Welcome to Imaginationland

Like the night you jolted awake from a nightmare, only to find yourself wrapped in his arms, his voice low and drowsy as he whispered something utterly ridiculous, just enough to make you roll your eyes instead of shake.

Like the night your phone buzzed in the dead of night—a family number, hushed voices, something hurtful. You hadn’t said much when Gojo found you outside, your fingers curled around a cigarette you weren’t even smoking, its ember flickering uselessly in the wind. You’d tried to brush him off, but he sat next to you anyway, nudging your shoulder, cracking some offhand joke about how terrible your poker face was.

Like the time you broke up with your ex, the only relationship you’d had in  alone Gojo, but of course, he showed up anyway, a smug grin hiding something softer in his gaze. He didn’t say ‘I told you so,’ even though you knew he’d never liked the guy. Instead, he took you out for drinks, let you rant about everything, and then got you so drunk you barely remembered him carrying you home.

Like the time he let something slip, just a little, about how exhausting it was to carry the weight of the Jujutsu world on his back.

You turned your head, catching the way Gojo’s chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths. His usual annoying retorts was stripped away. His eyes half-lidded fixed on the ceiling, like he was looking at something far beyond it.

You asked mostly in a ironic voice, but a hidden curiosity is behind your question.

“You ever get tired of being the strongest?”

“Me? Tired? Never,” Gojo exhaled, the sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh, but it didn’t quite reach the usual cocky arrogance he wore like armor.

He pause for a second before adding  “But hey don’t fucking get it,” he muttered in a tone like he want to act unaffected, tilting his head just slightly toward you. “The higher-ups, the old bastards pulling the strings. They talk like they know everything, like they’re untouchable.“

Gojo’s hand flexed against the sheets, a restless movement, like he was barely holding something back. “They just sit there and expect me to clean it up. Like I always do. Like I always fucking will.”

He fell silent for a moment, his tongue running over his teeth, like he was debating saying more.

“Gojo, you really think to stop listen to them everytime, you have a life to live too— “

“Tch,” he clicked his tongue, rolling onto his side before you could push him further. And before you could blink, he had you wrapped up in the sheets, pinning you down.

“You’re way too nosy, you know that?” he huffed, voice dropping back into that infuriating, teasing lilt.

“What? But you started—”

“I should just tickle the curiosity out of you.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

But it was too late. His fingers dug into your sides, and you shrieked, twisting under him, kicking uselessly as he laughed, the weight of his words disappearing into the air like they’d never existed.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d ever let you really see him. And now?

Now you’d had a shit day.

The kind of day that made you want to punch something, where everything went wrong because for whatever fucking reason every damn thing piled up until you were ready to snap. Like you did something different in the morning and the butterfly effected begin.

And the last thing you needed was to run into him.

But of course, you did.

You spotted him before he saw you, standing with Geto, laughing, his sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he shoved a dango stick into his mouth. His uniform was slightly rumpled, the high collar making him look as effortlessly attractive as always.

You were not in the mood.

He turned just as you were about to slip past, and that stupid grin stretched across his face.

“Hello?! What’s with the storm cloud? Someone spit in your coffee this morning?”

You looked at him for a second with an annoyed expression “Not today, Gojo” And before he start opening his mouth again like he always do, you add “Leave me the fuck alone.”

His brows lifted at your tone, a flicker of something passing through those bright blue eyes. You didn’t stay long enough to figure out what it was.

You left. And you thought that would be the end of it.

You didn’t know it, but he was worried. He knew you. He knew when you were pissed in a way that meant something real. And for all his teasing, Gojo had never been the type to ignore things that mattered.

So when you shut the door to your apartment and locked it, thinking you were finally alone, he start knocking before teleported inside.

His voice came from behind you, and you nearly threw something at him.

“You really think a locked door can keep me out?”

“Are you fucking serious, Gojo?” you snapped, whirling around. “Get out.”

He leaned against your wall, arms crossed, head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“Talk to me.”

“No.”

“You sure?” You glared at him, not wanting to play this game with him. “Not everything can be solved with your dick, Gojo. Get out.” He smirked. “Debatable.” You wanted to punch him.

But his teasing expression shifted a little, enough for you to realize he was actually paying attention. His eyes dropped over you, taking in the tension in your shoulders, feeling how stressed you are.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Damn him.

You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to admit how fucking exhausted you were, how much today had sucked, how much you just wanted something easy for once. His fingers brushed against your wrist. A light touch. “You gonna tell me, or do I have to make you?” Your glare was sharp, defiant. “You’re not making me do shit.” His lips twitched. “Oh? Wanna bet?”

Gojo’s fingers traced the line of your jaw, slow, methodical, his thumb dragging over your lower lip with just enough pressure to make your mouth part. You hated how easily he unraveled you, how fast  he could pull you into his pace.

“Start talking, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dropping.“You know how this works.”

“I’m not in the mood,” you bit out.

“Liar,” he murmured. The silence stretched between you before his fingers brushed against your hand, light, almost absentminded, but there, you hadn’t even realized how tense you were until that moment. “It’s stupid,” you muttered. “Try me.” You shouldn’t. You didn’t even want to. But when you looked up, you saw something in his face—not just amusement, not just curiosity. Something that looked too much like genuine interest. “It was a mission,” you started, voice tight. “It went wrong.” Gojo hummed, a soft sound of acknowledgment. His fingers traced over your palm, slow, aimless. “Someone died,” you admitted. “And maybe, maybe I could’ve done something. Maybe I fucked up. Maybe I should’ve—” Your throat closed up as his fingers curled over yours. “Mhm,” he murmured, his touch sliding up to your wrist, his thumb brushing against your pulse. He wasn’t comforting you exactly. But he was there, listening. You exhaled shakily. “They blamed me for it,” you muttered. “Not outright. But I could tell. The way they looked at me. The way they didn’t say it.” Gojo let out a breath, something quiet and his touch wandered, trailing along your forearm.

“They’re idiots.”

“They are not—"

“No, seriously,” he cut in smoothly, like he was stating an obvious fact. “You think I don’t know how you fight? How you think? If there was something you could’ve done, you would’ve done it. That’s just how you are.” Your fingers twitched in your lap. “So what?” “So they don’t get to decide what’s your fault,” he said simply. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe they’re right.” Your voice caught and his fingers ghosted over your shoulder, trailing to your collarbone, barely-there touches that were more distracting than they had any right to be. “You’re thinking too much,” he murmured. “You do that a lot.” “Gojo—” “Shh.” His words were light, but his touch was warm, intimiate, his thumb brushed slow, deliberate circles against your back. “I’m being nice. Just let me.” “You did what you could,” he murmured after a moment with softer “I know you.” Somewhere along the way, your voice had started to shake. Not from frustration. Not from anger. But from something else. And the bastard knew. “Keep going,” he murmured, feigning innocent curiosity, even as his touch dragged over your pulse, making your jaw clench, but his fingers dipped lower. “You’re not listening,” you bit out, voice raising. “No, no, I am,” he mused, lips quirking. “It’s just…Well, you’re a little distracted, sweetheart.” His hands along the dip of your waist, his touch pressing in just enough to make you feel it. And after you slipped a gasp, the atmosphere switched instantly. In one swift motion, he turned you, pressing you up against the wall. “See?” His breath was warm against your ear, one hand slid down, fingers pressing into your hip, possessive, immovable. The other caught your chin, tilting your face to the left so you had no choice but to meet those too-knowing eyes.  “Talking does help.” You were going to kill him. Or fuck him. Maybe both. “Fuck you,” you muttered, breath uneven. His blue eyes gleamed, “Oh, sweetheart.” His thumb dragged over your lower lip. “That’s the plan.” Gojo maintain his grip on your chin, turning enough as he come down to kiss you, his tongue delved into your mouth, tangling with yours. He kissed you like he owned the breath in your lungs, like he needed to swallow every sound you made. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you flush against him, and fuck—he was already hard. You moan into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, swallowing your breath, devouring you. His hands slid lower, gripping your ass, pulling you tighter against him until his fingers flexed, tightening ever so slightly before his palm met your skin with a sharp, stinging crack.  

You jolted as his palm cracked against your ass, The sound echoed, heat spreading through your skin. “Gojo—” Another slap. Harder. The sting stealing the breath from your lungs, your hands pushing harder into the door, clinging to something, anything. “You’re too tense,” he murmured, his fingers slipping between your legs, pressing over your clothes. He hummed. “Oh? So wet already?” You clenched your jaw. “Go fuck yourself.” His smirk widened. “Oh, baby, I’d much rather fuck you.” And then his fingers were under your waistband from behind, slipping into your panties and start dragging through your folds, spreading your arousal. Gojo’s breath was hot against your neck as he nipped at your skin before overstimulating you, the rough pad of his fingertip teasing over the slick, swollen bud, pressing just enough to make you twitch. His voice was mocking, looking at you how you restrains your moans.

“You want me to make you cum, baby? Relax you a bit?" You hated how your hips bucked into his hand, how the slow press of his fingers made you dizzy. You swallowed, stubbornly refusing to answer. Gojo tutted. “Didn’t hear you.” His fingers stilled, barely there. “Show me how much you want it, sweetheart.” You were not going to beg. But then—he withdrew his hand completely from your pussy. A frustrated whine left your throat before you could stop it, and his smirk turned wicked. “That’s better.” He spun you around, pressing you against the door while his knee nudged your legs apart, and before you could react,  his finger chase your pussy again until it find your hole. Your moan was ripped from your throat as he curled his finger to stroke your inner walls. thee slick sound obscene in the quiet. His free hand palmed your breast, squeezing and pinching your buds exactly how he knew you wanted.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he murmured, his mouth pressing against the back of your neck. “Such a messy little thing.” The heel of his palm start grinding against your clit and you head pressed against the door, your knees shaking. “Gojo—” “That’s not what you call me when you’re like this,” he murmurs, punctuacting his words by sinking deeper and your legs almost gave out. Your breath came in broken gasps. “Satoru.” “That’s it.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Now, be good and cum for me.”

Gojo watches how you writhe beneath him and he know exactly what you need. Feeling your greedy walls fluttering, he add another finger, stretching you more as he plunged them deep inside you, fucking into you with hard, relentless thrusts. Clenching around him like your trying to keep him buried inside your hungry hole, he find your spot that make your wision wide,  making uuour inner muscles quivering arounding him.

The rough pad of his fingertip start teasing again over the slick, swollen bud, smearing your wetness while his knuckle sinking deep in your pussy, before pulling out just enough to tease your entrance, then thrusting back in, filllng you over and over.  

Your body start giving up, teetering on the edge. With trembeling thighs, you spread wider as if to take more, to feel everything and grinding into his hand, desperate for that last push. Gojo put a hand around you to make you still before finger fuck into you harder, his palm slick and hot where it slaps against you. Your spine arching while a broken moan, mumbling his name slip from your lips as your orgasm crashes over you. Wall clamping around his fingers, puling while your clit throbs under the ruhless pressures of his thumb.

Gojo doesn’t stop, he work your through it, fucking you slowly with his fingers, his thumb easing up just enough to prolong the pleasure without overwhelming you yet, pulling it out slowly.

You barely had time to recover before he was on you again, manhandling you onto your knees. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head up.

Unbuckling his pants, his smile widen slightly, a lustful glint present in his eyes, those damn, inescapable things, a teasing glint that promises trouble.

“You know what to do, sweetheart.”  

Your lips parted, pupils blown focusing of how his cock stands thick and flushed with precum beading at the tip, your body still thrumming from your orgasm.  He smear his precum as he jerks himelf slowly, teasing his own need. Before he dragged it along your lips, another drop wells up, trembeling at the tip before slipping down on your face making him hiss. You whined softly while parting your mouth opening obediently, and he groaned at the sight. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re too good to me, baby.” Then he slid into your mouth, slow at first, letting you adjust. His fingers twisted in your hair, guiding you as he set the pace. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice rough. “A very, very, good girl for me.”

He groans when your tongue drags along the underside of his cock, teasing the sensitive ridge. His hips jerk, pushing deeper, forcing you to take more. Your throat tightens around him, a helpless gag slipping from your lips, and fuck—he feels it.

"Just like that, baby," he rasps, fingers tightening in your hair, not pulling, but holding, guiding, as if he’s barely restraining himself from fucking into your mouth properly.

Tears bead at the corners of your eyes, spilling hot down your cheeks, but you don’t stop—you hollow your cheeks, suck harder, let him feel the heat of your tongue working him over, the messy drag of saliva coating his length. The slick sounds are obscene, but you kept going, swallowing around him and letting him now to use you how he wants. His breath was ragged now, hands trembling slightly as he held you there. “God, you’re so fucking perfect like this.” And just when you thought he was going to lose it and cum in your mouth, he pulled you off.

You gasp for air and before you ask him what he want, he toss you into his arms, your head fell over his shoulder while his hands gripped my ass, holding me up.

Gojo tossed you onto the bed, grabbing your lges and dragging them to the edge of the matter, forcing a sound out of you, one that only grew needied when he spread your legs apart. “You were so good for me,” he murmured, kneeling between your thighs. “I think you deserve a reward.” Gojo doesn’t give you a change again, doesn’t let you come down from the high of your last orgasm. Your body is still trembeling, still pulsing with aftershocks but he doesn’t care. If anything, the way you shudder beneath him, only seems to spur him on.

His hands are firm as they press your thighs apart, keeping you ide open for him. Feeling his mouth on you making you gasp, hips straing by his grip. His tongue drags over your clean, tasing and teasing but when he hears the choked sound that you make, the way your fingers fist in hist hair, he groans, wrecked and low. Like he’s the one falling apart, like eating you out is wrecking him as it’s wrecking you.

Gojo burries his face deeper in your wet pussy, lips wrapping around your abused clit, pulling whimpers straight from your throat. He’s lapping at you like he can’t get enough and your body jerks, spasming, fingers dig into your flresh, holding you still

“Satoru, too much, please, I can’t-“

Ignoring your pleas,  dragging you back down with strong hands as your hips trying to escape.  Then two fingers push inside your, pressing up against that raw, throbbing spot and your walls flutter instantly, his fingers fucking into you and you break.

It slams though you too fast, too hard, your second orgams rips out of you before you can even brace for you. Body spaming, a tear rolling onto your cheek as you come, your thights trembeling and squeezing around his head. Gojo moans, a slow, deep sound at the way you squeeze around his finger.

But he didn’t stop. Even as you whimper from oversensitivy, he stays between your thights, his tongue slow now, softer. Cleaning you up, tasing every deep of you delicious cum, he kiss your clit and along with it, leaving soft open-mouthes kisses around your inner thights, worshipping you and when you maintain his intense gaze, you already know he’s not done with you.  His voice a low murmur of praise and filth, thumb stroking your clit playfully. “So fucking pretty when you cum for me.” You whimpered, pushing weakly at his head before his grin widen, his fingers teasing your entrance.

“Think you can handle more?”. “Satoru, please—” But your words were cut off as he threw you down futher, your body bouncing against the mattress, a sharp exhale forced from your lungs. His frame hovered over you before you could even think to move, hands pinning you beneath him before manhandling you again.

He had you on your hands and knees, his grip firm as he spread you open while his palms slid over the curve of your ass, squeezing, and smoothing teasingly—then crack. A sharp slap landed against your skin, heat blooming where his palm met flesh. You jolted, a strangled sound leaving your throat. You love it so bad that you clench again around nothing, you look back at him at there he is.

His gaze is darker, lips parted ashe breathes a little heavier, cheeks tinger with a faint flush. His eyes hold omething dangerous, something that should make other person a little afraind, but instead, it makes me wetter.

He watches, shamelessy how your pussy clench, your body betraying just how desperate you are.

One finger, slipping inside like he’s searching somethins, like he’s claiming something that belongs only to him. He fucks it in slow strokes and you watch as your orgasm coat his fingers, dripping and glisterning.

Gojo lifts his hand slightly, staring as your slick trails down his sking before his eye flick back to you.

A pause.

He comes and grabs your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat, to remind you who’s in control.

His voice is different from before, commanding even.

“Suck”

You take his fingers into your mouth, hollowing obscenely your cheeks around them, tasting your own release. You moan intentionally, softly, enough to make him twitch. Your mouth swirling over his knuckles as you look at him. “You’re so fucking messy,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. He pull out from your mouth before dragging his fingers through the slickness between your legs. “My perfect little slut.”

It’s unbearable from him to stay longer, pressing his tip on your entrance, your eyes widen as you look over your shoulder, hips chasing him closer.  Gojo grips your ass, spreading it more until he thrust inside.

A sharp gasp left your lips as he start filling you, not stoping until almost all of it get. He is holding you there, buried deep inside, groaning at the way you feel, restraining himself to cum directly into your womb. “Fuck,” he rasped, voice strained. “You feel so good.”

Gojo drives into you, deep and slow but there’s a desperation in it and his grip on your ass tightes, fingers diggings in so hard it’s already bruising. Holding you in place just to drag you back onto his cock with every thrust, forcing you take it, almost take all of him.

Your mouth falls open as he bottoms out, stretching you side, he is stuffing you full in a way that knocks the air from your lung.

You missed it. You can’t deny it.

The way he fills you, owns you, forces everything else from your mind until nothing exists but his big, arching drag of his cock inside you, ripping every thought from your head, leaving only the unbereable need for more. “You love this, don’t you?” His voice was full of wicked amusement. “Getting fucked like this, taking everything I give you.” A whimper escapes, your head bobbing before you even realize you're nodding. "Y-Yes—"

You can barely breathe, barely think, hands trembling against the pillow, your body struggling to keep up.

He sees. Of course, he sees.

Strong fingers wrap tight around your wrists, yanking them behind your back. A sharp pull forces your body down, bending you deeper onto his cock. The stretch is unbearable, every nerve alight as he presses deeper, splitting you apart, ruining you. He groans at how deep he can push now before praising you.

“That’s my girl.”

You whimper, or better say sob as you shake, wrecked, every sound you make bordering on broken, desperate, pathetic.

Maybe you really are crying for pleasure and pain, being too much but not enough at the same time. He’s too big, too deep, tearing uou apart just to put you back together again, forcing you body to take what he gives it, to mold your pussy to his shape.

Feeling your thirst orgasm approach, pussy squeezing him harder and making him hiss but you didn’t hear, you were ready to snapp all over again, your ass starting to bounce on his cock and meeting his thrust but suddenly, Gojo moved. A whine left your lips from his edging before he lifted you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His breath was hot against your ear as he held you in place, his pace deepening, each thrust hitting exactly where you needed it. Your head tipped back onto his shoulder, a helpless moan escaping you. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to cup your throat, tilting your chin so he could catch your lips, feeling his possessive emotions as he takes your in a brusing kiss, demaning entrance but his thurst make it messy, sloppy until your body start tensed around him.

Tears forming in your eyes and a sharp cryp breaking from your lips, Gojo cups your cheek and force you to look at him as your cum start pushing him out of your pussy. Cum start leaking around his cock and your walls start throbbing violently, making both of you moan in each others mouth.

Gojo try  restrain himself, burying his face against you neck. He turned you on you back, shoving a pillow beneath your hips.

His eyes watching all of you, half-lidded with lust and a breath ragged. He usually doesn’t fuck you like this, saying is not his favourite position.

But before thinking more, one hand gripped your thigh, your legs apart while the other slipped between your lips, pressing his fingers against your tongue again, his oral fixation need to be satisfied by your submissive mouth.

“Be good,” he murmured. “And suck.”

You wrap your arouns his fingers and he push deeper, gagging you with it.

“Mphm.”

His cock twitching inside you. His free hand wrapped around your throat, just enough pressure to make you shiver. “You’re so fucking perfect for me,” he rasped, voice almost gentle beneath the raw hunger. His thrusts became slower, deeper, dragging pleasure out of you with every stroke. His fingers slipped from your mouth, cupping your face while his thumb brushing along your cheek. His blue eyes, wild and blown out with arousal, flickered with something else, a little bit softer.

He comes down to kiss you, but not like before. His lips parting just enough to drag against yours, to let you feel the soft, wet heat of his mouth before he seals them shut again. His tongue flicks out, teasing, just a filthy swipe along your lower lip before ehe sucks it between his teeth, biting down hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of it, his tongue slipping inside, pressing against yours. His lips are slick now, moving against yours in a open-mouthed rhythm, tongues rolling together in a messy and wet way while pushing deeper and slower inside your pussy.

When he pulls back, just barely, his tongue flicks out again, dragging along your bottom lip in a low, slow stroke before he sucks it back into his mouth, swallowing your moans and whimpers like it belongs to him.

He mutter against your lips, your eyes searching him for anything, anything to explain why he want to break you like this.

"Say it."

Then he grabs your jaw, fingers pressing into your skin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him.

His eyes aren’t like before. They’re softer now, but still demanding—pleading, almost, like he’s begging you to understand, to give him what he needs.

And you think you do know. You can feel it in the way he fucks you, in the way his body shudders against yours, in the way his grip tightens like he’s holding himself back. Like he needs to hear it. Like he needs to own it.

The realization sets your stomach on fire, makes your exhausted walls flutter around him, but there’s something else, too—your heart pounding harder, because for you, this isn’t just fucking anymore.

His fingers tighten around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to catch your attention, just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes flicker, almost vulnerable for a second—but what leaves his lips is anything but soft.

"Say it, or I’ll fuck it out of you."

You gasp, tilting your head into the pillow harder as his cock throbs inside you, thick and heavy, pulsing like he’s barely holding himself together.

"Come on, sweetheart. Give me what I want."

You nod, desperate—too sensitive, too fucking full, your mind slipping between pleasure and delirium. Your voice is ruined when you finally give in.

"I’m yours, Satoru. Only yours. Your good girl. Your dirty little slu—" The words tumble out between gasps, your body clenching, trembling, drowning in him. "Please—please. Fuck. Come in me. Fill me up, baby, I need it, I need it—"

That’s it. That’s all it takes.

His breath shatters, his body stiffens, and then he groans—a deep, wrecked, broken sound as he buries his face in your neck, breath hot and ragged against your ear. Fingers dig into your skin, grip unrelenting, holding you in place as he pounds into you one last time, brutal, deep, filling you completely.

The first pulse of his release is sharp, hot, spreading inside you as he jerks his hips forward again, grinding himself impossibly deeper, fucking his cum into you like he wants to make sure you take every drop. His lips find yours, messy and desperate, tongue sliding into your mouth as if he needs to taste you while he falls apart.

His cock twitches inside you, spilling thick ropes of cum, so much it’s leaking out around him, dripping onto the sheets, making a mess of both of you—but he doesn’t stop. His hips stutter, pushing it deeper, like he wants to ruin you with it, like he wants you to feel him inside you for hours.

You whimper, already too sensitive, but you love it—you love how full you feel, how warm, how his cum is still seeping from you as he stays inside, letting his weight press you into the mattress.

And then he groans again, soft this time, his lips brushing against your jaw before he breathes out, shaky, ruined, still pulsing inside you.

While he’s still inside you, his lips move slowly against your skin—pressing soft, lingering kisses along your neck.

"Mine," he murmurs between kisses, his voice low, hushed, almost reverent. He drags his lips lower, across your shoulder, warm breath fanning over your skin before he kisses you again. "Mine." Another kiss, this time just below your ear, his tongue flicking out slightly before he nips at your skin. "Mine." His voice is softer now, but no less certain, each word sinking deeper, branding you in a way his body already has.

You almost cry.

I’m fucked.

One of his hands cupping on your cheek, his thumb barely grazing your skin in slow, absentminded strokes. The other? Loosely curled around your hip, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go. Your mind was still hazy, body aching in the best ways, but something about the way he was holding you—gentle, unhurried, like he was memorizing the feel of you—made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with arousal. And you really needed that. But now you feel your heart pound too hard, an anxious make your neck feel tighten. ┈─★

For a while, neither of you said anything. The only sound was your breathing, slowly evening out, the faint hum of the city outside your window. Then—his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your chin slightly. “Still alive down there?” His voice was low, a little hoarse, but the teasing lilt was there—light, familiar, Gojo. You huffed, too exhausted to roll your eyes properly.

“Barely.” He grinned, pleased with himself, and you felt his fingers squeeze your hip. “Can’t have that. What kind of man would I be if I broke you?”

“You tried,” you muttered, voice dry. He laughed—a real, soft laugh, something that vibrated against your skin as he pressed a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah, but you like it when I do.” You didn’t answer, but your fingers curled against his back slightly, your body instinctively leaning into his warmth. And Gojo noticed. His lips quirked, but instead of throwing another cocky remark your way, he just sighed, rolling onto his side, pulling you with him. You blinked, surprised when he settled you against his chest again, one of his arms looping around your waist, keeping you close. Normally, this was the part where he’d make some stupid remark, maybe slap your ass before getting up like none of it mattered. Gojo Satoru wasn’t the type to linger too much. But he wasn’t letting go. “…Are you still cuddling me?” you asked, skeptical. His fingers traced small, lazy circles against your lower back.

“Hah? No. I’m trapping you.” You scoffed. “Trapping me?” “Mhm.” He grinned against your hair.”You can’t move. You belong to me now.” You rolled your eyes, but the weight of his arms around you, the solid warmth of him, made your chest ache  again. Maybe he felt it too, because his teasing softened just a bit. “Seriously though,” he murmured, quieter this time. “You good?” Your throat tightened again, caught off guard by the genuine concern beneath his usual amusement. You didn’t trust yourself to answer right away. Gojo waited, patient in a way he usually wasn’t. And that scared you more than anything. “…Yeah,” you said eventually, your voice softer, a slight tremble in it.

He hummed, the sound vibrating against you, like he wasn’t fully convinced. But he didn’t push. Instead, his grip on you tightened slightly, like he was reassuring himself you were still there. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You should move. You should say something. But the way his fingers moved slowly along your skin, the way his breathing evened out against you, the way he wasn’t in a rush to leave— It left a question lingering at the edges of your mind. Was this just this time? Or was something changing? Gojo Satoru was reckless. Untouchable. Someone who never belonged to anyone but himself. And yet, how he fucked you before—No, like he made love with you? And the way he stayed, the way he held you close instead of pulling away—felt like something that wasn’t supposed to happen. Something that wasn’t supposed to feel this good. Your fingers curled slightly against his chest, and his breath hitched, making him second guess what happened insie him but as he usually ignores and go with the flow, he turned his head instinctively, pressing an absentminded kiss to your temple, something easy, natural, like he hadn’t even thought about it. Your heart skipped. You didn’t know what this meant. But as you feel how warm and comforting is in his arms, you try for the first time to ignore it, like him. And maybe, for now, that was okay.

You hum unsteadily. 

“Do you think you might be sick again?” You’re unsure. “You should tell me if you might be. I’ll have to get a bag.” 

“Have I been sick?” you ask, looking up at him. 

Something flickers over his expression at your question. He rubs his thumb over the space behind your ear soothingly. “You have,” he answers, “but that was before we came, so it was a bit different. I don’t think they’ll let me follow you into the toilets here.” 

You feel your eyes widen. “You were there?” 

The man grins. It’s worse than anything he’s done so far, so dazzling you feel you have to close your eyes. You’re seeing stars again. 

“I’m not so terribly squeamish as to leave my loveliest girl all alone when she needs me,” he says. “I’m not that awful.” 

“I don’t think you’re awful,” you tell him. 

“No.” He makes a humorous-looking pouty face at you, still stroking behind your ear. “No, you wouldn't. That’s why you’re my loveliest girl, you’re too good to me.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“What does what mean, gorgeous?” 

You shy a bit at the misnomer. Surely people this beautiful shouldn’t just be dolling out compliments like that. “Your girl.” 

His thumb doesn’t stop petting you, but it slows. He looks at you for a handful of moments. It’s rather a lot; you shift in your uncomfortable, plasticy chair, but don’t think once of lifting your head from his shoulder. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asks eventually. 

You worry your lip between your teeth. “Am I supposed to?”

“No.” He folds his hand over your head again, kissing your temple. “That’s okay. You’ve had a bump on the head, and it’s made you forget some things, but it won’t be forever. My name’s Sirius.” He says this all very patiently. You get the sense he’s done it more than once. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.” 

At this, you do lift your head. Sirius lets you, though he watches like he doesn’t intend to let you go far. “You and I have?” you ask.

The corner of his mouth ticks. “That’s right.” 

“How long is a while?” 

“You say two years.” He tilts his head from side to side, like really it’s up for debate. “I say two years and a few weeks, because I thought our first date was to the Ramones show but you thought we were hanging out as friends.” 

You gawp at him. Your mouth has actually dropped open. “Are you my boyfriend?” 

“Some have said that,” Sirius says, smiling. “I prefer exclusive live-in soulmate.” 

You don’t know how you know, but you sense he’s half joking about the last part. Not the first, though. 

“Really?” you ask. 

Sirius quirks a brow. “Is it so difficult to believe?”

“You’re just—you’re so pretty.” 

“Really?” His smile returns to knock the air from you. This one’s wide enough to make his lashes kiss at the corners. “You think so?” 

“Of course. You’re beautiful.” You shake your head, surprised when it hurts and then startled anew when Sirius cups your face to still you. You trace the length of his arm with your eyes, admiring the patchwork of tattoos that goes all the way up to disappear under the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

“Be careful with yourself,” Sirius murmurs. 

Your eyes flit back up to his face. “You have to know.” 

“Have to know what?” 

“That you’re beautiful.” 

Sirius looks absolutely delighted by you. “Well, it’s always nice to hear it,” he says. “Especially from someone so lovely as yourself.” 

You feel your features pinch with genuine dismay. “I don’t tell you?” 

“You say you don’t want to give me a bigger head than I already have. Something about throwing the earth out of its orbit or something.” He strokes your cheek while he talks, as though this sort of disparagement could inspire only fondness, but at your obvious distress Sirius softens. “I’m joking. You tell me, you just don’t usually look so surprised when you do. Come here, sweetheart.” 

He coaxes you under his arm, helping you snuggle up against his side where he can kiss your head as often as he pleases. It’s like Sirius knows exactly what you need; with your head against his chest, now the thing you hear most is the steady beat of his heart. His body works like a grounding point for you, calming your nerves and hushing your thoughts. The sweep of his thumb over your shoulder sends pleasant little shivers all down your arm. 

“You don’t have to be so shy, my love,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s only me.” 

If you weren’t shy before, you are now. You hide your face in his chest. “Please don’t call me that.” 

Sirius chuckles. “No?” he asks, his voice slow and syrupy sweet with a heart-pittering quality that rings familiar. “You usually like it when I call you nice things.” 

“It’s too nice.”