GENUIS BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY PHILANTHROPIST
synopsis: being the personal assistant (and fucktoy) to one of the world's most famous men used to be amazing. until half the city's villains realized you meant more to him than just his average employee. even if gojo didn't seem to figure it out for himself - until you quit. but instead of taking care of yourself, another version of him swoops in to save the day. older. wiser. hotter. can your gojo win you back? or will you choose a different life - and universe?
pairing: iron man!gojo x assistant!reader x alt. universe!gojo
content: mdni. smut. angst. plot with porn. mutual pining. jealousy. gojo is down bad. but also a hot mess lmfao. emotional constipation. unprotected piv sex. creampies. complicated feelings. more tags will be added. gorgeous gojo art above is by @rezijellyfish
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"I don't know why you thought I was joking," you muttered, scooping up your stuff and neatly stacking it in boxes as you let out a low exhale.
His hands were on your hips. Wrinkling your skirt as they slid down your thighs, sneaking under the tight fabric as he whined in your ear. "Don't do this to me."
"Gojo," you huffed at him, shaking your head as you tried to grab your hand, struggling to summon the willpower to pry his rough fingers off of you. They used to be soft. Used to be tender. His touches had been so gentle back then, barely breezing over your skin when he leaned in.
A thousand near-death experiences ago.
You were both different now.
"I hate it when you call me Gojo," he complained, thumb catching the band of your panties.
"I can't," you swallowed hard, throat constricting as you twisted away from him.
"We're a team," he coaxed, even though it sounded like it physically hurt him to say it. Attempting to convince you to stay like you hadn't made your mind up a couple hospital trips ago.
Where they plucked glass out of your skin from a shattered window you happened to be near during one of his rescue attempts. Or maybe it was the one where they had to stitch up a cut you'd gotten slicing ropes off around your ankles when you saved yourself.
At some point, it had started to sink in that there would come a day where you wouldn't be able to save yourself. That he would come - but he would come too late.
Being by Gojo's side was a death sentence.
"I need time," you lied, shrugging your shoulders as you lifted the box and walked out of his office door. You didn't think a few weeks would change your mind. Months either. Even if you knew you'd miss him every second. "I'm sorry."
"Fine," he called out, and you knew he wouldn't chase you.
His stupid pride would never let him do it - even if the heart he had left wanted to.
"I don't need you," he added, and you didn't know who he was trying to convince.
You guessed it didn't matter.
You still almost bawled on the way home at the bitter understanding that it was really over.
Wiping away tears with the back of your hand, sniffling as you carried your box of stuff up to your front door, twisting the key in the lock as you tried to tell yourself that this was for the best.
That this way, you'd live.
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying even more, pushing open the front door and dropping the box almost immediately as you leaned back on the solid wood to shut it the moment you were inside. About to slide down the surface and let yourself mourn what could've been when your bleary eyes opened - and you belatedly realized someone else was standing inside your living room.
"Gojo," you breathed, barely understanding what was in front of you as your not-boss stepped forward. He wasn't wearing the same clothes as before, his business casual attire traded for a quite frankly filthy iron suit. "Did something happen? What are you-"
His helmet pulled back, but his face was different.
It was still him. But also not him.
White little scars littering his skin, those familiar blue eyes hardened and harsh as they settled on your face. Meeting your stare with an intensity that sorta terrified you.
"Satoru?" Your voice trembled, and you were reaching for the door knob, something inside you screaming to run. But before you could even move, he was bridging the distance, cool metal fingers cupping your face - and then he was kissing you.
Hot and hungry, sucking on your bottom lip like he had to taste your cherry chapstick, groaning into your mouth as his tongue slipped between your lips. Maybe you should've pushed him off, but it felt nice to be kissed like that. With warmth.
And when he pulled back, it was pure want in his fevered stare.
