brag that he could last longer than himself but a brag nonetheless.

The other James heard it, whining into your other ear as he forced himself to keep going, not ready to admit he wasn’t ready for this, for you.

#metallica x reader #metallica smut #metallica imagines #metallica rp #metallica fanfiction #80s metal #metallica #metal #james hetfield x you #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield

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felixandresims · 1 year ago

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KICHEN 2Point0 :)

It’s been well over a year since the last Harlix collaboration, but we are happy to finally be able to announce the KICHEN 2Point0! It all started way back in 2019 with the original KICHEN, so we decided we wanted to bring it back full circle and finally focus back on our much-loved room of the home. A lot has changed over the past 4.5 years, not only in our own personal work but the multitude of custom content creators that also now create kitchens for your Sims. In 2019, there were slim pickings for your homes. Now, there is such a vibrant array of content to choose from, and it really is an excellent thing for all.

In the years that followed, we have really focused on improving our technical skills and artistry, which we hope you can see with this latest set. The stand-out item for us both in the original KICHEN was the wishbone chair. We have personally both tried to find another dining chair that tops it and failed miserably! It is just the perfect chair for use in so many different settings, whether it be modern or even a rustic setting; it’s just so versatile. It deserved an update to our latest techniques and colours & it’s the only item from the original KICHEN set that has been reworked for this newest iteration. Also, back in 2019 we were a little too scared to use our internal name for that item, but in 2024 we are happy to share the appropriately named WISHBONER chair with you 😆

The KICHEN 2Point0 is also designed to fit perfectly into our current Klean & Soho sets to fulfill the kitchen part. For some reason, we always seem to be in sync with our set themes, and no more so than with Klean & Soho. The overlap was very scary tbh, with many Pinterest pins selected independently but shared in common, so we decided to do this 2 part collaboration to create a kitchen to fit both of our current sets, with the hope of creating a much more in-depth set which includes all elements required to make your dream kitchen. This first part focuses on the foundations of that dream kitchen.

All items are Base Game compatible and can be found by searching the b/b catalogue using the keyword 2Point0. As the items are designed for both of our current sets, they will also appear when you search using the keywords KLEAN or SOHO.

Set Items include:

- Counter (raised with legs) - Counter (standard) - Island (raised with legs) - Island trolley (3 pieces) - Cabinets (short) - Cabinets (tall) - Appliance Cabinet - Fridge Nooks (high & low) - Built-in Sink (wide & standard) - Dining Table (1, 2 & 3 tile) - Wishboner Dining Chair - Shelving (multiple height endings, middle & standard end pieces) - Hanging Feature Pendant Lights (multiple variants)

Now on Patreon Early Access

Public release on the 7th of May

The collaboration will continue next month and focus on appliances and clutter for your kitchens.

#ts4cc #ts4 cc mm #ts4 cc finds #ts4cc download #ts4 maxis match #new york #townhouse #house of harlix #felixandresims #harrie cc #ts4 kitchen #kitchen

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seiwas · 2 years ago

Text

₊˚⊹。these traces of love, they outline you | gojo satoru

wc: 12.9k

summary: the 5 times gojo’s sure you’ve changed his life + the 1 time he hopes to change yours.

contains: f!reader, pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), symptoms similar to synesthesia, reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby, loml), nervous feelings, tummy ache, food descriptions, surprise appearance of one character, emotional tears!!, internal thoughts and insecurities.

a/n: primarily in gojo's pov! & best read if you’ve gone through the other parts in the series! (lots of callbacks and references + better context!), lots of songs as inspo (would gladly share if you’re curious!), will add descriptions for the food in the a/n at the bottom!, from conceptualisation to actual writing this piece is my baby!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) <- you are here

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Gojo thinks he might pass out.

There’s a feeling of unease sitting deep in his gut, nervous and gurgling. His hands have always been restless and fidgety but never this sweaty, and his head feels like it’s floating—even more than that first time he attempted a 24-hour stint on keeping up Infinity.

It’s eerily quiet in his office as he waits for your meeting to end, the white colon on his digital clock taunting him as it flicks on and off—16:27. 3 more minutes until you finish.

He paces around the room.

Attempts at any distraction are thwarted when everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you. There’s a photo hanging by the door, the mix-and-match of couch cushions in varying hues—all souvenirs you’ve given him from places you’ve been to. The coffee table books hold your touch too, and as he runs his hand over his face. he’s hit with that signature scent, clean and subtle from the hand cream you use.

Waiting in his office today has been absolute torture, but what’s made it more excruciating is the fact that he knows you’re aware of absolutely nothing.

To you, this is just like every other Friday.

You’d done your usual morning routine, kissed him on the nose with the promise to meet him in his office after work, as you always do. And it feels like a big joke when he thinks about it now, because while he’s been on edge this entire day about it, you really have no clue what’s coming.

To him, this could change everything with you.

He’s been feeling it for a while now, the ripple effect of loving and being loved by you—how he can recall every time a single drop of you has shifted something deep within him, marked and colored you.

There’s not a lot that Gojo wants now that he feels like he truly has it all, but when he thinks about all the times he’s sure you’ve changed his life, he hopes that with this one thing, he can change yours.

1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH

The weather today is good—sunlight peeking behind cloud pillows and the occasional gust of wind passing through the space you’ve put between you and Gojo. It’s neither too humid nor too dry and though Gojo does get the occasional sniffle from his pollen allergies around this time, he'd woken up earlier completely fine.

So, the weather today is good, perfect even, for a brush-up on sparring practice.

You’ve kept a sizable distance away from him since it started, and every attempt he’s made to draw nearer, you’ve only moved away farther—a push-and-pull, an old dynamic that shows itself in the ways you engage in battle.

Gojo’s hands stay tucked in his pockets, his stance one you know perfectly well as relaxed but still guarded. He’s gotten a lot bulkier than the days you used to spar often, the past few years having filled in all the areas of what used to be slim, lean muscle. He doesn’t move because he knows the style you fight with, how you stay on defense until your opponent charges, utilizing their own strength against them.

It’s the only way you’ve managed to win against someone as deadly as Gojo, equal-parts lethal in speed and strength.

So when a cluster of clouds passes by and the sun glares directly into your eyes, Gojo smirks, then bends his knees as he lunges for an attack.

Your senses are sharp and reflexes quick; in the split second that a white-and-black blur appears before you, you attempt a high kick, only for it to be blocked with his forearm. He uses his other hand to twist around your ankle, trying to flip you over, but you see right through his motives. You huff, furrowing your brows as you narrowly escape, slipping your ankle out before he can fully grab a hold of it.

Most of this practice has felt like a stalemate, with the both of you waiting on the other for the most part of the hour. Gojo can see how it’s wearing you down, this entire thing being dragged out, and if he’s being honest—this is exactly what he wants.

Sparring out here with you today, while still meant for actual training, is also just an excuse to do this for old time’s sake—the way you huff and frown, jaw clenched as your fists ball up tightly like you’re doing right now.

He kind of misses seeing you like this, impatient and frustrated, so unlike the tenderness you always regard him with.

A smile threatens to form on his lips, and he bites it back down.

You only ever get like this sparring against him.

The tension breaks when you decidedly throw a punch; it’s a desperate attempt to get the fight moving but he ducks, arm securing itself around your waist as he locks your hip with his. Before you can even comprehend, your body is lifted across his back and lowered down to the grass below—the only thing in sight being two blue skies, beaming at you.

Somewhere during the commotion, he managed to remove his blindfold, hair let loose, fluffy and white almost like the clouds above you. Gojo isn’t taking this seriously at all; he’s way too soft, having cushioned your fall by carrying most of your weight instead of throwing you down like anyone seriously sparring is supposed to.

He doesn’t care though. All he really wanted this afternoon was to reminisce with you.

You’re kept underneath him, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head—and it’s there, that frown on your face, that pout he’s witnessed for years evolve into what it is now. Beads of sweat collect at the crease between your brows, your temples tensing as you breathe out.

Gojo at 17 would have teased you relentlessly for this, but he feels different now, warmth settling in his chest as he stares; he can’t help it, the words coming out of his mouth—

“You’re so—”

But he doesn’t even get to finish.

Everything around him blurs, green and blue blending in motion before he finds himself on his back, completely flipped over. He’s met with the sight of you, smug smile pulled wide with your hands resting on his chest. And his heart—

Can you feel it under your fingertips? How it’s beating a mile a minute?

A shiver runs down his spine, the pinpricks of grass tickling the nape of his neck. The shock is tingling, his eyes fully open as he processes what just occurred.

In the lapse of time he’d been a little too preoccupied staring at you, you managed to inch your leg to wrap around his, locking it at the last minute to flip him over—it lands you where you are now, on his lap, straddling his hips.

“Sneaky,” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.

You catch your breath, “Do I win?”

“Only because I let you get too close this time.”

Which is a lie, he knows, because having you near him like this, with some form of touching—you could never be close enough.

You roll your eyes, his fingers grabbing hold of your thighs. The grass pricks at your knees through the fabric of your leggings, and Gojo knows that if you stay like this any longer, it’s going to start to itch.

“Did I hurt you anywhere?” you ask, already assessing him for any point of injury. Your eyes go over his face before trailing down his arms, rarely exposed today in his black compression shirt.

“Yeah,” he pouts, pointing to his lips, all pink and puckered out, “kiss it better?”

Asking for this is against his better judgment, he’s aware; with the way you’re situated on his lap, this could escalate into something else entirely. You shake your head, swatting at his chest. His grip on your thighs loosens as you get off him, but the curl of your lips is extremely telling.

As you stand up to dust your knees, Gojo gazes at you fondly. The sun hides behind you from where you tower over him, but the halo effect around your head is just as blinding.

“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway.

He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you.

You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs.

You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right.

“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…”

“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies.

He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him.

“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze.

It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it.

You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out while his thumb draws hearts on fabric.

You reach for him.

The gesture is small, just your finger running across his cheek, but it nudges something in him—a memory of you and how you’ve always touched him like this: softly, kindly.

“Remember when you used to do this?” he takes your hand, long and lithe fingers wrapping around yours as he guides them over his ear.

Your eyes widen in recognition and he blinks, taking you in as he stares, “Wanna do it now?”

Concern reveals itself in the furrow of your brows, “Is it hurt—”

“No,” he chuckles, already knowing what you’re about to say.

The last time you did this for him, he didn’t even have to ask. One look and you knew—it’d been the night of his final conversation with Suguru. His skull-splitting migraine ensued after bickering with Shoko on what to do with the body. You were there; you heard everything, and when she gave up arguing and left, there was only one thing you could do.

With his head on your lap by his office couch, you tuned out the sounds.

He doesn’t prefer you using your cursed technique this way; it takes a considerable amount of your cursed energy to focus its effects solely on another body—and frankly, it’s a waste of time for you to spend all of that on him, at least in his opinion, personally.

You’d struggled a lot with your technique back in high school, having to learn how to fully manipulate different sonic hues: white noise, brown noise, any and all of it in the entire spectrum. Being able to amplify, distort, reduce, and isolate them into their respective hues covers only the bare minimum when it comes to understanding your technique.

It’s tedious work, and when one of your senses holds so much more power over the others, the information that flows through it can be overwhelming, overloaded even. Sorting through all that noise—he gets it, gets you, and how it must hurt too.

And yet you, at 17, still figuring out how to grasp it all, came knocking on his door when you noticed he hadn’t come for dinner. Quietly, you placed your hands over his ears and selflessly offered your discomfort for his relief.

The first time you did this for him, you’d only heard of his migraines from Shoko. You witnessed it yourself when he opened his door and looked so unlike himself: blindfold secured tightly but haphazardly, strands of hair sticking out oddly; his room seemed to be blacked out completely.

Gojo Satoru is no stranger to sensations beyond what any human should be subjected to, but when you laid your hands on him that day, cursed energy tickling his ears as it flowed through your fingertips—he’d never felt more normal, more human to be able to hear things without conjuring a visual of it.

It’s almost like you silenced his mind—enough to hear himself, and you, and the buzz of the white noise you’d amplified to flow through him in his blacked out room.

You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it now, the task in itself barely causing you any ache or struggle at all.

“Just like old times,” he nudges you.

So you keep your hand where he’s left it, covering his ear with your palm as your fingers rest on his temples. Cursed energy flows from your touch, all sounds drowning out.

He keeps his eyes on yours, watching as your expression shifts with every sonic hue you focus on—an upgrade to your abilities the more you’d gotten the hang of it.

You concentrate hard for white noise, creating your own mix to emulate radio static, transitioning out to green noise the moment you highlight the sound of birds chirping. Then, you ease it to brown noise, intensifying the soft whistles of the wind to mimic it.

It’s weird how sentimental he’s been feeling lately—without any trigger or anything, but the more he leans into your palm, the more it gets him thinking.

Touch had begun as extremely foreign to him—a god revered and valued but never really truly loved, untouchable with infinity, and the pedestal he’s always stood on.

It was never supposed to be important to him.

Until you.

From your kindness that first day, and the many more that followed: of fingers brushing and hand-holding to breaths mingling and bodies moulding, moving—you’ve always touched him in ways no one else has, in places no one’s been able to reach.

And if it wasn’t important then, completely foreign, it’s important now, so much that he looks for it everywhere, all the time, even. The way you scratch the short bristles of his undercut, fingers dragging down to the nape of his neck; the way you tap his collarbone thrice, run your fingers across his lip, and intertwine your fingers with his at random.

When Gojo thinks about your touch, he thinks about how gentle it is, with intent and purpose. How it’s always been careful for him but never of him, and that’s made the biggest difference.

He blinks, and you follow two times, focusing on him.

All he hears is a heartbeat now, a little too fast to be at rest, but still steady and grounding—

The way he feels when he’s with you.

Whether it’s his or yours, from your cursed technique or just the blood rushing in his ears, he knows this is pink noise, the one you’d so excitedly shown him when you first mastered it.

The pink noise that resounded all throughout his twenty-somethings, when he first realized that you meant more to him than what you were.

2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME

The bed feels cold tonight.

Gojo’s been staring at the lights on his ceiling for the past 30 minutes, and though his pillow is cool and blanket soft, he’s wide awake—nowhere near falling asleep any time soon.

He shifts to the side, the space beside him taunting, empty.

He misses you.

For the past week, you’ve been off to a much-needed girls trip with Shoko and Utahime. He’d even offered to pay for the entire accommodation—to which you and Utahime declined, while Shoko shrugged, crossing her arms as she snorted, “If he really wants. At least he’s being useful.”

You’d compromised and agreed that he could pay for an evening out in some nightclub.

Now, he regrets it. A little bit. Maybe.

Gojo’s bed is big, a king-size that fits the height of him and all his long limbs, and while it’s comfortable and spacious–supposed good things–he feels anything but comfortable in how spacious and vacant it now feels.

He turns to the other side, facing his sidetable instead.

The digital clock reads 01:17 and he sighs; you still have a few days left.

The next time you bring up being away for this long, he’s going with you. Even if he has to spend the entire day on his own, he’ll do it—as long as he gets to end it next to you.

If he’s really thinking about it, nothing’s stopping him from teleporting there right now. He could hop in quick, give you a hug, hopefully a kiss, and maybe even get lucky if you allow him to steal you for the night. He’ll teleport you right back in the morning and it’ll be like you never left, even.

He could do it. You can never resist him when he gives you his googly eyes.

If you’re already back from—

Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates.

He reaches for it over his night stand, instantly sitting up once he reads that it’s from you—the nickname he just recently changed your contact to.

(It was always just your name, simple and straightforward, easy to find; when you return, he’s probably going to change it back because you prefer it that way—for safety purposes and everything.

But while he still can, he’s going to keep it like this: a petname with an obnoxious string of emojis that he associates with you.)

1:20 a.m.

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> satoourur are u awaeke??

The corner of his lips curl up, endeared at the image of you hunched over your phone, fingers slipping as you clumsily press the wrong letters. So cute.

1:21 a.m.

< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕

1:21 a.m.

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> casll?

He stares at it for a good minute or two, trying to decipher this rare, drunken code from you. But before he gets the chance to respond, your face appears on his screen, a photo of you he’d taken months ago, mid-chew special Daifuku.

You’re calling.

He grins, biting his lower lip. His feet slip inside the house slippers by the side of his bed as he gets up, swiping his phone to answer before holding it against his ear.

“Miss me already?” he teases, padding out of his bedroom.

“Satoruuu,” you drawl. Definitely drunk, if not tipsy.

Even like this though, Gojo aches when he hears you speak; there’s a twinge that pokes at his ribcage, making him wish he was right next to you.

The music around you sounds muffled, almost as if you’d stepped out just to make this call—another thought that makes him ache.

He walks down the hall towards his kitchen and stops, realizing: if you stepped out of the club, does this mean you’re alone? He trusts you can take care of yourself, but if you’re this inebriated…

“Are you with Shoko and Utahime?” he asks casually, attempting to mask his worry. His hand digs deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight to his other foot.

“‘Nside,” you slur.

You don’t actually sound that drunk, more sleepy if anything, really, but his heart still picks up pace. Maybe he should just go to you already.

“You should go to them,” he urges, continuing his walk to the kitchen.

“M’be later,” you sigh, and he hears a bit of rustling on your end—a soft curse and a small thud, “w’na talk t’you.”

Another ache.

He can picture it: you, in some sidestreet, phone clutched to your ear as you tuck your hair back before sighing, legs buckling as you clumsily drop down to sit.

“Oh?” he lilts, eyebrow lifting. A smirk forms on his lips, head tilting as he wedges his phone between his neck and shoulder. He reaches for his refrigerator, “Got something to tell me, pretty?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting you to say, maybe a recount of your day, or something funny that he’s bound to laugh at, whatever it is.

“Just miss you.”

He wasn’t expecting you to say this—

—in an exhale, with a slight tremble, like it’s been waiting to be let out. Vulnerable.

There’s another ache, and he nearly drops the water bottle.

He should really just go to you.

His phone nearly slips from his neck, the thump of his heartbeat on rampage as he readjusts it.

He swallows, “I miss you too.”

And it’s odd, how it sounds when he says it, a bit shaky too. A stillness settles in the room and it echoes off every kitchen equipment and countertop. He can’t even get himself to tease you for this one.

“I can go there now, if you want,” he offers, almost a whisper, before attempting a chuckle. It comes out flat, tinted a little sad, “Blink twice and I’ll be there when you open your eyes.”

You giggle on the other end, and it fills him in this moment.

When he looks around his apartment now, steel finish and walls accented black, the backsplash of his kitchen a grayish hue of iron—it reminds him of luxury fit for a bachelor, sleek in its utility.

He’s lived here since his mid-twenties, and he likes how it’s designed, the colors and feel of it right up his alley. The furniture remains simple, modern and minimalist, filling the spaces of his open floor plan down to the two bedrooms and office space.

But right now, it feels so empty.

“Silly,” you chuckle, he can hear your grin forming, affection dripping, “my silly baby.”

Now his heart really aches.

The subtle static makes you sound unreal, strung together by radio waves; it’s rare enough for you to call him ‘baby’, and for you to say it when he can’t even see or hold you while you do it—it’s cruel; a test of his restraint.

He rests his back against the kitchen counter, arm coming across his chest to rest under his elbow, supporting the one holding his phone–you–by his ear. His teasing is softer tonight, tinged by yearning, so he hums, “Your silly baby, huh? Any chance it could be your silly ‘Toru instead?”

The way he says ‘‘Toru’ is a pitch lower, slower, and exaggeratingly more seductive in his banter; it’s what you call him in bed, or by accident, and in the moments you find yourself needing him in ways he can only satisfy by being your lover.

If you say it, he’s definitely going to teleport himself over.

You giggle again.

“S’that your fav’rite one?” you mumble, words blending together. He can imagine your cheek smushed against your knee, arms curled around your legs as you sit on concrete, “‘‘Toru?’”

When he thinks about it, you aren’t too big on his nicknames—at least, not as much as he is with you. You only call him three things: baby (which truthfully, he had to convince you to), ‘Toru (first whispered in the moment, heat fueling it), and Satoru (since you were 16, weighted and grounding throughout all the years you’ve known him).

Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite?

For obvious reasons, maybe.

But—

“I like everything you call me,” he smirks, shifting his weight.

“Sweet-talker.”

He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he leans further—and he swears, he can see you, the image of you rolling your eyes and scrunching your nose seared into his eyelids.

God damn, he really misses you.

“You love it,” he murmurs.

A beat. He hears the faint honk of a car before you drown it out, sighing.

“I do,” you whisper, admission ringing in his ears, “I love you, Satoru.”

He hears this all the time, but tonight it just aches; the way you say things so sincerely, so honestly even in an inebriated state—how you call him Satoru and it’s still weighted, still grounding, like who he is resides right there, in the softness of your lips.

Gojo’s always been relevant but when you call him Satoru, he feels more than just the name.

If you’re asking about his favorite, he thinks this might be it—in every handwritten note you leave, his name scrawled in your hybrid of semi-print-semi-cursive letters; in every call you pick up, opening always with a ‘Satoru?’, end pitched higher, sweet and curious.

“C’n I tell you somethin’?” you ask (even when you don’t need to, even when he’s already listening).

“Let me guess, Utahime has a travel ick and Shoko—”

“Satoru,” you scold, rolling your eyes, but there’s no bite. The next bit you say under your breath, a little fragile, “‘M serious.”

The nervousness sits in his stomach; this conversation feels significant.

He takes a seat on his barstool.

“Listening.”

For a while, it’s only your breathing; knowing you, you’re probably thinking, crafting what to say carefully.

You sigh again, and—

“I worry sometimes,” you admit.

He furrows his brows, “About?”

“That maybe bein’ with me’s a lil’ boring?”

And this… this aches in a different way.

How can you even think that?

You chuckle anxiously; he can bet you’re biting your lips, a habit you’ve picked up from him.

He rests an elbow on his kitchen island, leaning onto it as he tilts his phone closer to his ear.

“Apologize right now,” he commands, sternness making him feel a little guilty, “that’s the person I love you’re slandering.”

But you only laugh, real and more relaxed, nervousness dissipating.

“My bad, my bad,” you play along before mumbling, “‘m just sayin’, there’re lotsa others who are more everythin’ y’know?”

He wonders what’s got you thinking like this, if it’s triggered by seeing people at the club, perhaps younger and far livelier—how you spent those years of your life exorcizing curses and making a home for two kids.

“So what? They’re still not you.”

And he means it, genuinely.

Your breath hitches and he grins, swinging around on the bar stool.

Those years of youth were still fun, he thinks, and it’s precisely because of you—how you’d made the apartment the four of you stayed in as fun and homely as a teen barely pushing twenty could.

You had your fair share of mishaps and adventures—rushed breakfasts and Megumi’s 'my dog ate my homework's. Tsumiki had to miss a day of school once because you accidentally booked her a birthday trip to Disneyland on a weekday.

(And he got scolded a lot, ‘Satoru’ exhaled with a look. But it would only last a few moments; you can never stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try).

There was no way you and Gojo had the maturity and responsibility of actual parents (maybe more like inexperienced guardians, really), but you tried your hardest to give Megumi and Tsumiki a home.

Home, what he’s beginning to realize reminds him of you.

He looks around him now, at the details of his interior, and begins to think of yours—your apartment, a little more wooden and lived-in; there’s a lot more wear but also a lot more love, never empty like his feels right now.

“If being with you was so boring, I wouldn’t be itching to go to you right now,” he confesses, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants.

You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence.

Muffled conversations and the occasional beep sound in your background. There’s a couple giggling around you and he thinks that could be the two of you—if only he were with you.

“Satoru,” you call him softly.

He hums, letting it sink in—the way you say his name, distinct in how you stress his consonants despite the softness around his vowels.

When you say ‘Satoru’, it always feels targeted, speaking straight to who he is.

“‘M so happy it’s you,” you whisper shyly, but it’s bright—unmistakably smiling, the visual of your eyes crinkling.

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, drunken affection and vulnerable confessions, but there’s that ache again, and all he wants to do is go to you, hold you. Be with you.

For a while, Gojo’s been resigned to the fact that there are some things he can’t give you: how you’ll never know true peace because he’ll always be linked to jujutsu society; how choosing him means choosing the tumultuous, the unpredictable.

And while you’ve already told him that you prefer this life with him better, for you to say you’re happy, that it’s him—

He’s thankful it’s you, too.

Tears collect at his lash line, pools of gratitude, “I love you.”

“Hmm? you’re coverin’ the mic w’your double-chin,” you joke, just to hear him say it again, he knows.

(There’s no way he has a double-chin from how you complain about his jawline being too sharp all the time).

“I love you,” he repeats, louder, steadier, pressing it into his phone’s microphone.

He’ll repeat it again as many times as you want him to.

You giggle and he echoes it—like that couple from earlier, your own version.

The clock reads 02:47, and he normally doesn’t like being up this late, barely getting enough sleep as is. But if you’re the reason why, he doesn’t mind staying awake.

3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED

“Satoru, you can’t keep eating sweets on an empty stomach.”

He turns beside you, the dull rumbling of the Shinkansen hardly masking how loudly he asks, “Why not?”

An old man seated across the aisle looks your way, grumpy by the folds between his brows—as if he’d been woken up by Gojo’s whining. You bow your head slightly in apology.

It’s been an early day so far, with you and Gojo catching the first train out from Kyoto to Tokyo. Departing at 06:14 doesn’t exactly leave room for food stops, so all you have are the two water bottles handed out from yesterday’s meeting and a pack of (now) half-eaten Hi-Chew that Gojo picked up from the convenience store last night.

“You’ll get a stomach ache,” you whisper, with emphasis.

He fiddles with the stick of Hi-Chew, tossing it between his fingers before popping one piece out.

The seats in the Shinkansen are spacious enough for Gojo to stretch his long, gangly legs, but despite all the free room in your row, he’s chosen to encroach on your space, sticking to you shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Nonsense,” he tilts his face, sunglasses sliding a few centimeters down the bridge of his nose, “I do this all the time.”

And his eye, clear and bright blue amidst the morning haze zipping past the windows of the train, winks at you.

Heat warms your cheeks; it’s too early for this.

The moment you look away, hiding your smile, he knows he’s got you.

Or not.

Because you seem to have gotten him—

—tucked in bed, nursing this stomach ache that could have been avoided if he just listened.

To be fair, he does do it all the time: a few candies, sometimes gummies first thing in the morning, last thing at night. So he’s right, it’s nonsense; he probably got this from something else.

(Even when you’d both eaten the same meals—how you always order to share because you like tasting a little bit of everything).

Which is why, you insist it’s from the sweets, his beloved Hi-Chew to be specific. And though he wants to, he can’t argue much when he’s curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach while writhing in bed.

“I made you tea,” you stand by your bedside, holding out your mug—small cereals patterned all over it.

He opens an eye, hair mussed up from all his squirming. The pain in his stomach is radiating, a knot that tightens in waves; this is different from the twist-y pop-y sparks of jealousy, and is nothing compared to the sting of multiple slashes.

Still, it’s a pain he doesn’t understand: a mixture of feeling gassy and bloated, like he needs to run to the toilet only for it to turn out futile. What makes it worse is that when he catches a glimpse of you, a lock of hair perfectly out of place, the sensation in his stomach intensifies—like butterflies flapping (or maybe just another wave of radiating pain).

“S’hot,” he grumbles, half of his face mushed into the pillow.

The mug in your hand is piping hot, steam lifting from it, and Gojo doesn’t like drinking hot things; he’s burnt his tongue enough times on hot chocolate that he swears any hot liquid is out to get him.

But you don’t know that about him—he’s never told you, he thinks.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“That’s kind of the point, baby,” you chuckle, tone doting with a hint of pity, “It has to be.”

Your hand rests on his thigh, attempting to soothe him. He catches your eye and whines.

“If I blow on it, will you drink?” you plead, “Please?”

At this point, he doesn’t know what hurts more: this stupid stomach ache or how nice you’re being.

You could have said ‘I told you so’ the moment his stomach started gurgling when you both arrived in Tokyo—but you didn’t. Instead, you asked him what exactly he was feeling and had him change into his pajamas as you nursed him to bed. Then, you cooked him real food, a bowl of Okayu for his stomach to digest something plain and non-irritable.

You haven’t stopped moving since you both got back from Kyoto, unpacking both your things while simultaneously darting in and out of your bedroom, checking in.

How you speak to him is so gentle, caring, doting—even when you have every right to hold it against him.

He pushes himself up, leaning back on the headrest. You smile, lovely, and beautiful, and every bit healing that it eases the pain a little, somehow. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you blow on his tea, scooting closer.

A gurgling sound comes from his stomach again, but it’s manageable, and he bears it as he takes you in—how you’ve barely had the time to change out of your clothes since this morning. You’re tired, he’s sure, but you don’t mention it as you take care of him.

The bed dips as you draw nearer, bringing the mug to his lips—he’s a grown man and he can definitely do this on his own, but you always take such good care of him.

Who is he to say no?

Sips of peppermint coat his tongue, warm as it eases down his throat. He wraps his fingers around yours, drinking a third of the mug before urging you to set it down.

“I’ll heat up a hot compress,” you motion to get up, placing the mug by your bedside.

He stops you, grip loose on your wrist.

“Have you eaten?”

You stare at him, a little surprised, but you nod.

“Just stay with me, then. Don’t need that thing.”

Your brows furrow, pouting, “But it’ll help,”

“Hug me instead,” his fingers play with yours, intertwining, “or I’ll hug you. Either.”

You shoot him a look, disbelieving, but he musters up a wink, for you, despite the new wave of pain arising.

“Okay,” you sigh, knowing you can’t exactly argue. As you get up, you land a kiss on top of his head, rubbing his knuckles as you get ready for bed.

When you come back, dressed in your pajamas, he’s turned to his side, lifting the comforter to welcome you in. You lie face-to-face with him, his arm reaching out to rest on your lower back, pushing you closer.

“You sure this is enough?” you whisper, breath tickling his chin.

“Mm, yeah,” he hums, hugging you tighter as he grins, “you’re hot.”

You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.

It turns quiet, then he shifts, resting his forehead against yours. White strands, as pale as your pillowcases, tickle your eyes.

He nuzzles your nose, hiking your leg up to rest on his hip while slotting his leg between your thighs—like a pretzel, twisted into each other tight.

“You’re too good to me.”

He’s said this before, and no matter how much you say it isn’t true—he’ll always think it, believe it.

You frown, gripping his waist, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know.”

And he thinks you’ve always been like this: hands outstretched farther than his, offering yourself to help carry whatever pain, struggle, or burden you can. You cry for the sadness others feel, share the hurt of anyone who needs it. You’re the pillar, the support for everyone around you—from Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki all the way back to Utahime, Suguru, and Nanami.

You’ve always been this way, ever since he met you.

“Does it still hurt?” you mutter, concerned, fingers grazing his stomach.

It does and it doesn’t—the pain is unfamiliar but he can take it, having gone through far worse. If he’s being really honest, a part of him just likes being babied by you.

“Better,” he inches back a little, lips curling into mischief, “would definitely go away with some Hi-Chew.”

You shoot him a look, then pout.

“Satoru.”

He figures there are still a few things you don’t know about him: how he really dislikes hot drinks, how discomfort turns him into a whiney, needy baby, and how he remains incredibly stubborn, maintaining what he stands for (but maybe you know this already).

“Hey, you should be thanking my Hi-Chew’s. It helps with energy when we fu—”

You swat at his chest in hopes of shutting him up.

He clears his throat, correcting himself instead, “—make love.”

This is hardly the time or situation to be talking about the other things you do on your bed, given that he’s been out of commission, curled in on himself the entire day on it. But you sigh, resting your palm on his cheek.

He turns to peck your wrist, hand coming up to cover yours.

“Just because you were fine doing it before, doesn’t mean you always will be,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone.

And Gojo thinks he’s right most of the time, if not all the time, but—

“We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…” you continue.

—when you talk to him like this, you humble him. Immensely.

He’s always known that if he were to give in to anyone, it’d be to you.

Things are different now, he knows; his considerations have changed too—like how to lay the foundations of a new, ideal jujutsu society, with all the political and diplomatic gymnastics he knows is necessary; what to do with all this downtime, with all this life and no more death looming overhead; there’s also you, where this relationship is headed, what he plans to do.

“What will I tell everyone when the love of my life, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, gets knocked out by sweets?”

Then you joke around like this so casually, kissing his nose and calling him the love of your life like it doesn’t bear commitment that spans your–his–entire lifetime—it shakes him a little.

He holds his breath, eyes staring at yours. You seem completely unfazed—a slip of the tongue maybe, so he lets it go.

“Okay, okay,” he pinches your nose as you scrunch it, “I’ll try, but no promises.”

You kiss his wrist in return—the softness of your lips always turning him a little delirious when he feels it. He pulls you closer to his chest, palm pressed to the back of your head as his other arm wraps around you, squeezing you tighter.

“But don’t complain if I only last one rou—”

He gets kicked in the thigh.

4 — WHEN IT'S YOUR WAY OR DOWN THE DRAIN

There’s the right way, then there’s the Gojo way.

Sometimes there’s an overlap, but most times he’s just unorthodox. Gojo’s always had his own way of doing things, but now, he’s throwing all that down the drain in lieu of doing things your way (which in this case, he’s decided is the right way).

Between the two of you, you’re definitely better at cooking.

He isn’t inept at it per se; all these years, he’s managed to get by. It’s just that, he’s only ever made quick, simple things—barely having the time or need to make things on his own when you seem to have an extra plate on standby.

Long cooks like this, for real, big meals aren’t his forte at all.

This is the fullest his kitchen has ever been, a trip to the grocery store producing bags overflowing with the ingredients he needs. He tightens his apron (yours, actually) by his waist, pale pink a stark contrast to his black shirt and gray lounge pants. It’s tiny on him, barely fitting, but it covers enough to (hopefully) save him from any mishaps.

With all the ingredients lined up on his kitchen counter, he stares, hands on hips as he contemplates where to begin.

You’ve mentioned before how his kitchen is every cook’s dream: complete equipment, all high-grade with steel surfaces for easy wipe downs and more than enough real estate to move around. It’s a shame he’s barely used it over the years, either too busy out on missions or lately, too often staying at yours.

The unease makes him fidgety.

There’s an air of confidence that normally surrounds Gojo in everything he does, but it wavers just a bit with this one.

He has to get this right.

It’s your anniversary—the third (officially), but the number doesn’t matter as much when the years have always blurred the lines of what you are to each other.

The past two celebrations were cute and fun, adventurous in how you’d spent the first one on a trail date up north, and the second one fruit picking in a farm, just west of Tokyo—things you’d both done for the first time, together. Now, there’s added pressure because this is your thing; everything on the menu for tonight’s home cooked dinner is based on your recipes.

You know all of this by heart. And though he’s aware he doesn’t have to impress you, he wants to.

He glances at the clock: 15:05 in white, 4 hours until you arrive. The table hasn’t been set up yet and he’s barely dressed, an array of ingredients on the table waiting to be transformed into four of your recipes he plans to attempt.

Gojo is no quitter, but it’d be stupid of him to underestimate how fast time flies.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list—then he shoots a text, pocketing the device as soon as he hits send.

In the amount of time between asking for help and said help standing outside his door, ringing the doorbell, Gojo’s managed to do most of the prepwork: slice all the vegetables, set the rice cooker, and mix together all the sauces and glazes so he can set them aside for later.

“Just type it!” he shouts from the kitchen.

Four beeps sound from the door, a soft woosh following as it opens. Help enters in the form of spiky hair and a deadpan gaze, putting on house slippers by the genkan as he drags his feet to the kitchen counter.

“Megumi!”

The younger boy sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers, long sleeves wrinkling higher. “Why did you call me?”

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands together, “I need your help.”

Megumi looks him over, eyes zeroing in on the pink apron, then the bowls of sauces and chopped vegetables in front of him. The rice cooker is steaming beside the sink while empty pots and pans line the burners of the stove.

“With cooking?” Megumi shifts his attention back to Gojo as the older male nods. He mumbles, “You made it sound like an emergency.”

(“Come here now.” in proper punctuation, lacking any of his usual emoticons—only ever being used in the most dire situations).

Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!”

Megumi stares.

“Anniversaries are emergencies,” Gojo stares back, holding the silence for a few seconds before he continues, demeanor turned serious, “Think of it as doing this for your Sensei, not me.”

There’s a crack in Megumi’s resolve that Gojo knows only appears when it comes to you; a soft spot that exists because you’ve always been closer, warmer—an accumulation of all the times you were adamant on being present because the kids deserved someone there, especially when he couldn’t be.

Megumi sighs, resigned, as he pushes up his sleeves, trudging over to the sink. He turns on the tap, soaping his hands until it suds, “You should have asked Itadori.”

“Yuuji wouldn’t know how it’s supposed to taste though.”

“Sensei’s recipes?”

Gojo nods, fanning out pieces of paper from the recipe folder you keep in your kitchen drawer, “Your favorites.”

Megumi scrunches his nose, embarrassed as pink tints the tips of his ears.

His relationship with Megumi has always been a bit weird, a not-quite-parent-maybe-kind-of-distant-guardian-and-good-but-annoying-mentor-slash-benefactor kind of weird. And he’s sure that the boy isn’t too fond of the idea that he knows small, seemingly trivial things about him like his favorite food, but if there’s anything they can settle on, it’s definitely love for you.

“Do you have another one?” Megumi turns to Gojo, pointing to the hair band pushing back his hair.

There’s a different kind of care in cooking that he’s now realizing, coming face-to-face with the pot of dashi he’s just started boiling—a patience that comes with waiting and an efficiency meant for multi-tasking.

During the 30 minutes of soaking the kombu, they split tasks: Gojo takes duty rolling the Temaki on his own, while Megumi seasons the Wagyu and prepares the Sunomono. It’s not long before Megumi is directed to setting up the table as Gojo focuses on the Miso Soup.

There’s a reference photo, some picture he pulled online. The gray plates and silverware on his dining table match the iron-hued backsplash and steel surfaces of his kitchen, sleek but softened by the vase of red and white camellias from the florist you frequent.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, frankly because he’s gotten used to walking in on Gojo searching up these things: a youtube video of trail dates and articles of ‘the top 10 best farms for fruit picking’. There was also that time he found Gojo’s browser open on a catalog of lingerie.

(Megumi’s been trying really hard to forget that).

These aren’t things Gojo’s done before, much less thought of—romance and all.

But he admits, it’s hard work, wiping off the sweat on his brow caused by the heat from the stove.

“Why,” Megumi sighs, “Why are you cooking anyway?” He mumbles, adjusting the silverware on the table, “Couldn’t you just reserve some place?”

Most of the cook has been silent, with Gojo too focused and Megumi barely saying a word. So while adding the katsuobushi after the kombu boils, the older male answers.

“I would have, but she said she wanted to stay home,” he turns away from the pot, leaving the katsuobushi to soak as he shrugs.

Megumi snorts, straightening out the black tablecloth, “Don’t you have anywhere you want to go?”

It’s a simple question. Innocent.

But it hits him then, how what you say follows; how ‘anywhere he wants to go’ is wherever you are, how he’s choosing to cook this meal for you instead of just ordering in—how he’s now considering you, in everything.

This isn’t his strong suit, far from it, really, but because he’s thinking of what you want—suddenly he’s domesticated, cooking for you in hopes of romancing you (even though he already has you).

You come first now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind.

He turns back to the stove, straining the soup through a fine-mesh sieve before adding miso paste, dissolving it into the dashi.

“I guess not.”

The thought stays with him, even as he drops in the tofu, dried wakame seaweed, and green onion. Even as he waits for it to finish cooking, moving the pot atop a different burner while grabbing a spoon to dip in it.

“Megumi, come taste,” he calls behind him.

And when the boy sidles up next to him, he feels nervous, fingers trembling as he hands over the spoonful of Miso Soup. He stares at Megumi, eyes wide open, anticipating.

The boy arches an eyebrow as he takes the spoon, blowing on it gently. He takes a small sip.

“I added less salt because—” Gojo speaks up, a bit panicked, fingers scratching at his nail beds.

“She’ll like anything you make, even if it tastes bad.”

Gojo’s brows furrow, “Are you saying it’s bad?”

“Or bland,” Megumi adds, smacking his lips.

“So it’s bland?”

The horror on Gojo’s face is laughable, but Megumi continues, deadpan.

“No, it’s okay.”

Gojo sighs in relief, then pouts, “Don’t mess with me like that.”

“I don’t,” Megumi sets the spoon down, walking back to the dining table to finish setting up.

The 18:03 on his digital clock flickers, and the rest of the cook continues: he heats up the skillet for the Wagyu—Matsusaka Beef, grade A-5, heavily marbled, meant to be tender and sweet. Some oil is drizzled onto the pan before cloves of chopped garlic are thrown in, followed by the beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. He adds a bit of soy sauce and red wine, to draw out the sweetness (or so he’s read), then finishes it up by plating it.

And, there really is a different kind of care in cooking, he’s now realizing; how, when he stares at what he’s cooked in the past hour, he’s thought of you through it all—your preferences, the way you make things. How big meals aren’t his forte, but for you, he tries anyway.

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Megumi asks, adjusting the camellias in the vase one last time. He takes off his hair band and ruffles his hair, hands tucking inside his pockets immediately after.

Gojo looks up from the spread of food on the kitchen counter, motioning for the boy to come closer, “Taste test everything with me.”

Lined up are a plate of Temaki, a wooden board of Wagyu, a plate of Sunomono, and a bowl of Miso Soup. For every bite he takes, Megumi follows. And honestly? He thinks everything tastes… okay.

The Temaki bursts with the sweet umaminess of buttery salmon dotted with ikura, the yellow daikon pickles adding a tart balance that complements the salmon well by simultaneously being sweet and salty. The avocado adds extra creaminess, while the cucumber and corn provide a freshness that lifts everything else. For some added decoration, he uses radish sprouts to mimic leaves on the filler plants of bouquets—the main reason he chose to make this: it looks like the bundles of flower arrangements you keep on your desk. What ties everything together though, is the crunchy, crispy texture of the nori, giving contrast to the creaminess it holds inside.

There’s a reason why Wagyu is so expensive, and it’s being told in the way it melts into his mouth right now, sweet and tender. He paid a pretty penny for this, but it’s worth it because he can’t wait for your reaction.

The Sunomono is meant to be a palate cleanser—with sesame seeds sprinkled on it, mild and sweet, while wakame seaweed and cucumbers serve as the base ingredients. The sauce is meant to be light, just a mixture of rice vinegar and soy sauce, seasoned to taste—and maybe his is a little lackluster compared to yours, but he swears you have some form of magic when it comes to cooking.

After each bite, Gojo looks at Megumi for his reaction—but the boy gives nothing away, face blank and devoid of any emotion. None of them are as good as yours, definitely, but for his first shot at this, they aren’t too bad. He’d pat himself on the back for it.

“They don’t go together,” Megumi regards the entire spread with his chopsticks.

All his hard work? Shattered.

Gojo is dumbfounded.

It’s too late to change everything now.

Should he just scrap everything and order takeout?

“But they’re not bad,” Megumi continues, washing his chopsticks by the sink before heading for the bathroom to change out of the house clothes he’d borrowed in lieu of an apron.

When he emerges, long sleeves and joggers, he asks one last time if that’s all he needs to do, taking Gojo’s nods as a sign to take his leave. The older male remains rooted behind his kitchen counter, frozen from the crisis he’s facing.

You arrive a little later (thankfully), giving Gojo enough time to figure out this whole debacle. He’s ultimately decided to feel around for how the night goes, then he’ll act accordingly—if you show any sign that you aren’t happy, he has the delivery app ready.

He dresses in simple slacks and a white button down, fiddling with how he’s rolled it up; the thought of you finally seeing everything he’s prepared for tonight makes him nervous—the table set-up, the ambiance, the food.

(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).

Then he senses it, faint traces of your cursed energy by the door, and he holds his breath. The beeps on his lock count down the seconds to your entrance; and when he sees you come in, surprised and so amazed at the entire thing, the tightness in his chest eases up immensely.

All he told you was to wear something nice.

And, by god you did.

You walk up to him, pretty and smiling in the simple dress you’d opted for tonight—a midi slip-on with a cardigan thrown on top. Black has always looked good on you, uniform or not, ever since up to now.

But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing.

He reaches for you.

The grin on his face is lovesick as he grabs a hold of your waist. You instantly tiptoe up to kiss him, hands on his shoulders as you land a soft peck that transfers a light sheen of lip gloss onto his lips. The view behind him shows the table set-up, a pop of white and red amidst all the food he’s prepared for tonight.

Your eyes widen, gasping, “Did you make all of that?”

He nods, pulling away from you as he grins cockingly, “Call me chef.”

But he immediately bites his lips, restless as he shifts his weight. He hopes you don’t notice how nervous he is—if you weren’t able to tell from his heartbeat, pressed against his chest.

“You didn’t have to,” you pout at him, eyes watery as you swipe your thumb across his lips, wiping off the residue of your lipgloss.

“Guess I’ll just undo everything then,” he chuckles, hands sliding to rest on your lower back, fingers tapping against silk.

You roll your eyes, and before his hands get the chance to grab you lower, you’re whisking him away, holding his hand as you lead him to the dining table.

He pulls out your chair and you sit, the rare gesture making you giggle. As he settles in the seat across you, there’s a disconnect between the expression on his face and his body language—eyebrows wiggling and lips smirking, meant to be lighthearted and teasing, but he won’t stop fidgeting, shifting as he readjusts his seating.

As you reach for the Temaki, he sucks in a breath, entirely hyper aware of every move you’re making. When you bite into it, he’s waiting. Anticipating.

Your eyes fall shut as you chew, humming, then you grin. But when you open them and they catch his, it’s like you can tell—what he’s feeling. The furrow on your brows deepens as you look at him, concerned, “Hey, what’re you thinking?”

How he hopes he hasn’t fucked this up, this dinner. What if the Miso Soup is too bland? Isn’t at all to your liking? What if the Wagyu’s dried out? Isn’t cooked properly?

If he can’t get this right, this seemingly simple thing, how can he do everything else? Consider you the same way you’ve always considered him?

He’s so sure of you his heart could burst at it, but what if he can’t ever come to terms with himself? With what he’s able to—

Then he feels it, your hand on his as you reach for him across the table, rubbing the back of it, soothing.

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s worrying.

“Megumi said it doesn’t go together,” he stares into your eyes, breathing slowly, grounding. It’s been a while since he’s given you a non-answer, but you accept it, patiently.

“Megumi was here?” you ask gently, brow arched curiously.

He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.”

You hum, looking back at the food on the table before taking his other hand, soothing, “Well, that’s Megumi’s preference. Mine will be different.”

The smile you give him is warm, like the Miso Soup you’re reaching for right now. He watches you take a sip.

“S’good, better than mine,” You hum and he knows you’re lying but it’s still comforting, the fact that you’d do this for him.

So if this is your effort for him, he isn’t going to waste it.

The rest of the dinner has you making the most exaggerated sounds, your ‘mmm’s and ‘ooo’s emphasizing how good the food is if he still doesn’t believe it. Your reactions are over-the-top and definitely overplayed, but it makes him laugh—has him grinning in his seat the more he relaxes.

You help clean up, even though he insists that you shouldn’t.

“It’s our anniversary, Satoru,” you bump his hip, shooing him away from the table as you stack up the dirty plates.

When he finishes washing the dishes and turns to find you, sitting atop his kitchen counter, nibbling on a piece of strawberry from the special Daifuku he put out for dessert, he approaches you.

“Don’t be greedy now,” he rests his hand on your knee, coming to stand in between your legs. You hike your dress up a little bit, just to give him some space.

You chuckle, cupping your hand under his chin as you feed him; he eats the entire thing, half-bitten by you already. And as the tips of your fingers touch his lips, sticky and syrupy from the strawberry coating, he takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly.

He holds your gaze.

“Thanks for doing all this,” you blink twice as he releases your fingers, interlacing them with his, “s’not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life.”

You say it again—how you call him that so casually.

What do you mean it’s not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life?

You do it for him all the time.

He hums, moving closer. His other hand rises higher, kneading the flesh of your thighs through the smooth silk of your midi dress.

“Thought you were going to spit it out for a second there,” he swallows his nerves.

“Stop,” you frown, grabbing him by his belt loops before pressing your lips against his forehead, landing a loud ‘smack’, “go away silly thoughts.”

He chuckles when you blow a raspberry on it, laughter easing up as you drag your lips down to the center of his brows, tense from all the worrying earlier.

You always seem to get it right, he thinks, this whole relationship thing—always knowing what to say.

He tilts his head up, leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, fully. The breath he lets out mingles with yours, sweet with hints of strawberry, and when he catches your bottom lip you lean back, hands coming to rest on his cheeks.

You nip on his upper lip, playful but light, and he groans, hand reaching up to slot itself by your neck.

It’s there, underneath his fingertips, the pounding of your heartbeat.

As you squirm on the kitchen counter, you pull away for a moment, restless from the growing heat. The action is subtle but dangerous as your cardigan slips off your shoulder, revealing the strap and lace of your lingerie.

Blue eyes land on familiar pink, one he’s certain he’s caught you in before, but seeing it now, under white, it does something to his brain—blood rushing, ears ringing.

He leans closer, grabbing you by the waist as he runs his lips against along your neck, nipping on sensitive skin.

“‘Toru,” you gasp, breathy as you grip his shirt.

“Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs against your skin, muffled. He sneaks one glance at you, pupils blown, before hovering over your temple, lips barely touching, tickling as he whispers, “anything.”

Your fingers trail lower, pinching at his shirt before you tug, untucking it from his slacks. You turn to him, finding his lips, sliding them over his as you match his rhythm. It’s careful and slow, the way you unbutton his shirt, but it’s like he said—

This is your way; he’ll follow anything you say.

5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU

Gojo never thought he’d make this decision all because of your joint streaming subscription.

It’s a normal weekend, regular in every way possible—just a night in for the both of you. He usually stays over at the end of the week, but it’s been bleeding into the weekdays too, lately.

The sound of splashing water against tile echoes along the hallway; you normally play songs when you shower, but he guesses today isn’t that kind of day.

He plops on the couch, pointing the remote to the TV as he selects the streaming app. Normal weekends consist of movie nights, half actually paying attention to the screen, and half paying attention to other things—either way, it ends in falling asleep.

When the homepage lights up on the screen, he spots two accounts: yours and his. And it’s joint, under one household—your home.

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been thinking about this more lately: how the past months have been a slow realization coming to terms with himself, and where he sees this relationship going, but the visual in front of him sparks an influx of things he’s been noticing.

The pajama pants he’s wearing now exist as a pair to a matching set he has with you, but tonight, he’s opted for a white t-shirt because his pajama top is tucked somewhere in the drawers of your bedroom.

(You keep it with you because you like how it fits more, you say, but he thinks it’s because it smells like him, and you sleep with it when he’s away).

There’s another pair of chopsticks you always wash now, too, plain bamboo with a ring around the handle, light blue. You’d bought it from a market down the street a year ago, and told him it reminded you of him—how it’s his from now on, in the container of utensils by your kitchen sink.

He’s always known how intertwined your lives are, a decade and more of learning one another is bound to entangle you somehow. But the past few years have caused knots, impossible to unravel—a thought that doesn’t scare him as much as it used to; a thought he now thinks doesn’t sound so bad as long as it’s with you.

As long as it’s with you.

The creaking of the bathroom door snaps him back, the soft pads of your footsteps growing louder as it reaches the living room.

“Oh, you haven’t picked a movie yet?” you ask, ruffling your hair with your towel.

He puts on a smile, facing you as he hands over the remote, “You pick tonight.”

You barely pay attention to the movie, snuggled up against his chest, constantly looking up to kiss his neck. He’s the same, distracted, but not for the same reasons you are.

It’s a lot to resist, the way your hands creep under his shirt, warm against his stomach, but the sinking feeling in his gut makes it impossible to focus anywhere else.

“Not the time?” you tap his cheek, and he tilts his chin down, acknowledging you. The look on your face is anything but disappointed, and it tugs at him, makes him feel guilty that he’s making you worry. That he can’t give you what you’re looking for right now.

“Maybe later,” he takes your hand, lips grazing your fingertips, “I’ll get ready for bed.”

You nod, sitting up as he taps your hip. He knows you can tell something’s bothering him—it’s impossible to hide anything from you at this point, but this realization feels like a long time coming, like it’s been brewing, now spilling.

He gets up, kissing the top of your head before walking to the bathroom.

When he steps in, it still smells like you—the shampoo and bodywash you use. (Technically, it smells like him too—he’s started using yours because it feels like keeping you with him, everywhere he goes).

As he finishes brushing his teeth, reaching for his towel hooked beside yours, he remembers how none of this existed when it was just you. You only ever had one hook for one towel, how he used to share it with you only to realize that it would never dry in time for the next use.

Then he found it, some time last year, when he walked in to take a shower and saw a hook installed right beside yours, presumably his.

The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes. You noticed when you caught him washing his face in the dark, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm.

And the thing is, he never asked you to do any of this.

You just… did.

Because that’s you.

And it’s making him realize even more how he wants to keep it this way, how he wouldn’t mind if this was the rest of his life, everyday.

The mood shifts when you both get in bed, and if you notice it, you don’t tell him. Whatever was bothering him before has settled, his head clear, more focused to reciprocate your earlier advances.

He’s gentle when he touches you, taking the time to love you. Your clothes come off one by one with no haste at all, slowly, almost painfully.

But he kisses you all over, leaves marks on places only he can see—by your hip, at the center of your chest, and another one, visible, on your neck below your ear. This is more than what he usually does, but he feels determined tonight.

“Off,” you whisper, as you tug at his shirt, pulling it off before throwing it to the side of your bed.

He holds his breath when your fingers land on his chest, dragging across his collarbones before you tap thrice. This is a spot you’ve loved so intently, he’s become sensitive to it every time you come close. You leave kisses along it, some wet, others dry pecks, but it makes him shudder all the same, every time.

As he hovers above you, arm bent by your head, his fingers trace your lower lip, tugging only to let it bounce back; he kisses you, noses bumping, softly at first before it turns hungry—lips overlapping, biting. His tongue runs over your lips, smooth and warm.

There are more touches, more gazes; lips brushing and breaths mixing. The heat between you is shared, intermingling, and when he’s in you—

—it’s too much, how he feels looking at you right now, like you’re everything, the only thing seared into his memory.

There’s a life he wants to give you, and though he knows there are others who might be more able to—he can’t let go of you, refuses to. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else being this close, doesn’t even want to think about someone else waking up next to you—the bed hair he always looks forward to, the lazy smile against squished cheeks, the hands that always reach for him, first thing.

These traces of you have made him want the whole of you, and if this is him being selfish, then so be it.

His arms wrap around your back, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around him, and you’re both moving, timing in sync, and he’s crying.

He tucks his face into your neck, and he’s sure you feel everything—wet tears, shuddery breaths, but you don’t say anything. You hold him tighter, fingers scratching his undercut as he gets closer and closer.

Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities.

And this life he thinks you deserve—he wants to be the one to give that to you.

+1 — WITH MY KNEES ON THE FLOOR, WHEN I ASK FOR MORE

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way, because what’s the worst thing you can say?

It’s just you.

It’s just you—

And… maybe it’s because it’s you, that the .01% possibility of you even saying no—

—it makes him feel sick.

He looks back at the clock: 16:30. The walk from the conference room to his office will take an extra 3? 5? minutes.

The room feels tighter, smaller, floorboards practically worn down from how much he’s paced around it.

He’s rehearsed what he wants to say, how he’ll grab your hand and look you straight in the eyes as he does it. Fear and excitement churn in his belly, how he’s imagining the look on your face.

If you were here, you’d tell him to breathe—to follow you with every inhale and exhale.

If you were here, you’d smile at him, lips curled up softly, gently, the one he loves.

If you were here—

—the door opens, and you step into the room.

Now that you’re here, he doesn’t know what to say.

You stand before him in your uniform, smiling, just as he imagined you’d be. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling, the way he’s noticed they have since you were 17.

He must be doing a terrible job hiding how he feels because your demeanor instantly shifts, face contorting into worry, brows furrowed and frown forming. You drop your bag as you walk to him, hands reaching to cup his face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed and delicate, “Did something happen?”

Your fingers are warm on his cheeks (or is he too cold?), tilting his head lower so you can look him in the eyes. He can’t breathe, can’t hear you properly; you’re drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat.

“Need to tell you something,” he manages to mutter.

Your eyes widen before you nod, lowering your hands as you speak slowly, “Okay, do you want to sit first? I have water—”

He shakes his head, hand reaching for your wrist, “I think… you should sit.”

The pause alarms you, your body turning rigid. He has no idea what’s going through your mind, and you give nothing away as you mumble an ‘okay’ while walking to the couch.

He stays beside you, not too far but still placing a bigger distance than he normally would—for the 0.01% probability that this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t too close, forcing you into an answer you might not want to say.

The words float in his mind, but none of them string together to form the sentences he wants to tell you. Does he take it from the start? How this whole thing has always terrified him? How he never thought this was meant for him, but here he is, still learning but loving every second of it?

There are things he’s never had to consider before that he cares so much more about now—all because of you, how it’s for you, how he wants to do better by you.

You call him the love of your life and he hasn’t told you, but you’re that and more for him, too.

He practiced this, damn it.

Why can’t he remember a single thing?

The silence between you is tense, tainted by overthinking on both ends. You look like you’re waiting for bad news, and Gojo’s too stuck in his head, turning over the right words to say instead of reassuring you.

“I’ve been thinking lately,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers. His feet won’t stop bouncing, knee fidgeting. He’s biting his lips, a tell-tale sign that there’s a lot he isn’t saying.

You place your hand on his knee to calm him down, and he stops bouncing it, looking at you as you muster up a small smile—far from being genuine, but it’s the fact that you’ve mustered it, as if to say: ‘it’s okay, you can tell me; i’ll always want to hear all of it.’

He swallows, “This arrangement isn’t working.”

Your face drops, brows furrowing, “What arrangement?”

His heart is pounding.

“I stay over at yours too much.”

Too much, that mine doesn’t feel like I belong there anymore, he fails to add.

“I think we need more space.”

Your hand slides off his knee as you tuck it between your thighs. There’s a frown on your face he can’t seem to figure out, and the fact that you’re giving nothing away, whatever you’re thinking—he’s turning even more nervous right now.

“Okay,” you finally say, tone flat, “when do you want me to return all your things?”

He tilts his head at you, confused, “What—”

“Actually, can I…” you shift around, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before clearing your throat, “can I ask if it’s something I did?”

And his heart drops, straight into his stomach.

It’s not like that at all.

He’s hit with déjà vu; this conversation feels so familiar, so similar to one he’s had with you before—on the sofa chair across this couch, laying himself bare the same way he is now.

The couch dips as he scoots closer to you, reaching for your hands.

“It’s not—”

You scoff sadly, “Please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing,” then your tone drops, blinking away your tears, “if you’re going to break up with me, Satoru, just tell me why. Honestly.”

He blinks.

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he once told himself he’ll never tell you.

But now seems like it’s fitting—the right time to say it.

“You remember when I was unsealed?” he moves to the floor, getting down on his knees in front of you. You nod as he rubs circles over your knuckles, “When I first saw you, it was pretty scary.”

He brings one hand to your cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. You pout, the crease between your brows growing deeper.

“You ran yourself dry because of me.”

When he thinks about it now, he still feels guilty.

He believes that people are accountable for their own actions, and he still believes that with you, definitely—but he knows your reasons, why you acted that way, desperate for hope everyday. And for that, he takes responsibility.

“I didn’t want that for you, still don’t.”

Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more.

Do you still think he wants to do this without you?

He can’t take this, seeing you cry; he promised himself he wouldn’t be the reason behind this anymore.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” he tells you firmly, surely.

You blink.

Then your shoulders drop as you breathe out—what he hopes is relief. When your eyes meet, a little less sad, he sees the stars in them, glinting like they do when you look at him.

This should be his answer already, how much you brighten at the thought of staying with him. But—

“I still think you deserve more,” he brings your hands to his lips, brushing them against it, and as you’re about to interject, he chuckles, “but I’m also too selfish to leave that up to someone else, you know?”

“Soooo,” his hand reaches for his pocket, fishing around until he feels for what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone, swiping and scrolling until he finally stops, placing it on your lap for the both of you to see, “I’ve been thinking lately…”

He looks up at you, the two skies you’ve always been drawn to, waiting. The unease in his stomach returns, churning.

It’s a compilation of properties: houses, apartments, plots of land—all scattered around Tokyo, some central and some further on the outskirts.

Your eyes widen, tilting your head to the side as you attempt to read what’s on his screen. You turn to him immediately, eyes still watery; the expression on your face is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and confusion, like you don’t exactly know what he means.

“We don’t have to choose from these, it’s just a few brokers I talked to recently. We can look for others if you want, in quieter areas too—”

Then you smile, beaming, tears falling from your eyes, “Satoru,” and you breathe out his name but it sounds like I love you.

There’s a quiet life he can’t give you, but he likes this one with you much better too. He takes your hands, placing one on his chest, over his heart, and the other on his cheek. Then, he leans into it, kissing the insides of your wrist before staring back at you sincerely.

His heart is beating wildly, he’s sure, but if he can continue to make you this happy—

“Make a home with me?”

a/n: food descriptions—temaki is easy hand-rolled sushi, sunomono is japanese cucumber salad.

thank you notes: @stellamancer the actual birthday gift for u :') + @em1e for listening to me talk abt the entire plot and even reading the first few scenes!! + @mididoodles @kissxcore @itadorey @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #gojo x you #gojo x yn #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x yn #jjk x y/n #rated #shotorus.writes #col

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dailysabinasmuts · 3 months ago

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With all the down time Everglow have had, they decided that the best way to keep their fans entertained was to let them knock them up! After all, what better way to pass the the days than by letting your fans pump you full of creamy seed all day long. But getting sloshed full of cum everyday is no guarantee for pregnancy, the extreme sex the girls have been engaging in has resulted in difficulties. And not every fan can spend every day of the week plowing their favorite idols, so some days there is a low turnout...

So when you are the only fan to turn up, Everglow is quite displeased by this fact. Having only one fucktoy to pass around would be bad enough, but there is simply no way your seed will remain potent enough to even have a chance of knocking the last girls up. While the girls bicker around you, Sihyeon musingly inspects your balls to assess your... potency. Using techniques taught to her by Jihyo, skills learned after a prolonged breeding session, she determines the potency of the sperm swimming in your sack.

Clapping her hands to get her members' attention, Siyheon announces that there is enough strong semen to possible impregnate them all. But of course the girls will have to take turns, and as the night grows thin... so will your seed. So on goes the by now traditional blindfold, stealing your sight as aroused idols prowl about you. Subtle murmurs surround you until evidently some sort of agreement has been reached.

A small, nimble hands grasps your shaft, guiding into an incredibly tight hole that clenches you with painfully intimacy. The idol atop you carresses you balls, slim fingers working them before sliding down to your taint. She pushes eagerly against your prostate, all the while her tight pussy grips you like a vice. With a groan your first load is perversely milked out of you, surging into the tight confines of the girl riding you. With a giggle your lover unmounts you, groping you in thanks as she leaves.

The next girl plops down onto you without any fanfare, her hole accepting your length stoically. A rather mundane yet attentive ride follows, the idol stop you noticing what feels best for you and compensating accordingly. She makes a pleased noise when finally creampie her, evidently she enjoyed herself as well.

The third pussy is... loose. Her walls are like moist tissues, lightly touching your cock in a complete reversal to the first idol's harshness. Some time passes, the idol's enterance the only constant source of pressure on your shaft; enough to keep you hard but not enough to bring you to orgasm. Resigned sigh and grumbles tell you that this is hardly an unusual occurence, and feet patter as someone approaches. Familiar, tiny hands slide across your balls, before plunging into the idol's pussy along with you. Who moans as her hole is violated by her groupmember's nimble hand, which swiftly grasps your cock. So you end up recieving a handjob, while you're still inside of another idol's blown out pussy. With a groan, your load is jerked out into the warm vastness of the girl's pussy, hopefully impregnating it.

The fourth idol seens intent on hurrying you along by being extremely vocal. She simpers and moans, barely audibly gasping that you are too large and filling her up. Her riding technique seems uninhibited by painful stretching however; and when you don't immedietely finish she grows quiet and simply works your semen out of you with bland resolve.

The idol that comes after is obviously not blind to the exhaustion affecting your performance. She strokes and cajoles it until it is reasonably stiff, before inserting it into a hole quite unlike the others. Instead of pillowy softness, relatively tight coils constrict around your shaft. The idol bounces atop you with sultry enthusiasm, twisting and swaying down your length with every motion. She purrs with pleasure as she rides you, obviously and loudly telling you off her enjoyment. Sensing your uncoming orgam, she smoothly slides you from inside of her, only to insert you moments later into a much softer hole as you cum. She grinds on your dick as you creampie her, sighing with delight at your efforts.

Your cock flops wetly from the last girl, shrinking slowly in the sudden cold. It remains unattened however, as soft bickering occurs nearby. From what you can gather, the final idol is rather displeased at your current state; and more importantly, disgusted by the mess the last girl left behind. After much argument, she relents, and delicate hands gingerly touch your soggy member. A rather dispassionate handjob follows, which fails to excite you enough for use. Sighing, the idol positions herself between your legs, and takes you in her mouth. The blowjob that follows is far from intimate, but it gets the job done; the painful suction drawing blood back into your well-used cock. Moments after you are hard enough to fuck she is on you in flash. Her perky breasts skim across your chest as she haughtily rides your cock. A dainty hand grips your throat, and her soft voice hisses dire implications in your ear if you dont finish soon. Trembling, what thin seed remains sputters into this arrogant princess's cunt, causing her to sniff in derision; pathetic.

The idol uncaringly walks off, rejoing the others who are chattering idly nearby. Eventually the blindfold is removed, and you are greeted with the sight of all six members of Everglow in the nude, each of their pussy lips glistening and their bellies full of your seed. You'll come back soon, right? 😘

#kpop smut #Everglow smut #mia smut #yiren smut #E:U smut #Aisha smut #Onda smut #sihyeon smut

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somewheres-woods · 8 days ago

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HII, I’m still trying to figure out in what order to watch the movies. But aside from that, I’d like to request a Drabble about Reader whose techniques revolve around her surroundings and items. (Basically taking advantage of the surroundings and the items she has to take control over the fight.)?

I know that realistically, the reader wouldn’t be able to kill a Yaujta. BUT it is fictional..so… spare me!

The scenario this time being the reader and Yaujta, who she barely manages to kill. Then from exhaustion collapsed right after, (not fall out of conscious but rather is unable to move her body). Only to be confronted by that dead Yaujtas brothers.

I know their all about honor, so maybe they wouldn’t kill her or attack her. But I’d like to see a bit of ur writing hehe!

Notes— reader doesn’t have to be she/her, those are just pronouns that I generally use! :D

Hello again!

I personally don't think there's a correct order to watch the films. It's pretty easy to get into the plot of each movie, honestly. The first time I watched them, I watched them in the order they released in. The second time, I just watched them based on my favourite movies.

From each plot point of the movie, every human that manages to kill a yautja adopts the technique of using their surroundings to their advantage. A human cannot brute force their way through a fight against a yautja, so you have to get creative.

That's what makes humans such worthy prey. It's their ability to get creative.

So, using your surroundings to your advantage is the only way to best a trained yautja warrior. And once you have successfully fended him off and killed him, you can't help but nearly collapse from the amount of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Though, with the appearance of two more yautja, it's impossible to relax just yet.

While that was their brother, of whom they mourn, they understand that he died a warriors death. You, being the worthy adversary who took him out, have now captured their attention as a worthy champion.

We know that yautja take humans and other beasts prisoner to fight in the arenas once they have successfully killed a yautja. You will be no exception.

It's a vicious cycle now. From being woken up from cyro stasis with no idea how much time has passed to being put up against a beast or a yautja for entertainment. It's a hard life to live, one that's near impossible to escape from.

Your only options now are to die violently (high chance), or to earn the respect of yautja, and ascend to join a clan (slim to none, yet not impossible).

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #predator killer of killers #drabble #predator x reader #ask #juuuuno-o

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redr0sewrites · 5 months ago

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🎆 A/n: this theme cost me my life and soul

🎆 Cw: soft smut, afab!reader, dom!kafka, (slight) somnophilia, cunnilingus, pwnp, scissoring, aftercare mentioned

🎆 dividers

the soft caresses of thin, manicured nails across your abdomen are what rouse you from your slumber. you shiver at the feeling, instinctively curling away from the ticklish sensation as foreign yet familiar hands continue to sensually stroke your body, trailing across your fluttering abdomen and giving your tummy an appreciative squeeze before slipping nimbly down between your thighs. you stir, forcing yourself to raise your head and watch the slim figure of your lover, who had positioned herself over you with elegant poise only she could possess in the dead of night.

"Kafka..?" you mumble, voice raspy and muffled from sleep.

"shhhh," Kafka coo's, her voice cool and seductive as she raises herself up to your level. the only illumination provided is the moonlight seeping in through the window, highlighting her hourglass curves as she hovers over you. her strong arms frame your head, and your eyes trail upwards to her face, where you could just make out her lustful gaze through lidded eyes. then, your eyes travel downwards, gazing over the swell of her breasts, down past the plush of her stomach to her thighs and soaked sex, all barely visible in the dim lighting. Kafka lets out a soft, airy chuckle before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. while doing so, she pushes you back down to the mattress, gentle but firm in her dominance.

"go back to sleep," she whispers, voice thick and warm, like a river engulfing you, swallowing you from all sides in a comforting, soulful way. "i'm sure you don't mind if i pleasure you, hm?"

the questioning undertone is left obvious, arousal already causing you to flush beneath her scrutinizing gaze. despite being the one to usually take the initiative, Kafka always left the choice of sex up to you, and you know that should you even have a moments hesitation, she'd stop absuptly. her unique relationship with emotions, or rather lack thereof, made her much less privy to noting whether or not you were aroused in the moment. not to say she wasn't deathly observant, however, Kafka was always cautious, especially when it came to you.

despite you feeling so utterly sleepy, you desperately want her to mimic the feeling of her hands on you, just like she had moments before, and you roll your hips up ever so slightly to meet hers in a show of arousal.

"mhm.. continue.. please," you mumble, and she hums in response before trailing back down your body.

"relax, darling, go back to sleep. i'll take care of you," she purrs, and you oblige, letting your heavy, heavy eyelids fall shut as she peels your panties away. the cold air meeting your exposed sex makes you shiver, and Kafka relishes in the sight. nimble fingers spread your folds, and she lets out a pleased chuckle at the sight of you already soaked in arousal.

"needy thing," she whispers, leaning down to press a kiss over your pulsing clit. "just can't do a thing without me~"

she's swift in spreading your legs and throwing them over her shoulders, so much so that you barely recognize the change in position until her tongue meets your cunt. her ministrations are experienced and lustful as she eats you out with mind melting skill, lips sucking on your pretty pussy like candy. she knows everything that makes you tick, from her technique to her pace, she ravishes you with the fervor of a starved man, licking and sucking on your cunt as though its her last meal.

meanwhile, you drift in and out of consciousness, head fuzzy and melting with a mixture of sleepiness and pleasure. you feel as though your being devoured whole, the messy click of your cunt against her chin and the slick movements of her tongue circling your pearl are enough to push you over the edge, and your thighs clamp tightly around her head as she guides you through your orgasm. maincured nails dig into the plush of your thighs as your cunt clenches around nothing, your hips rolling against her face as she continues sucking on your clit until your seeing stars. your cheast heaves and eyelids flutter as you slowly come down from your high, and Kafka presses an appreciative kiss to your pulsing clit.

"m' sure that feels much better, hm?" she purrs, rubbing soft circles on your hips as you force your eyes open. she giggles softly before beginning to clean up, but you lurch upwards, sitting up to stop her.

"what 'bout you?" you mumble, and she grins wolfishly. "oh?" she crawls upwards, laying her bare body atop yours. "want to help me reach my release too, baby?"

you nod, and she chuckles at your enthusiasm.

"you're so..." she trails off, shaking her head as you pout at her. Kafka leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, before wrapping her arms around your waist.

"can you sit up for me, darling?"

"mhm," you hum, situating yourself so that your propped up among the pillows with your legs wrapped over hers, both of your cunts just barely touching. your breath hitches when you rock your hips and feel the slightest friction against your overstimulated clit, and steady hands find purchase on your waist.

"shhh, slow down. let me take care of you~" Kafka teases, running her hands up your ticklish sides and enjoying the way you squirm beneath her touch. you had fallen asleep in nothing but your underwear and were quite glad for it now, as it had taken just the removal of your panties for you to now be completely bare before her.

wrapping an arm around your waist, Kafka pushes your hips together, and you watch, mesmerized, as your clits kiss while her pretty cunt grinds against yours. your head lolls, and you nuzzle into the crook of her neck with a needy whine as the friction causes your thighs to tremble. Kafka lets out a few soft moans, perfect and pornographic in a way only she coulf ever achieve. a nimble finger traces down your quivering front to toy with your pearl, circling your clit and trailing over your coarse pubic hair with thinly veiled attraction.

"hnn.. aren't you a pretty little thing?" Kafka moans in your ear, watching with sick fascination as your arousal-slick pussies grind together.

"Kaf- m'close !" you whine, biting down onto the junction of her neck and collarbone to save yourself the embarrassment of whimpering as she increases the pace on your clit.

"o-oh? mhnn.. go ahead, take what you need," Kafka whispers, throwing her head back and letting out a few beautiful moans the likes of which songbirds could never compare to. she calls out your name with the complete and utter devotion of someone truly enamored, and with that, you both reach your climax simultaneously.

the sheets are absolutely dripping when you come to, eyelids fluttering and cunt twitching. the only thing youre aware of is the feeling of Kafka holding you close, and you nuzzle into the warmth of her skin.

"you still with me?" she asks, voice soft and warm in the way it is only for your ears to hear.

"mhm, i am now," you mumble, and she chuckles, uncharacteristically sweet and girlish. she lays you back down on the bed, and you drift in and out of consciousness in a sleepy bliss as she quickly changes the sheets and wipe down the mess between your legs. she's slow, almost worshipful as she gently and deliberately caresses your thighs and stomach, wiping away the sticky cum staining your skin with devotion. once your satisfactorily clean, she lays you back down onto the clean bed, and slips in beside you.

immediately, you slot yourself against her, nuzzling into her chest as she wraps her arms around you. warm bodies flush against eachother and practically intertwined, you wouldn't have it any other way.

i love her so much more than any man ever could. kafka my beloved !!!

#kafka x reader #kafka smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #hsr kafka #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #kafka x reader smut #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr imagines #kafka #hsr kafka x reader #hsr kafka imagine #kafka imagines #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #star rail

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bxllydxnnabxtch · 2 months ago

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Bittersweet Saviour

Gojo x Reader

❀🇲🇦🇸🇹🇪🇷🇱🇮🇸🇹❀

Summary: Things quickly go sideways when you get sent on an emergency mission with your lover. When you both get split up, it's not long before this mission turns into a different kind of emergency.

Warnings: Profanity, Blood, Descriptions of reader getting their ass absolutely handed to them, Near death experience.

SMACK

The last thing you expected when you got sent on this mission with Satoru was to be launched through a wall by your fucking face. But as you blinked your eyes open through the incessant ringing and metallic taste on your tongue willing them to stay closed, you realized that this mission may have been a little (a lot) above your pay grade. The chewing out you were going to give Yaga after this mission might even rivel whatever injury Satoru’s going to tear you a new one for. At this point it seemed like the higher ups were trying to kill you.

You were barely able to stand up on shaky legs and a shitty sense of balance from your clearly concussed mind, but you managed. Alas, you stumbled, hand shooting out to what was left of the decimated wall for balance, as your other hand came up to use your technique. When, again, your body was shoved back in to the pile of rubble you had just climbed from. Your back hit the concrete with a sickening crunch, and a wail left you when you felt pain explode along your shoulder blades and cascade down your back like molten lava. Your head fell back, your neck resting at an odd angle as you sat locked in a world of agony. You tried your best to breath though it, but your chest heaved as you attempted to get your bearings. The next time someone at the school told you to fucking box breathe to cope during missions, was the day you would be put to death for murder.

The curse was seemingly toying with you as it stalked towards you with a sadistic grin, it’s skin a grotesque green with shell like shield formations covering it, It’s armor barely chipping against your prior use of your technique. You gritted your teeth upon realizing Gojo hadn’t returned since the cursed spirit had split you up with it’s multiple copies crowding the man. And if he was having trouble getting through multiple of them, it meant that this was a special grade, and your chances of getting through this one were slim to none.

Your body had become essentially numb to the pain as you backed yourself up the piled of rubble, your hands gripping the concrete as it sliced through your palms. You gritted your teeth, ignoring the crackles of pain shooting off along your spine as you tried to steady your breathing for the second time. Your hand raised as it curled into a fist, focusing your cursed energy into your palm as you let go of your middle and ring finger. Your technique manifested as a slice of wind launched towards the curse, cutting through the ground in its wake as it hurdled its way towards its target. You could hear it howl as it sliced through the air, tearing up the existing rubble and raking up pieces of it with its momentum.

The curse was flung onto its back as it collided with your cursed energy, throwing it across the ground, pieces of concrete and rock chipped at its armor as it was dragged further and further from you. You watched it tumble, rolling over a couple times as it’s hands gripped at the ground in a desperate attempt to slow its speed, despite the blade of wind actively shoving it further. Your technique only stopped when it slammed the cursed spirit into a building, the structure swaying at the impact as a cloud of dust and debris surfaced from the landing. A silence fell over the barren what once was a street, now more of a warzone, but it was short lived as you saw movement from among the cloud. It didn’t take long for the spirit to get up again, and your heart plummeted as you realized how little your technique did to it. It screeched as it got up, the sound piercing your eardrums as you flinched from the jolt of pain it sent through you.

A switch seemed to flip in your mind as you shot up, getting up off the rubble, deciding that it would be better to flee with your life than to try and fight a losing battle. Your palms left bloody handprints on the bits of rock and shale as you scrambled to get off the pile, feet clambering down the pile of blood-stained cement as you pushed yourself off of it, feet hitting solid ground as you broke into a sprint. You stumbled the slightest bit, but righted yourself as you attempted to fend off the violent nausea that plagued your sense of balance and direction. A steady burn started in your lungs as your fatigued body tried to keep up with the added exertion, your feet clapping against the ground as you ran with everything you had left in you.

Adrenaline shot through you when a solid object was thrown into your side, the shrapnel cutting through your hip and throwing you off balance as you were mercilessly thrown to the ground. Your body skidded across the tarmac as the wind was knocked out of you, coming to a stop as you hiccupped, heaving in a futile attempt to get air into your lungs. A grotesque wheezing sound came from you as you tried yet again, the strain in your chest finally letting up as you greedily sucked in mouthfuls of air. A sense of dread settled in the pit that had formed in your stomach, your throat closing up as a sense of panic took hold of you. You didn’t need to look down to know that the freshly made wound in your side was bleeding heavily, you could tell from how cold it felt when the wind brushed against it. You sensed that the absence of pain was due to shock, and that only meant that the injury was severe enough for your body to block it out. Your forehead came to rest on the hard asphalt, your body shaking from the shock your body was put under as you quickly weighed your options.

You assessed your physical state, and you really didn’t need to think too hard as you deduced that you were entirely fucked.

You had essentially accepted your fate by the time you had flipped over, and for a brief moment you wondered how Shoko would react to seeing your corpse in the mortuary. You felt the faintest sense of guilt at that sentiment, maybe if you had defected like Suguru, maybe you’d have been able to spare her the disappointment of seeing another one of her childhood friends exit the Jujutsu world, only this time in a body bag.

SMACK

That thought was quickly interrupted as the curse was kindly launched through a wall by it’s fucking face.

You didn’t even get a chance to process the relief at this development, as you saw a platinum head of hair pop in your vision and a hand come to pull his blindfold off as he stared down at you with those damn near blinding blue eyes of his. A grin spread across his features, a chuckle emanating from him as he looked you over.

“You don’t look so hot, princess.” He remarked slyly.

“Oh yeah, I’m great, thanks for asking.” You wheezed, hand coming to press into your side with a hiss. You flinched at the pressure, beginning to feel the warmth of your own blood flow through the spaces between your fingers. You felt the large divot that was now engraved in your side, and blinked up at Gojo when you saw his expression falter at the amount of blood beginning to pool around you. His signature smile fell slightly, silently examining you before pivoting around to face the curse head on.

“Just give me a minute to deal with this.” He said softly, and you nodded your head lightly. “Take all the time you need.” You hummed, a soft groan falling out of you as the shock began to wear off. You began to feel the steady thrum of pain throb through your being, squirming slightly as you laid on the ground.

You could hear the shuffle of rubble through the soft ringing in your ears. One second your eyes were on Satoru, and the next he had vanished, you barely had a second to flick your eyes over to the curse as you heard him sprint towards it with frightening speed. You saw his figure practically fly through the air as he cocked his leg back only to swing it at the cursed spirit. With a sickening crack, the curses head flew through the air, splitting it’s armor and leaving a stump in it’s wake. You flinched at the sight, tearing your eyes away as you heard its head roll across the dust scattered road.

You blinked and he was at your side yet again, face unreadable as he directed both of your hands over to your sliced open side. “Keep pressure on it.” He said, eyes flicking over your face as you laughed weakly. “Aww, c’mon don’t be like that, what happened to the cocky Satoru that never takes anything serious?” You joked, wincing as you obeyed his order, forcing your hands harder into your side. You struggled to keep pressure on it as you began to shake, hands trembling as they began to feel sticky from the blood.

“Shut up.” He scoffed, scooping one hand under your legs and another under your shoulders as he hoisted you up. A yell of pain left you at the movement, and his face fell the slightest bit as he adjusted you in his hold. “You’re pale, I’ve gotta get you to Shoko.” He stated softly, voice laced with a twinge of- dare you say- concern? Your laugh came out as more of a weak wheeze, head leaning against his shoulder as you stared up at him. “Yeah, I dunno about you but-“ you sucked in a breath of air, finding it getting harder to breathe as you gritted your teeth. “People usually get pale when they’re bleeding out.” You finished, eyebrows furrowing as a wave of nausea hit you.

A small smirk crept onto his face as he shrugged his shoulders lightly, your figure dipping the slightest bit with the movement. “I wouldn’t know, never bled out before.” He said with a huff. You snickered, shaking your head lightly as laughter wracked through you. A wave of pain hit you immediately after, and you tensed in his hold. “Ugh you’re such a dick.”

Your eyes slipped closed as you rested your head against his chest, feeling your surroundings change as you snapped them open again in surprise. You quickly took note of the beds that took up the room, and your jaw fell in astonishment as you blinked in shock. Your eyes flickered up to him, Brows knitting together in confusion as you realized what he had done. “Did you just-“

He cut you off, cocking a brow as he spoke. “Warp you to the infirmary? You really thought I was going to let you bleed out in the street? Wow, you wound me. Truly I don’t think I could ever recover-“ You cut him off with a soft slap to the chest, the action leaving a bloody handprint on his pristine white shirt. A groan sounding from you as you listen to him ramble about your subsequent betrayal.

“Just set me down and go get Shoko before you’re the one that ends up in a recovery bed.”

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kikyoupdates · 6 months ago

Text

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑟

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes.All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

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Satoru can’t believe what he’s hearing. Out of nowhere, you’ve got a Binding Vow? And not just any kind of vow, but one where your life literally hangs in the balance?

For obvious reasons, he doesn’t take the news well.

“What’s wrong with you?!” he exclaims. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard! Why would you ever risk your life like that in exchange for more power? I already promised to protect you! It doesn’t make any sense!”

“But it’s worth it,” you simply reply. “I wasn’t strong to begin with. I probably would only have been able to exorcize weak curses anyway. Most people are strong enough to do that as well. This way, if someone ever happens to get hurt, I can at least do something to help. I won’t be useless anymore. I thought long and hard about this, and I realized it was the best option.”

“The best option…?” Satoru blinks in disbelief. “How could this ever be the best option? You said that if you hurt anyone, you’ll die instantly!”

“Only if I hurt them with my cursed energy.” You square your hands upon your hips and proudly puff out your chest. “Binding Vows have loopholes that you can exploit. You just have to be careful with the phrasing. I’m not allowed to hurt anyone with my own cursed energy, but I never said I couldn’t hurt people with cursed tools, for example. And even talismans. I plan on training so that I can use weapons properly. See? Isn’t it the perfect plan?”

He supposes that’s true. You did specify that you would only die if your own cursed energy happened to harm someone else. Technically speaking, there’s no rule that you can’t fight through other means.

Even so, he’s terrified. Because this could easily go very, very wrong.

“In your Binding Vow, you said that if you were ever to hurt someone else with your cursed energy, you would die, instantly,” Satoru weakly grits out.

“That’s right,” you nod.

“And you say you don’t plan on using your cursed energy at all, but you plan to fight with weapons instead. The only time you’ll use cursed energy is to convert it into positive energy meant for healing. Which obviously doesn’t inflict harm on anyone, so you’re safe.”

“Yep!”

Satoru’s expression darkens.

“So, then… what’s considered harming someone? What kind of injury do you need to inflict on someone in order for you to have broken your vow? Does it have to be intentional? What if you’re just trying to defend against an attack, by strengthening your body with cursed energy, and the moment an enemy makes contact with you, you die? Inflicting ‘harm’ on someone might just be using some kind of cursed technique against an enemy, if you ever develop one of your own. Or even just restricting their movements with cursed energy. Anything can be considered harm. The target doesn’t necessarily need to be bleeding or injured. If your Binding Vow is as serious as I think it is… if you let your guard down for a single moment during a fight, your life could end. In the blink of an eye.”

This vow you made is absolutely insane. He could very well be overthinking things, but regardless of how slim the odds are, if you slip up, even for a fraction of a second, there’s a good chance you’ll die.

The thought of losing you makes him sick to his stomach.

“I get what you’re saying, and I agree,” you nod. “I don’t know what exactly could be considered ‘harm’, according to my vow, which is why I’ve decided I’m better off not using cursed energy at all. Or, the bare minimum, at least. I’ll only use it to defend the most important parts of my body, like my heart or brain. Otherwise, I won’t risk it. I’ll take whatever damage is dealt and just heal myself back to normal afterwards. I’m going to train to suppress my cursed energy as much as possible, and only use it for healing.”

Satoru buries his face in the palms of his hands. “Ugh. I don’t feel so good. Seriously, what’s wrong with you, [Name]? You’re insane. I just… I don’t understand why you would do this. I’m the strongest. I’m always going to be by your side. So, why?”

“Because I want to protect everyone. Including you.”

Satoru flinches a bit, and he slowly pries his hands off his face, freeing up his eyes so that he can look at you again. As always, you’re smiling. Despite the horrifying vow you’ve just made, somehow, you’re smiling brighter than ever.

“I’m the last person that would need to be protected,” Satoru frowns. “You should already know that. I’ll be the one to protect you, not the other way around.”

“I know. It’s incredibly unlikely that you’ll ever need my help. But on the off-chance that it ever happens… at least I’ll be ready.”

It doesn’t make any sense. Satoru adores you, but he’ll never understand what goes on in that head of yours. There’s no reason for you to go to such lengths. There’s no reason for you to risk your wellbeing for anyone else. The knowledge that you’re going to be perpetually in danger from now on fills him with dread, but ultimately, it doesn’t change what he set out to do.

He will protect you, no matter what.

And even though he obviously doesn’t know it yet, you will do the same for him.

“You may be smart when it comes to school, but I guess I was right all along about you being dumb,” Satoru huffs childishly. “Only super dumb dumbos would make a dumb vow like that. [Name], you doofus. Now I’m going to have to clean up your mess.”

“I didn’t make a mess. Oh—unless you’re referring to how I accidentally stained my kimono with blood. Do you think the clan members will get mad at me?”

Satoru lets out a heavy sigh as he shakes his head. Sure enough, you’re dumb. But it’s okay. It doesn’t change how he feels.

He will cherish you for the rest of his life.

“A Binding Vow?”

“Supposedly. It sounds hard to believe, but she’s awakened the ability to convert cursed energy into positive energy.”

“What kind of vow would permit such a thing?”

“Well, if I’m to believe what I’ve heard, she apparently staked her life on it. She will die the moment she uses her cursed energy in order to inflict harm onto someone else. Master Satoru has been in a terrible mood ever since he found out.”

Yet again, you’ve become the talk around town. Or rather, the talk around the estate, you suppose. The details don’t really matter. Point is, you find yourself as the center of attention once more, but it seems as though things are finally changing for the better.

When everyone discovered how smart you are, they started thinking a bit more highly of you. Still, even then, you were still held mostly in contempt, because you’re a weakling. You’re permitted to stay by Satoru’s side, but only because he demands it. If not for his orders, they would have kicked you out ages ago. Actually, they would never have let you come live here in the first place.

However, now, your value has just increased exponentially. Being academically gifted doesn’t mean much for a jujutsu sorcerer. It’s certainly better than being an idiot, but ultimately, it doesn’t make you any less weak.

You may still be weak in a lot of different ways, but for the first time in your life, you have a rare, valuable ability, coveted by all.

Reverse cursed technique.

Not many are capable of such a feat. Even among the current Gojo Clan members, there’s nobody that can heal injuries. Healers aren’t commonplace in the world of Jujutsu Kaisen, and their rarity makes them that much more valuable. If everyone had the ability to heal, exorcizing powerful cursed spirits would be significantly easier. It would also increase the survival rate of jujutsu sorcerers as a whole.

Up until now, everyone apart from Satoru has treated you like dirt. Everyone has scorned you, tossed you aside, or ridiculed you for your weakness. But it seems as though finally, the tables are turning.

Finally, you have some actual worth.

People look at you differently now. You’re no longer an afterthought, or a throwaway. Of course, you’ll never be able to compare to Gojo Satoru, but still. You have a purpose now, and everyone is forced to acknowledge it.

“I’m not sure how you came up with such a Binding Vow, or how it even worked, but at least you’ll be able to make yourself useful now,” one of the clan members remarks.

Satoru wraps his arms around you as he glares up at them. “[Name] was just fine before. She didn’t have to do any of this. She doesn’t need to be useful. She’s my friend. That’s already more than enough.”

“Yes, of course,” they reply insincerely. “What I meant is that it’s good for her. She always said she wanted to help people. Using reverse cursed technique is one of the surest ways to do that. She wouldn’t have had much fighting prowess in the first place, so this is a fitting alternative. Isn’t that right, [Name]? You want to prove yourself as a jujutsu sorcerer too, don’t you?”

Their tone is still somewhat condescending, but you don’t really care. It’s a step up, in any case. Besides, you’ll show them. You’ll prove them all wrong.

When all those tragedies are set to occur… you will be the one to change fate.

“I want to get stronger,” you nod. “I’ve already decided what I want to do. I need to train with cursed tools, so that I can at least hold my own against curses. If I’m too weak, I’ll just die instantly—even without the conditions of my Binding Vow. And then I won’t be able to save anyone. So, I need to at least be strong enough to keep myself alive. It’s the bare minimum.”

“We can help train you, but you will be relying exclusively on cursed tools, without the use of your own cursed energy. We are all sorcerers, first and foremost. Nobody here depends wholeheartedly on cursed tools. It’d be an embarrassment.”

They’re basically saying that there’s no one here who would be as strong with weapons as, say, Maki, because she can only use cursed tools. She has no cursed energy of her own to draw from. The Gojo Clan has many elite sorcerers, who’ve mostly devoted themselves to raising and training Satoru, but none of them are weapon specialists. You suppose it’s a pride thing. Relying on cursed tools is mostly for novices who still haven’t learned to control their own cursed energy.

Well, whatever. You’ll just have to make do with what you have.

“I need to get used to cursed tools, and I also need to learn to suppress my cursed energy,” you say.

The clan member arches a brow. “Why? Your cursed energy is scarce enough as it is.”

“Um, so that I don’t die. Just to be extra safe. The conditions of my vow are that I’m not allowed to hurt anyone with my cursed energy, and I’m not sure exactly what falls into that category. I think it’d be better to avoid releasing cursed energy. As much as possible.”

“Hm. Sorcerers don’t leak as much cursed energy as non-sorcerers do. You’re worried that by some chance, you’ll accidentally hurt someone, as weak as you are? I don’t think it’s likely. Not to mention that you seem terrible at controlling your cursed energy in the first place, but… fine. You may as well try. If your goal is simply to suppress your cursed energy, rather than manipulate it and use a technique, it should be feasible. Even for you.”

“Train her properly,” Satoru insists, squeezing you close. “I don’t care how unlikely it is that she’ll hurt someone by mistake. It could even be a 0.0001 percent chance. You have to train her to make sure it doesn’t happen. If you don’t do a good job… I swear you’ll regret it.”

He’s not even seven years old yet, but something about the way his pale blue eyes widen, coupled with the darkness that flickers through them, is enough to make the clan member unintentionally step back.

“O-Of course,” they hastily nod. “I’ll train her thoroughly. Everyone will offer up their help. She can learn from whoever she thinks is best, whenever she wants.”

Satoru smiles, seemingly pleased. You never thought that elite sorcerers would bother investing their time in you, of all people, but life is funny that way.

Your training begins. Not so much with cursed tools, because none of the clan members are especially proficient with them, but every day, you make strides towards learning how to suppress your cursed energy. Suppression is a form of control, and since you have minimal talent, it goes without saying that it isn’t easy for you.

Even so, you make an effort. You decided a long time ago that you will never, ever give up.

All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

“How’s it going?” Satoru asks, plopping down next to you. You’ve just finished your training for the day, and so has he.

“I think… a bit better,” you mumble hesitantly. “I’m not very good at controlling my cursed energy, but suppressing it seems to be working more than when I was trying to use it myself to crush cans and stuff. It’s going to take time, though. Until I actually get the hang of it. But I already knew it would be a long process, so it’s okay.”

“Hm. I see. Well, don’t give up. This is about making sure you stay safe, after all.” Satoru shifts closer, then glances down at the plate beside you. “Oh, you’re eating dango? Awesome. Who’d you get to make this for you?”

He reaches over to pick up one of the dango skewers, and without thinking twice, he happily pops it into his mouth.

Only to spit it out while screaming bloody murder.

“Ew!” Satoru exclaims. He splutters onto the ground, frantically wiping at his tongue. There are small tears forming in his eyes. “This is so… what even… what the hell is this?”

“Dango covered in oyster sauce and tabasco,” you calmly reply, and you even pick up a skewer of your own and munch on it with a bright expression. “Pretty good, right? I made it myself.”

“Something’s seriously wrong with you,” Satoru groans. He clamps a hand over his mouth, face turning green. “Ugh. I’m gonna throw up…”

“Satoru, I’m starting to think that you might be a picky eater.”

“I’m not! You just eat all kinds of disgusting things!”

You shrug, clearly unconvinced. You may very well have some misshapen taste buds or something. Not that you really care.

“...oh. Is that bird okay?”

You set your dango down and point off into the distance. There’s a bird lying on the ground, and you didn’t notice it at first, but it’s not walking around or even moving much. One of its wings occasionally twitches as it lies on its side.

“I think it’s hurt,” Satoru replies. “Maybe it crashed into something while it was flying and fell down.”

That’s all you need to hear. You rush over towards the bird in a hurry, with Satoru following closely behind you. It is hurt, the poor thing. It must be feeling incredibly overwhelmed and afraid.

“It’s going to be alright,” you mumble, gently cradling the bird in your hands. It starts twitching even more, clearly distressed by what it perceives to be a sudden threat, but soon, its discomfort fades away.

You furrow your brows, focusing hard, as you heal the bird’s wing back to normal. The bird doesn’t react at first. It looks surprised, somewhat. Surprised by the fact that the pain disappeared.

It finally realizes that everything’s okay, and without wasting another second, it takes off, flying high into the skies above.

“I did it,” you say, slightly breathless. Not because of exhaustion, but sheer awe. “I… finally helped. I know it's not a person, but it’s still a living being. I can really help people. I can take away their pain.”

“Not even I know how to use reverse cursed technique,” Satoru nods. He leans closer to you and rests his head against your shoulder. “To be honest, I’m still upset about your Binding Vow. It’s risky, and it scares me. I wish you’d never made it in the first place. But… I guess this suits you. Healing others. It’s kind, like you. It just makes sense.”

You’re not quite sure how to respond, so you just lean your head against his own, unable to contain your smile.

“Satoru, look! Watch me catch all these snowflakes in my mouth.”

You tilt your head backwards, up towards the sky, as you proceed to stick out your tongue in a rather unflattering fashion. Even though you can’t see yourself right now, you figure that you probably look pretty ridiculous, but you don’t care. To be honest, it’s nice being a kid again. It’s nice acting all innocent and carefree—for as long as you can.

Satoru frowns. “What’s the point of doing that?”

“I’unno. Ish jus fun.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth hanging open like that. You’re making a really funny face. If anyone else was here, I bet they’d be laughing at you.”

You close your mouth, relishing the feeling of more cold snowflakes melting against your tongue. “If it’s funny, you can laugh. I don’t mind.”

“I’m not going to laugh because I don’t want you to feel embarrassed.”

“Really? But you make fun of me all the time.”

“True. I guess I’m making an effort to hold back right now.” Satoru pauses for a few moments, only for a crooked grin to spread out across his lips. “Anyways, since I didn’t laugh at you, that means you’re not allowed to laugh at me, either.”

Just like you did earlier, he angles his head towards the sky and opens his mouth, allowing countless snowflakes to fall onto his tongue. You watch, with a bright smile, as he bristles at the novel sensation, and within seconds, he’s laughing uncontrollably.

“Whoa! This feels weird,” he laughs, and even though it’s not the first time you’ve heard the sound of his laughter, it makes you happier than you can put into words.

“Satoru, you told me not to laugh, but you’re the one who can’t seem to stop,” you muse.

“I just didn’t know what to expect. Look! I’m watching way more snowflakes than you did. It figures I’d be better, though. I’m always the best.”

He wipes a hand across his mouth and grins proudly. He sure likes to brag. Well, not that you didn’t already know that, but still.

“You’re not always the best,” you feel compelled to point out. “I’m still smarter than you. Well, when it comes to academic stuff, at least. You still like to call me dumb, for whatever reason.”

“Because you have no common sense.”

“Yes, I do.”

“What kind of person in their right mind dips grilled squid into peanut butter?”

“Someone ahead of their time, obviously. It’s called being avant-garde, Satoru. But I bet you’ve never even heard of that term before. That’s why I’m the smarter one.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

Satoru laughs again as he pulls you into his arms and hugs you with all the might his little body has to offer. Without the use of cursed energy, of course. Otherwise he would’ve flattened you in no time.

It’s a nice, snowy day. You’ve always liked winter. It can get cold and uncomfortable, to be fair, but you just like the aesthetic of it. It’s so pretty seeing everything covered in snow, a shade of white so pale that it’s practically translucent. You like the way rays of sun dance across its surface, and sometimes, you swear it sparkles.

As far as you’re concerned, today is a normal day. Well, as normal as any day possibly can be, when you’re living with Gojo Satoru. These kinds of silly, mundane moments have become commonplace. You don’t even question any of it anymore. On paper, it sounds absurd that you’re catching snowflakes on your tongue next to the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, and yet, this is reality.

“Come on,” Satoru says. He finally breaks away from the hug, but only to offer you his small, seemingly fragile hand.

Naturally, you accept it without a second thought.

You walk with him, hand-in-hand, on the way back to the Gojo estate. However, what you fail to realize is that today isn’t a normal day. Something is set to occur, and with it, your life is about to get even more interesting.

All of a sudden, Satoru is turning his head to look backwards. You don’t realize what caught his attention. Maybe a stray cat, or something? That’d be surprising. It’s pretty cold, so most animals are definitely in hiding right now.

What you find, however, is most certainly not a stray cat.

Fushiguro Toji is standing behind you.

He looks surprised that you and Satoru have even taken note of him. Of course he is. After all, according to him, this was the only instance in his life when someone took note of him, without him purposefully revealing his presence. So, today must be the day he stopped by to get a look at Satoru for himself. And you’re here to witness it in the flesh.

“That guy’s clearly spying on us,” Satoru says, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know who he is, but I hope he’s not stupid enough to try anything.”

You don’t respond. Actually, at this point in time, Toji must still be part of the Zen’in Clan. He hasn’t taken his wife’s last name yet. Not that it really matters. His sudden appearance has sparked something inside of you, and all of a sudden, ideas fill your mind.

Toji. A force to be reckoned with, despite not possessing a single drop of cursed energy. He’s unbelievably powerful. The only reason he died in canon is because he went up against none other than Gojo Satoru, and even then, it was awfully close. If he’d lived, there would be no shortage of powerful foes he could defeat.

Due to his resentment for the world of jujutsu, he will eventually leave the Zen’in Clan and become an assassin. The so-called Sorcerer Killer.

And one day, he will become the reason for two characters’ demise. Amanai Riko and Geto Suguru, respectively.

Toji is Riko’s killer. Not only will he assassinate her, but in doing so, he will set Suguru on a path of resentment. Suguru’s hatred for non-sorcerers was triggered by Riko’s death, and further perpetuated by other tragedies, such as the death of Haibara Yu.

But what if none of that were to happen?

What if… there’s a way to stop Toji from becoming a murderer?

“[Name]?” Satoru blinks, but before he can even process what’s happening, you’ve already let go of his hand and started running towards Toji. “Hey, wait! Stop it! What are you doing?”

It may very well be hopeless. You know that. You intend to save as many people as possible, but you also shouldn’t bite off more than you can chew. Toji isn’t the type of person who would readily change. Not only that, but he’s dangerous. He could probably flick you with his finger and you’d split in half.

Nevertheless, you’re going to give it a shot.

“I said, stop!” Satoru cries out. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you back, but you’ve already gotten quite close to Toji, who’s staring down at you with a look of mild bewilderment.

Satoru looks ready to pick a fight, going so far as to bare his teeth as he meets Toji’s dark, piercing gaze. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, protectively, ready to strike at any given moment. It’s a good thing he’s here, because it makes you feel a lot safer. Especially with what you’re about to do.

“Mister,” you begin, peering up at Toji with big, innocent eyes. “You don’t have any cursed energy. Not even a little. But… you seem strong. Really strong.”

Toji blinks. He’s not the kind of person who’s easily caught off guard, and yet, he has to admit that he wasn’t expecting something like this.

It’s faint, but you notice a smile pulling at his lips.

“Really?” he muses. “You’re right. I don’t have any cursed energy. So, why do you think I’m strong? I’ve only ever been told the exact opposite, all my life.”

“Um, I don’t know. I don’t really know how to explain it, to be honest. I just feel like… I can tell. I can tell you’re super-duper strong.”

“[Name], stop it,” Satoru urges. He keeps tugging on you, and he refuses to take his eyes off Toji, even for a moment. “Let’s just go. I don’t know what this old fart’s deal is, but he needs to mind his own business.”

You’re about to make a gamble, and the odds are most certainly not in your favor.

Still, you’ve already decided that no matter the situation, no matter how seemingly insurmountable the obstacles are, you have to at least try.

And so, you shall.

“You look strong,” you repeat, facing Toji with a bright, determined gaze. “I’m not strong. I’ve been weak all my life. So, I want to change that. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

It probably won’t make much of a difference, but even so, you smile.

“...will you help me become strong, like you?”

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