#how to find ring size | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 13 days ago

Text

BAD INFLUENCE

Synopsis. Summer’s in heat and so are you - luckily, your aIpha knows just how to…help.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!oméga!reader, aIpha!JJK men, OMÉGAVERSE AU, heats, knots, size kínks, matíng presses, they go FÉRAL, pheromones, spítting, chokíng, GOJO’S POWERS, true form Sukuna, dp, tummy buIges, creampíes, p talking, bréeding, losing control, best friend!Choso, matíng bites, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. OvuIation has me like this…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Mr. Milkman

“O-oh my, mmm, Toji-”

“Quiet.” He’s swallowing down his parched throat, staring down at you through the gaps of his dark bangs- on all fours, your trembling hips rut back mindlessly into his.

Sluggishly - almost hypnotized - Toji’s nodding his head down to take a sniff of those sweet, sweet pheromones of yours. Just a tiny puff before his body’s acting on pure, primal instinct- slamming every lengthy, vein covered inch of his until he’s thumping the bottom of your core.

Your heat was driving him crazy. His beefy arm curling ‘round your neck, nose pushing into your throat-

You find yourself sobbing out cutely, “Yes- yes, please mo-”

“More?” Toji doesn’t even let you finish. And if you were in any better state of mind, you’d be marvelling at the way his low, gruff baritone was breaking near the very end. At the way he could only plaster the reddened tip of his shaft against your walls and gasp—“M-more?”

Oh, now you’ve done it.

Now you were making him tighten his hold, a warm puddle of drooling splashing out of your mouth n’ all down his veiny forearm. “More, huh?” And there’s something dangerous to his tone. Something dark. Unsteady. “I’ll give you f-fuck- more.”

And before you can even register those words within your melty mind, he’s using the leverage to slam your trembling body to his-

“So much more you won’t be able to take it, doll.”

He meant it- oh, your poor, overly-stuffed cunt’s finding out just how much he meant it.

Because then Toji’s fucking you into the dampened sheets like an animal- fast. Hard. He’d been rough before, but never like this - like he’d die if he couldn’t feel the velvety ridges of your sweet innards.

Low grunts slipping after each swat of his geysering orifice, knees spreading even wider on the creaky bedsprings to feed your dripping pussy with his veiny measurement.

He pushes a hand down at the base edge of your spine and grins at the way it makes your irises stupidly whirl—“Tch, s’this it? Is this what you wanted, needy thing?”

“O-ohhh just like that.” You’re mewling, hands fisting into the silken sheets when he’s surging his hips after the recoil of each thrust. Chasing your cunt. “Yeah- just like mm–”

Toji grunts, “This enough for my girl’s slutty pussy-” One of his raven brows raise as he’s taking in just how utterly wet you were with your heat, extra layers of your slick ringing around his hilt. “-or d’you still want fuck- more, needy lil’ omega?”

Your cute lower lip wobbles and he already knows the answer- hell, he’s fucking the answer out of you just as soon as he realizes.

A large, callused hand swats down on the slippery slope of your pussy with a snicker. So hard that a slimy squelch! rings in his ears like music, “Speak up. Tell me what your heat wants.”

“Ngh- I want-” Your back arched at the warm contact of his thigh hiking up, pressing to the side of your bouncing hips to stop you from squirming. Every maddening thrust just had you so stupid that you can’t even string together a coherent sentence at this point. “I want- fuck…”

And the next few pretty noises you’re letting off aren’t from your gaping mouth - they’re from your sopping wet pussy.

Just the loudest, most lecherous slurps each n’ every time he’s opening up your every nook and cranny.

Toji has to nibble down on his scarred lips to prevent himself from whining- “O-ohhhh, I get it.” You swear you hear his lips depart with a husky giggle - a giggle. And Toji can’t help but urgently lick off the honeyed glaze of your slick all over his digits, extra sweet now. He roams them back down for yet another spank. “This heat has you hah- talking t’me from here, huh?”

Another three strikes, and another few gluey squelches.

He’s sticking the pads of his fingers against your cunt and watching as you jolt at the raw stimulation, whimpering. “T-Toji it feels so-”

“Ah ah-” Ah, for a second he’s wondering whether he’s teasing his poor girl too much- but then he’s whiffing in more of your heady scent and shit- what was he thinking about again? “If m’gonna be used for my ngh- cock, doll, I wanna talk to the lady in heat.”

Cock so, so swollen that he has to swerve his hips ever-so-slightly to bully all the way inside, your pheromones so hypnotic that every where he touched left utter bruises.

You were making him lose control.

You were making him gulp in a looong lungful of your clouded pheromones before he’s tumbling his head back and fighting for his damn life not to cream your insides already. Feeling just a pearly bead of cum escape the end of his shaft, “F-fuck, she’s gonna be the fucking death of me.”

“What are you–” You’re starting out, before flinching at the splat-splat-splat of something all wet trickling down the middle of your spine.

Snapping your head around and oh- the vision you’re seeing is something so effortlessly sexy.

He’s never been like this.

Toji- with his head lowered near your scent glands, chiseled abs tensed, darkened eyes glittered with tears. They’re travelling in a thin line down his cheeks and splashing onto your back, “Toji are you o- fuck!”

“Don’t you fucking ask if I’m okay, doll.” Oh, he’s seething. Leaned in close so your fever’s catching onto him in full effect, every ragged breath of his punctures with a harsh thrash near your g-spot. “Don’t you- fuck, look at her n’ ask if I’m okay-”

Mindlessly, your head lolls down to watch as he slides in n’ out of your folds relentlessly. Your pussy bulging wiiidely agape, struggling to take in his sheer size.

And Toji’s thighs tremble as he’s groaning, “Begging to be filled up- begging to milk me dry. This omega’s begging to be bred by me, and you think I’m okay?” Jade peripherals dilated, canines honed, he was gone. “S’what you want, right?”

The circular divot on top of his mushroom tip pushes against your sweet spots and you scream, “Yes- yes yes yes-”

“Shush, doll- can’t hear…” Trailing off, Toji grows quiet- well, as quiet as he can be when he’s making you squeal out after each jackhammer. “Oh…y’know what she’s saying now?”

“What?”

“Mmm—” Manhandling your head to splay out across his collarbone, he’s pointing straight inside his mouth. Grinning, “Spit in my mouth if ya wanna hear the answer, omega…heh.”

And it’s not difficult - not even a bit when you’re slobbering out pathetically with every tiny graze of his veiny cock. Hitting his ripe, pink tongue dead-on-

“She says–” Gasping once he’s lazing down his sloppy cadence just enough to make you feel the thick, swollen curve surrounding his base. So round and girthy that it was making your knees weaken - his knot. “-we’re havin’ a daughter this time, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - DILF!

“Kento, are you-”

“No no–” Comes his breathy answer, and you’re catching the way that Nanami’s bass hitches with each slip n’ slide of his cherry-red tip between your folds. “I’m quite alright, darling.”

And oh- you’ve known your husband long enough to tell when he’s lying.

Known him long enough to feel the way that his geysering shaft plumpens up inside of you, the shaky muscles of his thighs gluing to yours. Nanami drinks in another breath of your heady pheromones and thinks he can feel a part of his sanity genuinely splinter-

“O-on second thought…” He gulps, slightly-quivering fingerpads pushing up on the metal frames of his glasses. “-your heat might be affecting me a bit-” And you’re making his poor, husky tone break when you clench, temples glistening with a thin line of perspiration. “-more than expected.”

Your hands wind their way around his broad shoulders with a pout, “You can go rough all you want, y’know?”

“My love, you’re just talking out of your heat-”

“I want you to go rough.” And oh fuck- oh, you knew every single one of his weaknesses. From the way that he’s gasping at the slight pout of your lips, to the shuddering of his fat, bulging mushroom tip when you whinily add—“Please?”

And Nanami’s big - more than big. He’s so prolonged n’ girthy with his shaft that it usually takes him hours to be able to bottom out, to even dare to try.

But right now with your heat, all it takes is a singular, solid slam for his tawny happy trail to scratch your poor clit raw. For him to glue the pointed end of his shaft against the sponge of your cervix and draw a loooong glissade down, “Fuck fuh-fuck–!”

“Mmmm just like that-” You’re blubbering out, thighs thrashing when he’s starting to push a sensual, loving massage of his veined length. “Harder, Ken.” Too teasing that the only thing you can do is claw your way down to one of his wrists and mewl- “Harder.”

“But-”

And you knew he was being the sweetest. You knew it would make him break when you’re letting off a scorching breeze of your pheromones, watching in real time as it makes his pupils dilate.

You’re tucking in one of his thick fingertips past your swollen folds, feeling the startling cold of his wristwatch - still on - make your outer pussy gush with saturated slick. “D-do you not want to-”

“Never think like that.” He huffs, he pants and that only makes the primal whirling of his head even worse. Slightly ragged. Slightly out of control.

Nanami’s kneeing your thighs apart from his previously romantic missionary position into something lecherous that’ll have his slimy cockhead rovering the deepest. Banging the curvy end of his shaft dead-on into your most favorite spot until you’re seeing stars, “You don’t- you don’t know what this scent- this pussy does to me-”

A smug smirk starts tugging at the corners of your spit-glossed lips, and you can feel your scent glands beginning to heat up once more. “Oh, really—”

“Don’t-” Barely even able to let off a single cloud of murky pheromones before a sudden, engulfing hand comes slamming down on your throat so that he can squeeze. “Don’t you- fuck!” So he can cover up your scent- at least, that’s what it was meant to be, but in reality Nanami’s using that rude hold to manhandle your entire body to slam back into his.

Rougher. Harder.

His leaky tip probes into every one of your battered orifices until you’re left speechless, gasping at the sheer force makin’ all the air depart from your lungs.

“You want your alpha, don’t you?” He spits into your open mouth, and you can only gape because your husband’s never talked to you like this. “Wan’ me to haaaa- fuck this pretty pussy through your heat?” Never hiked his powerful knee up until he could pin down one side of your restless inner thighs with it. “Well you have no idea how you make me- ngh- lose my mind.”

And Nanami Kento, usually so put-together, couldn’t stop babbling from now on.

He’s leaving half-moon nailmarks down the side of your throat, “Have no idea how rock-fucking hard you m-make me.” Twitching so hard inside of you that the sensitive line of his slit engraves into the roof of your pussy, “Have no idea how I hck! ran all the way from the fucking office here.” He did - the very second you’d called him, right in the middle of his work day. Ran out, in fact. “And it m-makes me wanna…”

Your chin is positively glittered with drool at this point, and you can only whine—“Wh-what…?”

Your husband shakes the blond tresses out of his clammy forehead, like that will help clear his mind. “N-no, forget about it, darling I—” Only for all that work to be undone by a single clench of your gooey, circular-shaped insides. A single slip of his hands on your glands and he’s gasping, “-fuck! Wanna get you pregnant.”

And you don’t know whether it’s your heat driving him mad or simply you.

The way your skin burns up twofold with high temperature, heels locking at the dimples homed on the base of his spine to pull.

All your mind was craving, “Please- want- ngh- want it.” Eyes tearing up in an adorable way you’d definitely be embarrassed about if this way any time but now, your scent screams need and that makes him salivate. “Unless you don’t-”

“You’d be pregnant with our tenth kid n’ even then I’m hah- gonna fuck you stupid, my silly omega.” The straight edge of his nose bridge crinkles in amusement. Head tilted, Nanami smiles down through half-lidded eyes as you’re taking up every solid thwack! Every grind. Every spurt of dewy wet pre, “The only thing I ever want is my pretty lil’ wife ngh- all round and glowing with my seed.”

And before you can even blink your tear lathered lashes, he has his hand teasin’ your drivelling cunt. Hard. Sloppy. You swear the tint of his hazel irises only grow carnally darker when you’re pouring out around him.

Thumbing down the crevice of your pussylips before pressing deeply on your clit- one hand driving you crazy, the other interlacing with yours so that he can bite down into your left ring finger. “So stop thinking stupid things and jus’ open up oh- reeeeal wide f’me- fuck.”

It’s so much- only one, two, three straight barrels of his ruddied tip until you’re crashing into your high. Taking over you like a wave - and just as wet, you’re hiding your eyes in the back of your head and squirting.

Mouth ajar, pussy quivering.

Thick, translucent splashes straight onto the lines of his toned hips. Formulating such a steaming hot puddle that clings onto your thighs in a sheen, shit, he has to stop himself from craning his head down to taste-

Nanami’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow, “Fuck…” Roaming his tips to stir the lines of his veins across your sweetest spots, so good that it makes your toes curl- “Fuck. You’re lucky if we stop at ten kids, my love. ”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Drunk-daze…

“Mmm–” Geto’s mouth glues onto your clit after each sodden kiss, amethyst eyes barely even visible through his unruly bangs. “Yer even sweeter when you’re in hah- heat, gorgeous.”

And so much wetter, too- a gush of your slick streams down the side of his chin and leaves your inner thighs all flooded.

You can only clench your legs ‘round his sweaty scalp and whimper with every flick of his slimy, rovering tongue. He’s slipping them between your folds and lapping up every milky ounce of cum you have leaking out of you from all those hours before, oh-so-filthy. “Please- ngh- want-”

And he’s finding the way your hips buck up uselessly so cute- not that he’d admit it out loud, of course.

Sniffing out a chuckle, “Wha’s thaaaat?” The way he blinks his dark lashes up at you is almost hypnotic, pussydrunk. “Open that pretty mouth and use it for me, omega.”

He knew - oh, he knew what you wanted so badly.

He could smell the pheromones dripping from you, the way your gorgeous eyes were all glassy with need. Every tiny slip n’ slide of his expanding tongue inside your hole only making you want more more more- you were still in heat.

“Want- please-”

And Geto’s teasing with the way he’s languidly getting up to hover over your jostling body. Fat, knotted cock spanking down between your plump pussylips, exactly thrice. Geto seeps out his own calming jasmine scent as he’s rubbin’ your clit with the swollen base of his length.

Watching your sloppy hole wink up at him and crave the stretch, “Heh- m’only here to serve. Tell me what you ngh- want, gorgeous—”

Your mouth sticks together slightly with a few syrupy strands of saliva as you flap them open, starting—“Sugu, I-I want- oh, fuck.”

You can’t tell him - you can’t even breathe once he’s waiting just long enough that your whiny voice is beginning to babble- and then pushin’ the curvaceous ends of his cock inside with all his might.

Inside, swabbing his way until your slicked walls bulge.

It’s tight - hot. Your swollen folds are pried apart around the sheer circumference of Geto’s mushroomy tip, and the only thing he has half the mind to do is throw your legs over his shoulder to rut and rut and rut-

“Whoops.” Your boyfriend has the audacity to giggle - giggle, only stopping once he’s registering the sour stubborn scent of your pheromones. Apologetically thumping the flared ridge of his crown right against the roof of your cunt, it’s enough to have you shrilling. Tone lilted, “My heh- mistake. Promise I’ll be nice, tell me now- still in heat, hm?”

As if to prove his point, he’s slowing down just barely enough that the mazing direction of his shaft stops short of your g-spot. Where you wanted him the most. Croaking out in a panic, “Ye- mmmpf-”

But, of course, Geto Suguru was never that nice.

“Hmmm…don’t talk.”

In just mere sultry nanoseconds, he has your mouth stuffed with two of his lengthy fingers, your cunt overfilled with his cock. Bottomed-out. And yet, still pushing like he wanted that weepy hole of yours to remember his exact measurements-

Spitting.

Twice - once straight into your mouth, and the second time a great, glittering dollop against your cunt. “No need to when you just wanna be mmm fucked, don’t you?” Geto’s spitting out in pure raw hunger against your sensitive ear lobe. Jamming the doughy crowns of his fingertips in circles along your cheeks, in sensual unison with the circular motions of his rummaging cockhead. “Isn’t that all you ngh- want? Isn’t that what this fiilthy fucking pussy’s been beggin’ for?”

Hissing out ravaged whispers every time the globular end of his cockhead thumps your g-spot. Geto turns his head and gnaws down on the shell of your ear just because he’d already bitten you all over your glands.

“Fuh-fuck, Suguru- more- gimme more…”

“More?” Almost open-mouthed, staring at your fucked-out expression, you’re releasing such sweet, sweet pheromones that make the knot homed on his cock swell. That makes him gasp, shiver. “If you want more then take it, gorgeous.”

“Sugu-”

“C’mon.” Urging you with his sinful hips, he’s just so prolonged in his size that every shovel of his solid inches makes your eyes roll. It’s like he’s never-ending. “S’that all you can do?”

And you might be desperate, but he’s gone.

All but melting his toned body on top of yours, the ridges of his abs glissade down your front and Geto keens once your hands claw greedily down his core. “Tch- harder now. Harder- I thought you were in heat, omega.”

Fingers digging in so hard that it’s almost like you’re trying to draw blood. “I-I am.”

“Yeah right.” Nostrils flared, reddened cock furious each time he swipes it down the entrance to your womb. And teasing you was the only thing that kept him from fucking whimpering- “As if you can even handle this big stretch.”

Your breath hitches humidly, and you’re not sure whether it’s the heat or the pure yearning after the way his thick, throbbing kisses your treacly cunt. “I can handle it.”

“Oh yeah? Say it then.”

“What do you-”

“Say it-” Geto croons, head tilted down with such a sleazy smile. Smug. But you catch the way that the ends of his rosy lips twitch, the way his dark brows furrow, the way his strawberry divot spurts. “-say you want that hck! biiiig stretch, gorgeous—”

“I want it-”

Scoffing, “Want what?”

And he’s not just fucking you until your eyes swirl in pathetic circles- he’s slamming the curve of his rotund knot. Making sure to grind it in a way that just grazes your clit, “Say it f’me~”

Maddening.

“Big- ngh-” Mewling, “Want that big stretch-”

“Stretch her out for me, hmmm–” Toying, he can only watch as your trembly fingerpads smear open your pussylips. Aching for more, your thighs twitch at the way his knot was pushin’ and pushin’ trying to fit, the girth so big- “Now how about you say ‘pretty please-’”

And you can’t take it anymore.

Before you know it- before Geto knows it, you’re saddling your heels into around his lean spine and flipping the two of you over. Slamming him down by his muscular shoulders, shovelling his proud knot right inside like you were going to wring him dry-

“O-oh.”

Ah, you made the proud alpha stutter. Puffing out something raw from the end of his throat- eyes widening. Breath catching. Cock flinching as he’s shocked.

He can only watch as the glazed, cherry-pink spheroid of his tip pushes past your entrance and slips all the way back down. And you swear the infamous Geto Suguru whimpers, you swear he’s smiling. “Ch-choke me, gorgeous?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Knotty boy?!

You were riding Choso crazy, you were riding him dry n’ the only thing he can do is cling on helplessly to the bouncing sides of your hips. Spit drivelling between his unfastened maw after each bounce, “Fuck- fuck! Baby, I don’t know if I even can-”

“But m’not done yet, Cho— ” You’re cooing, brushing away the chestnut strands of your best friend’s bangs. He’d agreed to help you through your heat- and here he was, fucked-out and blushing.

Throwing his head back every time the rovering edge of his tip pushed against your womb, Choso’s chasing your cunt with his toned v-line. Letting the insides of your thighs squish his pelvis, “Please-”

“Hmm—?” You cock your head just as soon as he’s dredging up one of your hands with both of his own. Guiding it all the way up to his clammy neck- “Please, what, baby?”

You don’t even have to do it for him - Choso’s tightening your pretty hands ‘round his neck and letting you choke him. Drunken eyes whirling inside the whites of his eyes, he’s breathing in the air of your pheromones and it’s enough to make his plump knot throb. “Please- please, use me then.”

Oh- oh, his nose is just so sensitive to your heat. To you.

And the only thing you have to do is throw your head back to bare your scent glands- to let a murky puff of it reach his lungs, and he’s cumming.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Husky voice strangling in his throat, it’s all Choso can do to smear his meaty thighs further open and hit your sponged cervix. Letting the puckered, weeping hole at the end of his shaft plaster against the bottom of your pussy and flood.

In long, creamy swipes of his cock that leave your walls all bruised n’ battered. He’s milking himself on your cunt, trying with all his might to bead out every ounce inside of his balls.

But there was only one problem-

“Cho—” You’re gasping, once his orgasm didn’t feel as sloppy as usual. It’d been hours now, and Choso had always loved to make such a mess that would leave your entrance overspilling for minutes. And yet, now…“Did you just cum dry?”

“No-”

Yes.

He did, and it makes his dark, dewy peripherals glisten with a hot welling of tears. “No, nghhh- no no no no- ” With one hand creeping down to cup his aching hot hilt and help rut upwards. “M’such a hck! useless alpha.”

You’re cooing, “Awww- don’t say that-”

“But I am.”

And he couldn’t be- he won’t be. All those days and nights dreaming of having you, his pretty lil’ best friend, like this would be for nothing if he couldn’t even help you through your damn heat.

With your sweetened scent thoroughly fogging up his mind, Choso’s fingers twist into a few cursed shapes- and suddenly you’re feeling the air between your sheened thighs buzz. You’re feeling it crackle with cursed energy.

But more importantly, you’re feeling him harden. Gasping at the way that his red, bulging tip was now more than rock-hard, Choso’s prolonging his rovering cock so much that it was painful. “Oh, baby, don’t tell me…”

“Blood manipulation technique.” He’s giggling, thick lashes fluttering with every push of his hardened shaft into your springy insides. His mushroomed cockhead recoils from the back of your cervix and Choso almost whimpers at the loss of contact- just that pussydrunk. “It’s my duty, I hafta ngh- fill her up. Make her t-take my knot.”

Oh, he was going to have you so stuffed with all his cum that it was going to form a puddle right there on top of him.

And Choso’s already swiping away the glistening stripes of your slick spilling down his abs, pumping it back in with a free thumb between your folds.

“Come on-” Panting. Heaving in your scorching scent. Bullying the fattened curve of his digit past your first ring of muscle, you’re letting off such shrill whines every time you’re hitting your pussy down to meet his touch. “Come on come on- take me. Use me.”

The mere words are enough to have your heat flaring up twofold, the tastebuds on your tongue sizzling with saliva after each impact of his veiny cock. “You want me to mmm- use you?”

“Yes! Use me use me- s’what I’m made for, please. Don’t know if I can even do anything else anymore.” He whines, and suddenly you’re too-aware of the rotund, pulsating girth of his knot.

So big that a chilling shiver runs down your spine, it’s the sheer circumference that has your thighs twitching with need. Your treacly cunt already fucking back in your sloppy cadence to try and take him on.

“You want to hah- knot me, Cho?”

Your fingers tighten on Choso’s flushed neck as he gulps- “Yes- please-”

Pretending to think for a few sultry moments, “Hmm, well–” Even though you already knew that everything from the thickly saccharine pheromones to the way your cunt quivered at his cursed energy told him that you wanted it greedily. “Only if you bite me, too.”

And Choso Kamo looks like he’s just entered heaven.

“I…I can mark you?”

You’re barely even motioning out your nod, barely even starting before it takes him one ripple of his muscular body to flip the two of you over.

Sprawling you out on your back like such a slut, pushing your legs bent until your knees strike your tits, snapping his cock deeply inside before he squirts.

Not just cumming for an nth time - but Choso squirts, in thick, honeyed sloshes that take over your cunt. You swear you can feel it welling up all the way at your throat, and every sloppy drag of his cock only pumps it deeper and deeper and-

“Smells so good- feels so good.” He’s rasping out, a hand toying on your clit- just because it made you clench in a way that eagerly gobbled up his creamy dewdrops of cum. “O-oh, you’re gonna push me into a rut.”

Oh, fuck- your eyes widen, that was it.

That was the reason for the sweet chocolate pheromones taking over the air alongside your scent. That was the reason why Choso was more animal than man- more feral when he’s teething over your cute scent gland. He was in rut.

Hand twitching on your nubbed clit, just as unstable as his voice was when he’s uttering—“Need you to c-cum now. The momma should ngh- cum if we want a baby.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Heian-Era Hard

“Keh, fuuuuck—” Any and every time that Ryomen Sukuna might have teased you for your humanly stamina was thrown out the window. He’s bending you into a lecherous full nelson with two hands, and swiping his sweaty forehead with another- “Makin’ even the king break a sweat-”

You’re blinking, teary gaze wafting over your shoulder, “Wh-what?”

“Nothing.” The garish mouth across his abs bites one side of your hips, just a little punishment.

Honestly- your heat was just so strong that it had your tight pussy drooling all over the royal bedsheets. Sukuna’s dual cocks absolutely lavished in a thick gloss of your slick each time he’s spearheading you full, “Tch- but honestly, how much more d’you want, spoiled brat?”

Though, he wasn’t complaining.

Oh, never- not when he had you like this. His ruby-red tips rubbed raw down the soft surface of your cervix, Sukuna swats a hand over your mouth just as you begin to babble out an answer.

“Don’t answer that- you’ll only talk outta yer ngh- fucking pussy, anyway.” Rolling his crimson eyes, he’s smearing the wiry ribbons of saliva escaping your mouth and gluing to his palm with a grin. “Messy girl, you’re drooling everywhere-”

“Mmm- I’m- mmpf-” And it’s as if just the sound of your voice was enough to send zaps of electricity racing down his spine.

Breath catching, the matching girths of his cocks pumping up even harder- fuck, the smell of your sweet pheromones was already bad enough. He couldn’t handle having you whimper in his keen ears, too- “Why don’tcha just kiss me proper now, human.”

And before you can even think, he’s manifesting his second mouth to slash across his palm. Letting the thick, slimy tip of his tongue lap between your mouth and latch on in such a filthy, filthy French kiss.

“There—” Sukuna coos in his gruff baritone from behind, and the swell of his balls tighten at the sloppy visage of you. “Hah, this heat has made you even more messy than usual, mama. Look at you.”

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to, because the rough hold that the King has on your face lets him tug your chin downwards. Showing you the bulging orifice of your cunt in all your stuffed glory, singing out the loudest slurps! every time he squeezes his two tips past your entrance.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Again and again until your legs twitch sensitively at the scrape of his winding veins down your walls, “See?” He has the audacity to snicker- “S’it make my human- my pretty omega into a cockdrunk little slut? Aw…”

“M’n-not-” You’re fighting to gasp through the slight gaps of his spit-polished hand, hips squirming at the way he’s probing your every hidden crevice deep inside. “But I do like…well…”

“Tha’s a lot of words to just say ‘take it’, heh.”

And he was making sure you did, your heat doesn’t even have the time to flare up and ask for more before Sukuna’s giving it to you. Pummelling it. Holding your legs pried apart with his beefy, tattooed arms that just make your mouth water, one more covering your mouth. And the last?

Oh, he’s creeping his fouth n’ final palm vertically down your tummy. Glissading across the tender, cylindrical outline of his cocks, being thrashed against your womb and fucked right through your walls.

Pushing down-

He’s gnawing down on your bottom lip like cute bubblegum, “Oh, fuck! Kuna- oh my god, mmm-”

“Yeah, take it.” With a grunt, Sukuna’s thumbing his clawed digit over those precise matching bumps. He could feel the way they thumped two proud, circular bruises against the back of your dripping pussy. “Take it- take it and more, mama.”

If you weren’t stupidly cockdrunk before, then you surely were now. Dazed pupils heart-shaped and criss-crossing every time he was swiping down your g-spot.

“You have to take it take-”

You claw at his wrist, “I-I am-”

“I know. Yer in heat- can’t go a single second without feeling my biiig fucking cock, can you?” And at this point, Sukuna’s only grateful for how gone you were because your pheromones were simply making him babble. Jackhammering into you like an animal, “Want it all deep inside-”

You’re whimpering, steady streams of tears watering down your face when he presses his fingerpads even harder against the fragile spot of your tummy bulge. Your womb. “-here?”

“Yess- yes!”

“Mmm—” Sukuna pretends to ponder, for just a split-second, even though all he could think about was the suckling sensation of your cunt and just how feverish you were. “Well, m’feeling generous today, brat. So I’ll let you pick.”

Confused, your chin hits your chest as you follow his line of sight. “Pick what…oh.” You knew what. You could feel it.

All the way between your legs and nudging against the bawling entrance to your pussy, both of Sukuna’s knots were fat and aching for your touch. Throbbing each time they skid past your slick-sprayed thighs, stronger. Harder. “Eeenie meenie, lil’ human. Hurry up.”

“W-want…” You’re babbling out, and he can’t stop himself from hunching over with his towering frame to listen in. Struck with the full force of your candied scent, his favorite. “-both.”

Oh.

It’s a tiny, sinful gasp- and it rips from big, bad Sukuna’s lips before he’s realizing.

Before the words finally sink in and he finds himself grinning, oh, this was why he loved you. “Cheh, then…”

And he knew you were talking out of your heat, he knew it would be a tight fit, and he also knew your poor, soppy pussy might not even be able to fit all of him. But that was what your grouchy alpha was here for - to make it fit.

And he’ll do it.

“O-oh, fuck.” It makes you dizzy, it makes you wail- just the feeling of Sukuna’s second mouth enlarging across his tense core and wriggling the tip of its tongue between your pussylips. Stretching. Bending dexterously inside just to try and push his knots past your cushy folds.

Half-rutting, mindless.

He’s barely even pulling all the way out before planting his feet flat and spanking your cunt with the expanse of his lengths. Slap after slap- hell, you think you’re seeing one of his own hands slither downwards to pry your entrance oh-so-open.

The stretch so mind-numbingly delicious that you can feel your vision splotch, your mouth whining–“Kuna, I-I don’t think it’ll-”

Only to be cut off by the raw, lecherous plop! of two hot, heavy knots being bullied into you. So thick that you can feel the velvety layer of your walls twitch each time he throbbed inside of you.

And at this point, you’re not even sure you’ll make it out of this alive-

“And now-” His booming voice snaps you out of your little reverie, Sukuna’s scorched divots geysering out steady drops of pre. Blushing- and so was he. “-the fun begins.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - “P-pretty…”

It’s the one thing that can depart from Ino’s mouth other than the plea to simply set him free because your sweet, syrupy pussy was holding him hostage.

Already having stuffed his aching knot inside of you mere minutes ago but still yearning for more, more, more-

Gasping. Whimpering with every slick swivel of his mushroomed tip probing every spot inside your cunt- “Pretty, oh-oh, I need to fuck you- again- can’t stand being like this.”

“Again, Taku?” You’re mewling once his hips start pulling back from the lewd mating press he’d bent you in. Trying- failing because the girthy circumference of his knot was just so much, so big. “Baby, your swelling’s still not down.”

“I know.” And he’s oh-so-tortured by the fact, breathing in your heat. You. “But I wanna- need to fuck you again, sweetness.”

Cooing, “Need to?”

He’s nodding- nodding and nodding until you’re wondering whether the long column of his neck doesn’t ache. “Yes, please- ngh, fucking hell, I have this sweet cunt all on top of me n’ I can’t even fuck you?”

You’re almost starting to giggle, the determined wobble of his lips just so cute where he held you- that is, until Ino’s fighting against his silky knot. Reeling backwards, he can barely even move at this point- only slow, sluggish humps that tug on the first ring of muscle at your cunt as if he was the one in heat.

And the stretch is so good that it makes your thighs weaken, nearly falling from their perch on top of his shoulders-

“No!” Startling you with a gasp, he swats his aching cockhead against your g-spot and watches you squirm. Panicked. Urgently holding your thighs back up, you can’t be finished- you can’t. “No no no- no- we’re not done yet, pretty, let me– let me…”

He’d read up online that heats can last about a week and he needed to fuck you till he physically can’t anymore. Till your slicked walls had memorized him.

Until he was wrung dry and raw, Ino’s plump thumb comes snaking down to press on the cute tummy bulge he was fucking into you. All bumpy with the solid press of his cock, doubled up on his wads of gooey cum, “Oh, sweetness, you’re not done with your h-heat yet, right?”

You’re shaking your head- difficult, with the way that his delicate grindings had your mouth watering with scorching saliva. Scent flaring, “N-no, still have more to go, baby.”

“Yessss—” Oh, you wonder if he even realizes what he’s doing when he’s using a free hand to pry apart your swollen folds. Letting out the rawest carnal squeeeelch! just as soon as he eases his knot out. “C’mere then- milk me dry.”

And he’s sensitive - so, so sensitive that those prettily blushing cheeks of his streak with tears by the time you’re bucking your hips up. Voice drunken, “Are you- ngh- okay, Taku?”

“Yes- yes, m’fine.” Stubbornly, he’s fucking his slender hips back in tiny, mindless ruts. Barely even pulling out, barely even able to handle being even inches outside of your warm cunt.

It felt like fucking heaven inside of you with every wad of cum webbing your walls, your pussy greedily sucking up each thrust - and it wasn’t just the heat, Ino was completely n’ utterly pussydrunk. Prattling through his flooding mouth, “F-fine, tooootally fine- jus’ helping you through your ngh- heat like a good boyfriend, sweetness.”

Oh, but Ino’s sing-song voice was toppling, his toned chest heaving.

Each singular swat of his geysering divot reached into your deepest depths and made you keen, “B-but you just- your knot-”

“And I can give you another one-” Tilting his head down to drink in your syrupy scent, it’s making him almost crazed. Almost feral- the entirety of his body runs stiff with a shiver once you throw your head back and clench- “Gonna give you all of them- so many- everything- make it so you c-can’t even walk-”

You’re being fucked into the rickety bedsprings like never before- and you can’t help but ogle at the way that Ino looked so pretty during it, too.

With half-lidded eyes boring deeply into you each time he’s bulldozing your g-spot, bangs gluing to his sweaty forehead like a curtain, rosy lips pursed and trembling-

“R-right?” He almost sounded as if he was on the verge of tears as soon as your cockdrunk reverie lasts just a tad too long. Eagerly tugging on your clit to goad the answer out of you- fuck, your heat had him ruining himself on your pussy. “Right, pretty?”

“Nghhhh– yes, Taku-” Each split-second punctuated with the constant motioning of his sloppy cadence, again. And again. And again and again and again until you’re losing count of how many bruises circle your poor cervix.

Ino doesn’t have the patience, he doesn’t have the need to even give you the time to think.

Big, pearly teardrops of overstimulation clinging onto his tawny lashes, “S-so you’re gonna be mine, aren’t you?”

His- his mate. It’s what he was begging for, it’s what he’s rovering his slimy tip between your folds and making you gush for.

“Yes-” Cooing, your back arches into the perfect curvature once a buttery glide of pre slips into your cunt at the answer. “Yes yes yes-” Your teeth skim across his throat and his ravaged cock flinches-

Clawing at the sheets himself, you could smell his own pheromones pitch up in response to yours. The temperature in the room sizzling so many degrees higher, the tips of his canines digging into the side of your neck hard enough to drag blood-

“Oh- oh, fuck–”

It could’ve been seconds later- it could’ve been hours.

But you could feel the way that Ino’s mouth trickled thin lines of saliva once he stares at the now-marked scent gland at your neck and drools. Knot dangerously smoochin’ your puckered folds now, “And our kids are gonna be the ngh- absolute fuckin’ cutest, sweetness.”

Oh.

♡ GOJO SATORU - PLEASE ME, BABY

“P-please.” Gojo’s spitting through the gaps of his long, honed canines- snowy brows scrunched and staring at you through such heady partially-lidded eyes.

He slicks out a thin trail of drool from the corner of his lips when another wave of your sweltering pheromones hit. Grunting. Pushin’ and pushin’ his face into the scent glands at your throat just to sniff—

“You’re not- ngh-” Whimpering. Shaking each time the gooey mess of your cunt was clenching ‘round his fat cock. He perks his slender hips up just enough to dig out a syrupy, ivory wad of cum from between your pussylips, “-you’re not done yet, right? This pussy’s still in h-heh…heat, right, sweetheart?”

It’s been hours by now since your heat had started - hours, maybe even days. The strongest had bitten you across every inch of your skin and was still ravenous for more.

You’d stuffed Gojo’s thick, black blindfold between his pretty mouth for that, just to make sure that you made it out of this alive. And yet, he’s still pumping his red, bulbous cockhead between your folds like an animal, still gasping in the perfume of your heat.

He growls, “Oh, please- please don’t you t-tell me s’over already.” Gnawing down on the fabric- he couldn’t help himself.

“F-fuck!” You mewl, clawing down the sweat-glazed mounds of his muscular back. Oh-so-feral. “Toru, it- ngh-”

But the strongest wasn’t letting you answer, as if he couldn’t even bear to hear a ‘no’ fall from your whiny lips. He swats the raw, reddened curve of his tip over n’ over repeatedly against your g-spot to make you salivate all stupidly down to your tits.

“Right?” Drunkenly, he’s sliiiiding his nose across your neck and gasping in the sweet scent of your pheromones. Voice cracking. Octaves higher. Eyes wild. “Right? She’s still in heat, my girl? She s-still needs me?”

The dangling edge of his dampened blindfold strikes your chin and you moan, trembling with each rovering of his numerous inches. “Yes- yes yes yes- I’m still mmm-”

And that very answer seemed to make his big, beefy frame shake on top of you. Like you’d just broken him.

You’re making him so weak- and he’s just so large with his white-tufted pelvis squishing down on your hips, until the skin surrounding his base was all rawly pink. Letting go of the blindfold, “O-oh…”

Collecting his breath for a mere second, Gojo sticks his clammy fingertips to the undersides of your thighs. Hoisting them with his strong arms onto his deltoids, he drags one palm behind his neck and keeps them locked - biceps bulging as he pushes you down, down, down.

A mating press.

“Perfect.” Keeping you pinned with only one hand, you can only watch as his handsome, flushed face tilts down with such a sleazy grin. “Mmmm, of course she does—-”

Of course. Of course. Trembling, he swipes the thick end of one of his thumbs down your slippery slit. “Look at her, she wants to be hck! filled up so badly.” The mere sight of those pearly white beads of seed from hours prior dribbling out of you, making his ravaged length twitch. Rolling over your clit, “Wants to be plugged up with my fat fucking knot, huh?”

His knot was just so achingly desperate where he was pushin’ it constantly against your treacly cunt. Again. And again. And again just teasing your first ring of muscle with the incredible circumference.

And it was a joke - partly. It was him babbling off of the top of his overheated scalp as he fucks you furiously into the rickety mattress.

But you’re throwing your head back and sobbing at the sheer stretching pressure put on your hamstrings.

“Please-” Gojo’s knot was just so big, the sheer girth enough to have your pupils roll dazedly in silly circles. You tremble, “Wan’ it ngh- inside again, Satoru.”

“Whoooo–?”

“…”

And Gojo has the audacity to giggle whilst he dredges up whatever’s remaining of his scattered brain, “C-c’mon, pretty omega- what do you call me~”

“…Alpha.” Pouting stubbornly, your pussy clamps eagerly down his base and he damn near creams himself right then and there. He’s swervin’ his v-line just right to stir your melty insides, slipping out husky grunts at every slap of his pre-glazed tip into your deepest insides.

“That’s right.” He breathes- pecs heaving, tone airy. There’s almost something fragile in the way he is right now. “Your heh- alpha’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart—-”

You could feel him rummaging your quivering cunt, wads of sap sloshing side-to-side after every one of his direct hits. They were just so accurate and making your toes curl. “Close- c-close, Toru.”

And he’s just growing more ruined on your saturated pussy by the second. At this point, you weren’t even sure which one of you was in heat - you or him.

Definitely him- you’re realizing through your addled mind when he’s whispering, “And m’gonna be the ngh- best alpha- the best…dad, too.”

Both you and Gojo - lightly - gasp in sensual unison, just as bewildered as you were.

Echoing out through a shallow breath, “The best dad…” His hazy peripherals fizz with slight bolts of cursed energy, like he’s following the rovering of his slimy tip inside of you like an x-ray. “Gonna- gonna wash the kids- oh, dress them, mmm h-help you feed them-”

Whimpering, once he’s cupping one of his free hands over the bouncing area of your tits. Groping. Parched mouth sucking—

“B-but I want some, too.”

The stimulation throwing you into such a frenzy, your wailing whines are practically feverish at this point. Eyes sparking with pure white behind your lids, “Please- not gonna mm last.”

“And m’gonna cook for them- and you, sweet momma-”

“Fuck-”

“Gonna take them to school, come right back home and ngh- fuck another one into ya all over again.”

“Satoru-”

“So cum-” Gojo groans, voicebox scratchy. His pale lashes flutter as his Six Eyes work into overdrive, he knew it wouldn’t be long now. He could see it. Smell it in your sweet, sweet pheromones. “Cum now because you’re gonna end up s-soooo pregnant already.”

And maybe it’s just because of your heat, maybe it’s because it’s him - but you’re cumming, easily.

Thighs twitching with each flash of your high, you’re sticking them to the side of Gojo’s toned obliques to let him pound you maddeningly through it. The only thing you can fucking do as he’s hunching his washboard abs into you with what sounds like a whimper. “Yeah- yeah yeah yeah- take it- fuh-fuck.”

Gojo counts exactly five solid pushes against your g-spot before he’s able to bully his thick knot inside - and oh, does it break him. He throws his head forwards, leaking enough cursed energy to make your bedroom lights spark, sapphire eyes tearing up glassily at the feeling of your warm, cushy walls.

Before you know it, before even he knows it- he’s sinking his gleaming fangs into the side of your neck and finishing.

Your pussy was just greedy, swallowing up every long creamy wad of his cum - layers upon layers being painted down your channel. There’s a noisy, lewd squelch! when it’s too much and you’re flooding out a puddle of ivory.

Finally, you’re blinking, your heat was was starting to bate-

“S-sweetheart…I think m’in rut.”

A/N. UGH I could take them all at once (not in a fight-) Also this song has been in my head omg-

Plagiarism not authorized.

8K notes · View notes

nezuscribe · 8 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

part two

summary: gojo satoru was the most notorious man across the land. he was the strongest soldier the north had ever produced, the most brilliant of minds, and somebody who slept his way through the noble ranks. his parents set him up in a marriage agreement with you, hoping that a tie with a ring would help save his image. you know gojo never wanted this, and you try to act as if that was normal. but soon, without you or even him realizing it, he comes to the conclusion that while he never wanted this marriage - he's beginning to want you.

warnings: 18+ mdni: arranged marriage, angst, slight no comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated for a bit, heavy making out, eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, (naoya)

word count: 19.7k (sorry)

note: inspired by this drabble. i'm so happy this behemoth of a fic is done!! art credit: _3aem

jjk masterlist + series masterlist

Gojo Satoru was the most powerful man alive.

Not only physically, though some people chalked him up to being half god, but his name held even more control. The Gojo family of the North was as old as the gods themselves, and they’ve been making sure it’s been kept that way. They owned so much land that you would walk to the ends of the earth and circle back around and it would probably still be theirs. They had armies of unfathomable sizes under their command, so much riches that they could probably buy an entire nation and still have plenty to spend.

His presence was just as large as his name created him to be. Any ball he went to, all eyes would fall on him. On the battlefield, men feared to see the flash of white hair, knowing that his strength was unbridled.

And his physical beauty? Most people assumed he was blessed by the gods himself. Gojo had a certain look that just made your knees weak, your heart palpitate, and your cheeks heated up. The handful of times you’ve seen him from afar you’ve been able to understand why all the girls (and some of the guys) yearned for his attention. His eyes were a piercing blue as if somebody had held a mirror to the sky when creating them. His hair had grown whiter with the years, as white as the snow that sunk deep into the grounds of the north. Gojo had the build of a soldier, and he towered over most people. His bulky build was intimidating, but you heard some girls whisper behind their hands about how he must look underneath all those ceremonial garments.

The lord of the North was power itself.

Which would make you, by martial association, the North's most powerful lady.

And for somebody who grew up with the same respect as a stable boy, it was all too much too soon.

And yes, while on paper you still had your father's last name and legacy tied to it, you weren’t really a daughter to your parents. Your mother, though you had to call her by her name whenever you weren’t in public, seeing how she wasn’t really your mother, made sure it was kept that way. Your other three half-sisters should have been in your spot, either one of them more true to the family name than you. But seeing how they’re already married, you were the final resort.

Gojo Satoru, though you’ve seen him countless times (something common because of how close in ranks your families were), had only acknowledged you a couple of times. You didn’t care much, never did, because that's what you were used to. After all, it was a common fact that you were what they nicknamed “the bastard daughter” of the West.

But it didn’t seem to matter much to his parents, as they offered their son up to you in a marriage arrangement.

And who were you to turn that down?

They, his parents, assured you that their son was looking forward to this union. He was the one to offer it, they said, which you were skeptical of but weren’t stupid enough to question. You knew how much Gojo Satoru was tarnishing their reputation with his promiscuous ways, but as long as he was okay with this arrangement you couldn’t find any part of you that would disagree with it.

After all, you knew that this marriage wasn’t out of love, fascination, or even a mutual understanding, but because of the strength your own family (more so your father) held, and how you were the only feasible option for a bride.

So, after weeks of rocking back and forth on agreements, paperwork, dress rehearsals, and grueling dancing lessons (and still no sight of the man himself), you found yourself standing at the end of the aisle, your arm linked around your fathers as a large smile plasters itself on your face.

Ever since you were young you had convinced yourself that the only man who would want to taint his name enough to marry you would have to be either a troll or an ogre, so that fact that your future spouse was human was better than anything you could have asked for.

And you’re not daft. As your heart hammered loudly against the limited space of your chest, waiting for your cue to start walking, you reminded yourself that this was just a mutual agreement. It’s hard for people at your level to marry for love, but even then, you can’t help but hope that you can make a decent friendship out of this.

You glanced at your father next to you, catching his eyes as he nodded once, staring ahead of him into the small crowd of just your two families, and patted your arm.

You still remember the music playing, the instruments harmonizing together as you took a tentative step forward, feeling warm under the eyes of people you didn’t know, but you kept reminding yourself that this was the best thing that could’ve happened to you. Either you died as an old maid in the little room you had near the kitchens at your old home or got married to some warlord who wanted an entire village as family.

The orchids that surrounded the venue still infiltrate your nose as you think about it, the way the silk of your dress felt against your skin that had been scrubbed raw earlier that morning.

And there you saw him, standing at the end of the aisle. At that moment you realized how much of a mistake this was,

Because the man that stood there, the man who you were about to marry, seemed like he’d rather be dead than be your husband.

—

You blink out of your trance, sitting up straighter in your seat as you mindlessly stop tearing up pieces of your bread, rubbing your fingers together to get rid of the remnants of flour.

The dining hall was huge, far bigger than the one back home. Though you rarely ate there, you could still remember it, and it definitely wasn’t as big as this. Yet, despite its size, you felt like you were a little grain of rice in its vastness.

The Gojo estate itself was humongous. His parents resided in a smaller house near the ocean now that you’ve moved in, but you would bet that the word humble they used to describe it was anything but humbling. You’ve been here for weeks and yet you feel like you’ve only discovered half of what this place has to offer.

There were guards at every corner, but at this point, you’re convinced they're just for decoration. If your husband is as decorated a warrior as they say he is, he could protect this entire estate with no help necessary.

You stare at your plate, at the array of food prepared just for you, different sorts of cured meats, loaves of bread, cheeses, fruits, and juices from all over, and still, you feel no hunger.

Months ago you’d be ecstatic to see how much your life has changed. You get new clothes that fit you, food whenever you desire, people at your beck and call. Your room is no longer that cramped space you’d been given to hide you away from the rest of your family, but twice the size of your father's old bedroom. You wake up earlier and sleep later, do whatever you want, but none of it feels deserved.

The only thing you can bring yourself to think about is how the last time you saw your husband was the night of the wedding. The look on his face when you made your empty vows to one another, his faint lingering kiss on your cheek. You can blink your eyes and still see the way he left, his jaw clenched as he ignored the calls from his parents. How, even here, rumors seemed to follow you.

Safe to say, you spent your meals alone.

Not only that, but your rooms were entirely separate as well. You were told that you had to consummate the night of your marriage, but from what you’ve heard, your husband sleeps in an entirely different wing of the estate, with walls and corridors between the two of you.

You tried taking your mind off of things, pretending as if this was normal.

Most days you’d walk around, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout of the grounds. You’d walk the gardens a couple times each week, try to memorize the way back to different places, and stay in the library the other half of the time.

A part of you was happy to at least be away from that miserable home, but it felt like swapping one prison for a slightly better one. Your maids were kind, of course, but you didn’t know anybody here. They treat you like a lady of noble ranking, as expected from being the wife of the Lord in the North, but you’d rather be given an apron and start working around instead of this mind-numbing boredom of just sitting around.

You stare at your plate, chewing on a grape slowly.

Looking up you see the sun filtering in through the large windows, illuminating the long table that sits like an empty grave. Clicking your tongue you pick up another grape, slumping in your seat as you look up.

This is just the way things will be.

—

“Alina?”

You call out from your vanity, staring at your maid as she’s picking out different earrings for you to pick from for dinner.

It’s a couple of days later, and still no word from Gojo. But that doesn’t mean that you haven’t stopped for a single second to not think about your supposed husband.

You try not to care, pretend that you’re lucky that he’s not bothering you or going out of his way to remind you of this unfortunate situation, but above anything you just feel alone.

The maid looks up, a curl falling from her tight bun as she smiles at you in the mirror.

“Yes, my lady?” She stands up straighter, flattening out the wrinkles from her apron tied around her waist as she begins walking towards you with the jewelry.

“Is this…is this normal?” You crane your neck around to look at the different pairs she’s holding up, nudging your head to the red ones that shine bright, and watch as she sets them down on your desk, resting her hand on your hip as she stares at you quizzically.

“What do you mean?” She asks as you begin taking your earrings off, putting the new ones on yourself. In the beginning, she protested, saying that a woman of your caliber shouldn’t have to do such measly tasks. But the more you protested, she eventually gave up.

“Do husbands and wives usually sleep separately?” you say, feeling your chest contract in embarrassment at the stupidness of your question.

You watch as she swallows thickly, avoiding eye contact as she sets on fixing some parts of your hair.

Staring patiently through the vanity mirror as you watch her work, Alina wets her lips, her eyes downcast as if not wanting to answer.

“Was there somebody else he preferred to marry?” You decide to ask, twisting that knife that you knew was lodged in her side, one that was stopping her from talking, and watch as her eyes widen slightly in shock.

“If you don’t answer I’m just going to keep asking more uncomfortable questions,” you warn and Alina snorts softly, shoving your shoulder a little bit as you crack a smile.

She moves around, picking up a necklace, and begins clasping it behind your neck.

“I…I don’t know. He’s always been pretty secretive and,” she looks at you briefly, “Selective. I don’t mean to speak ill of my lord but it would be stupid not to acknowledge his old ways. But we never heard of a specific girl.”

Alina places a gentle hand on your shoulder, a sad smile on her face.

“You’re lucky my lady,” she says, her voice hushed, “Most wives don’t have the freedom to say their husbands don’t care what they do. Had you married that Zenin, you’d be pregnant by now.”

You shudder out a breath, nodding once more.

“I’ll see you after dinner, my lady,” she says, moving out of the way as you stare quietly at the floor before leaving silently.

—-

Tonight for dinner the cooks made you a wide array of different dishes, all from the Northern shore. There are different types of fish, each cooked in various ways. It looks delectable, a feast fit for a king.

You feel awful, though, seeing that you can’t eat any of it.

The last time you had fish your face swelled up and couldn’t breathe properly, so that family physician told you to steer away from it. But you’re here now, and it somehow slipped your mind to ever mention this little fact to them, so you’re awkwardly poking around some of the vegetables under the fish, looking for something to eat.

You pile some potatoes and carrots on your plate, scraping off any bits of fish on them as you hold this wasn’t your last meal.

The only sound that fills the room is your fork and knife sometimes hitting the porcelain plate, and you look up every now and then as you chew, looking at the paintings on the wall.

You’re so focused on a portrait of an old man that you don’t even notice the figure standing at the entrance of the dining hall, not until you hear a muted curse.

You look up instantly, your fork and knife dropping to the plate as you stare at the man in front of you, eyes wide at the sight of your husband.

He stands there, blinking slowly as you stare back.

You could swear time has never moved so slowly before.

You can hear him mutter a quiet shit under his breath, not knowing if he should make this worse by turning around and leaving or if he should join you.

He’s wearing a simple tunic, his face a little flushed, hairline beaded with sweat. Did he just come out of training? He must often do that, you decide, seeing how he must’ve felt comfortable enough walking in here without any clothing of import.

His eyes seem to track your little movements; the way your chest rises and falls in a slow movement, the way your fingers have frozen in mid-air, lips slightly parting. Your eyes dart around the room, everybody seeming to have tensed up.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’ve never been so moved to silence. It seemed as if years of learned vocabulary slipped your mind within an instant, and no matter how hard you tried, nothing was coming back.

Gojo looks behind his shoulder, at the large double doors he entered through, deep in thought. This would be the first time the two of you had seen each other in weeks, and his tirade of avoiding you has come to an end. It looks like an entire battle is being fought in his mind, and you don’t know what to do.

Suddenly, you watch as he shakes his head, deciding to give in and join you for dinner.

The seconds go by like hours as he walks up to the seat at the other end of the table, staring at his seat for a brief second before he pushes it out and sits there.

You don’t know what to do.

Servants and maids quickly swarm the room, setting up his plate, cutlery, food, and drinks. It was all so hectic and rushed, but you were glad that it offered some sort of noise in the drowning silence.

A part of you wants to say something about the fish but you know this isn’t the right time.

In the flurry of movements you allow yourself to discretely look at him a little better, seeing how the last time you saw him was so brief and hurried.

The man radiates a different sort of aura you’ve never experienced before. While your father was one of the most powerful men in the West, Gojo was the strongest throughout the majority of the North and East. His frame took up the entire chair, his muscular shoulders and arms visible even through the loose fabric that was draped over him. You feel a little disappointed, knowing that if you were a different girl you’d probably be able to enjoy all of this.

You try to make yourself seem indifferent, moving some of the vegetables in your plate around, but secretly just trying to shovel them down as fast as humanly possible to get out of this thick atmosphere.

One of the men who was setting up some of the plates in front of Gojo takes notice of this, a smile overtaking his face as you briefly look up from your plate, startled to see the man walking closer to you.

“My lady, I’m so happy to see you enjoying our Northern delicacy!” He claps his hands together as you stare at him with wide eyes, your mouth still full of potatoes as you try chewing faster to get it all down before he gets closer to you.

His eyes wrinkle around the edges, his graying mustache trimmed ever so carefully, and you can tell he’s trying to loosen up the tension, but you stare in abject horror as he stands at your foot of the table.

“Would you like some more?” He motions to the fish that lay untouched in front of you, and you glance over to Gojo, hoping that maybe he is focused on his meal, only for your heart to sink at the fact that he is staring at you.

“...y-yes,” you croak out, wiping some of the carrot remnants from the corners of your lips as you give him a wobbly smile, “It’s alright, I can serve myself,” you exclaim, trying to thwart him off as he quickly waves this aside, shaking his head as he grabs the tray, beginning to portion some hefty pieces of fish onto your plate.

You don’t have the heart to tell this jolly man that this amount of fish would kill you within an instant, or even that he was wasting this all on you, so you just sit there, giving him a tight-lipped smile as you try not to breathe it in too much.

“Is that enough, my lady?” He asks, setting the tray down as you look at your plate now full of different sorts of sea creatures you swallow slowly, looking back up at him as you give a wobbly smile.

“This is great,” you muster up and watch as an even larger smile takes over his face, and you feel awful for it, “Thank you so much,” you tell him, watching as he bows lowly, excusing himself as he, and the other servants, leave the room,

Leaving you and Gojo alone.

You’re grateful that he’s already dug into his meal, not looking at a struggling you that’s moving the fish around with your fork as you try to find the last bits of vegetables you had saved up for yourself.

The smell itself is enough to make your stomach turn, and you wince, reaching for your cup of wine to wash some of the nausea down.

“You have very good wine,” you say suddenly, against your will, and have an out-of-body experience as you realize what you just did.

Gojo looks up from his plate, a little startled as he looks at you and the goblet in your hand, his white brows furrowed.

He nods once, not saying anything, and you feel the strange need to continue, somehow enjoying the feeling of stabbing yourself in the foot.

“Our wine back home tasted like cow piss,” your eyes widened at your slip of crass language, “Er - not piss, um, urine…?” You wince even more, feeling as if a ghost with awful intentions had taken control over your body, “Not that I’ve had cow piss - urine!” You correct yourself, “But I imagine that if I had…that, um, it would taste like o-our wine back home...”

He’s staring at you, unblinking, and you smile awkwardly, raising the cup to him as a sort of cheers gesture.

You count twenty seconds of silence in your head as you set the cup down, playing with your fork as you glance back up at him. Gojo looks as if he is regretting his decision to stay, his fingers tapping on his knife in a hurried sort of way.

“I don’t really like wine,” you continue, feeling like the only thing that could stop you now was if somebody were to bludgeon you to death, “I like juice more. Oh, well, but I guess…wine is juice…?” you mutter to yourself, contradicting your own words mid-sentence, “Back home we had this mulberry juice and it tasted nice. Kind of like your wine,” he’s not even looking at you and so your words die, quieting down as you sink back into your seat, hoping it could eat you entirely.

“Do you like wine?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, smiling faintly, awkwardly, “Or juice? Or… mulberries…?”

He shakes his head, still not staring at you.

“Did you have a good-”

“I prefer eating in silence.” Gojo finally said, raising his head slightly as he stared directly at you, watching as your mouth clamped shut.

Your smile grows small, eyes falling to the table to hide the embarrassment in them. You give him a brief nod, mumbling a quiet apology under your breath as you begin moving some pieces of carrot around on your plate.

You can hear the clinking of his utensils against his plate, wishing you could somehow fit an entire fish down your esophagus to escape this moment.

You give it a couple of seconds, counting the groves in the wood of the table, and rise, stomach empty, heart churning as you finally excuse yourself.

It only takes you minutes to find your room, quicker than last night, and allow yourself to sink against your bed, rubbing your skin raw of the rouge Alina had applied an hour earlier.

—-

You don’t tell anybody of the awful encounter with the man that’s legally your husband, but you’re sure that those there to observe have already begun talking about it. You try to pretend nothing happened, but Alina could pick up on your closed-off demeanor that night, her hands gentler than usual when helping you take off your garments, her eyes filled with concern.

“How was dinner, my lady?” She asked, staring at you as you waved off her worries, mustering up a lame excuse of a smile as you took off your silk shrug, avoiding any sort of eye contact as you slipped into your nightly garments.

“It was good,” your words are void of emotion, “I had fish.”

The following days are empty of any sight of your husband, but you’ve grown to find that normal. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about how idiotic you acted, your big mouth never knowing when to stop, tossing and turning in your bed at your excuse of an interaction.

You continue with your old routine of walking around the estate, sometimes trying to track down Alina and your other maids, seeing if maybe they had some free time to spend with you. You know there’s a town nearby, the girls often talk about how they go there sometimes at night, but you’re too afraid of going out alone, not used to that sort of thing.

Sometimes you sit out near the fields with a book, twisting the ring that’s searing into your finger, mindlessly taking in the words on the page. Other days you walk around the gardens, picking out some flowers for the vase in your room. On the days when you’re feeling really adventurous, you’d go near the east wing, where you’ve heard Gojo’s room is, and look at what sort of things lie there. But most times you chicken out, going back near your side just as quickly as you went.

You never see him at dinner again, knowing he wasn’t about to put himself through that torture again, so you go back to eating in silence, sometimes pretending that the chairs were full of people and that you were in one of those balls you longed to go to as a kid.

They seem to keep bringing fish out for you, and it’s in so many days deep that you’re in this sort of limbo where you can’t tell them you’re deathly allergic to it without feeling awful for all the work they’ve put in just to realize it’s gone to waste, so those nights, tonight, for example, you try finding as many vegetables as you can.

The roasted asparagus and beets are lovely, but there was only so much of it. And you find yourself getting a little bit sick of it too, your stomach-churning as you try to chug as much water as you can to get rid of the dirt after-taste that the beets have.

You thank the cooks and the servants as you leave for the night, your stomach still relatively empty as you get to your room, telling Alina to leave early for the night as you get ready for bed by yourself, wanting to be with yourself just for a little bit.

You lay on your bed, staring emptily at the ceiling, one hand on your stomach as if gurgling, still hungry for more. You try to sleep, trying to pretend like you were at your old home, those nights when this would be normal, but it’s no use. You’ve been too spoiled at the Gojo estate, and no matter how much you try to ignore the pang of hunger, it continues to bite you back.

So you find yourself twisting off of the warm comfort of your bed, sitting in silence as you contemplate what you’re about to do, but give in, lighting a candle as you slide into some slippers, leaving your room as you try to find your way down to the kitchens.

Thankfully, it’s well into the night when everybody is asleep, so this embarrassing walk of shame is only seen by the guards on duty. You walk down the testing staircase, careful to look around the corners for anybody there, but you’re alone.

You make your way to the kitchens, not hard to find seeing that they’re near the dining hall, and you peep your head inside, a sigh of relief escaping your lips to find that it’s completely deserted.

At your old home, your room was behind the kitchens. You grew up in a small room, nearly the size of a broom cupboard, but you made do with what you had. One benefit of this situation was that you were raised by the smell of different sorts of food, by people who specialized in the art of cooking. You knew how to make meals that nobody else in your family could even imagine, which you’re grateful for right now as you fumble around the kitchen, trying to find where they put different ingredients.

You rummage through the cupboards, finding some eggs, bread, cheeses, and seasonings. You’re able to find the pots and pans a few feet away and start assembling everything for a little omelet.

In your hurry of trying to be quiet and careful, you somehow manage to miss the large shadow figure that’s standing near the doorway, observing you.

You crack the eggs into a bowl, beating them together with a fork you found, too tired to look for an actual whisk, turning around to throw the eggshells away when a cry of surprise escapes your lips.

“Oh!” Your heart nearly falls right out of your ribcage, your hands flying to your chest as you find yourself staring at him, cheeks heating the way they seem to do whenever you’re looking at your husband.

His blue eyes are tracking you, watching what you do, brows furrowed slightly as the two of you can’t do anything but stare at each other.

“I…” You can’t find anything to say, looking at him and then behind your shoulder, to the things you have found, and swallow thickly, wetting your lips as you straighten your back up, suddenly aware of just how flimsy and bedroom-worthy your outfit is.

You can only stare at the ways his arms are crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, and lips pressed into a thin line. It seems like he wasn’t planning on seeing you here, yet another moment in which he’s probably going to regret somehow finding you in such a large estate.

“I’m making an omelet,” you finally say, your words falling like a whisper from your lips as you point to the eggshells now discarded in the trash, “I tried to be quiet…” you shake your head, eyes dropping from his heavy gaze for a second as you glance back up at him, lips upturned in an apologetic smile, “...sorry.”

Gojo doesn’t say much, you’ve noticed that, but now you’re wondering if he has some sort of impediment that stops him from speaking to specific people.

His chest rises briefly as he inhales, his white hair a little tussled as if he were sleeping. It doesn’t make sense why he’d be awoken, though. The kitchens are a far walk from the east wing…?

“I wasn’t asleep,” he finally says as if reading your mind, his voice deep as you feel it rattle your bones.

You nod once, not knowing what to do with the information.

“Well…um,” you fidget with your fingers, “good, that’s good.” You nod once, as if that was all you were going to say, and look at the slight wrinkles in his clothes, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling naked with the way you’re not wearing any undergarments under your little nightly dress.

“I’ll call for a cook,” Gojo murmurs, looking you up and down one final time as he turns to leave, seemingly done with this conversation.

You sputter, shaking your head as you watch him turn to look at you through a confused stare.

“No! Sorry…no, no need,” you say quickly, taking one step forward as if to stop him, “Please, it’s alright. I can cook myself,” you motion once more to your eggs and little station, noting the way he’s looking at you strangely, and so you feel the need to continue talking, perhaps one of your worst flaws.

Gojo looks at you finally, his fingers tapping on his arm.

You notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring, your chest filling with a strange feeling as you try to hide your ring-clad finger. “Do you not like their cooking?” He asks, and it takes a second for you to blink out of your stupor, a weird sensation in your throat as you shake your head slowly, trying to pull your eyes away from his hand.

“I do,” you assure him, the words falling thickly from your lips, a lump in your chest, “I just feel bad waking them up right now,” you shrug as if you weren’t feeling any of these strange emotions, “And as I said, I can cook…so…”

He nods, seemingly not believing you, not picking up on the storm that happening inside your head at the fact that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t an actual marriage, the ring was only for show.

“Did you not eat dinner?” He continues, pressing, and your eyes widen slightly.

You’ve always been terrible at lying, never able to do so. Even when your father's wife continued to drill you on who ate the candies from a party when you were younger, showing her your chocolate-stained fingers that you had hidden behind your back, not even a minute into the interrogation.

“I did,” you say slowly, rubbing up and down your arms to warm them up from the chill breeze that seems to have picked up from the open windows, “The beets and asparagus were very nice,” you agree, not knowing what else to say without blowing this weird secret you’ve been holding onto.

His brow raised slightly, lips pursing slightly.

“And the fish?”

You swallow once again, fidgeting with the fabric of your slip, your hands, your ring, and you don’t notice the way his eyes fall to the gold on your finger, darting back to your face when he notices you staring at him.

“I…” you feel your face heating up beyond human measures, laughing awkwardly as you tug at your necklace chain, wishing that you hadn’t made that stupid decision to leave your comfortable bed, should’ve listened to your gut instead of your stomach, cursing your past self for being so rash, “I, um, I can’t…eat…fish.”

Gojo’s stoic face, so sure and confident, seems to falter for a brief second.

His arms tighten over his chest.

“...what?” He eventually asks after a couple of seconds of mind-bending silence, his head tipping in utter confusion as you sway from side to side on your feet, chewing your lips raw as you wish the ground could open up and never spit you back out.

“The fish always looks great, don’t get me wrong,” you say quickly as if that’s going to do anything, “But I can’t eat fish. Otherwise I’ll swell right up and um, die…probably,” you wince at how bad you are at talking to people, your husband especially.

He lets out a little puff of air that sounds like a shocked scoff, eyes falling to the floor as he shakes his head, not understanding what you are saying.

“But they’ve been cooking fish almost…four times a week?”

You nod, smiling awkwardly, looking at the painting of a fish on the wall as you look back at him.

“They have,” you affirm, leaning against a counter as he stays frozen in his spot at the door.

“And you…you can’t have fish?” Gojo questions incredulously.

“I’ll swell right up,” you repeat with a little smile that he doesn’t mirror, clearly not a man of humor, and you drop your hands to your side, “...kind of like a pufferfish.” You add quietly, looking at the ground as you say it.

He coughs, his hand covering his mouth as you glance up at him, only to see him trying to hide the shocked laugh that had escaped him.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” He finally continues, and you hate the way all your hard work of just saying quiet isn’t working and is in fact, coming back to bite you in the ass.

You shrug once more, shoving a grain of rice that was on the floor with the tip of your shoe.

“The first time it happened I figured I’d just tell them next time, but then that man kept on giving me more fish so I felt bad and I just never said anything.”

Gojo stares at you, his eyes squinting together as if he were figuring out an enigma, a war strategy that even his best generals couldn’t get a grasp of.

You look away, feeling like a fire was being lit under your skin.

“Alright,” you say, clapping your hands together as your stomach grumbles once again, reminding you that it is still in desperate need of food, “I’ll be done soon. And I’ll clean up,” you promise, but you doubt he even cares as you begin to inch away from him.

You watch as a strand of hair falls into his face, watch as he goes to move, never breaking his eye contact with you, until he looks behind you at the eggs and bread, and then to the window behind you, the moon as bright as ever.

He nods a final time, looking over you a final time before he exits.

You make sure he’s far gone, letting out a heavy breath as you hold yourself up by the table, eyes wide at the fact that you had spoken more than two words to the man who seemed to despise your entire existence.

You go back to your eggs, whisking them in silence as your mind reels.

—

Gojo is there, for dinner, the following night.

You enter the dining room to see him at the end of the table, already eating, and glances up briefly when he sees you walk in.

Trying to hide the shock on your face you quickly look away, finding the way to your side of the table as you look around to see what they’ve given you tonight. A sigh of fleeting relief escapes your lips at the lack of fish, glad you’ll be going to sleep full of food tonight.

You serve yourself, piling roasted meats and potatoes onto your plate as you fill your cup with water, not trusting wine after the last time you had it in his presence, and pretend that everything is normal as you pick up your knife and fork.

His words rang in your mind from the last time, the fact that he ate in silence, so you forced yourself to clam up, knowing that it was probably from the best and save you from any more mortification.

Your eyes fleet up now and then, grateful that he’s never looking up when you do, and give yourself some time to really take him in. Maybe in another universe where everything was normal, this could’ve just been another regular thing, and you try pretending that it is.

He’s probably only here because of a timing issue, you tell yourself, maybe this was the only time in the middle of training, state affairs, or other things that he was able to have dinner tonight. Yes, yes, that has to be it.

You look back down at your plate, chewing as quietly as possible, missing the way he lifted his head to look up at you.

—

Dinner with Gojo becomes a strange weekly occurrence.

The two of you eat in silence a couple of times a week, and every time it happens you’re so sure it’s going to be the last.

On one of the nights you find yourself accompanied by the man you decide that the silence is more choking than whatever it is you find yourself saying.

“Have you been notified about this…gathering in a couple of weeks?”

This gathering was something you were told about that morning by Alina. One of the smaller families allied to the North, the Tokoshi’s, had invited you and your husband to join.

“Yes,” Gojo says, and you’re a little surprised that he didn’t just give you a faint nod, “It shouldn’t be too big.”

He cuts off a piece of his lamb, dipping it in some of the gravy as he glances up at you.

You try to hide your excitement, not only from the fact that he’s spoken to you but also from the fact that this was an actual ball you would be able to go to. You knew that marrying him meant attending more of these sorts of events, but seeing how this was your first one, it was hard to not act a little giddy.

“You have a lovely library,” you speak after carefully chewing through some of your food, your pointer finger resting on your fork as your legs crossed.

Gojo glances up at you, those mesmerizing blue eyes finding yours from across the long table.

“At my old home,” you pause briefly, wondering how he feels when you refer to his estate as your other home, “I wasn’t allowed to go into our library unless my tutors asked to have some of our sessions there. So I just wanted to say thank you for letting me - um, go there,” your words quiet down at the end, looking at the roasted pig in front of you momentarily as you wonder what you were even trying to get.

He takes a sip of his wine.

“The grounds are as much mine as they are yours,” he says, but his words sound rehearsed as if he were told to say this.

“Even the east wing?”

You regretted it the moment you asked it.

Shit.

Gojo opens his mouth and then shuts it. You chew on the inside of your cheek, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything, but it reverts to that same silence that floods your senses and makes you aware of every other sound in the room.

Your burst of what you attempted at comedy seemed to keep coming back instantly in your face, a form of punishment for somebody who never knew how to make uncomfortable situations better.

Suddenly, all of your appetite is lost. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you can only chide yourself, the food in front of you, no matter how good it looked, felt like it would taste like ash on your tongue. You kept feeding this burning fire that was your marriage, expecting your hay-like words to act like water.

There’s a thick tension in the room, and you look around, blinking slowly as you fidget with your fingers.

You try to go back to eating.

You were wrong,

That initial silence was better.

—-

That night you found yourself back in the kitchens.

You’re wiping at your cheeks, hoping that the therapeutic motions of baking can help alleviate some of your many turmoils.

When you were younger, you were used to silence. People normally avoided you, and those who didn’t weren’t ever your age. The cooks at your old estate were kind, but they were usually too busy to entertain a little girl. You would usually help the maids out with their washing and folding, rather doing something than nothing. You would listen in on their gossip and stories, always happy to be included.

You assumed that it would be the same here.

But the maids assured you that a lady of such high rank shouldn’t be meddling in such lowly tasks, and the cooks here were cooking for such a larger number of people that you knew you couldn’t bother them the way you used to.

So you find yourself with a lot to say but nobody to say it to. The jokes and ideas that pop into your head fall flat because the old ladies who helped clean the bedsheets and used to laugh hearing them are no longer here. In those moments you’re with Alina or your other maids are sparse, and so you sometimes imagine that if you speak more when Gojo is around, he might warm up to you.

You also had to remind yourself that your track record with men wasn’t the best either. Those fleeting crushes on some of the other boys who you’d see at balls always ended with them scurrying away from you as if you were the plague. The only other marriage offer you’d gotten was from a man who had struggled with finding a woman who could keep up with his awful ways. So the fact that Gojo Satoru, the most well-known man in the realm, didn’t want much to do with you wasn’t shocking.

And Alina was right. A lot of wives aren’t as lucky to say their husbands don’t care, but you wondered how it would’ve been if he did. You exclaimed to her a couple of nights ago that you should’ve just married Naoya, but deep inside you knew that’s not what you wanted. A part of you knew ever since you agreed to this arrangement that you wouldn’t be getting an actual husband out of it.

You sniffle, your eyes blurry. You don’t like crying in front of people, and so you allow yourself to do so in the pale moonlight of the kitchen, the only sound other than your ragged breathing being the repeated sound of flour falling softly in your mixing bowl.

Baking was something that nobody ever could judge you about. You were good at it, and you knew you could do it with no error. Your cakes and pastries always turned out well, save for the minor problems you ran into as a kid, but you sometimes act like you’re baking for a group of people, about to take it out to see a sea of smiling faces who are happy to see you and your deserts.

“I thought you only cooked when they served fish for dinner.”

A voice, one that’s seared into your memory, says from behind you.

It takes everything in you not to jump from surprise, and it takes even more willpower not to turn around.

You quickly wipe at your cheeks, breathing in to make sure your voice won’t come out in bits and pieces. You keep your back to your husband, continuing to sift your flour in the bowl, a continual motion like waves hitting against the dock.

“I’m baking,” you specify, cringing at the way you sound like you’re fighting a nasty cold.

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a beat and does nothing to move. You’re glad he doesn’t, too scared that if he saw your puffy eyes or your tear-stained cheeks he’d begin to think that you have no backbone at all. It felt almost pathetic to have the world's strongest warrior see you recover from crying alone.

He hums in the back of his throat at your words, and you wonder what he looks like right now.

“I doubt these walls have seen a lady of such high rank before,” he comments, and you look up briefly from the mountain of white building up in the bowl, “They must whisper to themselves once you leave.”

You let out a little puff of air, something resembling a soulless laugh.

“Everyone whispers to themselves after I leave,” you say, reaching for a whisk, “I’ve heard more whispers than my own name.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you quickly try to wipe at the corners of your eyes.

“You come down here a lot,” it’s posed as a question, but Gojo says it like a statement. He must have eyes everywhere, reporting to him what you’re doing. You wouldn’t be shocked, but you just nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you begin to whisk your dry ingredients together.

“I hope it’s okay,” you throw in a pinch of salt as you mix, “I like the kitchen.”

He let out a little breath as if he was about to chuckle, but then he got confused. You decide to spare him the endless questions that must be going on in his head, wondering why somebody in your position would prefer the kitchens rather than anywhere else.

“My bedroom used to be behind a kitchen. I’d have to go through the pantry just to reach it,” you turn briefly to grab your bowl with the wet ingredients, pouring it slowly into your flour and sugar mixture, mixing it in slowly and carefully.

“My father’s wife wanted me out of sight. That estate had never used one of its actual bedrooms to sleep the daughter of a whore,” you can hear him inhale sharply, “I woke up to the sounds of people shouting for different ingredients, to pots and pans clanging against each other. I learned how to cook and bake when I was young, and I usually helped them cook the food my family would eat for dinner.”

When your batter is all mixed through you go to find the pan you have buttered and dusted with sugar, pouring it in as you wipe off the side of the bowl that had some remnants of batter dripping from it.

“They never asked me to, but I liked it. I liked feeling useful,” you peek over to your side, seeing him leaning against the wall adjacent to you, silent as a mouse.

You walk over to the other side of the kitchen with your pan, careful with the lid to the brick oven, heated with the fire you had lit an hour ago, and slide your cake pan into it, closing it shut as you stand up straight.

Finally, you look over at him.

His eyes rake over your face, lingering on the circles underneath your eyes, the redness that stained the whites of them. He’s clad in the simple tunic and breeches he had worn to dinner hours ago, his large shoulders leaning on the wall as his arms lay crossed over his chest.

“I won’t go to the east wing,” you say in a whisper, your voice quiet but heavy as it falls from your lips as a promise, trying to muster up a smile but it comes out wobbly, “I was just trying to make you laugh.”

His lips looked pinker than usual as if he had been chewing on them, something you often did when you were deep in thought. His white hair had been messily pushed back as if his fingers had been combing through them continuously.

“These grounds are yours,” Gojo says, his words thick from his throat. His exhale and inhale mirror the way you breathe, your two chests rising as though living with the same lungs.

You shrug, a melancholy look on your face as you shake your head.

“Maybe if I was your wife,” your words are said without any malice, “But I’m just another person who sleeps here.”

Gojo tilts his head slightly as if your statement had somehow wrenched itself into his mind, weighing it down. Even in the limited light, you could see the way he looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I know I took away your chance to marry somebody you actually wanted, but my father told me you were okay with the arrangement. I wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise,” you twist your wedding ring around your finger mindlessly, a little habit you’ve grown over the weeks here, “I never wanted to be selfish, and I truthfully never wanted a husband. I just wanted a friend.”

—

Ever since that night, you eat your meals in your room.

Alina protested, saying it’s not right to eat alone, but you told her not to think about it, saying how you liked the silence.

You mustered up the courage to ask some of the coachmen to take you to the nearby town, starting by looking around at the little shops, keeping a hood over your head in case somebody saw a new stranger.

Sometimes you’d go inside the shops, finding little trinkets that you thought your maids might like, or ornaments that might help fill up the empty spots around your room. You’ve never been able to decorate before with how small your old room was, so you decided to take advantage of its space.

When you’re walking around you sometimes see Gojo, either in the training yard or walking around with one of his advisors. There have been moments when the two of you catch each other's stares from across the room, but you’re always the first to look away, making sure you’re going in a different direction than him.

You knew that you’d have to talk to him eventually, especially with the gathering that was coming up at the Tokoshi manor, but each night you pretended it was another day away, instead of one day closer.

Your maids came bustling in and out of your room more often than usual with preparations for the night that was closing in, shoving you into different dresses, not satisfied until they found the right one.

Alina noticed your shift in demeanor, never picking and prodding at it, but silently observing. You could tell she knew something was wrong, but you didn’t know how to put exactly what you were feeling in words.

It didn’t help that the closer you got to the night of the event Gojo seemed to be everywhere you were. The gardens, the library, the field, the stables. He probably just had business to attend to, but it didn’t help that whenever he saw you it looked like he wanted to say something. It also didn’t help that you’d scurry away when you saw him open his mouth.

The weeks turned into days, the days into a day, and that day into hours and you found yourself perched uncomfortably on a chair as three different women attended to your face, hair, and accessories.

You watch them work silently, taking in all the jewelry and makeup that you’ve been looking forward to wearing. It’s nothing too drastic, but that

girl who longed to wear pretty things inside of you is gleaming right now.

“…Lord Gojo requested for her to wear another pair of earrings,” one of your maids says, looking at the earrings Alina had picked out for you.

Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, watching Alina as she perks an eyebrow up.

“When did he request that?”

The older lady looks at you in the mirror and then at Alina.

“A couple of nights ago,” she shows Alina another pair, a sapphire one that seems to gleam brightly, “he dropped them off when she was…away…” the maid trails off, noticing the fact that you were eavesdropping.

Your eyes dart away as if that would help, but she quickly changes the topic, and you huff in annoyance as Alina sends you a knowing look.

“Your husband is a strange man,” Alina mutters in your ear as you giggle quietly, rolling your eyes as she playfully shoves your shoulder.

You don’t say anything in retaliation, and sit back as you put in your new earrings, grateful that they still complimented the color of your dress, and try to pretend you are going down for dinner rather than a gathering with people you didn’t know.

You’ve been learning this entire week how to properly hold a spoon and fork, and how to cut your food appropriately. You’ve been taking dancing lessons, discovered how to properly greet people, and even learned how to gracefully enter and exit a horse-drawn carriage. All things you should’ve probably learned earlier, but were never able to.

Alina helps you out of the chair when they are all done, giving you a second to look into the mirror. The dress they had wrangled you into was beautiful, your hair done in the way you liked. You thanked them all, expressing your endless gratitude for their hard work.

You take a deep breath as you exit the room and go out into the hall, leading yourself down the stairs and through multiple corridors, trying to calm down your palpitating heart.

It takes a few minutes but you find yourself at the front of the manor, standing alone and looking around, trying to see if you were at the wrong place. But in the distance, you can see the coachmen and the carriage, the door shut, still waiting for you.

You take a tentative step forward, nearing the entranceway that leads outside, but feel a soft touch hovering above your elbow.

It’s strange how he usually finds you before you find him, but as somebody who’s trained to know and find things before others do, you suppose it makes sense. You glance to your side, already expecting to see those cerulean eyes as you look up.

Gojo looks good, somehow better than usual.

He’s clad in dark blue garments, intricate with Northern design, and your eyes look up and down his entire body. His usual muscular build seems to be outlined by the stretch of his overcoat, the way the fabric is sitting snugly over his chest.

He seems to be doing the same, though. You can feel his gaze drop to your dress, to the way your lips are a little redder than usual, your hair done in a way that suits your face. His eyes linger on your ears, and there’s a small, barely noticeable tug to the corners of his lips.

“Ready?” Gojo asks, the first time he’s spoken in a couple of weeks, and you hum.

He takes his hand away from your elbow as he rests it on the small of your back, and you feel heat travel from his fingertips through the fabric, through your corset, your undergarments, and straight to your skin.

They bring the carriage out a little closer, a coachman opening the door for you. You brace yourself, heaving your dress upwards as you go to grasp the rail on the side.

But Gojo moves swiftly, offering you his glove-clad hand as you look over at him in surprise, taking it after a moment of hesitation, and haul yourself inside.

It’s far bigger than the one you usually take to town, and you settle for a corner on the left-hand side near the window. The walls of the carriage are lined with this sort of fabric that feels like it’s lighter than a cloud, colored the traditional blue of the Gojo family. You’d guess it could fit at least an entire family comfortably, so you’re not too worried about the underskirt of your dress taking up too much space.

You watch Gojo follow you in. He looks around, having to duck his head (and a lot of his back) as he sits in front of you, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

The two of you sit in awkward silence, your gaze settled on the door that they shut after Gojo entered, and your eyes quickly fall to your hands resting in your lap, neatly folded.

The carriage starts a little bit later, the wheels humming to life as the coachmen yip at the horses to start. The sudden rocking movement that you’ve become familiar with sways you side to side, and suddenly you're totally aware of the fact that you’re alone in a limited space with the man you’ve been avoiding for the better half of two weeks.

You can feel his stare boring into the side of your head, can hear the way his breathing is coming out strangely as if he wanted to talk, but kept stopping himself off before he could say a word.

“Did you like the earrings?” Gojo finally asks, and you glance up, eyes narrowing for a second in confusion as realization suddenly comes rushing in.

“Hm? O-oh, yes!” You quickly stutter out, your hands flying to your ears as if you forgot they were there, “Yes, thank you. They were beautiful. They kind of looked like the inside of a belly button,” you say.

Your husband blinks, brows furrowed slightly as you think about what you had just said, eyes wide in shock.

“Er…well, gods, no, not bellybuttons,” your head falls to your hands as you shake your head profusely, “Sorry, they don’t look like belly buttons-”

But you stop when you hear a small laugh from him, quiet as he looks away for a second, a tiny slightly visible grin on his face as he looks back at you.

“Did you know that sometimes,” his eyes are a little upturned as if he fighting back an actual smile, “I make a bet with myself about what you’re going to say?”

You smile slightly, your head cocking to the side.

“Have you ever won?”

Gojo chuckles, and your eyes suddenly fall to his hand, at the way he’s fidgeting with his ring, his wedding ring, the same way you seem to do whenever you’re thinking about everything and anything all at once.

“Not once.”

You grin, and though you still feel this heavy weight of unspoken things resting in the middle of you two, you decide not to acknowledge it at the moment. Things unsaid, unheard, weaved through the air, tying you and him together like a tapestry.

You fidget with your skirt, looking out the window at the moving scenery.

Gojo breathes deeply through his nose, his pointed finger tapping on his thigh.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he finally says, and your eyes dart away from the trees and the sky to look over at him.

His bottom lip is caught underneath his teeth, his blue eyes shining with a different hue. He takes up a lot of room with just his size alone, but it looks like he’s trying to make himself seem less intimidating, less of a warrior, and more of a…person.

You don’t say anything, opting to stay quiet to see what it is that he is trying to formulate into words.

“That night,” Gojo twists his ring back and forth with his thumb, “I…” It’s weird to see somebody so sure of themself struggle to speak, and your brows crease in the middle, not knowing what it was he was trying to get at.

“I wanted to tell you that you too had a right to a good husband. Somebody who didn't rush you into a marriage because of his own mistakes…somebody you wanted.”

Where is he going with this?

You suddenly feel your throat dry up, swallowing thickly as Gojo looks out the window momentarily before looking back at you.

“My parents never told me who I’d be marrying,” Gojo explains, his voice hoarse, “I figured out the day of the wedding,” he twisted his wedding ring, looking at the way it shined, “And I wanted to hate you,”

His words punch you square in the gut, but you can only bring yourself to keep on looking at him.

“I wanted to hate you so much because it would be easier to act like this wasn’t my fault if I could…but,” he sighs, his chest rising and falling, “I don’t think it’s possible to hate you.”

Your lip trembles slgihtly, a sheen over your eyes. What is he doing?

“I’ve been raised in a way most people our age aren’t. My parents wanted me to be the strongest so was put into training since I was four, and I think this entire time I’ve been trying to approach you like a…military strategy. You were this map in my head that no matter how I approached it nothing made sense. But that night, in the kitchen, everything finally did.”

Your eyes flitter downwards so that he couldn’t see the waver in them

“You didn’t deserve how you were treated in your old life, nor this new one,” his hand covers his chest, and you feel lightheaded, “And I promise to you I’ll do everything in my power to make this one better. If you don’t want me as a husband, than as a friend.

“I’d like to be your friend, if you’d allow me,” he whispers thickly, his voice heavy. He fidgets with his fingers, moving them together and back out again, and you notice how he does this a lot whenever you’re near.

Your heart is beating so quickly that you feel like it's going to stop, and your mind is working so hectically that you don’t know what to think. This is the same man who looked at you as if you had torn down the moon and stars when he saw you the first time, the man who never seemed to be that interested in what it is you had to say. The very same person who would’ve rather married a broomstick than you.

…right?

And yet he’s here, asking to be your friend. Something that nobody has ever asked before, something that people wouldn’t ever dare to murmur out loud to you. He had no beneficial gain from doing this, no ally that he would please if he offered to be your friend.

Your heart twists because why does he look like he cares about what you say? His eyes are creased slightly around the edges, his lips pressed together as if he were preparing for whatever outcome it was to what you said.

Nobody has ever told you those things, the things that made years of pain and hurt strummed into one beat that your heart never wanted to drum to. This man, your husband, Gojo, was supposed to be another cog in that old machine, one that hummed and spurred like it was about to eat you alive.

But the more you look at him, the more you let your unspoken words speak in silence for you, you realise that he isn’t lying.

You open your mouth to speak but are cut off when the carriage comes to a sudden halt.

The two of you look at each other and then to the door, watching as it opens up, greeted to the sight of a large manor with multiple people walking in hand in hand. You swallow your bile, not knowing what to say, deciding to flee instead of face him like you should’ve.

—

The gathering itself was far more boring than you imagined it to be.

You and Gojo had the mutual understanding to act more…well, like a couple, than you actually were. You didn’t comment on the way his arm circled around your waist a couple of minutes into making your rounds talking with people or the endearing way he referred to you as my wife.

You’re glad that he doesn’t do anything to talk about what he had told you in the carriage whenever the two of you were alone, acting like nothing was wrong and everything was normal as he inquired about your day.

You told him brief things, still trying to shove his words out of your mind, but it was no use. I’d like to be your friend, your mind kept repeating, and you were too scared of brining it up in case he had changed his mind in between those minutes of quiet.

People you had never seen before congratulated you on your new marriage, their brows raised in that excited way as they motioned to your stomach, hinting at a special little someone who might be joining your lives soon.

“Soon!” You said with a curt laugh, glancing momentarily at Gojo only to see him already looking at you, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

He made sure not to stay with people who were strangers to you for too long, not wanting to bore you to death, and allowed you to take in more of the well-lit and vastly decorated manor.

Though its size was incomparable to the Gojo estate, it was still massive. The Tokoshi family had been a family with the Gojo one for centuries, so there was no question that the riches they had amassed over the years by being trading partners with them had culminated in this.

Gojo told you earlier in the carriage, before everything else, how the young Tokoshi couple were good people. They liked to throw parties a couple of times a year, inviting only a select few. He liked them far more than a lot of the other people he had been forced to grow up with over the years.

You look at the dining hall, at the corridors with openings that allow you to look outside without the glare of glass. His arm never left your body, holding you close to him as he let you walk around, your mouth hanging open slightly as you craned your neck to look at everything. Candles were lit everywhere, the bouquets of different assortments of flowers decorating the stone flower holders carved into the walls.

You mentioned to him in the privacy of the carriage, that you hadn’t ever been able to experience a party of this sort of caliber before. You could see how he wanted to ask more questions, but you could see the answers already formulating his head as to why.

“We probably look like one of those couples where the wife’s dying and the husband takes her out to see the stars one last time,” you whisper to him, still looking around in a stunned sort of way at the beauty of it all.

Gojo’s head ducks down a bit, trying to hide the chuckle that had broken out and made its way onto his face. He coughs into his fist as if that was the issue, but you look over at him to see the humor in his eyes.

“Did you lose your bet again?” You ask, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes as he looks like he’s fighting the grin that’s threatening to take over.

“I’m always losing that bet,” he tells you.

Though he doesn’t do anything to bring up his conversation, you can see it in the way he looks at you, as if he’s still teetering on an edge, wanting to know what you were thinking in that frazzled mind of yours.

You decide to push past it.

“Can I get in on it?” You ask, turning slightly so that you face him, very aware of the fact that his hand hasn’t moved from its spot on your waist.

You try not to think about it, reminding yourself that it’s just for show, but you can’t stop the feeling of heat that travels wherever it is he seems to touch you. His hand is larger than an average one, his fingers moving mindlessly up and down on your corseted stomach.

“Do you need the extra coin?” His voice is carrying a strange tone…is he teasing you?

But again, you try not to think about it, it’s all for show, (you also try not to think too much of the fact that you’re pretty separated from everybody else).

“No, I just need coin,” you explain, fixing one of the medallions on his chest that had been slightly slanted, “I have nearly nothing left.”

Gojo moves barely away from you, his eyes searching yours as if to find the joke.

“Have you run through my family gold already?” His voice is still toying, but now it’s filled with a little confusion.

“No, of course not,” you snort, rolling your eyes as you tilt your chin up to look at him better, “I haven’t touched any of your gold. I just ran through mine.”

His brows quirks upward, mouth parting slightly.

“You’ve emptied the gold your family sent up?”

It’s your turn to be confused.

“What gold?” You ask, moving away from him, his hand falling to his side, and you suddenly miss his warmth.

You remember your father talking about how the Gojo family had rejected your initial dowry, saying something along the lines of outlandish practices, but aside from that, you weren’t told about any other sort of money that was supposed to be sent with you.

He pinches the bridges of his nose, sighing deeply.

“The gold that they sent with you? It wasn’t supposed to be a lot but it was supposed to suffice for the journey here.”

You blink owlishly at him.

“What gold have you run through?” He specifies, plastering on a fake smile when he catches the eyes of somebody behind you, but then focuses his stare back to you.

“Well…” you shrug, “My gold.”

Gojo looks like he’s about to make a new bet, one that’s with every time you’ve almost given him an aneurysm trying to figure out your strange riddles and rhymes that are supposed to be actual words.

“I used to make some gold at my old home,” you explain, keeping your voice low in case somebody was somewhere that you hadn’t seen, but realizing that Gojo was lost, you continued, “The stable boy gave me some of his salary if I took care of the horses and cleaned the stables. Sometimes he’d give me extra if I could haul in the large bags of hay.”

He scoffs, shaking his head slightly.

“Why?” That seems to be a question he’s been asking lately.

You shrug again, feeling his hand circle back around your waist as some people come near you,

“I needed new clothes and my shoes had holes in them. My father’s wife didn’t let him give me much, so I tried to fill in the gaps.”

You smile at one of the couples that are coming near you, going back into your other persona as you begin chatting with them. Gojo pulls you in tighter to his side, staying silent. You don’t notice the way he hasn’t stopped staring at you, nor the way his heart seems to have churned so painfully in his chest.

—

The night progresses and you find yourself inside the dining hall, being shown to your seats by one of the maids, finding your name next to Gojo’s on a name card.

The two of you sit down, watching the people the file in, the sound of laughter filling the room, the clinking of china against each other filling in the rest of the silence. You take it all in with a smile, looking every and at everyone.

“I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” you whisper as you lean closer to Gojo, an apologetic smile on your face as you sit further into your seat, “This is all just so new to me.”

You don’t see the ways his eyes soften, his hand inching closer to yours as he shakes his head.

“You’re not embarrassing me,” he murmurs back, leaning his head closer to yours, wanting his words only to be heard by you, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” The smile that makes its way onto your face could power the universe, and Gojo feels like the wind had been knocked from his lungs, far worse than in training when somebody's foot slams into his chest.

“I am!” Your enthusiastic and hurried words are hushed, but he can still hear the way you’re trying to hide your joy. The small talk is horrific,” he laughs a little bit, “but still I love it.”

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the sound of a knife hitting glass.

“Everyone! Give me your time, just for a moment!” Miyo Tokoshi, whom you spoke to briefly, stands up, his chair behind him.

All eyes in the room fall on him, people still smiling, their teeth glimmering in the light.

“I cannot express my joy to be in a room with you all tonight,” he says, looking around the room, making sure he saw everyone for a split second. “And my wife and I couldn’t be more ecstatic to host the first gathering of the season!”

You look at the woman sitting next to him, Lana, who you had also met momentarily, is gleaming at him, her face full of genuine adoration. She, along with everybody else, claps, laughing joyfully.

You wonder if this is what a real husband and wife should look like, and you look briefly over to Gojo, your mind reeling with the charade the two of you have been playing this entire night.

“And we couldn’t be happier to welcome the first couple of the year,” he exclaims, pointing his glass over to you and Gojo, saying your name and then your husbands as he claps his hand softly against his wrist, “May every moment you spend together be better than the last. We wish the two of nothing but a lifetime of happiness and prosperity.

Gojo raised his glass to him, his hand grasping yours as he lifted it to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it.

You feel like you’ve stopped breathing with the linger of his lips on your skin, the last time that happened on the night of your wedding, and watching him grasp it even tighter when he sets it back down, weaving his fingers through yours.

Stop, you chide, raising your glass as well, a shaky smile on your face, it’s just an act.

He winks at the two of you, nodding once more as he focuses his stare somewhere down the table, obstructed by where you are sitting.

“And to the future couple! Naoya and Freya!”

Gojo turned his head immediately to look at you, watching the color drain from your face, and before you knew it, the man, Naoya, was standing up, a hand over his chest in faux gratitude as he thanked the host.

You could never mistake that hair, the feline look in his eyes as he scanned across the room, a slimy smile on his face. You watch as it grows even wider when he finally catches his prey when he finally sees you, and you feel nauseous, like you’re about to throw up all those little crackers they had given you earlier that evening.

The hand holding yours squeezes, knowing he can’t say anything right now, and you swallow thickly, eyes darting over to his as you feel your head about to sway.

Naoya’s here. The man you turned down for Gojo.

The rest of Tokoshi’s speech is muted to you. It feels like your head is being held underwater, and you feel sweat dotting your forehead, your chest, and your palms. You can feel Gojo’s eyes on the side of your head and can tell he’s trying to tell you something silently.

The clinking of glass brings you out of your haze, looking up mindlessly as you haphazardly clink yours against Gojo’s, rubbing a hand down your face as if that would help.

You're grateful for the flurry of movements and noises, everybody talking to somebody, the people beginning to serve themselves the wide array of food places in front of them.

Gojo squeezes your hand one more time, and you finally look over at him, trying to muster up a smile but with how queasy you feel and the way your head spinning, it probably looks like you’re about to be sick all over him.

“I’ll be okay,” you say through clenched teeth.

Gojo nods, his thumb rubbing up and down your hand in a soothing way. It’s just for show.

“I’m sorry my palms are sweating,” you laugh mirthlessly, and he squeezes it again, you’re sure he’s only doing this because of the extra attention of the two of you ever since they realized you and Naoya were in the same room, “you don’t have to keep holding it.”

“Do you want me to let go?” He asks, and you stop poking around at the turnips on your plate.

No.

“N-no,” you croak out, desperate for his touch that’s grounding you, “No, please.”

Gojo nods, his thumb not stopping its comforting motion of moving up and down.

“Don’t worry,” he mutters, leaning closer to you as you duck your head so that your ears are near his lips, “My hands get sweaty too.”

You laugh quietly and it sounds like wind chimes. You look at Gojo and watch as his lips tug upwards into a soft smile, one you had never seen before, and one you thought you never would.

—

You tried to hide away the rest of the party, but Gojo didn’t seem to mind.

When it was time to leave you accepted the gracious hug of the hosting couple, promising them that you’d come back for a more private dinner, and let Gojo lead you out into the courtyard where all the carriages were held.

You slept the entire ride home, not wanting to mess anything up by taking, and you’re happy that Gojo didn’t bother you. You felt groggy when you returned to the estate, grateful for Gojo’s steady hand as he helped you out of the carriage. The two of you looked like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t, so you bid each other good night and went your separate ways.

Separate except for one brief moment.

You were walking away and up the stairs when you suddenly stopped, remembering what it was that you wanted to tell him. You call out his name, watching as he turns, white brows slightly furrowed.

“I…” you start but realize you didn’t exactly have a plan for what you wanted to say. He gives you his patience, not looking annoyed or frustrated when you try to think of the right words to string together.

“I…I would like to be your friend too,” you finally say, and watch as a smile forms on his face, his pink lips tugging upwards in a way that made his eyes shine, the way your earrings did in the candlelight.

He rakes his hand through his snow-white locks, pushing them away from his face.

“I’ll see you at breakfast then,” Gojo says, and you dip your head down in a small smile.

You give him a small wave, disappearing as you round the corner.

And since then, you found him joining you not only for breakfast or the sparse dinners but for any meal he possibly could.

Gojo talked more, about anything and everything, and you did the same.

You realized that he was actually an open person the closer you got to him, seeing that he too was capable of laughing and making jokes, his teasing eyes growing more frequent the closer your chairs got to the dinner table until you eventually just sat side-by-side, growing tired of shouting at each other across its length.

On the days he wasn’t busy with strategizing or talking to other lords, he’d walk around the estate with you, telling you stories from his childhood, the times he’d run amock around the halls. Other times the two of you would go into town, looking at the different stores together.

You could tell he was trying, could see it in the way he glanced at you from time to time to make sure that you were doing well.

He’d accompany you to the library if you asked him to, and you’d go down sometimes to the training yard just to see him. Gojo would never tell you how much he tried to show off when you were there and knew he never had to. You could see the way he tried to appear even stronger when fighting with one of the other men, the poor soldier coming out with bruises and cuts all over his body.

Over many weeks, you find yourself looking forward to spending time with him, and a part of your cracked self begins mending itself again.

It felt like after years of searching for somebody, somebody found you.

On one of the nights when his sparring had gone on for far longer than it usually does, you decided to head down to the training yard after your night bath, tugging on a large robe over yourself as you walked the familiar stone steps down to where you knew he was.

You could hear them before you saw them, a cacophony of fists hitting skin, groans, shouts from one another. There was a little perch from where you could watch what was happening below, and you usually hid yourself in a corner so that they wouldn’t see you.

You’d rest on a pillar, arms crossed over your shoulder as you looked at the men below. Gojo was always easy to find, the flurry of white hair a tall-tale sign of where he was. You had watched him before, but you never got tired of it. You found it almost inhuman the way his movements seemed to flow like water, the way his hits were precise and direct.

Gojo truly was the best warrior the North had ever seen, and sometimes you forget that you’re married to a man who brought down entire armies with just his bare fists.

You watch as he jests with one of his friends, his chest rising a little bit at an irregular pace, slightly out of breath, but happy to be there. He turns to one of the guys behind him to say something, but his eyes immediately track upwards to the figure trying to stay hidden, you and a wide smile break out on his face.

He waves at you, and it gets the attention of the other men there. They all turn to see where you are, their boyish grins and calls making you roll your eyes at their antics, your face heating up slightly as you wave back at them.

Gojo says something to the person next to him, and you hear the man shout at the other ones to wrap it up for the night. Some of them wave goodbye to you as they begin exiting, going back to their common rooms.

You make a move to lean slightly over the railing, your arms crossed over the wood as you peer down at the ground where Gojo remained alone, finding him to already be looking up at you.

“Care to come down?” He juts his chin at the staircase to your left, the one that leads down to the courtyard, and you nod, disappearing behind the stone pillars as you take the steps leading downwards.

You’ve been here a couple of times, as per your own request. You wanted to see what they did during training, what the training yard actually looked like from the ground. You lift the ends of your dress up slightly as you near the bottom, rounding the corner to see Gojo standing in the middle.

He’s waiting for you, his eyes tracking your movements as you come near to him.

His nose twitches slightly, his eyes squinting as he lifts his head in the air, suddenly picking up the scent of something unusual.

“What’s that smell?” Gojo asks as you come to him, his eyes looking over your body as if it were emitting from you.

You scoff, appalled, and then suddenly remember that Alina had applied some lavender oil to you after your bath.

“If it’s a good smell then me,” you cross your arms over your chest, nose wrinkling in disgust as you take in his smell of sweat and grime, “If bad then you.”

Gojo snorts, coming closer to you as he continues sniffing, exaggerating the sound. You step away from him slightly, the smell of sweat overpowering, and he takes notice of this.

“What?” He inquires, annoyed that you are moving away from him, and he takes a step closer.

“What do you mean what?” You tease, moving again as he tries to smell the air, “You smell like an army of unshowered men. I just took a bath.”

Gojo seems offended at this, trying to move back closer to you but you side-step him, apparently serious about this.

“You really won’t let me come near you?” He sounds like you’ve kicked him down, his cheeks stained pink from earlier, and you laugh slightly, shaking your head.

“I really won’t,” you affirm, shoving the back of your wrist to him to show him that what he was smelling was in fact you, “See? Lavender oil.”

Gojo just seems to be getting more annoyed the more you try to evade him, his blue eyes swirling with an idea as you look at him in worry.

“No, the smell is coming from somewhere else.” He argues, changing his footing so that he stands right in front of you and you let out a shocked laugh, not expecting this as you take a step back.

You don’t know where else he can smell the lavender oil. Alina dotted it to your wrists and your neck, but surely can’t differentiate the difference in location…right?

“Come here,” he almost whines, “I’m not going to rub off my smell onto you.”

You laugh again out loud, picking up the skirt of your dress as you try to outrun him slightly.

“You will!” You insist, motioning to the sheen of sweat on his body, “You reek of sweat. I swear it’s just lavender oil!”

He groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at this inconvenience.

“You’re killing me right now,” Gojo dramatically grabs his chest, “You won’t let me smell this strange aroma and it’s killing me,” his face breaking into a little pout as you laugh even louder, shocked at how petulant he was being. Your laughing seemed to spur him on even more, running towards you as you ran backward, hoping you didn’t trip on the fabric of your dress.

“You have a plethora of bottles of lavender oil in your own room,” you argue, “this isn’t something innovative that you’ve never smelled before.”

Gojo shakes his head, and your heart flutters at the way his smile is so playful and teasing, the way some of his hair falls into his face in that messy way when he’s usually training and not caring about his appearance.

“It’ll only take a second,” he reasons and you shake your head no, your eyes both shining with playful laughter.

The courtyards lead out into the large fields of the Gojo estate, and you look behind yourself at the opening. It’s night, there’s nobody around. Nobody would judge you for running away from your sweaty husband.

You look back at him, see the gleam in his eyes, and know that he’s not going to back down.

He can see the thoughts forming in your head, can assume them before they’re even created, and so he’s straight on your heels as you sprint away from him, a large smile on your face as you squeal out loud.

“Please!” You shout over your shoulder, running down the little hill as the moon lights the way for you, “I just took a bath! Leave me alone!”

You can hear the grass rustling beneath your feet, your screams of laughter contagious as you try to outrun the fastest person ever, and try not to slow yourself down by looking over your shoulder to see where he is.

But after a couple of seconds of running you realize that the only footsteps you hear are your own, and you pause momentarily to look behind you and are surprised to see that he’s not there.

Did he not come after you?

You look around the field, the large blades of grass looking like waves that move with the wind, and whip your head around every time you hear a twig snap.

You're a little bit further away from the manor itself, and the only thing you can see besides its large stone walls are the torches lit outside. You can make out the guards who are standing outside, but no sign of Gojo.

You try to catch your breath, confused as to where he could’ve gone when a force stronger than a horse running at full speed slams into your side.

The scream you let out echoes around the field, and you brace yourself for the harsh impact of hitting the ground. With your eyes squeezed shut you wait for the flash of pain, but peek them open to see Gojo framing your head with one of his hands, his body shielding you from the impact as he lays on top of you.

“How…?” You scream, your chest moving up and down with your fit of giggles, trying to push him off of you, “You’re a beast!” You cry out, moving your head to the side as he laughs along with you, his chest rumbling with the movement.

You shove his face away with the palm of your hands, shoving your wrist into his nose as if that would satiate him.

“I took a bath you behemoth!” You whine, thinking about the dirt and mud that must be staining your skin and dress right now, “Are you so void of any good fragrance in your life that you must hunt me down for it?”

Gojo tsks, shaking his head as he swats your wrist aside.

He’s also slightly out of breath, most likely because he ran across and entire field from another entranceway that you weren’t aware of to catch you off guard, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how close to two of you are together.

His hand is still cradling your head, the other one holding your hips. Truthfully he doesn’t even smell bad, which is frustrating that it’s just another one of his many talents.

He judges your jaw up with his nose, and you helplessly comply, your heart hammering wildly as he leans in closer to the skin of your neck, taking in a whiff as he looks back up to you, his eyes gleaming.

Gojo’s hand on your hip moves up slightly to hold your waist, not hard, but to stop you from squirming around.

“It smells different here,” he nudges your neck with his nose again, and your breathing hitches, “Smells sweeter.”

You swallow thickly, blinking slowly as you crane your neck slightly upwards to give him more room. It’s like your body is moving on its own, and you’re not to sure how you know what to do, but you just do.

“That’s not possible,” you try to argue, trying your best to keep your voice from wavering, “You just lack the nose for good oils.”

Gojo laughs lowly, shaking his head at your antics as he braces his knees on either side of your thighs, caging you in.

“I have a very keen sense of smell,” he boasts and you snort, looking away as he pinches your hip to which you yelp.

His hand moves away from your head and to your shoulder, to where your nightgown had slightly slipped off and runs a thumb down a patch of your skin where it was slightly raised, a faint scar on your collarbone.

“Where’d you get this?” His voice is slightly hushed, and you look down from your chin to where he is talking about.

“Hm?” You look around, see that he’s pointing to the tiniest little scar, and chuckle slightly, “Oh, that?” Your eyes squint as you try to remember, “I tried to climb up a tree once when I was little and fell.” Gojo huffs out a little laugh, his eyes still focused on your skin as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

“It probably looks far worse compared to anything you have,” you say sarcastically, “The family physician kept saying I wasn’t going to make it through the night.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your antics as he raises himself, moving away from you as he sits back down on the grass. You miss his warmth, the way his heat radiated onto you like a furnace.

“I don’t know how you keep surviving between your inability to consume fish and your near-death occurrences,” Gojo’s voice holds a teasing tone and you smile, moving up so that you’re facing him.

You rest your weight back on your hands, kicking your legs out in front of you as your skirt flows around the grass. A while ago you would’ve felt improper sitting like this in front of anyone, but you don’t seem to care all that much when it’s Gojo.

“I showed you my battle would,” you say, putting one leg on top of the other, “What’s your worst one?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in questioning.

Gojo purses his lip, thinking.

You imagine that he’d tell you or probably motion to where it was, but a second later you watch, shocked, as he tugs his tunic upwards, your face heating as he rises it slightly so that you can see a part of his stomach.

You hate how utterly built he is.

His skin is pulled taught over the smooth stomach of his abs, his chest huge with pure muscle, his arms, bulging through the sleeves. It’s something you thought you’d get used to, something you told yourself to stop ogling at, but never could.

But you shift your focus to a large scar that runs across his chest, from the bottom of his hip under his arm. It still looks relatively new, and the scar itself still pink. You could see the way it was jagged, not one smooth line, and gods, fuck, why do you want to touch it?

“Well,” you try to think of something witty to say, seeing the way he’s looking at you as if waiting for it, “Clearly not as bad as mine, but it comes in as a close second.”

He throws his head back as he laughs, his muscles contracting as he does so. You feel flushed, not able to look away from the scar, knowing that you were merely compensating for not knowing what to say.

“I know,” he says eventually with a shrug, looking down as he surveys the scar, “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

You pout slightly, thinking.

“Does it hurt?”

He looks up at you, at the way you can’t take your eyes away from it, and shakes his head.

“Not anymore,” he sits up a little straighter, closer to you as you watch him move, “Sometimes I can feel it sting, but it’s barely noticeable.”

You beg to differ.

The two of you don’t say anything and a part of you has decided that silence is bad for you. Because before you can really think about what you’re doing, you push yourself upwards, leaning in closer to him as you try to get a better look at it.

He doesn’t say anything, but if only you could see the way he could barely use his lungs to breath right now you’d make some sly remark about how the best warrior of the North was growing shy from just a look.

But suddenly you’re not looking anymore as you shuffle in a little closer, your fingers reaching upwards to touch the skin.

You can hear the wind move around you, the grass rustiling as your fingers run across the scar. His abs flex at the coldness of your hand, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. You’re studying it intently, wondering what sort of weapon could’ve caused this.

Gojo’s size dwarfs over yours, but you don’t seem to mind. Your lips as slightly pursed as you take it in.

“Did you fight a bear?” You finally ask, peeking up to look at him.

You’re startled by the way the flush on his cheeks has grown even more red, or the way you can’t see the blues in his eyes anymore. Has he always looked like that?

Gojo shakes his head, taking in a shaky breath, looking at the top of your head as you go back to looking at the scar.

“Nearly,” he tries to joke, but his voice is weak, laced with need, “But I doubt a bear would even want to be compared to the man who gave me the scar.”

You look up, your brow quirked in curiosity.

“Who?” You ask, shocked at how quiet your voice came out.

Gojo smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tongue clicks against his teeth, his hand rising up to grab yours, pulling it away from his chest. He can’t bear to have you touching him like that anymore, not trusting himself to restrain the pure desire that bubbling inside his veins.

“Naoya,” he says hushed, watching as your lips part and eyes widen.

There’s a beat of silence, a moment when you think you can hear your heart beating in the same rhythm his is.

Your hand curls into itself, shock taking over your features as your eyes drop to his scar and then back up to him. You find yourself wanting to say everything and anything, but can’t somehow find the words that you’re looking for. Gojo beats you to it, thankfully.

“I’ve been having this recurring dream ever since I fought him of that same moment over and over again when he cut me open. But it’s changed, recently,” He sits up straighter, so close to you that your chests are almost touching, “And I keep seeing him marrying you, what would’ve happened if you had said yes.”

“And gods, fuck,” he ducks his head down, raking an agitated hand through his hair, making it even more messy, “I…” He chokes on his breath, looking back at you, and suddenly you see the glossiness in his eyes, the way that tears brim his waterline.

And suddenly you see the Gojo Satoru, the Lord in the North, the most powerful man alive, cry.

“I keep reprimanding Naoya in my head about how awful he is, about how I’d kill nearly every person alive if he ever touched you, b-but I was just as awful. I think about the first time I saw you, about the first weeks you were here. I think about how you must’ve felt, how alone you were. Every day…” he wipes messily at his cheeks, his lips wobbling, “Every day I wake up and think of you. I think about your face, your smile, your eyes, your lips, the way your nose scrunches, that line between your brows when you're confused, and every night I go to sleep hoping that this was all an awful dream and I haven’t ruined your life, but then I wake up, and it starts all over again.”

“I know I’m a selfish man,” Gojo says with a wet chuckle, his cheeks wet with tears, “I know I shouldn’t, but I want you to myself, I want you forever. I want to be your friend, I want to be the person you sleep next to, the person you go to when you want to talk about your little stories. I want to hear your jokes and I want to see you laugh. I want to hold your hand, I want to put that ring on your finger every morning, and I want to propose to you each night.”

He shakes his head, swallowing his cries down, the moon lighting the tear tracks that start from his eyes and end at his chin.

“But I know you don’t want that. You told me that you wanted a friend, but…” he shrugged, his smile sad, aching, longing, “I think along the way of being your friend I realized I wanted to be your husband too.”

“I understand if you want to leave. I’ll tell my parents the truth, they’ll understand. I have a house ready for you near the sea, one away from your family, where you can start over.”

The wind rustles the hills, and you look at the field, watch the way it moves in tandem with the life around it.

You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, and know that even if you blink them away it’ll do nothing to actually hide them. There’s a burning feeling in your chest, one that you’ve never felt before, one that rings with Gojo’s words.

You run your fingers through the grass, looking up at him with a certain fire in your eyes.

“What if I don’t want that?”

He blinks slowly.

“I,” Gojo sniffs, nodding profusely, hoping you don’t see the way he crumbles, “I understand, I promise I do. The house is a couple days-”

“No,” you cut him off firmly, wiping your palms furisuly across your cheeks, to rid them of the pesky tears, shaking your head, “What if I don’t want that?” You move up to him, reaching your hand down his tunic, your fingers moving against is chest as you dig out the gold chain that’s wrapped around his neck.

The one that holds his ring, the one he told you about one night that keeps it safe whenever he’s training.

“What if I want this?” Your voice is cracking, and you tug the chain tighter.

“What if I want all those things? What if I want you to love me?” The ring shines in the moonlight, mirroring her pair thats wrapped around your finger, “I want to be your friend,” you stress, your brows strewn together as tears overflow from your waterline, “And I want to know what things you like. I want to walk with you all around the earth and walk back home again. I want to sleep next to you. I want to make you laugh, and I want you to make me smile. I want you to be my husband so that I can be your wife,” you cry out, your chest heaving up and down as he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into his lap as he tries to quickly wipe your tears away.

“I want you too, Satoru,” you whisper, broken with your wet sniffles, a wet laugh escaping your lips when you see him crack at the way you said his name with so much care, your thumbs gliding across his cheeks.

You slide closer into him, your legs splitting across his huge thighs as he hugs you tenderly to him, his head resting on your chest so that he can hear your heartbeat, make sure that this wasn’t just another dream.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs against your bosom, looking up at you with glistening eyes.

“Then fight for me,” you whisper, your hands on either side of his face, “Give me all those things. Give me more,” you smile when his arms wrap around your waist a little tighter, his hands holding you up, “And I’ll do the same.”

He nods, holding your hand that was still holding onto his ring to his chest, one hand moving to your back, and in the mess of tears and broken laughs the two of you seem to move together, meeting each other in the middle as your lips find each other in the dark shadows of night.

You gasp when his lips capture yours, and he moves towards the sound, wanting to hold it, keep it forever.

Gojo moves slowly, knowing that this is your first time, and cups your jaw, helping you move along with him as you lips slot and lock against each other. It’s messy and with no order, your chin staining with sweat as you moan against him, feeling delirious without the touch of him.

You know this isn’t the easiest position for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He groans against you, his eyes squeezing shut, trying to memorize your taste in case the world ended tomorrow and this was his last meal.

“Is this-” You cut him off when you swoop in again, his laughter cut short by your needienss, the way you paw at his chest, your hands winding up to his hair as you tug harshly on the soft strands.

He moans at this, at the way you grind mindlessly on his thigh, your need for each other bleeding out into the open.

“I love you,” he murmurs against you, kissing down your chin and then back up to you, his tongue swiping against your lips, savroing your whine, “I love you so much,” he says to everybody, hoping even those on mountains oceans away could hear, “I love you, my wife,” and you giggle, eyes bright when you hear those words.

“Say it again,” you ask, your nails drawing little shapes on his nape, and you see him break into a smile.

“My wife,” he repeats with a peck to your cheek, “My beautiful wife,” he kisses the tip of your nose, smiling at the way it scrunhed up slightly, just the way he adored, “My wife,” he kisses your jaw, “My wife,” your giggling nonstop and he hopes to bottle up the sound and hear it on his deathbed.

His hands travel back down to your hips, adusjsting you slightly so that you wouldn’t feelt he embarrassing hardening of his dick just from kissing you, and moves his lips down to your neck, hearing the way there’s a hitch in your laughter.

“Why’d you stop?” he nudges his nose at that spot pf your neck that still smells like lavender, his favroite scent in the world, “Hm?” Gojo hums against that spot, licking a wet stripe up it, sucking at the skin, feeling the way you arch into his chest.

“Y-your reeking s-scent infiltrated my nose,” you murmur, biting on your lip as he pinches your waist.

“Yeah?” Gojo continued to tease you, sliding the sleeve of your dress down, giving you more access to the skin of your collarbone, “Want me to stop?”

“No!” You cry, totally against your better judgement, moaning when he sucks another mark into the skin, biting it, and then presses a soft kiss to it as an apology, “Please, please, don’t stop.”

He chuckles darkly, shifting you around so that you are lying back down on the ground, his body framing yours as he continues tugging down your dress, going slow in case you ever wanted him to stop.

His fingers are quick at untying the string that holds you bodice together, unravelingit all until it falls off and he’s greeted to the sight of your heaving chest, the way your naked breasts rise and fall.

Gojo blinks for a moment, forgetting how to move.

“W-what?” You ask, a little self-conscience as he continues to stare at your chest, “Do they look wonky?” You move your hands to cover up but a deep gutteral growl escapes his lips, pinning your hands back.

“Beautiful,” he bites out, moving his head down, pressing a wet kiss in between the valley of your breasts, “You look like a fuckin’ statue,” he says, “You’re s-so beautiful.” Gojo repeats, and you can’t protest with the way he praises you, nor the way his lips hover over a nipple, finally leaning in fully as he sucks on it.

“F-fuck!” You cry out at the sensation, your fingers lost in his hair as you keep him there, back arching off the ground, “That, that feels…good,” you can’t speak, not with the way his tongue slides across your nipple, pressing little kisses around you areola.

His other hand goes to your other one, making sure she’s not feeling lonely, his thumb flicking over your sensitive nipples as you whine even louder.

Gojo switches and you feel your breath shudder in an embarrassing whimper, your eeys squeezing shut when he bites at you, wanting to mark you up for those wretched gods to see and feel humanly jealous over.

“So soft,” he murmurs against your skin, almost in awe, “feels like silk.”

You would’ve had a witty joke about this, you know you did, but you can’t fathom to think about anything other than the way his lips feel on your tits, the way he seems like he’d die had he not been here sooner.

But he then raises his head, and you whine in protest. Gojo almost break at the way you’re looking up at him, the way yor lips tremble from sheer desire.

“Want more?” He presses, his hands, warmer than the fire that’s burning in your belly, trailing down, down to where your dress was slightly parting, “Here?”

“Y-yes, fuck,” you moan, parting your legs to make room for him, not knowing what this feeling was but knowing that he was the only one who could soothe it, “Need it so bad Sa-satoru,”

His eyes roll back, swallowing his primal groan at the way you plead for him, and nods, pressing a kiss against your stomach before his hitches the fabric upwards, sliding down your body so that his face is closer to that heat.

You know you should feel more shame, but you feel like you’re going to die if your husband doesn’t do something soon.

Gojo’s hand travels up your calf, trailing up your thigh, and suddenly stops.

You go to beg, plead, for him, but cut yourself off when his lips find your inner thighs, pressign wet and messy kisses to them, getting dangerously close to where you felt like you were leaking.

“You’re divine,” he whispers against your skin, hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulls them apart, “Fuckin’ divine.”

His lips suddenly find there, you glistening cunt, and you mewl out for him.

“Satoru,” your chest is heaving like you can’t find any air, “T-there, please, there,” and fuck the way you’re begging him is so sweet that he can’t find it in himself to tease you.

His fingers seperate your wet lips, groaning when he sees just how much you’re dripping, and licks a tentative stripe upwards, your surprised gasp at how good it felt going straight to his cock.

Gojo carefully slides a finger through your tight walls, feeling the way you tighten around that, and lets his lips travel to your clit, pressing small kisses to it before he begins to suck. You clench around him, and your toes curl at the way he begins to pump it in and out, your essence soaking his skin.

“So wet sweetheart,” he groans swapping his finger for his thumb at your clit, his tongue diving into your walls as he nearly cums from your saccharine taste alone, “S-shit, fuck, you taste like fucking heaven.”

Your thighs tighten arund his head, but he craves the feeling, his tongue eating you out at such a fast pace that you begin to wonder if you need this more or him.

“O-oh gods,” your grips his head tightly, can’t find the sympathy in yourself to feel bad, “‘Toru, oh, oh my, don’t stop!

That coil in your stomach grows more taunt with each second.

He alternates, adding in another thick finger, feeling the way you try to stretch for him. He glides in and out of you with ease, but he wonders what you’d look like on his thick cock, how you’d preen as he split you open with his girth.

“Sweet,” he moans against you, his voice vibrating against your pulsing walls, “You’re so fuckin’ sweet.”

You nod at something, whatever he just said, not fulling understanding anything around you as he continue to stimulate your clit, sucking on it, his teeth gliding across it with a little bite, and you moan out even louder.

“I…” you can’t think, can’t breathe, “F-fcuk, ‘Toru, something, something’s happening,” you don’t know what this feeling is, this electric, all-consuming feeling that’s zapping through your body, making it numb yet aware of everything at the same time.

“I know, I know,” Gojo praised you, one of his hands holding your stomach down, the added pressure making you whine, “You’re doing so good for me, you’re there, come on come for me,” his hand travels up your body, finding yours as he weaves your fingers together.

“Shit, shit,” you mewl, “I’m coming, fuck, c-coming!” You cry out, your back arching off of the ground as your legs grow slack around his shoulders, your walls pulsing around him as that string tightens for the final time and then finally breaks.

You can see white as your eyes rolls back into your head, squeezing his hand as tightly as you can, your yes dotting with tears. Your climax was all consuming, making you gush around his fingers and tongue, seeming to be never-ending, your body shaking in his hold.

Gojo presses one final kiss to your cunt, licking off your release from his fingers, groaning at the taste, and lets you catch your breath.

When you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, you peek them over to Gojo, seeing the way he tilts his head back, your cum still glistening on his chin and cheek, and whine out in embarrassment.

“What?” He asks, eyes teasing when you go to hide your face in your hands.

“I can’t,” your words are muffled, “I can’t believe I just…”

Gojo kisses your forehead, wiping some of the tears from your eyes away as he kisses your brow bone.

“How do you feel?” He asks, his eyes scanning over your body, glistening with sweat, and you take in a gulp of air.

“Good,” you say finally with a soft smile, “Really good.”

You look from his little grin, one that you peck at, your thumb rubbing up and down his jaw, and then look down, to the obvious bulge that’s hiding behind his training trousers.

You’ve never seen a cock before but fuck he’s massive.

“What…” you trail off, sitting up slightly, and he helps balance you, “What about you?” you paw at his stomach, right before it leads down, and he lets out a shuddered whine.

“As much as I-” he bites his tongue, feeling like he’s going to cum if you continue to look at him like that, “As much as I want to…not here,” he looks around at the field, shaking his head as a definite no, “Not here.”

You go to protest, but he stops you, biting your fingers gently as you yelp, shoving his head away with little force as he chuckles.

You let him wrap your dress around you again, tying some of the knots so that it doesn’t open up when you’re standing, and let the silence wash over the two of you calm your beating down heart down.

He plays with the ring around your finger, and you watch as the ring around his neck moves with his little breaths.

“I want to sleep in your bed,” you say, and his blue eyes find yours.

“You’re crazy if you don’t think I’m letting you sleep anywhere else,” he says in a shocked sort of way and you laugh, looking over to the side for a brief moment, and then look back at him.

“Do you really love me?”

Your words as whispered, but it feels like the wind picked them up and scattered them all around the field, around the river, the ancient stones, and right into Gojo’s heart.

“I really love you,” he whispers back, kissing your eyelids, in between your brows, your forehead, the back of your hand, and murmurs the words, “my wife,” to nobody and to everybody at the same time.

You smile, pulling him down by that necklace of his so that you can plant a soft kiss against his lips.

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sinkuna · 9 days ago

Text

୨୧ ― The hotel room door closes with a soft click behind you, the pale light of the moon streaming through floor to ceiling windows.

Nanami had reserved the penthouse suite, ordered champagne that cost more than most people's rent, and even scattered rose petals across the king sized bed like fallen prayers. The man- your now husband, had ensured every detail was perfect for this moment after your wedding.

Because nothing- absolutely nothing, was ever too much when it came to you.

His hands wind around your waist from behind with the same reverence he'd shown sliding the ring onto your fingers hours ago. It was almost like he was memorizing the moment through touch alone. "Mrs. Nanami," he murmurs against your ear, and you feel him smile at the unfamiliar weight of your new name. "My wife," pressing his lips against your neck, the word still foreign on his tongue but sweeter than any bread he's ever had.

You lean into his warmth, the soft fabric of his tuxedo rubbing against the back of your own dress. "Mr. Nanami," you breathe, reaching back to caress his cheek, and you feel him press into you more at the title, his grip on you tightening, "My husband."

His fingers found the delicate zipper at your spine, drawing it down with practiced patience. Each inch of exposed skin received its own blessing- lips, warm breath, soft touches that made you arch against him.

"So beautiful,” he breathes against your vertebrae, "always so beautiful." his breath ghosts over your bare shoulders as the white gown slides away like shed silk... "Perfect," he adds, voice hitching as the fabric pools at your feet in waves of ivory and lace, leaving you in nothing but intricate lingerie. The garter belt sits high on your thigh- his gift to you, adorned with a diamond that matches the one on your finger.

Turning you in his arms, "Gorgeous," his lips find yours in a sweet kiss, hands tracing your jaw, "Stunning," he whispers, cupping the nape of your neck as he draws you deeper, tongue coaxing a quiet moan from your lips… "All mine." he says with a low growl. All these words heavy with the weight of a man who's never been careless with language. When Nanami Kento calls you beautiful, gorgeous, stunning... perfect, it's because he's catalogued every detail that makes them true.

And it was all reserved just for you. Only for you.

Your hands reach up to push the jacket from his shoulders, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt- needy and impatient until he caught your hands. "Slowly," he commanded gently, "we have all night."

His mouth traced the column of your throat, pausing at your pulse point to feel your heart racing. "I love how responsive you are," he murmured, teeth grazing your collarbone, "how you tremble when I touch you here..." his thumb traced your nipple through delicate white lace… "How you make those little sounds..."

A soft moan escaped as he took the lace covered peak between his teeth, rolling gently until your knees buckled.

"That sound," he groaned, steadying you against his chest, "I'm going to spend tonight learning all the new ones you'll make as my wife."

"Mmph~ K-Kento~ oh god I-"

"Shhh, I'll take care of you," he promises, fingers ghosting along the lacy edge of your panties, "just like I always do, only this time..." his thumb rubs circles through the thin fabric of your thong, a teasing pressure against the bundle of nerves that has you moaning and rocking against his hand, "i think i'll make sure this whole building knows you're Mrs. Nanami now."

His strong arms hook beneath your legs, lifting you effortlessly to settle you among the rose petals. The bed dipping under his knee as he follows, hovering over you like a man worshipping at an altar, fingers caressing your face as he takes a moment to simply admire the picture you make- sprawled out beneath him.

"I love you," the words barely audible as he leans down, lips finding the delicate skin of your inner thigh, teeth grazing the delicate skin, "so much." Your back arches involuntarily as he finds the diamond adorning the middle of your garter, giving it a flick with his tongue before tracing the silk band with calloused fingers. "I'm so glad you didn't toss this earlier," he admits... "When you told everyone you were keeping it... I was relieved you wanted to skip that particular tradition."

The diamond catches in the moonlight as you bite your lip, a sweet smile playing at the corners of your mouth, "Well~ I was thinking," you card your fingers through his styled hair, mussing the soft strands, "maybe I could wear just this when you come home from work from now on."

His eyes snap to yours, "Don't," his tone serious- the careful control he's maintained all evening fracturing at your words... "Don't tell me things like that unless you want me taking extended lunch breaks to come home… I don't think I'd be able to control myself if you did." he confesses, and the honesty in his voice has your heart skipping a beat, "I barely manage now."

Without breaking eye contact, he catches the garter between his teeth, his lips grazing your skin as he drags it achingly slow down your thigh, "do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of you greeting me at the door wearing nothing but this?" With a final tug, he slips the garter free, letting it dangle from his mouth before tossing it aside with a smirk.

"K-Kento please~" You squirm under his heated gaze, thighs squeezing together, trying to relieve the throbbing ache between your legs, but the action only makes it worse… "Please don't tease me tonight. I can't-"

"Please what, darling?" a lock of his hair falls in his eyes, "Tell your husband what you need." He runs his hands up the back of your thighs, lifting and spreading them apart. The sight of his head between your legs, looking up at you from beneath the fall of his hair has you biting the inside of your cheek...

"Please~" the word barely a whisper, "M'need you, Kento. Need my husband to make a mess of me hah~"

Your words dissolve as he removes your lace thing- his mouth finding you bare and fucking soaked, "God," he groans against you, tongue swiping at your slick folds.

He devours you like communion wine, like salvation itself, tongue fucking into your entrance, a thumb circling the small bud above.

"Nghhh fuck~" Your eyes squeeze shut, the pressure building, hips rolling to meet his tongue, your juices covering his chin.

"So sweet," he groans, the words muffled against your pussy, the vibration making you buck against him, "I could savor you all night."

With that he rises up, mouth leaving you empty and aching, his hands pinning your hips to the bed, "But I think i'll save the rest of my appetizer for later." He smirks down at you, wiping the remnants of your slick off his chin with the back of his hand.

Slowly, he reaches down to unbuckle his belt, pulling it free in a single motion, "Put your arms above your head, love," he orders softly, watching as you obey without question, a soft gasp escaping when he catches both your wrists, securing them with his belt. "This is my wedding night as well, after all…" securing the leather strap around the frame of the headboard, "And I intend to take my time with you."

Your fingers curl around the smooth leather, testing the bindings as his cock springs free, precum already pearling at the tip. The head is flushed, straining, and aching to be buried in your heat.

"Fuck-," he groans, hand gripping the base, thumb sweeping his weeping slit, "you have no idea what you do to me."

He positions himself between your thighs, the thick head of his cock teasing your entrance, sliding along your wet folds, the tip catching your clit, and then he's sinking into you, a strangled groan torn from his throat as you wrap around him like a vice.

Each thrust has the bedframe creaking as he fills you completely, perfectly, his cock stretching you just right. His forehead rests against yours, breath mingling as you move together, the only sounds in the room are the obscene sounds of your joined bodies, your broken cries, his grunts of pleasure.

"Ah! Mnnnh Kento~" You writhe beneath him, tugging at the restraints, body arching and straining for release, but the position keeps you helpless, a moaning wreck, pinned and bound by his cock, his weight, his strength.

"Harder~" The word slips out before you can stop it, and you feel him still above you.

"Are you certain?" His voice carries an edge now, something darker lurking beneath the tenderness.

"Please, Kento. I need… I need you to fuck me. M’need my husband to make me scream~."

The change is immediate. Your sweet gentle Nanami, replaced by his more desperate… pent up, and demanding side- god you loved it when he got like this~. His thrusts become punishing, deep enough to make you see stars- head so dizzy it causes you to babble incoherently. And his words… oh, his words turn absolutely filthy.

"This what my precious wife needs?" he rasps, breath hot against your throat as his cock drives deep, "Her loving husband splitting this perfect pussy open, making her beg for more like a whore."

The headboard rocks against the wall as he thrusts into you, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. "Look how you're taking it," he pants, voice breaking, "Greedy little thing swallowing my cock. You're dripping all over the sheets, darling."

When he pulls out he’s quickly undoing his belt from your wrists- flipping you onto your stomach hastily as you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But then he's slamming back into you from behind, the new angle making you scream into the pillows.

"That's it," he groans, watching as that pretty pussy of yours grips him each time he withdraws, "let the whole hotel hear how good your husband fucks you. Let them know how desperate- how hungry you are for my cock."

His hand comes down on your ass with a brutal crack, making you clench and gush around him. "You like that, don't you? My beautiful wife likes being spanked while she gets her pussy destroyed from behind."

"Y-yesss! Oh god, yesss!" you babble, drool pooling at the corner of your lips as you're fucked senseless- eyes rolling back, "I love it when you ahhhh! when you use me like this!" Your voice breaks into needy whimpers, pussy clenching desperately around his length as he pounds into you, "Yesyesyes! Fuck me harder!"

He sets a brutal pace, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside that makes your vision white out, your body trembling as you lose yourself completely to the sensation. "Please," you moan, saliva dripping from your parted lips, "don't stop... m’need it so bad... need your cock so f’hah- fucking deep..."

"Going to stuff you so full," he growls against your ear, teeth sinking into your shoulder, "give you everything until you’re overflowing with it… until your belly swells with it..."

His movements stutter for just a heartbeat- eyes widening in shock at what he'd just said… Until your belly swells... Did he really just confess he wants to make a child with you tonight? The admission sends a shock through his system even as his cock throbs harder at the thought.

"I- …," he breathes shakily, almost stunned by his own desperate need. But there's no taking it back now… the raw truth is out.

"D-do it~" you coo breathlessly, the words sending a shiver of pure want down his spine. Your fingers push back his hair, holding him close, and the way you look at him... The sheer amount of adoration and love in your eyes, it nearly steals his breath away. You are the light of his life...

His thrusts become erratic, sloppy, each one driven by that new need to create something precious- a son, a daughter… either or it didn’t matter.

"Look at me," he gasps, his voice breaking. "I want to see your face when I- ngh-"

Your eyes lock as his control finally snaps. With a broken moan of your name, Nanami buries himself to the hilt and releases. Hot sticky ropes of cum flood your womb, painting your inner walls white as he empties himself completely. Your own orgasm washing over you from the fullness of him, your pussy clenching and milking every last drop from his throbbing cock.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, skin slick with sweat and cum. He holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your neck as you both slowly return to earth, his cum slowly leaking out of your thoroughly used pussy.

Later, much later, dawn creeps through silk curtains to find Nanami already awake, memorizing the sight of you sleeping peacefully beside him. His thumb traces over your wedding ring, this symbol of a future he never dared imagine…

"Wife," he whispers to himself, the word starting to sound less foreign.

Husband…

Thats what he is now.

And someday, perhaps sooner than later… A father.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, marveling at you- this woman who chose him, who said yes to forever with a man who once thought love was a luxury- the only luxury he thought he couldn’t afford in his dangerous line of work. Now he knew this, it was the only wealth that mattered… and he was the richest man alive.

˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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honey-tongued-devil · 9 months ago

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▶[Arcane preference] reacting to you wearing their clothes [Jayce, Viktor, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika, ]

If you know me, hello little deers, I'm back! If you don’t know me, welcome! Just a heads-up that I don’t use "Y/N," but rather the impersonal "you," and even though I talk about clothes, no sizes or weight are involved. Enjoy the read!

Jayce:

- It’s not that rare when you’re together; he’s a real gentleman through and through. If it’s cold, he’ll give you his jacket, his scarf, anything to keep you warm

- But when you’re the one taking his clothes, it’s different

- When he sees you walking around the room in his shirt, just after waking up, something in his brain malfunctions

- It’s how it fits you, no matter how big or long it is, it seems like it was made just for you, to give you that look

- And to him, it feels like some kind of subliminal ad, as if the universe is making you so attractive in the simplicity of that gesture just to tell him he needs to hurry up and put a ring on your finger so he can enjoy that sight every day

- It’s hard for you to get anything done in the morning when he wakes up with those thoughts

- Those are the days when you stay in bed, cuddling under the covers, with him looking at you, hand on his cheek, getting more lost in you by the second

Viktor:

- For Viktor, the idea of a “little thief stealing his clothes” is an interesting one

- He’s never been a fan of tight-fitting clothes, plus, with his physique, it’s rare for anything to fit snugly anyway

- That’s why, except for his Academy uniform, the rest of his clothes are comfortable and at least two sizes too big for him, without mentioning Jayce's oversize ones in his closet

- What Viktor didn’t expect was that, once you started liking them, you’d just take them straight out of his drawer

- The first time he knocked on your door to ask if you’d seen his shirt —the very one you were wearing— he first stopped, confused, wondering how it had ended up on you

- And then, though he didn’t show it, he paused to notice with satisfaction how well it wrapped around your body

- Sometimes he pretends to forget his clothes at your place, just to see them on you, and to get them back with your scent on them

- For the nights when he feels lonelier

Ekko:

- Communism

- There’s not really a strong sense of what belongs to whom at the Tree, although some clothes (jackets in particular) eventually get so personalized that no one dares to take them anymore

- The first time you grabbed Ekko’s jacket, it was simply because you were freezing, it was really cold, and he was resting, so he didn’t need it

- But when he saw you wearing it, his pupils dilated so much you could notice it despite his very dark eyes

- Ever since then, it’s him who gives it to you and insists that you wear it, because he likes it: there’s something extremely intimate and deeply personal about walking around with you in his jacket

- It’s like marking you as his, but really, also reminding himself of it

- And Ekko may be proud, but one thing you quickly and painfully learn in the alleys is to say ‘I love you’ before it’s too late, and that small possessive gesture makes him feel fulfilled because it’s like he’s telling everyone that he couldn’t live without you

Vander:

- Vander’s clothes have this super-secret ability to change depending on who’s wearing them. For example, what are shirts on him turn into dresses on you

- When you put them on, even just for the sake of convenience, you find yourself laughing in front of every mirror you pass by

- And if he notices, he can’t help but hug you from behind, leaning down to rub his nose against your neck, smiling against your skin

- “You know,” he says every single time, “it looks better on you than it does on me,” and no matter how false it might be, in his eyes, it’s truer than almost anything else

- After seeing you a few times in his grown-up man's clothes, he decided to dig through an old box to find the clothes from when he was younger and mend them before leaving them folded on your side of the bed, like a little gift

Silco:

- Silco’s strangest habit was the connection he had with his clothes: they looked like Piltover garments, except for the boots and the shirt under the velvet vest, yet they were torn, poorly mended, and worn out in several places

- Despite being the richest man in the undercity, he never changed them

- The only newer piece in his wardrobe that he used to wear was his coat, which was in perfect condition, scented with cologne, and lined with soft velvet that followed the direction of your fingers when you touched it

- Sure, there were ceremonial outfits, pajamas, and something comfortable yet always elegant, but he had worn them so little that they almost didn’t seem like his

- That’s why one day you simply decided you were bored, and while he was in a meeting, you could take the opportunity to try on the ones that fit you

- But that little fashion show from his wardrobe to the mirror probably took longer than expected, and definitely you were too focused, because you didn’t notice the tall figure watching you, leaning against the doorframe

- “Don’t take that off, I’ve got an idea or two,” his voice broke the silence, making you jump

Jinx:

- Her clothes are more like a flea market than a wardrobe: there are men’s clothes, women’s clothes, from Piltover and Zaun, intact, held together by metal staples, clean, splattered with paint, torn from explosions, some so small you wonder who they could even fit, and some so large that you and at least four of her father’s henchmen could comfortably fit in them with room to spare

- She’s the one who tells you to grab something from the pile the first time you ask to help her with her calculations and experiments, and in the end, you choose something comfortable rather than something intact or clean

- It took her a good half hour to notice, and then another hour to stop talking about it

- It was something she hadn’t done since she had a family, sharing clothes with someone else, and suddenly she realized just how much she missed it

- Every now and then, she’d give you oversized shirts on purpose, just to disappear under the fabric and snuggle up to you, where she felt sheltered enough to feel less vulnerable

Vi:

- Vi’s mentality was interesting because, by accident, if she noticed you were eyeing someone’s clothes with interest, somehow the next day those clothes would end up on your bed

- Vi would do anything for you; if it were up to her, you’d be dressed in pearls and gold, but neither the place nor her situation allowed it

- That’s why she never offered you her clothes: the older ones were tattered, barely definable as rags, which she stubbornly patched up every month

- The new ones were stolen, spoils from street fights, but they always came in looking battered and worn, or worse, stained with blood or strange substances, so they weren’t good for you

- When she saw you wearing a sweater from her wardrobe, stained and burned in spots, the first thing she felt was guilt

- She hated not being able to treat you the way she wanted to

- But from that day on, she made sure to at least wash her clothes before putting them away, and slowly she learned to love the clothes you stole a little more than the others

- That sweater, for example, she would defend it with her life

Caitlyn:

- Whenever you stayed over at her place, she always made sure to provide everything for you: slippers, socks, pajamas, anything you might need

- And it was always the highest quality you had ever seen

- So seeing you in her clothes wasn’t new, although she sometimes liked to have you try on things she didn’t wear anymore, partly because she couldn’t due to her important name, and partly because she spent half her time in uniform

- Those little fashion shows almost always ended with her on top of you, while you are very busy figuring out how to stay quiet so none of the servants, or worse, her parents, would catch you

- It didn’t matter if the clothes didn’t suit you, being able to see you in so many different lights made her fall even more in love with everything about you

- The final blow? One day she decided to look through the enforcers’ uniforms to find one that would fit you, and for the first time, she saw you in clothes that matched hers

- There was something about it that made her hope that uniform would change the chemistry of your brain too and make you join the force, just so she could spend more time with you, just so she could see you like that more often

Mel:

- For Mel, it wasn’t an event: she was used to everything, mastering her emotions, and seeing you wearing something of hers had only left her confused for a second, from which she quickly recovered, smiling at you

- “It looks really good on you, you know?” she had asked

- It didn’t bother her. Objectively, you seemed stupid borrowing those elegant clothes tailored exactly to her body

- It almost felt like heresy to wear the clothes of a goddess-like figure. But the goddess had sensed something, and she began buying and commissioning outfits for both you and her, matching, so you wouldn’t feel like you were missing something

- But there was one moment, a specific one, where seeing you in one of her dresses had left her speechless

- When you told her that the sweater was so beautiful it was almost a shame knowing she couldn’t wear it on the day you’d marry her

- And Mel Medarda came from a land of war, where it was hard to get attached to people, let alone objects

- Yet from that day, that piece of clothing became a constant for her, even if it meant layering or pulling it down to keep her shoulders bare

- Because it no longer just warmed her skin; it began to warm something deeper, something she hadn’t even realized she had

Sevika:

- Her clothes reflected her line of work: dirty, unpleasant, dangerous

- But despite that, she would drape them over you herself, no matter how worn they were: if she thought you might be cold, without a word, you’d find a sweater or hoodie on your shoulders

- And even though she’d glance at you from the corner of her eye, she wouldn’t stop watching you for a single moment when you wore something of hers

- It was a matter of homeland—there was no ownership in Zaun, not even last names, as even the family you belonged to was irrelevant compared to what you could do

- And the gangs, thugs, and troublemakers wouldn’t hesitate to steal what was yours

- But you were hers, and you couldn’t be stolen. And that shirt was hers, but she didn’t feel mutilated, like she normally would, when you wore it

- In fact, she loved it, opening her arms to invite you to snuggle up, holding you carefully so the prosthetic wouldn’t bother you, adjusting the clothing on you ten, a hundred times, almost unconsciously

- And when you wore her clothes, it felt like for a little while, you could wear her skin too, to understand her better, and she suddenly seemed more vulnerable

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scientia-rex · 1 year ago

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When I was in ninth grade I wanted to challenge what I saw as a very stupid dress code policy (not being allowed to wear spikes regardless of the size or sharpness of the spikes). My dad said to me, “What is your objective?”

He said it over and over. I contemplated that. I wanted to change an unfair dress code. What did I stand to gain? What did I stand to lose? If what I really wanted was to change the dress code, what would be my most effective potential approach? (He also gave me Discourses on the Fall of Rome by Titus Livius, Machiavelli’s magnum opus. Of course he’d already given me The Prince, Five Rings, and The Art of War.)

I ultimately printed out that phrase, coated it in Mod Podge, and clipped it to my bathroom mirror so I would look at it and think about it every day.

What is your objective?

Forget about how you feel. Ask yourself, what do you want to see happen? And then ask, how can you make it happen? Who needs to agree with you? Who has the power to implement this change? What are the points where you have leverage over them? If you use that leverage now, will you impair your ability to use it in the future? Getting what you want is about effectiveness. It is not about being an alpha or a sigma or whatever other bullshit the men’s right whiners are on about now. You won’t find any MRA talking points in Musashi, because they are not relevant.

I had no clear leverage on the dress code issue. My parents were not on the PTA; neither were any of my friend’s parents who liked me. The teachers did not care about this. Ultimately I just wore what I wanted, my patent leather collar from Hot Topic with large but flattened spikes, and I had guessed correctly—the teachers also did not care enough to discipline me.

I often see people on tumblr, mostly the very young, flail around in discourse. They don’t have an objective. They don’t know what they want to achieve, and they have never thought about strategizing and interpersonal effectiveness. No one can get everything they want by being an asshole. You must be able to work with other people, and that includes smiling when you hate them.

Read Machiavelli. Start with The Prince, but then move on to Discourses. Read Musashi’s Five Rings. Read The Art of War. They’re classics for a reason. They can’t cover all situations, but they can do more for how you think about strategizing than anything you’re getting in middle school and high school curricula.

Don’t vote third party unless you can tell me not only what your objective is but also why this action stands a meaningful chance of accomplishing it. Otherwise, back up and approach your strategy from a new angle. I don’t care how angry you are with Biden right now. He knows about it, and he is both trying to do something and not doing enough. I care about what will happen to millions of people if we have another Trump presidency. Look up Ross Perot, and learn from our past. Find your objective. If it is to stop the genocide in Palestine now, call your elected representatives now. They don’t care about emails; they care about phone calls, because they live in the past. I know this because I shadowed a lobbyist, because knowing how power works is critical to using it.

How do you think I have gotten two clinics to start including gender care in their planning?

Start small. Chip away. Keep working. Find your leverage; figure out how and when to effectively use it. Choose your battles, so that you can concentrate on the battle at hand instead of wasting your resources in many directions. Learn from the accumulated wisdom of people who spent their lives learning by doing, by making mistakes, by watching the mistakes of their enemies.

Don’t be a dickhead. Be smarter than I was at 14. Ask yourself: what is your objective?

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meowdei · 2 months ago

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down the drain (literally) — ft. ryomen sukuna

female reader ; established relationship (engaged even!) ; modern bf sukuna ; slightly dramatic reader (she’s in shambles okay??) ; soft sukuna ; fluff

Sukuna is going to kill you.

For one, you’ve been in the bathroom for thirty minutes and he is clearly sick of it—the door handle rattling is proof enough. For another…well…your engagement ring is down the drain.

(Literally.)

You’re technically supposed to take it off when you wash your face just to be safe, but you get tired, and you forget here and there—mornings are always rough as it is. Sometimes, because you’re human, you forget. And it’s generally okay. Until it’s not.

Because your engagement ring is down the drain. (Literally.)

“God fuckin’ dammit woman,” he hisses, knocking on the door, “what are you doing in there? Open the damn door it’s been ages.”

“Just a second,” you call, panicking as you try to pull the drain plug out, but it doesn’t budge. Your fingers aren’t doing you any favors either—it feels like they’re the perfect size to not fit around anything to help you out here.

Your engagement ring is down the drain (literally) and there’s nothing to do but slowly bite your lip as tears collect at your lash line. So you open the door—and before Sukuna’s angry face can scold you any further, you’ve collapsed against his chest, soaking his bare chest with your tears.

“Wha—” he’s stunned. Stiff and standing there for a moment before he’s stuttering, “h-hey—I didn’t even yell at you that bad, what the fuck? Why’re you bein’ so—”

“I’m sorry, Kuna,” you sob, “please don’t be mad!”

“I’m mad but not that mad,” he says, bewildered. You sob harder at that, and his hands quickly find your hips and squeeze in panic at a poor attempt to reassure you. “Okay, okay! Not mad. Just…mildly annoyed. You’re…mildly annoying, better?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you wail.

“Okay! I got it! You’re havin’ a slow morning. Whatever, I waited. Can we just—”

“I didn’t think it’d slip off like that!”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“My ring,” you hiccup. He stills. You sniffle, pulling away and preparing yourself for his harsh, bitter anger as you whisper, “it fell down the drain.”

“What?” he looks at you, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I w-was washing my face and then…and then—” you take a shuddering breath to try and work through your sobs before you continue, “it fell off and went down the drain! Now it’s in the sewers!”

“The sewers?”

“Yeah the pipes are gonna take it to the sewers!”

“I don’t think it’s in the sewers just yet—”

“And then the sewers will take it to the ocean and then I’ll never find it again!”

“The ocean is a long way from here—”

“I’m so, so, so sorry—”

“Oh my god, woman,” he grabs your cheeks, squeezing them together to shut you up as you stare up at him with wet, miserable, teary eyes. And he softens. Lets his shoulders fall a little as he sighs before rough thumbs are swiping at your cheeks less than gently, but more than in love. “’S just a ring.”

“It’s not just a ring,” you gasp, “it’s my engagement ring!”

“Well, yeah,�� he shrugs, “but we’re still engaged—”

“But now no one will know!”

“Then I’ll buy you a damn new one,” he groans, rubbing his temples as he clicks his teeth when a fresh new round of tears soak your cheeks. (He doesn’t like how it looks—wobbly lips and puffy eyes on you make him feel like he’s doing something wrong. He has enough mistakes to worry about as is.)

“But it’s expensive and—”

“And not your problem,” he grumbles, “I’ll buy you a ring. A nicer one, too, if you promise to quit your whining.”

“You’re not mad?” you sniffle, slumping against his chest as your arms circle his waist.

He melts. Because it’s you, and he always does when it’s you. His arms wrap tightly around you, and a large hand cups the back of your head as he presses a small kiss to your temple.

“You want me to be mad that bad?”

“No,” you whimper.

“Then ‘m not,” he snorts, chest vibrating under your cheek at his laugh, “so quit worryin’. You’ll get creases and everyone’ll think I married some old hag.”

You crack a small grin. He’s good at that—at pulling a soft smile onto your lips against your will as you let out a quiet giggle, gently swatting at his back with your hand as you huff. For a second, the ring is forgotten. For a second, it’s just you, it’s just Sukuna, and it’s just nothing else.

“Not a hag, you asshole,” you huff.

“You nag like one,” he mumbles.

“Do not,” you huff, “you just always piss me off.”

“You piss me off, too.”

“Are you pissed off about the ring?” you ask quietly.

“No,” he grunts. His arms squeeze you tighter, his lips kiss your head once more, and his body sways you side to side ever so slightly as he repeats, more seriously this time, “no. Forget the ring. I’ll get you a new one if I have to, so don’t cry.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he hums.

He does. Ring or not, he does. And you can tell he does when he pulls away, gently pinches your nose and leans in to kiss the tears off your face as you can’t help but smile and giggle.

Your ring is down the drain (literally) and so is the hefty sum of money he spent on it, but everything else is still right here. Him and you and you and him and everything you’re ever built, nestled perfectly safe between the little space between your bodies.

“Done cryin’?” he asks gently.

You nod, kissing his jaw as he hums in content. “Yeah.”

“Great. Then get out—it’s my turn in the bathroom and I’ve waited long enough.”

—————— BONUS.

“Hand me the wrench.”

“Okay,” you hum. You hand him a tool, and he stares at you unimpressed as soon as he looks at it.

“That’s a screwdriver.”

“Oh. Which one’s the wrench?”

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” he groans, rubbing his temples.

Fifteen minutes later, and a good deal of bickering over what a wrench looks like and how his tools don’t all look the same, Sukuna has successfully retrieved your very shiny, and very pretty engagement ring. (It didn’t make it very far down the pipes—which is good. It didn’t make it to the sewers, and it most certainly didn’t make its way into the ocean.)

It’s no longer down the drain. (Literally.)

It’s now on your finger. (Literally.)

“Happy?” he raises a brow, watching as you grin at your finger, clearly pleased.

“Yeah,” you hum, sighing in relief. “Good thing you’re at least good at something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

“I’m flushin’ that thing down the toilet next time! Sendin’ it straight into the ocean so you’ll never find it again!”

I’ll never forget when I was six years old and I dropped the small ring I got from a gumball machine down the drain when I was brushing my teeth and then I had such a severe meltdown my dad had to bust out his toolkit, open the damn bathroom sink pipes, and fish it out. Because six year old me could not FATHOM losing my 50 cent plastic ring no matter how many times he promised he’d buy me a new one 💀

Anyway. My dad and I were reminiscing about that on call and then I decided it would make a cute sukuna drabble so here you go.

Anyway peace ✌️

#meowdei.writing #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna fluff

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gojonanami · 10 months ago

Text

❝ 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ! ❞

❝ THEY TOOK YOU. SO SATORU GOJO DID THE ONLY REASONABLE THING — HE TOOK THEIR LIVES ! ❞

✧ pairing: gojo satoru x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo rarely loses his cool. except when it comes to you. so when you get taken and found hurt, he takes matters into his own hands to find out who did it and make them pay.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, canon compliant, feral gojo, acts of violence, reader gets kidnapped and attacked, gojo goes insane, gojo clan sucks, higher ups get asses best, yaga and Ijichi featured, dom!gojo, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral (f), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, implied multiple rounds, swearing,

✧ w/c: 8,446

The worst mistake Satoru Gojo ever made that morning was to get out of bed.

If he had just stayed in bed that morning, turned his cellphone on silent, and basked in the warmth of the soft comforter you had picked out (even as you balked at the exorbitant price) and especially in the warmth of your embrace — the one place where it felt as if it was okay to be himself, just him.

And now it was just him.

Because you were gone.

When his phone rang that morning, your lips had been against his, indulging in a lazy morning tryst because for once, Satoru had been off duty — or he was supposed to be off duty. Your gaze had been the ones to stir him from sleep, as even in the embrace of sleep he couldn’t resist you or your adoring eyes — the very same he held more precious than his own.

“I didn’t even say anything, how did you wake up?” And his lips curl at your slight frown, his fingers brushing over the curve of your cheek.

“Thought my pretty wife was admiring my beauty while I slept so I had to wake up to the same,” and he’s leaning over to press lazy kisses along your jaw.

“Did you just call yourself beautiful?” You snort, and he grins, before falling into a playful pout.

“My own wife doesn’t think her husband’s beautiful?” And you’re rolling your eyes, before rolling over on top of him, your body only covered by the black t-shirt you had stolen from him last night, a small groan as he felt your very bare thighs brush against his boxers.

You were a goddess — your smile ethereal in the sunlight streaming in from the window as you leaned over him, and he was willing to worship all his life at your altar, if you would only give him a brush of your lips.

“Of course I think you’re beautiful, I’m the one always saying that anyway,” your lips brush his chastely, far too quick and teasing, “I was just imagining what Nanami would say if he heard that,”

“Oh? And what’s that, sweetheart?”

“He would say the size of your ego is becoming a threat to Earth’s atmosphere,” and Satoru raises an eyebrow.

“And my darling wife would disagree, right?” and you look away, biting back a smile, “eh? You’d let him say such heinous things about me?”

“It’s not heinous if it’s true—“ you gasp, and he’s flipped you on your back, pressing his lips to yours to swallow your words, along with your giggles, as you break free, “Toru! Ah—“ and he nibbles at your neck, “hey!”

“You have to pay for the consequences of your actions, baby, what kind of sensei would I be?” And you’re rolling your eyes.

“I’m not your student, ngh,” you’re gasping as his teeth sinks into your neck, “if anything, I’m the one reigning you in,”

“Well then,” he chuckled in his words, as his fingers trace your jaw, “I’ll have to show you how far your student has come then,” and his lips only brush yours, when his phone rings.

“Baby,” you sigh, and he’s glancing at the phone, a sigh on his lips, as he reaches for the phone, sneaking a glance at you, before he picks up.

You press sweet kisses to his chest as you hear the faint murmur of Yaga’s voice through the phone, hearing reports of the special grades they’ve been tracking, “Old man, this is the first day off I’ve taken off in so looooong,” and he holds the phone away from his ear until Yaga’s screams fade, “fine, fine, send Ijichi,” he hangs up while Yaga was still mid-yell, tossing his phone on the bedside table with a sigh, “sweetheart,”

“I know,” you cup his cheek, his lips in a pout not made for the strongest sorcerer, but for your Satoru, “I’ll be here when you come back — waiting very impatiently,” and he chuckles, his lips finding yours.

“How’d I get so lucky to have such an understanding wife?” And your lips curl.

“You annoyed her into falling in love,” and he gapes at you as you giggle, until he’s got you pinned underneath him yet again, “what? It’s true!”

“Then I’ll have to annoy you some more, just to make sure,” and he’s finding you in another kiss, until his devilish fingers run down your sides, beginning their assault on the spots that made you laugh the most.

You pulled your lips from his, squealing, “Nooooo! Satoru, stop!” you tried to push him off from tickling you, but he was the strongest for a reason—a reason you usually were very grateful for, but not right now. And finally he relented, as you gasped and chuckled still, lips in the most adorable pout, “you’ll pay for that,”

“Oh really? How’s that, wifey?” and you kiss his lips chastely, barely a brush, as you cross your arms, fighting back a smile.

“That’s the only goodbye kiss you get,” and he gasps, clutching his chest dramatically, before that smirk of his returns, “and you try to steal one and I’m making you sleep on the couch,” And he pouts, before you press a longer kiss to his lips, “you’re lucky I love you,”

Satoru grinned, “I know.”’

Yeah, he should have never gotten out of bed.

“Where is she?” For once, Satoru’s words were devoid of humor, the laughter and happiness sapped from his very essence the moment he had heard. The moment he had felt your cursed energy waver. All this time, Satoru’s eyes had been focused on the outline of your soul, no matter where he was, because you were always the one thing he wanted to come home to — that he needed to.

“I don’t know Satoru, that’s why I had called you,” Yaga runs his fingers through his hair, “goddamnit,” he swore, scrubbing a hand down his face, “the mission came from the higher ups, they wouldn’t give me the specifics, but they said it was confidential—“

“I don’t care for the details right now, do we know anything about where she is?” Satoru keeps his words carefully measured, muscles wound taut, the only thing keeping him from using blue to destroy Jujutsu Tech in one fell swoop was the thought of you, “did she tell you anything else—“

And Ijichi bursts in, brow furrowed, “Gojo, we have a lead.”

~~~

Was this how it would end?

You knew it was in your fate to die, eventually. A wretched cycle that all of you were forced to live. An endless baton pass that always ended with the last runner dying — nothing but a pile of corpses left behind and to look back on.

And it would almost be a relief, a blessing to finally be done — if it wasn’t for Satoru.

You knew he would blame himself for this. He always blamed himself. Blamed himself when he couldn’t beat Toji. Blamed himself when he couldn’t save Riko. Blamed himself when he couldn’t save Geto. Because he was the strongest, and that meant he should be able to solve everyone’s problems — do everything no one else can do, be everywhere at once, and never fail.

Never. And yet, that’s not what the sleepless nights he spent working told you. It only told you that jujutsu would take everything from him, if he let it, and he would let it, if only that meant he could do more good.

And he was so good. Even if he didn’t see it — you could almost feel the lingering warmth of his embrace this morning, the wide grin on his lips as he peppered kisses down your neck, and the soft gaze of blues made of affection just for you — you would always see it for him.

You don’t see the curse coming, your vision blurred from the last strike. The crack of your bones barely registers in your ears, the curse presses you into the wall, claws pressed to your throat, drawing blood to run down your neck.

“Now, now, we can’t kill her, at least not yet,” a voice calls out, “we were given strict orders to wait,”

The curse’s growl reverberated across your skin, a desperate growl deep in its chest, the string of control being pulled taut, as its black nails dig deeper into your side, until it dropped you onto the ground like a rag doll.

Your body ached only for moments before it was chased away by numbness. And you could only wonder if this was how they felt? Riko, Haibara, Geto, all the others you watched die — was this the pain they felt? The ache of muscles that they could no longer feel, the sticky wetness of blood that seeped from their unknowing bodies, and the cold thst crept up from the tips of your toes.

You wanted it to stop. You wanted to stop. But each time you felt the tug of the other side, you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t. Not when Satoru needed you.

Your eyes burn with tears. And you needed him.

~~~

“Where is she?” The same question was ringing in Satoru’s head over and over since he had heard.

Candle wicks trembled with fear, casting shadows on the wall that shivered in the presence of the man before them. The papered panels was all that stood between him and these old men — the very same that played with the lives of many day in and day out. It would be far too easy to kill them all — in fact, it would barely take any effort at all with his cursed technique.

But he wouldn’t allow them the warm embrace of an instant death.

“Such insolence — how dare you enter this place and speak—“

“You ought to be thanking me,” his power sparked in the glint of his eyes, the glow of the lit wicks catching in the hard blues, “for not bashing your skulls in and ripping your hearts from your chests from the moment I entered,”

A silence swept over the room, another voice speaking, “Gojo—“

“The next words out of your mouth better be an answer because I don’t want to ask again,” his voice fills the silence in the room, only broken by the sounds of the candles crackle, “where is she?”

“We cannot disclose where—“ there’s a loud crack, the splintering of wood and the wet squelch of flesh and blood, and a cold breeze swept through the room, the candles going out.

Satoru’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of his neck, forcing the broken floorboards digging into his wrinkled skin, “I said I want an answer, do you think I would think twice about killing any of you?”

There’s a pause and the silence is only filled by the sound of gore dripping down the paper screens and hitting the floor.

“The only reason I haven’t yet was there was no point to it — no meaning,” and he could see you this morning, his lips curled for you, a strangled choking noise leaving his throat as the pads of his fingers squeezed around his neck, “but now I have every reason to, so tell me before I lose my patience,”

A silence fills the room again, until one of them speaks, “Let him go, and we’ll tell you.”

~~~

“Who do you work for?” the words come out strangled, your fingers bunching up your soaked fabric and pressing it to the gash on your stomach, “why did you bring me here?” You force yourself not to give them the satisfaction of a flinch.

“Do you really think it would be that simple to get me to reveal the reason, jujutsu sorcerer?” you hear a distant laugh, “we have our reasons, isn’t that simple enough? Or rather—”

His footsteps clapped against the floor, your head wrenched upwards, as a small yelp escapes your lips, “does it matter when you’re going to die either way?”

And you grit your teeth, before spitting on his face, half blood, half saliva, “At least I don’t have to live a life as pathetic as yours,” his fingers squeeze at your chin, your jaw aching under his grasp.

“Pathetic?” He wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt before, throwing you to the floor, body screaming in pain, but you refuse to show weakness, even as tears burn at your tear ducts, “And yet, I’m not the one bloodied and battered and two inches from death, bitch,” he scoffs, muttering, “I can see why they ordered us to kill you now, who would want someone like you around?”

“Now I’m listening, who gave you those orders?” Another voice says from behind him. The man freezes, while you lift your head, a small smile on your lips, “are you hard of hearing or just plain stupid? Well, I don’t really need to even ask that, do I?”

He was shrouded in shadow, but you didn’t need to see him to know it was him — especially as he tugged his blindfold down with two fingers, blue eyes devoid of any humor or joy, and instead only with hatred.

“Satoru Gojo,” the voice left the man’s lips slowly, but before he could react, the special grade curse that had held you was barreling towards him in a moment, before Satoru held it at bay with his infinity, the other curses following suit — how many did this curse user have in the room with him? Three? No more like five or six, but even so — you scoffed under your breath, it wouldn’t matter, “No, you idiots! Don’t—”

And in a moment, they are eviscerated — held back by his infinity, deep seeded growls and roars leaving their lips, “c’mon now, is this the best you can do? I was expecting more from those bold enough to take my wife, but I guess I expected too much,” he sighs, before he lifts one hand, “Cursed Technique Amplification, Blue,”

You barely can make out the screams from one another, the splatter of their essence raining down from above, until you hear footsteps rushing towards you, and you’re hauled to your feet, pressed against the cursed user, his hand around your neck.

“One more move, and I break her neck,” Satoru landed below with ease, his gaze raised until he met yours, and you saw it soften for you — a silent question of ‘are you okay?’ and your nod and a forced smile that told him you were okay enough.

“You can try,” his words were slow and measured, just as his steps towards you were, “but I don’t think you understand who you are dealing with,”

He tensed, fingers digging into your neck, “I know perfectly well who you are, Satoru Gojo, and I am not afraid to die by your hand for this,”

Satoru’s lips curled, “I wasn’t talking about me,”

The kidnapper’s eyes narrowed, “What?”

And you jabbed at his knee, the bone splintering under your force, but you barely hear the snap or his scream because of the blood roaring in your ears. You don’t spare a second before slamming your other hand into his head, nose breaking from your fist, blood splattering across your arm. You ready yourself for another move, before you felt him ripped away from you, a strong arm around you to steady you.

“It’s okay, I got you, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Satoru murmured, soft words meant to soothe you, as his body envelops your tense muscles, until you finally relax into his arms. Your eyes burned with tears, as you looked up at him, before your eyes slid to the kidnapper, Satoru’s hand around his throat.

“I knew you’d come for me, Toru,” you whispered, grasping onto the front of his jacket, “I knew you would,”

“I always will,” and his eyes turned to the man, voice even, “should I kill him once I’m done questioning him?”

You know he means it.

“I don’t know,” you reply, fingers curling as you pressed your face against his chest, “but I don’t want you to have blood on your hands, not for me,”

“It wouldn’t be for you. It would be for me,” he says softly, “but we can discuss it later,” and then others began to flood the scene, the sights and sounds feeling distant as your eyes drooped with exhaustion.

“Satoru, I’m—“ your voice broke, “I really tried—“

“Shh, you did great,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head, as you finally succumbed to exhaustion, slumping over in his arms, “I’ll handle the rest.”

~~~

“You all must be wondering why I called this meeting,” Satoru said, standing at the head of the Gojo clan’s meeting room. It had been long since he had stood as the head, but far too short for his liking. He had discarded this part of his life as soon as he could, joining Jujutsu Tech without a second of hesitation, and continued to run the operations of his clan as an adult, behind the scenes.

But it seems he was too lax.

It had been a few weeks since the incident. You were asleep for a good day in and out while Shoko worked on you. She came out of your room, pulling off the surgical cap off her head, and Satoru got to his feet, as Shoko removed her gloves and mask, “She’s fine, Satoru,” and he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“How bad was it?” he asks, and she tilts her head, hands slipping into her pockets.

“Are you asking that to know how badly she was injured or so you can do worse to whoever did this?” Satoru shrugs, lips parting and she holds up a hand, “never mind, the less I know, the better,” she grabs your file and opens it, “most of her injuries related to cursed technique burn out — it seems whoever took her used curse spirits to attack her, she mentioned when she was conscious briefly that they didn’t control the curses, but they seemed to be able to work with them somehow,”

“More intelligent curses have been appearing since Yuji became Sukuna’s vessel,” Satoru murmured, but this wasn’t related to the asparagus special grade or volcano head. It was separate — it was personal.

“But all of this to take a first grade sorcerer, why?” and he shakes his head.

“It wasn’t for her — it was for me,” and that’s why they hadn’t killed you, “is she awake?”

Shoko sighed, “She should be waking up in a bit. She didn’t need much aside from some RCT treatment and stitches for the wounds she sustained,” she places a hand on his shoulder, “go see her, and try not to murder anyone until she wakes up,” she turns to leave, heels clicking.

“Wait,” Satoru stops her, and she pauses, “I need a favor.”

~~~

Satoru never liked hospitals. He hadn’t spent much time in them for actual injuries, because of his abilities. However, he spent far too much time inside medical facilities for the Gojo clan’s required medical check-ups. It was to ensure the future head’s health, he was told, but really, it was an excuse to make sure their cash cow would still give them milk.

Because that’s all he ever was — a pawn.

But he had long shed that role, tossed it from the board, when he had left for Jujutsu Tech. But even so, he lingered outside your room, some things still stuck. Especially when he had new memories — of seeing his comrades dead bodies laid on cold metal slabs.

And would you have been another if he hadn’t made it in time?

Satoru shakes his head of his thoughts, and opens the door. You were still asleep. Tucked into the hospital bed, you looked so small somehow, fragile — two things he never saw you as. How could he have? When you were the one on his first day to greet him and then slap him when he had something pretentious or childish (neither of you remembered but you had insisted it was one or the other).

And he had never let you go after that. But now…he couldn’t even hold you.

The sharp beeps of the machine monitoring your vitals, connected by the tubes and wires that ran all over your body. He reaches for his blindfold so he can look at you, really look at you, but he can’t. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into the soft of his palms,

But you were alive. You were alive. You were alive.

That’s what he had to tell himself as he drew closer to your side — no matter how you looked now, you were okay. And that’s what was most important.

“Are you going to brood by my bedside all day?” his gaze snaps to you, your eyes fluttering open still, still drooping and exhausted, but a soft smile on your lips, “Because hospitals are depressing enough, Toru,”

He chuckles, forcing his tears back and his voice to be event, “Sorry, sweetheart, I forgot to pull out the stops for you this time,” and his fingers find yours, lacing as they always did, but they felt so cold, “next time I’ll bring confetti, balloons, streamers, and I’ll serenade you even—”

You snort, “You may be the best at everything, but I know you’ll sing offkey on purpose just to piss off Shoko or anyone else that visits me,” and he laughs shakily, a sigh stuck in his throat.

He presses his forehead to yours, “I love you, so much, y’know that, yeah?”

“I love you too, so much, Toru,” you cup his cheeks, turning your head to press your lips to his hand, “thank you for saving me,”

“You saved yourself, I just cleaned up a little,” his lips find yours in a soft kiss, and your brow furrowed, “what? Are my kissing skills that bad?”

You roll your eyes, “No, but are you okay?” and he scoffs softly, shaking his head.

“You’re the one who got kidnapped and hurt, and you’re asking me if I’m—”

“Satoru, you asked me if you should murder that guy,” you tilted your head, “I know you’re not against killing if it’s necessary or deserved, but the way you said it, I got worried,”

“I’m fine, I just—” he cut off, “I just need to figure out who did this,” you squeeze his hand, “I have to,”

“Satoru—“

“I know you’re okay, but you don’t know how afraid I was that you wouldn’t be—“ he cuts off, “and it’s not just that,” his fingers curl around yours tighter, “it’s not just us we’ll have to worry about in the future. We’re already a family, but what will happen if someone targets you and our future kids?” He takes a shaky breath at the thought,

“I have to make an example.”

Your gaze grows sad, pressing a kiss to his lips, if only to ground him for a moment, “I know,” but you frown all the same, “but promise me, you won’t do anything stupid, ok?”

But he was far from stupid — but the people before him were as close as anyone could get.

“You all are aware of my wife’s attack a few weeks ago,” he said in measured words, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m here to tell you that she has succumbed to her wounds,” his voice wavered, breaking, “she’s gone,”

There were whispers and murmurs that swept over the room, all were silenced by the lift of a hand — one of the Gojo Clan elders, the geezer leader as he liked to call him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Satoru,” he said, lips twisted in a fake frown, “we heard that your beloved wife passed from her injuries a week ago,”

“And yet, I see you’ve brought someone for me to meet,” his eyes slide to the woman dressed for a wedding rather than a meeting, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The woman’s painted lips kept in a neutral expression, her body so rigid he could have mistaken her as a statue if not for his six eyes, and her eyes refused to meet his.

“Satoru, I understand you are mourning, but we have to think of the future of the Gojo clan, and our future place in the Jujutsu world is only as secure as the next heir—“

“And so you thought to disrespect my wife by trying to marry your choice?” but their brows furrow as he begins to laugh, one that sends shivers down their backs.

The elders all gape at him, sharing looks, before turning back to him as his laughter finally settles into a quiet chuckle, “Satoru, what is this?”

“It’s funny that you ever thought I’d fall for this bullshit,” he pulls off his sunglasses, cerulean eyes gleaming in the low light, “did you know my wife was never supposed to be sent on this mission? Or rather, there were no reports of cursed spirits in the area, but yet, orders came for her to report to where she was,”

A hush falls over the group, “And why are you telling us this?”

“Because I think you all have forgotten your place,” in a blink, he’s grasping the neck of the elder, the very same man who had taken him away from his parents at the age of two to ensure his training was done properly, “I am the strongest, not the Gojo clan. I’m the only Gojo needed for the clan to be prosperous,”

“You insolent child—“ Satoru squeezes around his neck, gasps and whimpers clawing their way out from his grip, veins bulging as he tried and failed to pull Satoru’s hands off. He had even let the old man penetrate his infinity and all he had managed was a scratch or two.

“You should be careful when you’re talking to the ‘child’ who has your life in his hands,” and he grows silent, “now, to get back to the point, where did those orders come from?”

A quiet washed over the room, the only sounds were the shaky gasps of the elder in his hand, “W-what are—“

“I had a chat with the higher ups — those rotten old geezers may not like me, but I know they like all their limbs intact,” he drops the elder and twists his arm behind his back, wrenching back until he heard a cracking noise, “and they told me the orders came from the Gojo clan, and I wondered why would my own clan send the wife of the head off to be executed,”

“Satoru—“ one of the elders spoke, and he tilted his head.

“If you want him to die, your excuses will only make this go faster,” and his mouth shuts, “I’ll take your silence as a confirmation that all of you had a hand in this,” he sighs, removing his sunglasses, running his fingers through his hair, “man, I’ve had conspiracies against me, but I never guessed you’d target the one person I value above everything else. But I knew you would fail her little test,”

He’s met with furrowed brows and gritted teeth, the elder looking up at him in fear, “W-what?”

“You see if I had it my way, I would have killed you all, no questions asked,” his fingers close over the top of his head, wrenching him backwards to meet his gaze, “But my wife, my very much alive wife,” he adds, with a glance to the woman looking increasingly faint with each second that passes, “she would want me to see if you’d come clean about the plan and whether some of you were innocent,” his lips curl, “but she doesn’t know the bloody history of the Gojo clan like we do,” and his fingers dig into the flesh of the elder, “so what’s a few more bloodstains?”

He tears off his head, screams ringing out as a rush of scarlet paints the walls, splattering across the other elders. The woman offered to be his wife rings over the others, her shrill shriek piercing their eardrums. It’s a dull thud as the lifeless corpse falls to the floor, as Satoru wiped the blood from his cheek, a cock of his head and eyes flashing with anger.

“You can’t do this! You—“ Satoru’s fist connects with his face, blood flooding his features.

“I can, because I’ve decided the Gojo clan needs to get rid of the tumors that infect it, and besides,” his body crumples to the floor as his foot slams into their stomach, a sick, wet noise that draws gasps and open mouthed silent screams from the others, “what are you going to do about it?”

“Please, please, she’s alive—” one of them begged, all of them falling to their knees, wrinkled faces contorted in fear, blown out eyes and faces wet with tears only making them more ugly than he thought was possible — he really couldn’t end up like these geezers, “we only wanted what was best—we wanted the next head of the clan to be even more powerful than you are—”

He laughs, not an ounce of mirth or levity, shivers running down the spines of the others who watched, as he stepped over the body of the elder, lips twisted into a wide grin, “And there’s your mistake,”

He loomed over the one who spoke, shadow cast over him, as his fingers curled around his arm, before breaking it off, spurts of blood splattering on his clothes, mixing with the other — some of it flecked across his face.

Satoru wiped his face with his forearm, tilting his head. He knew they were begging and pleading — lips moving, words forming, but it all fell on deaf ears. After all they had never bothered to listen to any sorcerer before, did they? Suguru’s face came to mind — flashes of the spring he would never get back — so why should he listen to theirs?

“You were too busy worrying about the next head, when you should’ve been worried about the current one.”

~~~~

You were asleep.

Moonlight gave way to your features in the pitch black room, your soft breaths warming his fingers that ran over your cheek. Shoko had discharged you yesterday, and he had brought you home — but even now with you home, he couldn’t sleep. It felt as if you’d disappear the moment he took his eyes off you, slipping from his grasp just as you almost did.

But you didn’t. You’re here.

It was the same words you had whispered to him every night when he had curled up beside you, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m here, aren’t I?”

But you could disappear.

You could if he wasn’t there with you — if he wasn’t fast enough. Because he couldn’t be everywhere at once, not even the strongest could accomplish that. But he wanted to keep you safe all the same. Would it be selfish to lock you up? Hide you away somewhere others could never find you? Keep you hidden if only to keep you safe.

But you never would be safe, not while you were with him.

“Toru?” Your voice breaks him from his thoughts, eyes fluttering open to meet his as your fingers reach for his cheek, “is that blood?”

And he’s pinned your hands in a blink of an eye, quickly and quietly, “it’s not mine,” his gaze glows in the dark, catching the moonlight streaming in, and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Toru, what happened?” And he kisses along your cheekbones, your jaw, your nose, your chin, “Satoru—“

“I killed them,” his fingers trace the folds of the satin robe he had helped you into, brushing against the bandages that hid your wounds from his sight, but he could see them all the same, “the people who did this,”

Your brow furrows, “Toru, what do you mean the people who—“

“Why do you stay with me?” He leans down to find your lips in a bruising kiss, lips sliding against yours as his fingers undo the knot of your robe, letting the fabric fall away from your bare body.

“What—“ his lips part from yours, strings of spit connecting your mouths.

“Why do you stay with me when I’m a monster?” and your eyes soften.

“You’re not—“ and he’s cutting you off with another kiss, as your hands struggle under his grip, the other grazing down your side, finding the swell of your hip only to squeeze.

“I’m the perfect weapon,” he kisses down the side of your neck, teeth grazing against your soft flesh harshly, drawing a gasp from your lips, “I could have killed them all, because I know they all knew—“

“Knew what?”

“My clan elders — they wanted to have you die on a mission, they wanted to stage it, so they could have me marry who they wanted,” he pauses, drawing a finger down the valley of your breasts, “create a perfect heir,”

“Satoru—“

He kisses you again, swallowing your words along with your thoughts, parting only to speak, “so I killed them, I didn’t use my cursed technique, I wanted them to feel the pain they gave you, wanted them to feel a fraction of what you did,”

You can’t find a second to speak, his fingers now sliding up your bare leg, as he presses himself closer, erection against your inner thigh, “Toru, you didn’t have to put yourself through that—“

“I wanted to,” he parts your thighs easily, large palm spread against your inner thigh, fingers toying with the edge of your panties, “wanted to tear them to shreds for what they did to you — and what they wanted to do—”

“I’m okay, Satoru, I’m—” a bitter laugh leaves his throat, as his fingers find your bandages again.

“Do you call coming home half dead okay now by jujutsu sorcerer standards?” he shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair, “I told you after Suguru that I would fix this rotten jujutsu world,” he presses kisses up your thigh, “and their deaths did fix one thing — no sorcerer will touch you or our future children again, especially when they speak to the woman the clan wanted to marry off to when your body wasn’t even cold yet,”

“You left her,” and he nods, eyes unable to meet yours.

“I only killed the elders I gathered, anyone else was spared — they didn’t dig their own graves,” his hand loosens around your wrists and you reach for his cheek, cupping his cheek, despite the blood, “I don’t regret it, I’d kill anyone who hurts you, but I didn’t want you to see me like this,”

“Like what?”

“Like a monster,” and you click your tongue, his eyes flitting to yours.

“You’re my Satoru, not a monster, you did what you did to protect me, protect our family,” you murmur, “that’s just about the most Satoru thing you could do,”

“But—“

“And if you are deemed a monster anyway?” You lean up, fingers smearing the blood against your own cheek, “then I’ll just become a monster with you,”

He crashes into you with a kiss, cupping your cheeks, as his tongue slips into your mouth, “can you really be a monster, sweetheart?”

He drags his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing your soft flesh along the hollow of your throat, “T-Toru—“ and his lips find the swell of your breasts, his tongue dragging over your pert nipple, while his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, snapping it against your skin, “y’know I can be, I would be, for you,”

He peers up through half lidded eyelids, his thumb drags down your puffy bottom lip, “I can’t imagine someone so sweet like you as one,” he murmurs, as he pulls back, lips slick with spit, as he drags his fingers toying with the soaked fabric of your panties, “and I wouldn’t want to drag you down with me,”

Your fingers reach forward, propping yourself up on your other arm, “Drag me or not,” you cup his chin, “you’re stuck with me,”

“Can we make it a binding vow?” you roll your eyes, and his lips curl for the first time since he’s got here, “c’mon sweets, I have to get my reassurance somehow,”

You hold up the giant rock on your finger, the very diamond you had told Satoru was too much, “this wasn’t enough—” the last word is a bite back gasp, as he noses at the drenched crotch of your underwear, a deep inhale that has you squirming, “No, Toru—” but he’s pinned your thighs down, prying them open, as he gazes up at you.

“Uh-uh, princess, I don’t remember saying you could move, especially when you could reopen your wounds,” his nose bumps against your clothed clit, a wicked smile as he drags his tongue over the already wet fabric, “you still haven’t seen how much of a monster I can be.”

~~~

“Ngh, Toru, can’t, I can’t—” but you can — you know you can from the heat building in your sloppy cunt under already soaked through sheets, and he knows too well you can too, from the way your pussy flutters around his three fingers, knuckle deep as they piston in and out, while his mouth toys with your abused clit, “please—”

You lost track of how many times you had orgasmed — his fingers, his mouth, and sometimes both — he had pulled each one after the other, allowing small reprieves, only to bury himself back in. He had even had you ride his face at one point, and you were sure he’d suffocate under your drenched cunt, until he flipped you on your back again.

“Please what, sweets?” he slows his fingers, curling them a certain way that makes your lips fall open, “you’ll have to use your words,” he pulls back.

Chest heaving, chin glistening with your release, his tongue cleaned his lips off before he wiped the rest off, before pressing open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs. And soon enough, his fingers were sinking back into your messy pussy, splitting you open with his thick fingers.

“Didn’t you say you wanted this, sweetheart?” his words cut through the wet squelch of his digits fucking you open, “wanted to drag you down with you, wanted this—” and he sucks hard at your clit, tongue flicking over it, making your back arch, “wanted me to drag you down with me,” and he punctuates it with a thrust of his fingers, brushing against a spot that has you seeing spots, “gotta make good on your promise, and I have to erase all the pain they gave you,”

And you barely manage to latch onto the desperation in his voice, the way the facade flickers.

He fucks you ever so slightly deeper, and you cum hard, tearing through you as your body tenses, pleasure washing over you as it did every single other time, melding into the others, “Good girl,” he murmurs, as he works his fingers through your orgasm, the slick noises becoming white noise, until he finally pulls the digits from inside you.

Your eyes flutter open to the sight of him licking his digits clean one by one of your cum, his lips curled in a soft smile as they meet your gaze, his hand sliding up your thigh gently as it quaked, the very same fingers he had used to murder the people that hurt you, were so gentle when it was you — he was always so gentle when it was you.

But never himself.

You reach up for him, palm cupping his cheek, while the other finds his bare shoulder — clothes long discarded, “I love you,” and the cracks spread, spider webbing from the epicenter, “you know that right?”

His words seem caught in the back of his throat, “Even now?”

“Especially now,” and he’s pressing you against the mattress again, your thighs folded against your chest, legs slung over his shoulders, “you saved me,”

His gaze softened, “you saved me first,” and again and again, he couldn’t count the number of times you did, by just existing, pressing a kiss to the side of your thigh, “but if I’m too late next time?”

“You can’t be everywhere,” your fingers lace with his, “and I just need you,” and still in this situation, his ego can inflate at your praise — nosing at your thigh, a deep inhale, before dragging his tongue up the side of your leg, “only you.”

He drags his weeping erection over your soaked folds, leaking tip teasing your slit while he watched his pre mix with yours, “Think you need more than just me,” and when he lets the tip sink into you, your lips part with his name, just as your walls part for him, “want something else, wifey?”

“You’re the worst,” you look up at him, lips curling despite your pout, your fingers grasping at the sheets under you, as your cunt tries to swallow him whole, “Toru, how long are you going to tease me for?”

And he’s pulling out only to draw a groan from your lips, “If you’re such a monster, thought you could take it—“ and your hand reaches for him, tugging him close by his neck.

“I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me right now—“

He grins, “If you insist,”

Fuck.

He sinks into you all at once, all too fast and all too slow, balls deep as he bottoms out inside you, your walls fluttering only to pull him deeper, “fuck,” your head falls back as his tip brushes against your cervix, “too fucking big, I swear if you rip my stitches open—”

“You don’t think I cleared this before I decided to do this, baby?” He grunts, glancing down to see how your messy hole stretched open as he sunk into you, “can’t believe anyone thought I’d fuck anyone but you — you’re the only one for me, sweetheart,”

You couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicker to your pussy stuffed full with his huge dick, “You talking to me or my cunt—“ and he begins to fuck you, remark undercut by the moan that he pulled from your lips, “f-fucker—“

“That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart?” the lewd sounds of skin slapping together filled the room, his soft grunts and your moans, “wanted me to fuck you open, yeah?” and he wanted this, needed this after this week — it had been too long since he felt you under him like this — real and alive, his name leaving your swollen, kiss bitten lips.

And you needed it just the same — needed his fingers to dig into the softness of your thighs, needed the way only he could fill every inch of you, needed the soft murmurs of how good you felt, how much he loved you.

“Fuck, Toru, so fast,” you whine, but how could slow down he when you felt so good — so wet and warm, you had joked he could cum just looking at you alone barely a fist around his dick, but it was true — and being inside you just made him unravel completely, all sense of himself lost and drowning in just you, “hngh, it’s so deep,” you babble, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“That’s right, sweetheart, gonna fuck you deep, gotta make sure you feel it don’t I?” he coos, and his hand snakes between your thighs, pressing his palm to the bulge in your stomach, making you gasp as your walls clench around him, drawing a grunt from his lips, “that’s it, good girl,”

You keen at his praise, the wet squelch of your cunt around his cock ringing in your ears, balls slapping against your pussy with a rhythm that echoes in your head, as your body arches into him, needing him deeper, harder, faster. He’s nearly rutting into you, his thrusts growing shallow as you clamp down on him, achingly close.

“Those old fucking geezers don’t know what they were talking about—“ he grunts, running his mouth all the same even as he sunk impossibly fucking deeper, “don’t know this is the only cunt I’d ever breed. The only one I’d ever breed. The only one I can. Know why?” And you only can whimper, as his fingers rub against your clit, “because this is the only one made for my cum,”

And his words push you over the edge, cumming hard and fast, head lolling back, as his tip bullies your womb, as he fucks you hard over and over through your orgasm, sending pleasure ripping up your spine. Satoru groans as he feels you spasm, soaking in him in your juices, as he watches a white ring of your cum form around the base of his dick, dripping onto the clean sheets with the evidence of your arousal.

He can’t hold back.

He rails into you, a moan of your name falling past your lips making you pull him close, shifting your legs around his back just so he can sink into you even a centimeter deeper—

“Fuck, g’nna cum,” he’s meeting your glazed over eyes, knowing “gonna fill you up, yeah? Get you nice and round with my baby,” he groans at the thought, the image of you carrying his kid, stomach swollen as you grow his child, “and they’ll know, all of them, that you’re the only one I’d cum in,” and he’s so close, dick twitching as your arms around his neck tug him close.

“Cum in me, Toru, give me our baby,” and that’s it, he’s spilling inside you, spurting his hot release inside, again and again, as he fucks it deeper, filling you up.

“That’s it, take every drop,” he’s relentless, until he finally eases from you, his release trickling out. A soft sigh parts your lips that grows into a sharp gasp as he’s already flipping you over onto your stomach.

“Toru—” you whine.

“Aw did you think we were done sweetheart?” a pillow cushions your still bandaged stomach, placed underneath to support you, a shudder down your body as he rubs his cock against you, as he leans down, hot words murmured against your ear with a grin, before he sinks back into you with one thrust, stuffing his spilling cum back inside, “One thing about monsters are that we also have monstrous stamina.”

~~~

It was early, but Satoru was already awake.

He always had trouble sleeping, but now? His eyes found your sleeping form beside him, under the covers and safe, just as he had left you that morning. He didn’t know if he’d ever sleep more than three hours now. He brushed the back of his knuckles over your cheek, but you needed sleep — one of three things you never could live without (food and himself being the other two). And you definitely needed it now, after he had kept you up — nearly all night.

You shifted in your sleep, revealing several blooming hickies and love bites he had littered your body with, lips curling at the sight, as he pulled the blanket back up around you.

He was selfish — he should have divorced you the moment he had gotten you back. Let you leave because it was the right thing to do — to let you live a life safe without him. But he couldn’t — because he couldn’t imagine waking another morning, spending another day without knowing where you were, how you were doing.

It was selfish. But you let him be — especially when it came to you.

And his phone vibrates on the nightstand, whirring again and again, as he picks it up with a sigh, Yaga’s name flashing on the display. He takes one last glance at you before slipping from bed, stepping into the living room.

“Sensei! To what—“ he hardly gets a word out before screams fill his ears. He rubs his chin, it was too early for this.

He makes out the words — Gojo clan, dead, scandal, murder (wasn’t sure if he meant if he was going to murder Gojo or he meant what happened to the elders).

“It was a clan dispute, there was no need to tell you,”

Satoru held the phone away from his ear, Yaga’s yelling told him everything he needed to know, “Yeah, yeah, I know, the higher ups know — or they probably do by now,” he almost chuckles at the thought, and how he would love to do the same to them — knuckles white as he grips his phone — love to make them feel the same pain the sorcerers cared nothing for felt, make them—

Arms curl around him from behind and he knows it’s you, his body relaxing into your touch with practiced ease, your face buried in his back. His fingers relax, finding yours, tracing over the back, as he lifts one hand to his lips.

—But it wasn’t the time for that.

“Fine, fine, no need to have a heart attack, old man — I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” Yaga was still speaking until Satoru hung up, turning to face yoy, your eyes half closed as his fingers found your cheek, “what are you doing awake, sweets?”

His lips curl as you lean into his touch, “you weren’t next to me when I woke up,” you murmur, nose brushing against his fingers as your eyes flutter open and closed, “how am I supposed to sleep when my pretty husband isn’t next to me?”

“Just pretty?” and you snort, as his arm sneaks around your waist, pulling you to his chest, your head right over his heart, a content sigh on your lips.

“Are you ever serious?”

“Always,” and you smile up at him, chin resting against him, “what is it? Do I got something on my face?”

“You think our baby will have your pretty face?” You hum, and his gaze softens at the thought, “I hope so,”

He grins, “You do huh? And here I thought my ego didn’t need more stroking,”

“It doesn’t, but my husband deserves every bit of praise he gets — because he doesn’t get enough,” you kiss him softly, nose bumping against his.

“You planning on showering me with your praise, sweetheart?” And your lips finds his again.

“Always,” and he’s leading you back towards the bedroom, “where are you—“ you squeal as he scoops you up into his arms and carries you back to bed, gently placing you down, a grin on his lips.

He drags his thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “Do you think I’m gonna let you leave this bed without breeding you right?” He clicks his tongue, “I’m far from done with you, wifey,”

You’re so beautiful, hair spread on the pillow like a halo, “So we’re not leaving until I’m pregnant?” Your fingers brush against his cheek, “we might be here a while,”

Satoru wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He kisses you again, long and languid, “There’s nothing I want more than to stay in bed with you.”

✧ a/n: sorry i've been gone for a bit!! i got super busy with work and got hella writer's block and right when i was feeling ready to write-- i got sick. but i'm doing much better now!!

✧ taglist: @arrivedercis, @ssetsuka, @ch3rryistheg, @satorusmochis, @sunarins-bae, @blindbabycadder , @yihona-san06 , @dantaku , @archieballs , @ceruleansol , @mqcht , @xxemmarldxx , @chiyokoemilia , @theshylittleelfgirl , @rroseselavyyy , @out4thenight , @jatyes , @unreliablefangs , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @celestialseasart , @minsified , @akemfs , @ranatherealestsigma , @zherryxtar , @virtualangelllllll , @itsmebien , @difluenza , @rougebrainsludge , @mochigod , @euphorism , @vii-is-free , @elliesndg , @beneaththelamina , @monarch-of-anime-simping , @hhimetsu , @simply-a-s1mp , @jennieclips , @svt-backup , @angelbunsx , @duhhitsmiranda , @satowooo , @fushitoru , @lesaurita , @briluvslee , @gojo-gets-me-wetter , @catsgomurp , @pinkyvomit , @hyori2 , @wakashudou , @celestialgojo , @sxnkuna, @nakariabnrb, @dazailover1900, @hanlay, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @kxouri, @forest-fruits-jam, @spider-fan72, @strawmariee

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #jjk x reader #Jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk gojo

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seungisms · 2 months ago

Text

( skz reaction ) threesome with another member .ᐟ

🖇️📂 who your skz boyfriend would like to have a threesome with/how they’d act during it

genre: smut, minors dni, warnings: unprotected sex, public sex, threesome, double penetration, creampies, degradation, voyeurism, humiliation kink, polyamorous/sharing implications, note: more inexperienced!jeongin cause i clearly have some sort of a problem now 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

방찬. BANG CHAN

(minho)

chan would be the first to admit that he loves watching you get yourself off, something about you struggling to cum and begging for his cock as your fingers pitifully pump into your pussy just makes his dick so full. but what he won’t admit is how much he wants to see you get fucked by someone else. can definitely see him turning to one of the older members and with how close he is with minho he would be his first choice. so when you made an offhanded comment about how attractive you found minho he saw it as the perfect opportunity to finally get his bandmates cock into you. which is how you found yourself sandwiched between the two in some empty supply closet in the middle of a set, the muffled voice of their backstage manger ringing faintly in your ear and going ignored by the two - minho far too busy with working your cunt open on long fingers, curling them deep and slow against your cervix, muttering the filthiest shit in your ear, “always knew you wanted me, could practically feel you fucking me with your eyes everytime i came around.” an utter contrast to the way chan was simply pressing his cock into the curve of your ass from behind you, pressing you even further into his friends chest, burying his nose into your neck as he watches over you shoulder how minho flips up your skirt to get a better look at your cute cunt, groaning when it greedily eats his digits up.

“you like that baby? like minho taking care of you?” and you can only respond with a pathetic whimper - wanting, needing, something longer and thicker to fill your pussy up with. and you hate the way minho knows this, chuckling at your eagerness as your eyes follow his slow movements of unbuckling his belt, chan propping your back up against his chest and spreading your thighs, giving his bandmate full access to his girlfriends cunt. and you would’ve almost forgot about your boyfriends presence if it weren’t for the hot press of his cock prodding against your backside. minho fucks you like he’s waited his entire life to, cock bullying its way into your pussy, stretching you out with every full inch that nudges into you. doesn’t even give you time to adjust to his size, pumping himself into your small cunt and forcing you to take everything he gives you, no matter how much you struggle. but chan is guiding you through the whole time, with pretty words and sweet praises, keeping you steady on strong arms while minho feeds load after load of cum into you. “c’mon, take it pretty girl. i know you can.” and chan is cumming with you both, making a mess of his briefs when he watches minho pull his dick from you - the sight of his girlfriends pussy ruined and dripping in another mans cum going straight to his cock. can definitely see chan having minho join you both again, even just to watch - he’ll just never let on how quickly he came from watching another mans dick find home in your pussy.

리노. LEE MINHO

(seungmin)

minho always had a friendly rivalry with seungmin that you constantly seem to have to break up. they couldn’t help themselves from bickering over trivial things - who’s the better dancer, who’s funnier, who’s better looking. they love getting a rise out of eachother. until it’s not so friendly anymore, seungmin swearing one day he could get a girl off better than anyone. and minho sees it as nothing short of a challenge. so you can’t say you’re surprised when you find yourself pressed into the small worn out sofa in your apartment, your group movie night suddenly flipped on it’s head and now seungmin had his buried between your legs. and he won’t let up for a second, determined to make a liar out of your boyfriend as he slobbers, and licks and groans into your pussy - your little bud almost raw and swollen from his incessant stimulation. and minho can do nothing but watch from the other end of your couch, stroking your hair from where your head lay on his thighs, shushing your cute whimpers when his friend nudges a long finger past your folds, fucking in and out of your cunt to coax more of those pretty whines out of you. “that’s it sweetheart, let seungminnie look after you.” it doesn’t take long for seungmin to force an orgasm out of you, lapping up your sweet cum with a satisfied hum, giving a final pinch to your sore pussy before pulling away with a smug grin. and minho doesn’t give you a minute to recover, wanting nothing more than to wipe that fuckass smirk off his bandmates face, pressing his tongue hot against your sensitive clit - not giving a shit his friends salvia was dripping with your cum past your bud.

somewhere along the way they forget about their stupid competition, focused more on stuffing all your holes full to the brim with cum. they’re not shy about it either, taking turns to fuck your throat and pussy - getting to the point where you can’t tell who’s who and what cock was currently abusing your poor cunt. and you’re left feeling so powerless between them, going limp somewhere along the way with the help of minho’s strong arms keeping you up right, back pressed against his sweaty chest as he fucked into from behind - cock curved and kissing impossibly deep - seungmin propped between your spread legs, dick forcing it’s way into you everytime your boyfriend pulled out, determined to not leave you feeling empty for a second. and it’s almost too much, having two dicks fuck you at once going straight to your head, pussy pulsing and begging for a break. but they won’t let up until you’ve been fucked throughly, dripping in cum and unable to hold anymore. and it seems like their silly rivalry didn’t even matter to the both of either of them anymore.

창빈. SEO CHANGBIN

(felix)

you were constantly fighting for your boyfriends attention. it felt like he always had an excuse to hang out with felix instead. oh, you wanted me to go shopping with you today? sorry, i already went with felix. you want to go out for dinner later? can felix join? babe, felix showed me this new movie that’s out! oh, you want to come? we only got two tickets. everywhere your boyfriend was felix seemed to follow. it got to the point that changbin couldn’t ignore the tension between you both anymore - he wanted nothing more than for his two favourite people to get a long - so what better way to get rid of tension than to fuck it away? i mean, he does everything with felix, why not let him do you too? you had reluctantly agreed when you heard how eager felix was, not expecting much from the younger boy - but god, were you glad you did. especially with the way your boyfriends groupmate was doing everything in his power to prove himself to you, pressing into you from behind until he was buried to the hilt inside your pussy - struggling to hide his soft whimpers when you clench down and press around him like a vice, determined to milk him for all he’s got. and he can barely keep up with the pair of you, locking eyes with changbin who couldn’t care less about his younger friends slipping composure, settled against the headboard of your bed with you propped between his spread legs, licking and suckling away at his veiny cock - forced to hit the back of your throat everytime felix can’t help himself but nudge himself deeper into your cunt - thrusting you forward onto your boyfriends dick.

felix can’t help himself but get so carried away, still fucking himself into you when you’ve long since tapped out, so drunk on the feeling of your pussy sucking him in that he can’t even think straight, only with his dick. and he’s so apologetic too :( “I’m sorry, sorrysorrysorry. just wanna fuck you so bad, wanted to fuck you for so long.” but his constant chants for forgiveness fall on deaf ears as he just continues to nudge into you even deeper and faster than before, eager to paint your pretty pussy in his cum like he’s always wanted to. and you don’t have the strength to stop him, looking up at your boyfriend through tired eyes as he shushes your whimpers, having abandoned his cock long ago while his friend bullies your cunt. but he supposes he can forgiev you just this once, you look so sweet getting dicked down :(

현진. HWANG HYUNJIN

(jeongin)

jeongin was never subtle about his crush on you. he felt like a teenager again whenever he was around you - stumbling over his words when you made the simplest of conversations with him, eyes lingering a little too long anytime you showed the slightest flash of skin, popping a boner whenever you greeted him with a hug - he always seemed to think with his dick with you around, so he thought it easier to start ignoring you, and your boyfriend definitely noticed. hyunjin could hear the youngest whimpering your name at night, closing himself off to the other members cause he just felt so guilty for being so attracted to his hyungs girlfriend. but if anything your boyfriend found it cute, sweet even - so he was more than happy to share you with his maknae. poor boy couldn’t believe his ears at first, thinking it was some sort of sick joke but that was too mean even for hyunjin, and he couldn’t possibly let the opportunity of finally finding out how tight your little pussy really is pass. he’s so awkward the whole time, not knowing exactly what to do with his hands, looking up at you so sweetly from between your legs begging for some sort of guidance, whimpering into your greedy kisses and getting too excited that he forgets how big his dick is - fucking so deep inside of you it’s almost painful.

but hyunjin is there to keep him right, telling him how you like to be fucked, reminding him to keep stimulating your clit while pushing his dick into you, not to be afraid to slap you around a little - and jeongin is addicted to the way your body seems to respond to all of this. lets you use him in anyway you like, sitting yourself down onto his thick cock and using it to get yourself off, forcing your fingers into his mouth and making him suckle on them while he stares at you through big eyes, not believing he really had you here, fucking your tight cunt on his cock. it was better than any wet dream he’s ever had. as much as hyunjin loves his younger friend, he loves your pussy even more. and he’s soso impatient, especially as he watches you struggle to cum, it has him actually feeling jealous that he wasn’t the one buried inside of you right then. and he can’t help but to settle himself behind you, positioning your body until your chest was pressed tightly against jeongins’, cunt still stuffed full of cock before your boyfriend is forcing his own in, stretching your pussy around two dicks and for a second you fear they’re gonna rip you in half with the way they’re abusing your poor cunt. but hyunjin simply pushes your little whines, smoothing a hand over the arch of your back as you struggle and gasp on both their dicks. “it’s okay sweetheart, i know you can take the both of us. isn’t that right innie?” and jeongin can only manage a whine in response, brows furrowed as he thrusts his cock into you in time with hyunjin, hoping, praying, that this will never end.

한. HAN JISUNG

(changbin)

jisung shares everything with changbin, his food, his studio, his girl. more than once you’ve found yourself sat on changbin’s cock, fucking the stress out of his muscles as jisung reclined on the studio sofa, hand wrapped tightly and pumping around his swollen cock as he watches you get his bandmate off. changbin was addicted to your pussy, he swears you’ve ruined every other one for him and he’s more than grateful that jisung lets him lose himself in the heat of your warm cunt. and your boyfriend simply responds with, “what are bros for?” but you can’t complain, not when you have two men stimulating your cunt day in and day out, the other busying themselves with work or simply watching from the corner of the room while fisting their dick. but they’ve never fucked you at the same time. not until you’ve begged them prettily enough. jisung loves the thought of you filled to the brim with two cocks, and he’s more than happy to give into your sweet begs - but changbin claims he doesn’t want everything becoming too messy, despite having already made a mess by having filled your pussy up with cum more times than he can possibly count. and he doesn’t give in, not until you already have him too weak and pussy whipped to care. “please bin, need you so bad. just want my two boys to make me feel good,” and he’s cracking.

changbin wonders what the hell he was thinking holding out on you for so long, sweat gathering at the base of his neck as he struggles to fit his cock past your folds, you were already so tight to begin with - but with jisung already bottomed out inside of you long before, your little hole couldn’t take much more with the way it was twitching and fluttering with every inch of cock that was pressing into you. god he didn’t think you could be any hotter. but you were so cock hungry and greedy that even though your pussy was struggling to take them both you were still begging for more, taking anything and everything they’re willing to give you. jisung is so sweet to you too, thumbs keeping your folds spread so that his friend could push into you easier, leaving soft kisses against the flushed skin of your neck and muttering sweet praises in your ear as you gasp and close in around both their cocks. “shhh baby, that’s it. just open up a little more for us.” and when they finally both bury themselves inside of you they’re completely ruining your poor cunt, painting it with cum again and again until you’re sore and dripping in it, fucking your little hole until it’s memorised every curve and vein of both their dicks. yeah, jisung is more than happy to share with changbin.

필릭스. LEE FELIX

(hyunjin)

felix is a pushover. he knows how hyunjin feels about you and vice versa, and he’s such a people pleaser that he wants nothing more than to give you what you want - he just didn’t think you would want his friend. he tries to convince himself he’s only doing it to shut you up, to stop you pining over his goddamn bandmate but as he sits there and watches his friend fuck you, there’s no ignoring the slight twitch of his cock when you whimper and grind down on hyunjins’ dick. he tries reminding himself how wrong all of this really is - but he can’t help from slipping into his briefs, fisting a hand around his slick cock and pumping around it in time with his friends slow ruts into your cute pussy. getting a perfect view of your cunt struggling to stretch around a cock was almost worth the agony of seeing you with another man - and then you look over to him, pretty lips parted and eyes completely unfocused and fucked out, yet begging for even more. “lixie, please. want the both of you so bad.” felix just can’t find it in himself to not give his baby what she wants.

he’s unsure at first, fingers pressing down on your clit as hyunjin nudges himself even deeper into you, coaxing small whimpers past your lips when his fat cockhead kisses the deepest cervices of your pussy, your boyfriend continuing to rub slow circles on your bud, barely getting you off with the nasty way his friend was fucking you. “c’mon felix, she wants your dick. aren’t you gonna give it to her?” and hyunjins’ mocking tone is all he needs to finally give in, slipping his cock out of his briefs to finally find comfort in the warm heat of your cunt, pushing to the hilt inside of you everytime hyunjin pulls out. and felix is ashamed to admit it’s the hardest he’s ever came, watching as your pussy struggles to eat up all the cum that was being forced into it, milking both their dicks until it’s dribbling out past your folds and onto your thighs. he’s so attentive and careful with you after too, kissing you on the forehead after cleaning you up, but not before reminding you - “hope you had fun, cause nothing like that is gonna happen again.” poor boy just isn’t ready to confront how much he enjoyed watching you get fucked by his friend.

승민. KIM SEUNGMIN

(jisung)

seungmin just wants jisung to shut up for once. he’s easily irritable and jisung just seems to know how to push all the wrong buttons. he almost found it funny how quiet his groupmate became around you, words drying up on his tongue and for once he has nothing to say, too busy following the seam of your little skirt and wondering what kind of pretty pussy was hidden underneath to join in on the conversations happening around him. seungmin is more than happy to let you play with jisung as long as it keeps his mouth busy, and with the way he was greedily suckling and lapping at your clit he didn’t have much to say - whimpering and groaning into the heat of your pussy while grinding his needy cock down against the mattress of the bed, desperate for some form of stimulation that only your cute cunt could provide. and seungmin is just there to mock him the whole time, gripping the back of his head to pull his face away from your pussy, cutting his pathetic whine off with a tut. “look at you, don’t have much to say now huh?” jisung can’t even find it in himself to fight back like he normally would, not when your cunt is looking so sad and abandoned without his face buried in it.

seungmin loves breaking his hyungs spirit, not allowing him fuck you until he’s proven to him that he actually deserves it - letting you fuck yourself and grind down onto his face until it’s dripping in your cum and all he can feel, taste, see is you. forcing him to drag the length of his dick through your folds, but never actually allowing him to dip in past your greedy little hole. only eventually lets him fuck you after your boyfriend has already fucked you full of cum and your pussy is left all ruined and sticky by him, spreading your pussy open to let his friend sink his bare cock into you. and all jisung can manage is a soft whimper and a string of thankyouthankyouthankyou falling from his lips, eyes blown and hyper focused on your messy cunt looking so inviting. he barely lasts more than a few minutes once he finally sinks into you, the tightness of your pussy all wet and warm immediately suffocating around him and and milking load after load into it until it’s unable to take anymore of him.

아이엔. YANG JEONGIN

(chan)

you love jeongin, you really do - you just wish he was better at using his cock. it wasn’t like he was horrible, he was just so hesitant with everything - looking at you for permission before touching you where you need it most, always holding himself back from fucking you too rough even though you’re practically begging for it, only fucking into you with shallow thrusts cause he doesn’t wanna break your little pussy with how big his cock is. and he knows he isn’t giving everything you need, he’s just far too lost in his own head, stressed about accidentally making everything awkward if he completely loses himself in the feeling of your plush walls squeezing down on him like a vice, and god it’s so easy for him with how pussy whipped you have him too. chan is more than shocked when the youngest comes asking him to fuck his girlfriend, but you’re a pretty little thing and he can’t pass up the opportunity of breaking in your sweet cunt.

“go on baby, thought you were begging for a big cock to fuck you right. what, so now that it’s happening you don’t know how to act?” chan would be so smug with how fast he’s able to fuck you dumb on his dick, pumping into you real deep and slow until you’re left slack jawed and arching into him, desperate to feel even more of him despite struggling to take what he’s given you so far. and all jeongin can do is stare, stare at the way you turn into complete putty on his hyungs dick, how your cunt struggles to swallow his cock up, how you whimper pathetically when the older boy leaves your cunt, pussy suddenly feeling so empty and cold without something filling it up. but as soon as chan beckons jeongin over to settle between your spread legs that empty void leaves, your boyfriends cock kissing impossibly deep against your dripping walls, fucking you the way you so desperately craved him to. jeongin won’t stop until he’s coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of your little cunt, until you’re left swollen and raw and crying out for relief. and chan stays with you the whole time, keeping you grounded with sweet words as you get every coherent thought fucked out of your pretty little head.

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pin-k-ink · 4 months ago

Text

NO SAFE DISTANCE ⋆✦⋆ ushijima wakatoshi

synopsis ➸ ushijima has never been good at self-restraint—especially not when it comes to you. but after one too many warnings from family and friends, he tries to take it easy on you. it doesn’t take long for him to realize he’s absolutely terrible at it.

tags ➸ extremely rough séx, size kínk, breéding kínk, cúmplay, overstimúlation, obséssive!ushijima, possessíveness, mild somnóphilia, unrestrained libído, degrádation, power imbalance, prímal play, impáct play, creampíe, implied dub-con, body worship, orál fixation, hair púlling, edgíng, forcéd orgásm, dírty talking, markíng, extreme sexúal tensíon, objectifícation, free use(?)

wc ➸ 7.9k

From the very first time Ushijima Wakatoshi saw you in high school, he was completely consumed by an overwhelming desire. You had a body built for sin - every lush curve and tantalizing swell crafted to turn men into drooling, subservient wrecks. Ushijima had never felt such an intense, primal craving to possess someone so thoroughly before.

He didn't bother trying to pursue you through conventional dating or courtship. The second he got you alone after volleyball practice, Ushijima wasted no time in pinning your smaller frame against the locker room wall and ravaging your mouth with hungry kisses. You melted instantly into his powerful embrace, whimpering as his calloused hands eagerly mapped every inch of your softness.

From that moment on, Ushijima was utterly addicted to having you. An insatiable hunger possessed him to constantly bend you over, hike up your skirt, and take you from behind in every public nook and cranny he could find on campus. His friends lost count of how many times they caught him rutting into you like a wild animal, his powerful hips jackhammering mercilessly as your cries of ecstasy echoed through the hallways.

"Damn 'Toshi, you're really putting that body to work!" They would joke breathlessly. "Just wait until after you put a ring on it - you'll never want to leave that!"

Ushijima merely grunted at their defeated prophecies, thoroughly convinced his sheer force of will would allow him to control his ravenous cravings once you were officially his bride. How laughably wrong he was...

Your wedding night in Bali lasted all of five seconds before Ushijima had you naked and screaming, impaled on his thick length as he took you like a lust-starved animal against the resort balcony doors. The entire honeymoon suite still reeks of your mingled scents and the obscene squelches of his cock ruining your soaked pussy for all other men. By the time you checked out a week later, the staff had to completely strip and discard the stained bedsheets you'd been ruthlessly bred upon day and night.

Two years later, and Ushijima's hunger to dominate and claim his wife's body has only grown more rapacious. He delights in keeping you perpetually stuffed full of his potent seed - bending you over at any opportunity to slake his thirst inside your abused holes. You've long since given up any notion of dignity or shame, instead reveling in your role as his cock-warmer cumdump, spread open and overflowing with his virile leavings every hour of the day.

Ushijima adored having you as his devoted, stay-at-home wife to ravage at his whim. From the moment he returned from practice or a game, you were expected to be awaiting him fully nude and presented, ready to be claimed like the obedient little bride you were. He loved seeing you in that submissive display - limbs splayed wantonly, glistening folds already dewy with arousal just from the thought of taking his thick cock again.

There was no need for clothes or modesty when Ushijima was home. Your flawless form was meant to be admired, worshipped, and thoroughly decorated with his possessive marks. He took immense satisfaction in ensuring your silky walls were never empty, always stuffed to overflowing with his potent seed. Ushijima would thoroughly breed you in every room of the house, delighting in your whimpers and tremors as he hilted himself balls-deep and flooded your quivering womb.

Despite his rough, animalistic claiming of your body, there was no denying the depth of Ushijima's love and adoration for you. In those moments after reaching his climax, he would gently gather you against his chest, raining tender kisses over your disheveled hair and face as he stroked your curves adoringly. You were his precious, beautiful wife - the only person who could inspire such paradoxical tenderness and ferocious passion within him.

However, something shifted after one particularly enthusiastic lovemaking session left you unable to walk for nearly a full day. Ushijima had carried your trembling, spent form to the bedroom and spent hours meticulously bathing you, replacing the sheets, and ensuring you were settled comfortably. Yet the sight of your listless, overstimulated state shook him deeply.

His teammates and even parents had begun remarking with more frequency about the dark circles under your eyes and how utterly depleted you seemed. "Give the poor woman a break, son," his father had chuckled, though there was a glint of concern. "Before you run her into the ground completely."

Ushijima knew they were right. As much as he treasured being able to take his wife whenever and however his formidable lust demanded, he was perhaps taking that privilege too far. You deserved to be cherished and rested, not treated as a glorified fleshlight to be used until you were an unresponsive, overstuffed mess.

So for the first time since your honeymoon, Ushijima made the difficult decision to give you a temporary reprieve from his implacable carnal urges.

At first, he'd felt confident he could control himself. How hard could it be to keep his hands off of you for a little while and allow you to recover? Ushijima was a man renowned for his incredible physical stamina and willpower on the volleyball court. Surely denying himself the intoxicating softness of your body would be simple in comparison.

He was dead wrong.

The first morning after instituting the hands-off policy, Ushijima awoke with you blissfully draped across his powerful frame in the usual naked tangle of limbs. Your bare breasts were pillowed enticingly against his chest, making his morning wood twitch traitorously against the scorching heat of your thighs.

Ushijima had to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut, fighting back the overpowering instinct to roll you onto your back and spear that soaked entrance smothering his arousal. He'd been waking up to this exact same scenario for two years, instantly burying himself to the hilt and reveling in your broken gasps as he staked his claim yet again. Just because you weren't feeling well didn't give him license to deny himself his usual indulgence of your body's splendors.

It took nearly an hour of careful, measured breathing for Ushijima's lust to finally subside enough that he could safely extract himself and leave for practice. The entire grueling commute, he could think of nothing but the way your legs had been obscenely parted, glistening arousal coating your pretty lips in anticipation of him taking what was his. He'd nearly swerved into oncoming traffic at the thought of you lying there waiting for him, to be stuffed and bred and marked with his possession yet again.

But Ushijima held firm in his conviction, somehow making it to the gym in relative control of his faculties. That iron restraint lasted all of five seconds once practice began and his blood started pumping hot and hard once more.

Teammate after teammate kept offering innocuous comments that felt like a savage gut-punch: "You look extra intense today, 'Toshi. Everything okay at home?"

His eye twitched at the innocent jest, visions of your sumptuous naked frame instinctively bent in offering filling his mind. Ushijima could practically smell the addictive, slightly musky aroma of your arousal clinging to the sheets he'd been forced to abandon. He grunted in response and merely intensified the ferocity of his drills.

If only his so-called friends knew the truth of what defined Ushijima's entire home existence — namely, burying his face and cock between your heavenly thighs at every opportunity. Using your pliant form as an infinite wellspring to quench his thirst and stake his claim over and over until you were nothing but a boneless, sobbing mess glazed inside and out with his seed.

The thought alone almost made Ushijima's knees buckle right there on the court. He was sweating, shaking, utterly consumed with the need to rush home and alleviate this rapidly building feverish pressure in his loins. You'd looked so perfect laying there that morning, every lush curve and glistening crevice begging for his reverence and possession.

But he'd robbed himself of that masculine privilege, however temporarily. Now Ushijima could only grit his teeth and endure the agonizing emptiness of being denied his sweet, slick accommodations as your husband. Of not being able to simply take you and use your body to slake his basest urgings whenever the need inevitably struck.

Even after the torturous morning waking up beside your nude form, Ushijima's day was far from over in terms of temptation and denial.

Upon returning home from practice, he was immediately assaulted by the soft sounds and enticing smells of you puttering around the kitchen preparing an early dinner. Ushijima felt his arousal spike anew, mouth watering not for the food but for the memories.

There was the island counter where he'd bent you over just last week, holes already soaked in anticipation as he mounted you from behind. He could vividly picture the way your fingernails had scrabbled for purchase, mewling pleas to "give it to me" falling on deaf ears as Ushijima simply took what he wanted with rough, claiming strokes.

You didn't even have to ask anymore - he would simply spread those luscious thighs and sheathe himself home whenever the whim struck. Your role as his doting wife was to remain constantly bred and aching around the thick bulge of his cock, no matter where or when he desired to rut.

Steam billowed from the oven as you inevitably bent over, back arched and ass presented in that same wanton offering Ushijima was intimately familiar with. Just a few days ago he'd had you bent at that same angle, slamming into your ripening pussy with abandon as his heavy balls smacked that perfect jiggling rump raw.

He could practically hear the vulgar squelch of his cock excavating your insides with each punishing stroke while you squealed and begged for "more, more!" That greedy, slurping cunt audibly protested each time he hilted himself fully, never satisfied until you were swollen and seeping his thick seed in obscene rivulets.

Ushijima's jaw clenched hard enough for his temples to throb sickeningly. You didn't even seem to register his presence, too focused on preparing a meal that would ultimately end up splattered across the messy kitchen once he reasserted his marital rights. He'd made it a personal mission to christen every possible surface of their home with your mingled fluids over the years.

That table you were idly wiping down? He could clearly make out the faint indentations your nails had worn into the lacquered wood from relentlessly clawing into it while he was rutting atop you hundreds of times before. Just picturing the way your head would loll back, mouth parted in fucked-out bliss as he pounded into your welcoming depths was enough to make his cock twitch needily.

The kitchen was far from the only location drenched in such lascivious memories, either. Ushijima's hungry gaze trailed over to the plush living room sofa where he'd taken to alternating between facefucking your spit-soaked throat and slapping his heavy sack against that pretty cunt until you were a delirious, choking mess. More times than he could count, you'd ended up splayed in a helpless tangle of limbs, wheezing as he pumped load after thick load directly into your convulsing womb.

That tightness would then be stuffed into whatever spare orifice remained - be it your gasping mouth or even your perfect, puckered little asshole begging to be reamed and seeded next. You were Ushijima's personal cumdump, built to be adorned with his creamy leavings inside and out until you were rendered a gooey, thoroughly ruined wreck of fucked satisfaction.

As the days crawled by in achingly slow torment, Ushijima could feel his grasp on sanity slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. The persistent ache in his groin had bloomed into an all-consuming inferno, singeing away every ounce of his once-vaunted restraint.

He tried valiantly to cling to rational thoughts - reminders that you were the love of his life, his precious wife who deserved to be cherished and appreciated rather than rutted into oblivion at his basest whims. Ushijima wasn't some feral beast incapable of controlling his formidable lust, no matter how heavenly your body's siren call might be.

But such lofty ideals were rapidly crumbling against the onslaught of vivid memories and temptation at every turn. Simply watching you go about the most mundane household tasks was enough to reduce Ushijima to a vibrating mass of desperation, obsessively recalling every decadent way he'd claimed you in that same setting before.

The living room where you idly straightened decorative cushions immediately morphed into a garishly pornographic tableau in his mind's eye. He could clearly envision the way you'd been splayed across that very couch, legs hoisted over his straining shoulders as he pumped into you with harsh, jolting strokes. The debauched rhythmic sounds of skin smacking wetly against skin, punctuated by your broken gasps and whimpers for more, more, harder, deeper...

Ushijima's hands curled into white-knuckled fists as he willed the sordid visions away, jaw clenched so tightly he could hear his bones creaking in protest. Get a grip, he chastised himself harshly. She's not some depraved cocksleeve put on this earth solely for your pleasure. He adored and cherished you deeply - had sworn binding vows before the heavens to love, honor, and respect your sanctity just as fiercely as you committed your heart and body to him.

Yet those noble convictions crumbled like a flimsy sandcastle under the raging tide of his basest impulses whenever you wandered within arm's reach. Ushijima could practically feel the scorching phantom grip of your silken walls clinging to his aching length as you bent at the waist to gather laundry or retrieve items from lower cabinets. The sight of your lush backside wiggling hypnotically immediately triggered his body's muscle memory - of mounting you from behind, hips already pistoning greedily as he stuffed himself balls-deep into that creamy paradise with a guttural groan.

You didn't even seem to register his heated stare, focused as you were on domestic chores. But in Ushijima's mind's eye, you were already whimpering and keening, insides convulsing with each rapturous thrust as he took his well-earned marital rights over and over without reprieve. He could practically smell the musky aroma of your compounded arousal permeating the air, begging him to shed the last threads of his tattered control.

The longer he was forced to endure this agonizing denial of relieving himself inside your body's heavenly accommodations, the more Ushijima's composure began to unravel. His hands felt perpetually clammy with suppressed longing, hard cock straining needfully with every subtle wiggle or bend of your lush feminine frame as you remained blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing within him.

It was only a matter of time, Ushijima knew, before this torturous drought finally reached its breaking point and he reasserted himself as your virile, dominant caretaker. As your husband, staking his primal claim to breed you full over and over until you had no choice but to lie disheveled and sloppy with the sloshing overflow of his heady cum.

In a way, perhaps Ushijima mused feverishly, robbing you temporarily of his godly seed was an act of mercy. Because once the floodgates were finally breached, there would be no tempering the ravenous onslaught with which he intended to ravage and stake his ownership yet again. At last he understood the dire warnings his own friends and family had issued about not being able to control himself around his little wife.

So for your sake as much as his own, Ushijima continued his white-knuckled struggle to maintain the shrinking barriers of propriety and restraint, however momentary the reprieve. But with each passing moment in your smoldering presence, he felt those final fortifications crumbling at an exponential rate.

The couch cushions seemed to envelop Ushijima as he sank back, trying in vain to relax his tense muscles. His eyes were inexorably drawn to you, perched so tantalizingly on his lap as you happily snacked on treats from the pantry. Even this simple act of indulging in sweets somehow made his heart swell with tenderness.

You were a vision of cozy domesticity in that moment - casually dressed, hair slightly tousled, entirely at ease within the sanctuary of your shared home. Yet Ushijima couldn't help drinking in the sensual details of your form pressed against him. The gentle swell of your curves molding to his powerful thighs, the subtle floral scent of your perfumed skin surrounding him. Just being this close after days of forced distance made his insides churn with longing.

As if sensing his scrutiny, you glanced up with a warm smile. Ushijima's breath hitched at the unguarded adoration shining in your eyes. You were so beautiful, so precious to him. Without really thinking it through, he found himself leaning in, powerless to resist tasting those inviting lips.

The whisper-soft caress of your mouths meeting ignited an instantaneous firestorm within Ushijima's veins. He sucked in a harsh breath through his nose, hands tightening reflexively on your waist as the kiss deepened with heady fervor. Every fibre of his being thrummed with awakened desperation after being starved of your affections.

When you finally parted, you let out a breathless giggle. "Well someone clearly needed that," you teased gently, eyes sparkling with mirth and fondness. "The great Ushijima Wakatoshi getting so worked up over a little kiss..."

The warm ribbing sliced straight through Ushijima's haze of rekindled ardor, allowing clarity and a flicker of sheepish chagrin to return. Of course you'd find his churning restraint silly and overblown. To you, the past few days of self-imposed celibacy amounted to little more than a temporary, unnecessary hurdle of his own making.

"You’re making fun of me for holding back?" he couldn't resist rumbling in response, quirking one eyebrow challengingly. "Even when it’s taking everything in me not to ruin you right here, my wife?"

Rather than looking properly chastised, your eyes fairly danced with that same teasing gleam. "A struggle you seem to be failing at spectacularly, my love. This whole 'abstinence' idea was sweet but utterly pointless."

Ushijima drew in a sharp breath as your hand boldly traced the hard planes of his abdomen through his thin shirt. The simple caress felt like a lick of flame setting his insides ablaze with rekindled hunger. "You underestimate the importance of proper restraint and respect, my dearest. A man shouldn't mindlessly take and rut like some sort of—"

"Beast?" you cheerfully cut him off, emboldened fingers now trailing higher to fan against the sculpted ridges of his chest. "Is that what you were going to say? That you're some kind of ravenous animal who can't control their own lust around me?"

Despite your playful tone, your words sliced straight through Ushijima's tenuously reformed restraint. Because in his most unguarded of moments, that's precisely how he saw himself - a primal, shuddering mess reduced to bestial desperation by your very presence.

Chest heaving, he captured your meandering hand and quickly pinned it against the couch cushions in a vice-like grip. Your teasing grin faltered as you suddenly found yourself caged beneath his powerful frame, entire body radiating a scorching intensity.

"You mock what you don't understand," Ushijima growled in a low, gravelly timbre that made you shiver. “Every second near you is pure torture. Just one touch, and I lose all control…”

To punctuate his point, he rolled his hips firmly against yours, allowing you to feel the undeniable ridge of his cock straining needfully against the thin barriers between you. Your pupils flared, a tiny whimper escaping your lips in reflexive response as liquid heat flooded your features.

Ushijima continued in that same low, intense purr that seemed to reverberate straight to your core. “So you were right—I couldn’t fight it. Trying to deny how badly I want you is useless. Because in the end, I’m just a man who falls apart at the thought of being inside his wife again…”

After that heated moment of intensity, Ushijima took a deep, steadying breath and gently extricated himself from your provocative position. As much as every fiber of his being screamed to surrender fully to his primal urges, he couldn't bring himself to completely obliterate the last vestiges of his self-restraint.

Not yet, at least.

You let out a small huff of disappointment as he shifted away, leaving you flushed and aching on the couch. Ushijima's dark eyes drank in the petulant pout on your kiss-swollen lips and had to summon every ounce of willpower to avoid lunging right back in.

"Patience, my love," he rumbled, more to himself than to you. "We've waited this long..."

You shot him a look of pure skepticism. "Waited? For what, exactly? For you to completely lose your mind over some made-up idea that I need to be protected from your absolutely vanilla desires?"

Ushijima felt his brow furrow at your blunt phrasing. He opened his mouth to protest, but you barreled onward before he could get a word in.

"This whole self-imposed celibacy thing has been utterly ridiculous from the start. When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours?" You rose up on your knees to bracket his thighs, leaving you eye-level and effectively trapping him against your soft warmth. "I'm your wife, Wakatoshi. Your partner in every sense of the word. I don't need sheltering or restraint - I need you. All of you, utterly unrestrained."

Your hands cradled his face with unexpected tenderness even as your eyes burned with determination. "So stop holding back and treating me like something fragile that needs protection. I can handle everything you have to give and more."

The challenging spark in your gaze was like a physical caress against Ushijima's resolve. He could feel it shuddering under the weight of your conviction, cracking nearly beyond repair. You always had possessed an uncanny ability to strip away his loftiest barriers with just a few choice words and that utterly arresting stare.

"You know I only ever want to cherish and respect you," he managed in a hoarse murmur. "To keep you safe and honor the sanctity of our—"

Your lips sealed over his in a searing kiss that obliterated whatever noble justification still clung to the tip of his tongue. A harsh rumble reverberated up from Ushijima's chest as his arms instinctively wound around your body, returning the embrace with rising fervor. He could already feel his restraints unraveling, fragile hold over his brazen desires slipping with each ravenous clash of your mouths.

When you finally broke away, you were both panting harshly. Foreheads pressed together, you stared up at Ushijima from under your lashes in a way that made his blood pound.

"Keep your sanctity," you breathed in a tone of husky challenge. "I'll take the unchained desire of a man utterly obsessed with making me his..."

Ushijima's chest seized with a shuddering inhalation at the blatant gauntlet you'd thrown down. He could feel the quivering threads of his propriety and misguided chivalry rapidly fraying against your onslaught of temptation. You always did know just which buttons to push to bring him inexorably to the edge.

This time, he sensed you wouldn't be satisfied until he well and truly plunged over the precipice into the yawning chasm of his most selfish, rapacious hunger. And you knew perfectly well he lacked the fortitude to deny your deliciously provocative demand, even if he wanted to.

"Minx..." Ushijima growled, the endearment dripping with a low rumble of burgeoning capitulation. "You'll very much regret poking this beast until it—"

Whatever vaguely ominous warning he'd been about to issue evaporated the second your lips crashed against his once more. Ushijima instantly melted into the searing kiss, thick arms winding around your body as you pressed flush against his powerful frame.

For several heated moments you simply lost yourselves in the messy, urgent melding of your mouths. Tongues tangled and hands roamed with escalating fervor as you both surrendered to the smoldering need that had been cruelly denied for too long.

When you finally parted for air, Ushijima's eyes were dark twin pools of want, boring straight into your soul. His chest heaved with each ragged inhale, drawing your entranced gaze to the taut ridges of defined muscle and the V-lines which pointed lower still...

A soft whine nearly escaped your lips at that tempting visual. God, you wanted - no, needed - to feel all of him against you again with no barriers. The hot brand of his weight pinning you to the sheets, thick cock sheathing itself to the hilt in your aching, neglected depths—

Ushijima seemed to read the feverish need blazing across your features. His jaw clenched almost painfully and you saw the tendons in his neck strain as he visibly fought to maintain the last threads of restraint already disintegrating between you.

"Easy, sweetheart..." he managed in a low, guttural rumble that did absolutely nothing to soothe the burning riot of arousal dancing under your skin. If anything the pet name tumbling so naturally from his lips in that gravelly tone just stoked the flames higher.

You squirmed impatiently against him, purposefully pressing your softness against his hardening length in a silent, wanton entreaty. "Don't 'easy' me, Toshi," you huffed without an ounce of real rebuke, gaze locking blatantly on his kiss-swollen mouth. "I want you so damn bad right now, it's driving me crazy."

A rumbling groan vibrated from the depths of his chest at your blunt admission. You could see his composure rapidly unraveling at the prospect of your mutual desperation - the scorching temptation to shatter that fragile control and ravage one another without further restraint.

"You have no idea the willpower this is taking..." Ushijima ground out, calloused hands flexing against the swell of your hips almost involuntarily. "To deny myself the sweetness of being buried deep inside you again after being starved of it for so long..."

You felt your core clench at the hot promise laced into his strained words. Without consciously deciding, you hooked one leg around his thighs to pull his hips flush against your own. The thick ridge of his arousal ground deliciously against your clothed heat and you sucked in a sharp breath at the exquisite friction.

"Then stop denying us," you whispered throatily into the charged air between your lips, even as Ushijima stared down at you with a look of rapt, blazing torment. "Stop being so careful and just take what you-what we- need already, dammit..."

For one tantalizing heartbeat, you saw the naked desperation and hunger flare across his strong features. You held your breath, dizzy with hope and anticipation that he would finally let his deeply leashed passions loose upon you.

But then, almost as quickly, a muscle ticked in that sharp jawline and Ushijima's expression settled once more into a mask of strained resolve. He pulled back from the tempting cradle of your heat and thighs with a shuddering exhalation. "No...not like this," he rasped out, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than you as he averted his burning gaze briefly. "You don't know what you're asking for, my love..."

A sliver of real frustration lanced through your lust-fogged thoughts at his continued refusal to let himself surrender fully. "The hell I don't!" you snapped. "I'm asking for my husband to give me what I want, no holding back!"

Ushijima stared at you, chest heaving with the force of his inner restraint as you glared back defiantly. The simmering tension could have been cut with a knife. For a long moment, neither of you moved or spoke - you issuing an unspoken challenge, him fighting viciously against his instincts.

Then a sly look stole across your features. "You know what?" you said in a tone of feigned nonchalance. "Clearly I'm not going to get what I want from you tonight..."

You slid off the couch in one smooth motion, back pointedly turned to Ushijima as you sashayed towards the stairs with deliberate sway in your hips. "So I'll just take care of my needs myself, since you're too busy wrestling with your precious control."

The implication in your words was as blatant as it was effective. You heard Ushijima's sharp intake of breath behind you and couldn't resist glancing back over your shoulder. His entire body had gone rigid, fingers digging into the couch cushions as his eyes bored into you with an intensity that made your core clench.

Holding his burning stare, you very slowly dragged your hands up your body until they cupped your breasts through your thin shirt. You gave them a gentle squeeze, lips parting on a soft sigh of pleasure meant just for his viewing torment.

That seemed to be the final straw shattering Ushijima's tenuous grasp on restraint. With a guttural growl that sent lightning zinging down your spine, he surged off the couch in a blind rush towards you.

A bright peal of laughter burst from your lips as you whirled and bolted up the stairs, the thunder of his footsteps rapidly closing in behind. You could practically feel the scorching heat of his presence at your back as you raced down the hallway towards your bedroom sanctuary.

Just as you reached the open door, Ushijima's powerful arm whipped around your middle and wrenched you back against his heaving chest. You let out a breathless squeal of surprise and delight, struggling half-heartedly against his restraining hold.

"Let me go!" you gasped out between giddy giggles, even as your hips instinctively pressed back against the undeniable ridge of his arousal. "I told you I'd just take care of myself since you won't—"

The rest of your words were abruptly smothered as Ushijima spun you around and sealed his mouth over yours in a searing, desperate kiss. You melted against him with a muffled moan, dimly registering the way he easily scooped you up with one arm banded around your waist. Then you were moving, stumbling the few steps to fall in a tangle of limbs across the rumpled bedsheets.

When you finally surfaced for air, Ushijima was looming over you - body taut with barely restrained intensity, chest heaving, eyes dark molten pools of banked hunger. His fingers thread almost roughly through your hair, tilting your head back as he held your heated stare.

"You'll be the death of me, woman," he growled in that low rasp that never failed to make you shiver. "Pushing me to the very edge of control like some insatiable vixen..."

You shamelessly pressed your thighs together, feeling a fresh gush of arousal at his words and commanding presence towering over you. "Maybe I wouldn't have to push so hard if you'd just give us both what we desperately want already..."

The blatant challenge hung heavy in the charged air between you. Ushijima's jaw clenched almost painfully as his willpower seemingly waged one final war against his blazing desires. You could have sworn you saw a vein throb in his neck as he struggled to maintain his fracturing grasp on restraint.

Then, as if a switch had been thrown, the last of that iron control appeared to snap. Ushijima's features contorted into a look of dark rapture as he ducked down to rasp directly against your parted lips.

You could feel the scorching heat of his quick breaths fanning across your mouth as he held your unwavering stare. Ushijima's eyes had gone hooded, pupils blown wide with undisguised yearning in a way you'd never quite witnessed before. There was no pretense, no filtering or constraint remaining - just molten, primal need gazing back at you.

"Fuck..." The guttural profanity rumbled out before he could stop it, lending a gravelly edge to the deep timbre of his voice that made your insides turn to liquid fire. "You really weren't playing around, were you? Practically begging me to lose it and take what I want..."

His powerful body was pulled taut as a bowstring where it hovered over yours, every ridged muscle and tendon standing out in harsh relief. You could see the white-knuckled strain in his hands where they fisted the rumpled sheets on either side of your head. Ushijima appeared to be vibrating with the monumental effort of maintaining what little restraint still remained.

Shamelessly, you arched your back slightly to increase the tantalizing friction where your bodies weren't quite touching. You heard the sharp sound of Ushijima's indrawn breath and couldn't resist dragging your hooded gaze down his frame to the prominent ridge tenting against his pants mere inches away.

"Don't act so surprised," you murmured, proud of how your tone remained measured despite the escalating tension coiling low in your belly. "We both know how long you've been dying to wreck me like you haven't been able to all week..."

Ushijima visibly shuddered at your candid vulgarity, but didn't rebuke you. If anything, his eyes seemed to darken further into bottomless pools of banked fire. "Say it again," he demanded in a low rasp that bordered on guttural. "Tell me exactly what I've been too weak to take..."

You felt a burst of fresh arousal flood your veins at his blatant request, at the undisguised savagery flickering behind his intense stare. Ushijima wasn't playing coy or dancing around the issue with courtly pretenses any longer. He was stripping away every last veneer of propriety to reveal the rapacious, unrestrained beast you'd been trying to rouse all along.

Holding his heated regard, you deliberately shifted your hips in a slow, circular grind against the tantalizing bulge of his cock. A punched-out groan reverberated from Ushijima's parted lips at the blatant provocation.

"I want you..." you breathed out, voice already gone husky with burgeoning desire, "...to use this needy pussy however you need to, whenever you want. No more being a good little housewife, waiting for you to tie yourself into knots over being 'gentle'..."

Ushijima sucked in a sharp breath through his bared teeth, hips twitching minutely in an aborted grind against you. His mouth seemed to work wordlessly for a moment, transfixed by the searing promises tumbling so shamelessly from your lips.

"Keep going..." he all but growled when he finally regained his words. "Don't stop now, my love...not when I'm this fucking close to snapping completely and taking you up on that offer..."

You felt another frisson of heady arousal tingle through your veins at Ushijima's rasped demand, at the way his desire-darkened eyes bored into you with a blazing intensity.

Squirming against the mattress, you hooked one leg deliberately around his tensed thighs, savoring the low groan that punched out of his chest as you effectively trapped his rigid length against your scalding heat through the thin barrier of clothes.

"I want you to stop holding back..." you husked, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sharp line of his jaw as you rolled your hips in a slow, filthy grind. "No more being so careful, like I'm some fragile thing that needs protecting..."

Ushijima's thick forearms flexed against the sheets, muscles straining with the herculean effort to keep from pinning you fully beneath his massive frame and slaking his feral need. You could practically see the last fragile threads of his vaunted restraint disintegrating before your very eyes.

"I can take whatever you want to give, Toshi," you continued in a breathy murmur against the thundering pulse at his throat. "I'm your wife, made to take that big fucking cock however you crave it...to be stuffed so full over and over until I'm nothing but a shaking, sloppy mess drowning in your cum..."

A harsh, strangled sound rumbled out of Ushijima at your filthy words, hips jerking helplessly to grind his steel-hard length against your molten center with bruising force. His eyes slammed shut, sharp features contorted into an expression of rapturous abandon as he finally surrendered what little control still remained.

In one explosive motion, Ushijima crashed his mouth against yours in a messy, claiming kiss that left you both gasping and devouring each other with unbridled desperation. His thick arms wrapped around you like bands of steel, crushing your pliant curves against his unyielding hardness as the kiss rapidly descended into frenzied need.

"Fuck yes..." he growled out harshly between messy clashes of tongue and teeth, divesting you both of clothing in a frantic blur. "That's it, darling...beg for it like the filthy little cumslut you are..."

The vulgar profanity tumbled so naturally off his tongue in a way you'd never experienced before, stoking the bonfire in your core to incandescent levels. You could only whine in answer, nails dragging stinging welts down his sculpted back as Ushijima at last sealed your naked bodies together with low, rapturous groan of pure masculine satisfaction.

He was already rock-hard and throbbing where he lay flush against your thigh, the scorching heat radiating off his thick arousal making your mouth water. Without conscious thought, you found yourself grinding up against his length, coating it in a sticky sheen of your dripping arousal.

Ushijima groaned at the delicious, filthy friction, large hand gripping the swell of your ass in a viselike hold. "So wet already," he rasped out, dark eyes drinking in the sight of your bodies grinding shamelessly against one another. "My dirty wife is practically creaming herself just from the promise of getting her needy little cunt wrecked..."

You felt a shuddering moan bubble up from the depths of your chest at his crude assessment, at the unrepentant savagery gleaming in those molten eyes. Ushijima's gaze locked on your face, his free hand dragging through the slick pooling at the apex of your thighs before he raised it to your lips.

"Open," he rasped out in a voice gone hoarse with lust. You eagerly obeyed, parting your swollen lips just enough to lap up the taste of your own arousal coating his fingers. A shudder wracked through Ushijima's powerful frame as he watched your sinful ministrations, hips twitching involuntarily in search of friction.

"Good girl..." The endearment dripped like honey from his mouth, a stark contrast to the savage gleam of his eyes and the thick cock straining insistently against your hip. "So sweet for me, always eager to please and be used, aren't you?"

His words sent a hot shiver down your spine and made you clench with need. With a low, throaty whimper, you pulled away from his fingers and gazed up at Ushijima with a look of burning supplication. "Please, Toshi...I-I need—"

A soft, startled cry escaped you as his fist closed around the front of your top and ripped it open in a single rough motion. You watched, spellbound, as he did the same to the rest of your garments with little finesse, shredding them like tissue paper and tossing the scraps aside without a second glance before turning his ravenous gaze back to your exposed form.

For a few seconds, he just stared at you in awe, blatant reverence and hunger written across his chiseled features as his fingers worked to remove the rest of his clothing. Then, his entire body covered yours once more, hot flesh pressing you firmly into the sheets as Ushijima captured your mouth in a scorching kiss.

"I need to be inside you, darling," he gasped out between hungry nips and licks, "right now."

Your thighs instinctively parted in open invitation, hips canting towards him in blatant need. Ushijima settled into the cradle of your pelvis and his eyes locked onto the lewd view of his rigid length sliding against your glistening folds.

A guttural, animalistic growl vibrated up from the depths of his chest as he gripped his shaft and slowly dragged the thick head through the slippery mess pooling at your entrance. His other hand tangled in the sheets next to your head, fisting them tightly as his eyes snapped shut and he shuddered above you.

Your nails raked down the tensed muscles of his back as he repeated the motion, teasing your hypersensitive folds with agonizing deliberation. A soft whimper bubbled from your lips at the slow drag of his cockhead against your clit, at the searing heat and girth rubbing tortuously against you.

"Toshi..."

He was poised at your entrance now, tip notched just inside and pulsing enticingly, but still he hesitated. Your hands gripped his hips, silently pleading him to give you what you craved so desperately.

Ushijima's eyes opened, blazing down into yours as he held himself perfectly still. "Tell me again..." he rasped out in a tone laced with an underlying note of dark command. "Tell me exactly how much you need this."

You let out a frustrated moan and squirmed beneath him, trying desperately to press him deeper. "Need it so bad, Toshi, please!" you begged, shamelessly arching into him and spreading yourself wider. "Need you to fuck me and fill me with cum until I can't move—please, Toshi, please—"

His thick length slicked through your drenched folds in one slick glide, sheathing itself to the throbbing root with a single rough snap of his powerful hips. The harsh stretch of being reamed open by his girth made your eyes roll back, mouth dropping open on a broken keen of sheer bliss.

"That's it...ahh fuck, missed this gorgeous little cunt so damn much..." Ushijima's harsh rumble was utterly wrecked, all sense of composure or decorum evaporating as he drilled himself home over and over in a ruthless cadence.

You could only cling to his heaving shoulders, completely unraveled beneath his ferocious onslaught and utterly drunk on the searing stretch and delicious ache of being so thoroughly taken once more. It had been a week since you'd been stuffed full, and your body hadn't quite adjusted to his sheer size after the long absence.

The friction was mind-blowing, the way his girth speared you so full and deep, forcing your walls to accommodate his unyielding length with every powerful stroke. It was all you could do to breathe and hold onto Ushijima's broad shoulders, body trembling as he hammered you into the mattress with ruthless intent.

His dark eyes roved hungrily across the way your breasts jiggled from the force of his thrusts, the way his cock disappeared so completely inside you, the lewd mess he was making of your cunt. Your name slipped past his lips, a guttural curse, a plea, a prayer as he pounded into you, his gaze flicking back and forth between where your bodies were joined and the unabashed pleasure etched across your flushed features.

"Look at that...you can see where I'm splitting you wide open..." he grunted out in a strained tone, his free hand dragging roughly down the length of your torso to press against the bulge that appeared in your belly with every punishing thrust.The other braced his weight against the headboard, fingers clenching the wooden slats with bruising force.

Your mind went blank as he increased his pace, the lewd sound of your sloppy, dripping core echoing throughout the room and driving you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the telltale tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, a familiar pressure mounting in response to the delicious stretch and friction of Ushijima's relentless rhythm.

"Ahhh, god, Toshi—I-I'm close—" you babbled, feeling the coil wind ever tighter, teetering precariously on the brink of release. "I'm gonna cum, please, harder, fuck—I need—"

The rest of your desperate plea was swallowed in a low moan as Ushijima leaned back on his knees, hauling your legs up and over his shoulders and folding you in half. You felt the change immediately, his cockhead now slamming ruthlessly into your deepest, most sensitive spots.

A choked sob spilled from your lips as you clung to his shoulders, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so thoroughly stretched and filled. You'd lost all sense of time or control, reduced to a quivering, sloppy mess as your husband's thick length pistoned into your overstimulated pussy.

The angle was even deeper than before, his powerful hips snapping with a vicious, rapid-fire intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. He was hitting the perfect spot with every brutal thrust, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with every drive of his hips, the lewd, wet sounds of your dripping core filling the air and mingling with his ragged grunts.

"Cum for me," he growled, eyes locked on your face as his tempo grew even more brutal. "Be a good girl and cum on this cock, just like you promised..."

As if your body was obeying his command rather than your own, a white-hot, overwhelming pleasure crashed over you. You arched and shook as wave after wave of blinding euphoria rolled through your veins. Ushijima continued pumping into you, riding out the aftershocks and prolonging your release as you cried out and trembled beneath him.

He groaned deep in his chest as your walls clenched and rippled around him, his own orgasm rapidly building with each passing second. "Fuck, I can feel you milking me," he bit out harshly, hands gripping the meat of your ass and angling you higher to better suit his frenzied pace. "So fucking tight and greedy, my darling wife..."

Ushijima's thrusts were growing more erratic, the rhythm of his hips stuttering as his cock swelled even thicker and longer. You moaned softly, feeling his girth stretch you almost impossibly wider. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, body quaking and oversensitive but still wanting more.

"F-fill me, Toshi," you begged breathlessly, gazing up at him with a look of sheer supplication. "Need to feel you cum deep inside, please..."

With a sharp groan, Ushijima's eyes slammed shut and his entire body tensed as the first thick spurt of his seed pumped into you. You shivered, moaning at the feeling of his hot, sticky release coating your insides. He was still cumming, his throbbing cock pulsing with each successive pump of his release.

Your walls fluttered around him, milking him dry and prolonging the mind-blowing pleasure as he continued to fuck you through it. Ushijima's eyes remained clenched shut, features twisted in a look of pure rapture as he pumped you full.

After several more thrusts, he finally came to a stop, breathing heavily. A satisfied smile stretched across his face as his eyes opened and fixed on your fucked-out expression. He slowly pulled out, a mixture of his cum and yours leaking from your well-used hole and dripping down your thighs.

"Mmm, look at the mess you made..." he murmured, fingers trailing down to gather some of the slick and smearing it over the reddened, swollen lips of your pussy. "Maybe I should make it even dirtier and stuff it all back inside, hm?"

Ushijima didn't wait for a reply before his thumb dragged through the sloppy, frothy mix and pushed the mess back into your twitching cunt. A small sound slipped past your lips as you felt him work his thick load deeper inside, fingers lazily pumping the rest of his cum into your dripping pussy.

He was already hardening again, his shaft throbbing where it lay thick and heavy against his thigh. You moaned softly at the sight, hips grinding involuntarily as your spent cunt clenched around his fingers.

"What should we do for round two, hmm?" Ushijima's dark gaze burned into yours, voice gone rough with desire once more. "I have several ideas in mind, but I think I'd love to see you ride me...show me what a good girl you are and take what you need, just like you promised."

Your cunt gave another helpless spasm, arousal flooding anew through your veins. It was going to be a very long night, indeed.

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