Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓟.𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𓂃 ⭒ is your toxic ex who's now making your student life hell.
⤿ ꒰ satoru knew that his sweet girl couldn't last without him. he just had to make you realise that :: college au :: smut :: age gap ( 40s / 20s ) :: toxic dynamics :: kinda yandere behaviour :: dumbification :: p in v :: m.masturbation :: phone sex :: thigh riding :: rough sex :: degradation :: praise :: creampie :: overstimulation :: financial disparity :: mean!toru ꒱
♡ ₊˚‧ beta read by my pookie baby @aves1018 <3
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ was your scandalous little secret. all heaven smiles and devil eyes. blue. bright and brutal in the same way he carried himself. he was as charming as he was cunning. the right mix of taboo and terror that made your little heart flutter whenever he cast you a glance over his rimless glasses as he set your perfect-score down in your table. muttered a “that's my girl” to your ear when brushed by him to leave the class. spanked your thigh under that skimpy little skirt when no one was looking— but anyone could see.
being professor gojo's favourite was something dangerous. something fun, something frightening, and the infinity in between.
he took care of you. showered in you in spoils. took you back to his apartment after stressful hours and fucked you into his leather couch until you left pretty red scratches down his back. with the same nails that he paid to manicure. you were always seen. always praised. you lacked nothing when it came to being in his arms.
but you couldn't do it any longer.
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ was twice your age. in his forties with silvers slipping between his white strands. creases setting in the corners of his eyes. his tongue tasted like aged wine. his hands laced with experience you could only dream of. but with all the pros of dating an older man— came the deep, dreary insecurity.
insecurity that you wouldn't be enough. that you weren't permanent. that you were just a little taste but not the one that'll quench his thirst. really, what did a man with his qualification and achievements need from you other than something to pass the time?
and to top it all off? his possessiveness knew no bounds. it was quiet, not violent, but sharp. the kind of thing that left you paranoid whether you were toeing a line or not. he didn't approve of your friends. couldn't handle your classmates. hell— he failed the boy that sat next to you all semester just because you flashed him a smile.
so with all facts considered? you were gonna leave him. it was for the best rather than drag you both down a love that was doomed.
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't too bothered when you told him it was over. it was in the car. he saw it coming. knew you were reaching a limit. he still snapped at the waiter who dared to laugh at your little joke that was meant for him.
but sure. you wanna break away just because he loved you so much? not an issue. he could see the tears in your eyes. the tremble in your fingers as you took the bag that he bought you as he dropped you off at your dorm building.
no. he wasn't too bothered. why would he be? you'd always be his. and little miss daddy-issues-and-academic-insecurity needed his validation to function.
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ started in class. a week after you left him. your assignment was handed in with shaky hands rather than confidence. and he was more than happy to mark you down. why should he glance over your little mishaps anymore? you didn't need his special treatment. so, yeah, he didn't bat an eye as his hand sharply pressed your assignment sheet your desk as he passed. not even casting you a glance. looking on ahead as you crumbled at your B-.
“try harder next time. you're better than this.”
he said it so easily. as if he was always capable of seeing you as nothing in those cutting blues eyes.
it seemed to be a trend. he'd hand you back your assignments. they weren't what you expected. and when you slipped the spot of top ranked student in his quantum physics class?
well, he didn't bother looking up at you as you stood before his desk. hands gripping your newest assignment. almost hesitant to hand it in.
“how's that even possible?” you asked, soft.
“awww baby.” he only tilted his head. pinched his brows at the centre. looked at you with that soft look that was oh, so condescending now. “people change. you know that better than anyone, huh?”
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew that his validation meant everything to you. now you weren't his top student, weren't the object of his praise. no more mouthed “atta girl”s or treating you to your favourite restaurant after another stellar score.
you were struggling to get by. scraping to get back to your straight a's. to achieve even a hint of his favour.
you never did. it was a downhill spiral. and everyone knew what an asshole professor gojo could be. so of course no one batted an eye when he belittled you in class.
“guess I expected too much,” he'd sigh after calling out your marks for the last test. he didn't have to. but you knew what he did.
as he leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head. cutting that stare that you'd grown to flinch at over.
“so much for star student, huh? try better next time. know you can do it.”
he knew you could.
but knew you wouldn't. not now that you were spiralling.
not when you weren't his favourite girl anymore.
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ caught you outside at the steps that day. night time. you probably spent all afternoon in the library studying to make up for the embarrassment. for your sin of slipping in your grades. he knew you would. knew how you operated.
knew you'd be all teary as you walked down the steps with your hand tight on your book bag. trying to ignore him.
“awww baby. what's wrong? you crying?”
you didn't flinch when satoru caught up to you. when he cradled your face in that way he knew you loved to be comforted. bit back a grin as you resisted the urge to press your head into his palm and fall into his arms.
“oh c'mon. you crying over me? didn't say anything bad. you know how I operate.”
all low and gentle. in that voice he used when he used to tutor you and you just couldn't grasp what he was saying. like you were his silly girl. his sweet girl.
long fingers slipped around your jaw. gripped on your cheeks and squished them as he tilted your head up. towering over you but leaning over so that his white strands tickled your tears.
“don't look like that, princess.” he muttered. pressing a firm kiss into your lips and smearing your gloss. not tender, but taunting. not comforting, but still charming enough to have you whimpering and clinging to his shirt.
and as he pulled back, a grin split his lips still hovered over yours. half-hung lashes batting at your falling tears.
“just try harder next time, yeah?”
before he patted your cheek and you left you stranded on the stairs.
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew that you needed him in more ways than one. not only did he soothe that insecurity in your heart but he also sealed the hole in your wallet. and now? he knew you were struggling. you didn't order out as much. didn't have the luxury to. you walked back to the dorm. lifts must be costly. you sure as hell didn't have your nails done every other week. he missed the acrylics and blue you'd insist on. but hey— you made your bed.
didn't mean that he didn't feel sorry for you when he spotted you at your favourite cafe. probably ordering a tea like you did now. not your favourite sweet treat and hot chocolate.
yeah. it was pity. definitely not the need to remind you what you were missing— as he called to the barista from behind you. “get the lady a hot chocolate and a strawberry crepe, please?”
as he leaned over your stiffening form, arm grazing yours as he slid his black card over. murmuring a soft, “I've got you, sweetheart,” to your ear when the barista turned.
you let him sit with you that day. spoke to him properly for the first time in months. even if you couldn't hold his eye contact. even if you thanked him a hundred times and over.
while he gave you a gentle look, inwardly? he was grinning.
bingo.
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew he had you slowly wrapping around his finger again. that's why he had no shame when he leaned back in his couch that day. remembering your weight in his lap. swiping through his folder that he refused to delete. full of your pretty body, your slutty expressions and your messy thighs.
that's why he didn't feel bad as his hand wrapped around his hard dick that slapped back on his tummy, smearing some pre on his abs.
why he groaned your name without care as he squeezed in his angry tip. remembered the way you'd whine as he rubbed it on your little clit. how you'd cry out as he kissed it in your cervix.
fuck. he remembered how your thighs would quiver for him. how that smart mouth of yours would reduce to a babbling, stuttering, slutty whimper of his name as he ragdolled you on his cock.
his hand sped. his other swiping to your contact. you hadn't blocked him. it's your fault for the voice note you'd receive. of his harsh grunts and his rasped gasps accompanying that wet shlick shlick shlick.
of his voice, groaning your name low like it was both his sin and salvation.
“sweetheart, fuck. look at what you do to me— fuck. still work me up so fuckin' much even when you aren't mine. miss your pretty pussy. miss my sweet girl so soooo bad."
he'd whine. he remembered how much you like that. liked hearing him lose himself as he slammed all the way in and rutted as he frothed you up.
now? it was all over his hand. and he made sure the voice note heard just how much he wished it was in your sweet little cunt instead.
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ expected you to not answer him. but you still didn't block him. still didn't report him. you wouldn't. you loved him too much. loved the thought of him. did you think that while you touched yourself to his voice note?
he knew you did. knew you didn't get yourself that. knew you probably sat there playing with your cute clit and whining his name all pitifully as you tried so desperately to cum the way he'd make you squirt back then. back when you were his.
you know what else he expected? you to storm into his office and accuse him of marking you down purposefully. your mid term marks were sent out that morning. he made sure of it. made sure you'd have to face the man, your ex, who sent you a five minute long voice note of him fisting his big cock to you.
“such accusations, sweet girl.” satoru drawled, lazy, as he leaned his head on his hand and his elbow on the desk.
“if you think so, I'm not opposed to you sitting with me while I mark your next assignment. I've got the next stack set for this afternoon. wanna come confirm your claims?”
his brow arched. his diamond eyes invited you. his velvet voice dared you.
and you did. of course you did. he expected that too.
his fourth expectation? that you'd find your way in his lap. with that skirt he loved so much. with your thighs slotted over his knee and his hand cradling your ass while his other graded papers.
you were soaking through his pants. he could feel it. the same way he felt you tremble as he flipped to your assignment. squeezed your ass and bounced his knee to grind up on your cunt.
“those poor panties must be so drenched, huh pretty?” he crooned to your ear, squishing you down onto his bounces and grinds. enjoying your whimpers. your whines as your hands fisted on his shirt.
“look at that,” he pouted, dragging the edge aside of your panties aside so that your clit ground perfectly on the fabric of his pants. “such a slutty student. think this is gonna get you extra credit?”
swat! his fingertips came down in your clit. his leg bounced again to force your needier grinds.
he grinned. cruel and cold on your ear as the sharp strokes of his red pen sliced through the air.
“mm. you're gonna need it. my sweet girl's become a stupid girl in my absence.”
he laughed as you whipped around. as you looked over. saw your assignment littered in red.
and the worst thing is? as he unbuckled his belt and manhandled you over his thighs so your back faced his chest to give you a better look— as his cock slapped on your cunt and dwarfed your folds as he slid between them. as his tip rubbed on your clit in that same way that had you trembling—
you saw it.
saw that he wasn't marking you down in any way that you didn't deserve.
and as his cock plunged in and your back through in an arch. as he snatched your waist and bounced your little cunt on his cock that split you open and had you creaming in seconds. . .
he taunted you. squishing your thighs and biting on your ear. “poor girl. poor, stupid girl.”
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ wasn't even surprised when he got a call the next week. an internship at that institution you'd always prattle so excitedly about. poor you. you probably thought just because he had you in his lap and called you his sweet girl— just because you were his once upon a time, that he wouldn't give you a bad reference to the job of your dreams, huh?
poor, sweet, stupid girl.
he was beginning to like your tears. your eyes looked pretty when they were glossed and your lashes were all damp. as you blinked up at him after you burst into his office again. face blotched and hands clenched.
“how could you?” you croaked. “I— you know how important that is to me—”
“you were important to me too.”
“that's not the point! so what you sabotaged me because I broke up with you? what don't you get satoru? we can't do this! what kind of person would—”
you trembled so prettily when he stood. when shook his head with a sigh and slipped his glasses into his hair.
“sweetheart, sweetheart," he tutted, circling his desk and backing you into it once he got in front of you.
“you don't get it, do you?” there's that condescending tone again. the one he used because to him, you were just his dumb, naïve girl.
big hands came down on the edge of the desk that you pressed into. trapping you against the wood and his wickedness as he leaned over. towering you as always. face pressing closer. brows pinched and knitted upwards. face that mockery of sympathy.
“baby, sweetheart, my sweetest girl. here's the thing.” his lips brushed yours. you tensed. teary eyes wide and staring into his.
“I realised. I'm not a good person when it comes to you.”
velvet and diamond. smooth and cutting. like it was simple fact. a set fate.
his head crooked. glasses slipping down his nose and brutal blues pinning you from over the rim.
“y'know. if you come back to me, you wouldn't have to worry about all this. . .”
his sly fingers brushed your hair back. a kiss pressed to your temple.
“I'd take care of you.”
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ knew you were on the brink. knew it wouldn't take long before you were in his arms again. he just had to wait. even when his fingers ached for your skin. when his lips burned for yours. when his palms itched to just grab you by the waist and drag you back to him cause you were such a stubborn girl.
but he'd wait. wait for you to make the decision. wait for you to realise that you were always his and he was the best you ever had.
so you could imagine his grin when you stayed back after class. when you stood in front of his desk with your eyes batting at him. hesitant. shaky. when you asked him for extra credit in his class that you were now borderline failing. but most of all, when you offered your pretty body to him without him even uttering a word.
this is what he meant. what he waiting for. for you to make the moves. to miss him. to want him.
he fucked you into your dorm bed that night. with your face shoved down and your fingers clinging to your pillow. ass clapping and brushing with his brutal thrusts that smacked his heavy balls on your folds. cock splitting you open and spilling your creamy mess all over the wrinkled sheets.
his hand in your hair. his voice rough in your ear.
“like that, sweetheart? want it like that?” he grinned, feral and cruel as you mewled when he angled right. shoved into a sweetspot and ground so filthily until your eyes rolled back as you drooled his name into the pillow.
“missed how I fucked you— right here?”
“r-right there! please!”
“uhuh? righhhttt here?”
he drawled. hand smacking down on your ass and leaving a sting, before he reached around. pinching and pulling on your spasming clit. as he slammed! all the way in. jamming his hips with yours and rutting on your messy, creaming folds. so a lewd, clickclickclick muffled from your overly-stuffed cunt.
“fuck—” satoru rasped. eyes wild and dilated as his fingers bunched your hair tighter. shoved your face further into the pillow. “take it. take this cock like you were born to. like this slutty cunt missed it.”
he missed your squirts. missed your sobs. missed the way your hand tried to scramble back and grip on his hair as he pummelled your pussy all raw and rough into the ruined sheets.
his eyes fluttered back as you squeezed him again. as you struggled on his name and squirmed beneath him.
“s-sato— sat— hngh.”
“say it, sweetheart.” he grit, twisting your head up. slamming his hips faster. bouncing your body on the bed and slamming the headboard into the wall. making your cunt all puffy and his cock all creamy in your cum.
“say my name. say you missed it. tell me whose pussy this is.”
“satoru— toru! toru torruuuu.”
“and don't you ever—” he whined, cock plunging deep as the knot within him snapped. as he frothed him up the way he's been missing. lashes fluttering and eyes rolling back. a filthy, wet, thrust smacked on your bruising ass emphasised every word.
“— ever. fucking. forget it.”
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ thought you would have came back to him after that, but he guessed you were more stubborn than he gave you credit for. that's fine. you just needed one more push. one more and then you'd be back where you finally belonged: in his arms.
so, yeah. he was responsibly fucking pissed when he saw you chatting up the campus fuckboy. hell— when he heard rumours that you two were a thing.
but he calmed himself down. enough to not snatch you by the wrist in the hallway and shove you into a wall. kiss you until your knees trembled. shoved his tongue into your mouth for all to see until he lost his job. that what you wanted? wanted him to be ruined for you?
calmed himself down enough to wait until the day ended. so he could back you into an empty corridor's corner. his hand on your jaw. tilting your face up. so that you could stare into the eyes of the man who had you squirting all over his cock just a few weeks ago. the man who was always yours no matter how much you tried to admit otherwise.
“you know he's not me, right?” he spoke, that nonchalance breaking for the first time in these wretched months you've been apart from him.
he leaned close. didn't kiss you. not your lips, but your temple. as he stared you down. cold. calloused. a warning cracked in those brutal blues.
“he'll never treat you like me. never know how to handle a sweetheart like you.”
his voice shook. breath thinned.
and for the first time since you left him, satoru shattered.
not pitifully, not pathetically, not violently nor catastrophically—
but sharp. and soft. and the kind of breathlessly that made you think his lungs were giving out— as he slumped over you. free hand trembling on the wall right beside your head. still holding your face. cradling it now.
“guys your age won't treat you like I do baby. not like you deserve.”
his thumb brushed your lower lip. he whispered. raw and wrecked.
“won't love you like I do. I love you sweetheart. I fucking love you. don't leave me here.”
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ really underestimated your stubbornness. your resolve. he was almost proud when you shoved him off and he let you go. when you walked away from him.
fine. he just had to wait a little longer. a little longer and you'd come back to him.
next week. a friday night. a phone call.
he didn't blink when he saw your name. when he answered. when he heard your soft, choked sob.
his voice melted into tenderness. soothed your cries. asked you where you were. came and picked you up, because he always would. you'd always be his sweet girl, after all.
satoru warned you about that guy. so he wasn't surprised when he pulled up to the street that you were dropped off on. in the middle of the night. cold and alone. all teary eyes and trembling knees. wasn't surprised when you scrambled into his car and clung to the jacket he gave you.
he listened. as he always did. listened as you cried and ranted and raved about how that guy broke your heart several times tonight. then kicked you out of his car and left you stranded. like you were nothing.
he took you into his arms. as he always did. took you into his arms after he cradled you into his apartment. held you close as you clung to him. hiccuping into his chest and sobbing into his shirt. apologising, crying, apologising, sobbing.
apologising.
begging.
“ssshhh I've got you sweet girl.” strong arms looped you closer. cradled you in that protective warmth with one hand cupping the back of your head and the other one your hip. as he hushed your cries. assured you. squeezed your hip and whispered so tenderly.
“I've got you no sweetheart. not gonna let you go again, okay? I promise baby.”
˖ ࣪꒰ PROFESSOR SATORU ꒱ ˙˖ who cradled your head closer and pressed his lips to the top of your head.
who held your close. who promised to never let you go.
who slipped his phone out of his pocket and held it up behind your head. still cradled by his other, big hand. with his soft kiss still on your hair.
his thumb slid across the screen.
transaction completed.
the final half paid to that bum of a guy you insisted on. who broke your heart for some cash. funny how a little bit of money was all you needed to have your way.
and as satoru held your close. with his arms snuggling you to his chest, and his eyes finally fluttering shut. he relished.
because yeah. you're finally back into his arms. just needed a little nudge.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Sypnosis ⦂ Suguru believed too much freedom became another kind of cage. You learned that some people leave without ever really saying goodbye.
content warnings: angst, emotional distance, abandonment themes, unresolved ending, philosophical themes, gojo is a cw himself
The Republic by Plato. The plain cover is a stark contrast to the colorful books lining your shelf.
But it’s there—tucked away, untouched.
Not because you don’t want to reach for it, but because, for some reason, you’ve convinced yourself that once you do, you’ll lose something. Something you can’t quite name.
Colorful sticky notes jut out from its pages. The ones you had bought just for him.
“Suguru, you’re annotating it wrong.” You huff, rolling your eyes as you watch him mark up the very first book you’ve ever given him. He mentioned it in passing, but you were always just so attentive, weren’t you?
Suguru just scoffs at your words, more disbelieving than anything. “There’s no right or wrong in this. I have freedom of will.”
And in that moment, you never would’ve known it was the beginning.
Because all you could think about was the…
Hot summers in Shibuya, those bright days where Shoko would insist you guys head out to try those limited Dorayaki stations. Satoru’s obnoxiously slinging his arm around your shoulder, rattling on about the heat as if it weren’t affecting you either.
“This better be worth it,” Satoru all but huffs, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as they cross the pedestrian lane. Satoru has always been different from Suguru. He touches freely, carelessly, never in a way that feels heavy. Never in a way that lingers.
Suguru doesn’t say much. He just angles the small fan in his hand toward you, he’s subtle about it, like he doesn’t want you to notice.
He knows how irritable the heat makes you. And he’d rather endure the sun than your frustration.
You swing your legs lazily as you settle on top of the kitchen counter. “I just don’t get it. It’s the third time this week.”
Suguru is crouched over the faucet, head obscured by the counter, hands skimming through the pipes. “You should just get a new sink,” he grunts. He doesn’t really fix your sink– not because he can’t
But because he's giving himself another reason to keep coming back.
You glance down at him, sleeves rolled up, hands motioning for the tools, and you’re always there to hand them over without thinking. It’s become a rhythm, small and ordinary, but one that feels entirely his.
Later, the shared coffee is just as comforting. You curl into the couch, mugs warming your hands, and he reads. The Republic.
He pauses, eyes flicking to the page. “Huh,” he says. “He thinks too much freedom turns into another kind of cage.” The words are heavy for a lazy afternoon, but you only half-listen, half distracted by the way his sleeves are rolled up, the faint warmth of the coffee, the quiet hum of the apartment.
You talk just enough for the both of you, filling the small spaces between his thoughts with your presence. And amidst it all, Suguru is quietly grateful for that–grateful for the ordinary that they call you.
It had become routine, something that felt like it had all the time in the world.
Oh, how wrong you were.
Suguru was still Suguru. He’d insist on walking you home. Old habits die hard. But the tension in the air was palpable. He paused before he laughed, and there was this distance, subtle but unmistakable, the one that had never been there before.
And his mini fan? Out of reach, like he’d accepted your frustrations and feared the heat of the sun.
You don’t understand what's happening. Why he suddenly is the way he is. But you don’t pry, you never impose, and maybe that’s what he had loved about you.
He would bail on group outings, skip classes despite Yaga nagging at him about his last year being the most important.
He had just stopped showing up, as if it mattered less and less.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Suguru says, but the words don’t land like they used to.
“Alright, tomorrow.” You respond, looking forward to another day with him, despite the intangible distance.
Tomorrow never came, not for the two of you.
His things still linger by the comforts of your home. His jacket, the box of half-used sticky notes. Hell, a hair tie or two.
It’s a wake up call, really. Your mind starts to notice the little things. The way he stopped charging his mini fan for you, the way every laugh seemed a bit too practiced, the way he shut himself out.
His book is half-way done, you can tell from the lack of sticky notes from the other end. So you reach out, tentatively. As if the book was the only thing left of what he used to be.
He didn’t leave you, not really. He liked to believe he left the world where you existed. As if that’d soften the blow.
But it doesn’t matter, not really. Not anymore.
So the book finds its place on the top of your shelf, quiet, unassuming, but you would know better. Some things don’t disappear. They just learn how to stay contained.
Sypnosis ⦂ Suguru believed too much freedom became another kind of cage. You learned that some people leave without ever really saying goodbye.
content warnings: angst, emotional distance, abandonment themes, unresolved ending, philosophical themes, gojo is a cw himself
The Republic by Plato. The plain cover is a stark contrast to the colorful books lining your shelf.
But it’s there—tucked away, untouched.
Not because you don’t want to reach for it, but because, for some reason, you’ve convinced yourself that once you do, you’ll lose something. Something you can’t quite name.
Colorful sticky notes jut out from its pages. The ones you had bought just for him.
“Suguru, you’re annotating it wrong.” You huff, rolling your eyes as you watch him mark up the very first book you’ve ever given him. He mentioned it in passing, but you were always just so attentive, weren’t you?
Suguru just scoffs at your words, more disbelieving than anything. “There’s no right or wrong in this. I have freedom of will.”
And in that moment, you never would’ve known it was the beginning.
Because all you could think about was the…
Hot summers in Shibuya, those bright days where Shoko would insist you guys head out to try those limited Dorayaki stations. Satoru’s obnoxiously slinging his arm around your shoulder, rattling on about the heat as if it weren’t affecting you either.
“This better be worth it,” Satoru all but huffs, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as they cross the pedestrian lane. Satoru has always been different from Suguru. He touches freely, carelessly, never in a way that feels heavy. Never in a way that lingers.
Suguru doesn’t say much. He just angles the small fan in his hand toward you, he’s subtle about it, like he doesn’t want you to notice.
He knows how irritable the heat makes you. And he’d rather endure the sun than your frustration.
You swing your legs lazily as you settle on top of the kitchen counter. “I just don’t get it. It’s the third time this week.”
Suguru is crouched over the faucet, head obscured by the counter, hands skimming through the pipes. “You should just get a new sink,” he grunts. He doesn’t really fix your sink– not because he can’t
But because he's giving himself another reason to keep coming back.
You glance down at him, sleeves rolled up, hands motioning for the tools, and you’re always there to hand them over without thinking. It’s become a rhythm, small and ordinary, but one that feels entirely his.
Later, the shared coffee is just as comforting. You curl into the couch, mugs warming your hands, and he reads. The Republic.
He pauses, eyes flicking to the page. “Huh,” he says. “He thinks too much freedom turns into another kind of cage.” The words are heavy for a lazy afternoon, but you only half-listen, half distracted by the way his sleeves are rolled up, the faint warmth of the coffee, the quiet hum of the apartment.
You talk just enough for the both of you, filling the small spaces between his thoughts with your presence. And amidst it all, Suguru is quietly grateful for that–grateful for the ordinary that they call you.
It had become routine, something that felt like it had all the time in the world.
Oh, how wrong you were.
Suguru was still Suguru. He’d insist on walking you home. Old habits die hard. But the tension in the air was palpable. He paused before he laughed, and there was this distance, subtle but unmistakable, the one that had never been there before.
And his mini fan? Out of reach, like he’d accepted your frustrations and feared the heat of the sun.
You don’t understand what's happening. Why he suddenly is the way he is. But you don’t pry, you never impose, and maybe that’s what he had loved about you.
He would bail on group outings, skip classes despite Yaga nagging at him about his last year being the most important.
He had just stopped showing up, as if it mattered less and less.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Suguru says, but the words don’t land like they used to.
“Alright, tomorrow.” You respond, looking forward to another day with him, despite the intangible distance.
Tomorrow never came, not for the two of you.
His things still linger by the comforts of your home. His jacket, the box of half-used sticky notes. Hell, a hair tie or two.
It’s a wake up call, really. Your mind starts to notice the little things. The way he stopped charging his mini fan for you, the way every laugh seemed a bit too practiced, the way he shut himself out.
His book is half-way done, you can tell from the lack of sticky notes from the other end. So you reach out, tentatively. As if the book was the only thing left of what he used to be.
He didn’t leave you, not really. He liked to believe he left the world where you existed. As if that’d soften the blow.
But it doesn’t matter, not really. Not anymore.
So the book finds its place on the top of your shelf, quiet, unassuming, but you would know better. Some things don’t disappear. They just learn how to stay contained.
— You love calling Rin to randomly update him on your day, and he wishes he responded more.
wc: 1.4k || Oneshot || Angst || Hint of fluff? || No happy ending || Implied death/Grief || Swearing || Might be ooc... || Not proofread
"Good morning Rinnie! I hope you've eaten already!"
Rin blankly blinks up at the ceiling as he listens to the sound of scraping and shuffling. His phone laid flat on its screen near his ear, showing off the back of his clear phone case.
On display was a polaroid of you. A personal favorite of his, mainly because you looked so cheerful and wore his favorite smile.
He tries to imagine that you're there with him, using your digital face and voice as a substitute (even when it can never truly compare to the real deal). He lies there in his bedhair, his eyelashes littered with eye crust that he tries to rub away.
A mess was what he was—just like his room that had scattered clothes on the floor and dust cultivating in the corners.
But he smiles nonetheless.
Because he gets to talk to you.
"Morning. Just woke up. I'll eat later." He answers quietly with a slight rasp, already being lulled back to sleep from your comforting voice.
"I'm making myself some pasta right now. Saw a video online last night and started craving it," you chuckle, which is accompanied by sizzling in the background. "You better eat before heading to practice. You can't run on an empty stomach!"
He rolls his eyes, but your words do a better job at warming him than the sun that's peaking through his window's curtains.
"I know. I know. No need to remind me," is what Rin says, exasperation seeping into his tone.
But the way you laugh afterwards makes him think that he wouldn't mind hearing more of your nagging.
Just as long as he could keep listening to your laughter.
He hears your voice again a few hours later while he's at practice. Feets away from his teammates—who were chatting during their break—Rin immediately reaches for his phone.
Even before his towel or water bottle.
"Hey Rinnie! I saw a cat today and it really reminded me of you!" You chirp like it was the highlight of your day, experiencing something so small.
Rin doesn't blame you. He thinks he's the same in some regard when it comes to you.
He still scoffs through his heavy breathing as he remembers the picture of a pleased black cat resting in your lap, "I saw the photo you sent. Is it cause of my hair?"
"It was super cute. It kept looking at me funny at first, and I thought it hated me. But it eventually came up and cuddled on my lap!" You snicker as you recall your meeting with the little feline, "Just like you."
"Since when have I ever done something like that?" He tsks, his lips twitching upward while he finally chugs some water. He takes a moment to pause, contemplating his next words.
They come out soft. Reassuring. And so unlike Rin.
"And I don't hate you. Never have. Never will."
"Who are you talking to?" Isagi appears behind him, causing Rin to whip his head around with narrowed eyes.
His response was a curt—"None of your business"—which prompts Isagi to open his mouth to retort. But a thought seems to flash through his mind, and he quickly shuts it.
"My bad. You just looked happier than usual. Got curious." He shrugs, wearing an unreadable expression.
Rin clicks his tongue, "Curiosity isn't a good excuse to interrupt someone's call. So fuck off. I'm talking to my girlfriend."
He turns his back to Isagi and the rest of the group again, murmuring a small apology as your voice continues speaking from the other end of the line—just barely missing the downturn of Isagi's mouth, and the glimmer of sympathy in his eyes.
By the time he's home and preparing dinner, you have something new to talk about.
"Hi Rinnie! Remember that wedding I'm attending in a few months? Well I'm trying to figure out what outfit to get, but I'm not sure about the color."
Of course he remembers. He could never forget the excited look on your face when you spoke about it, all happy for the bride, who was your friend.
A bowl and spoon clank against one another as Rin plates his meal, intently listening to your struggles with the dress code and purchasing attire that would match it.
"I don't even know what shade of either color would suit me..." You mumble to yourself, loud enough for the mic to pick up and echo throughout Rin's kitchen from his phone speaker.
"I think you'll look pretty regardless of what you go for," he gives a rare compliment that always circled in his mind, but was never quite able to escape his throat. At least, until now, where it comes out quiet, but firm.
As if there was no denying it.
And in Rin's eyes, there truly was no way of doing so.
"Ugh...I can't even decide on a simple outfit for this wedding. Makes me respect my friends who got married. Can't imagine how much of a hassle wedding planning is."
A corner of Rin's mouth curls up, "I think you're just an overthinker. You'll probably grow grey hairs if you were left alone to host a wedding."
There's silence on your end, except for the faint clicks and swiping of a laptop touchpad.
"...Still, I'd love to try it one day. With you." You admit, barely above a whisper, like it was a sacred dream.
Rin's heart skips a beat, lips tightening to prevent them from wobbling.
"Mm...I think I'll decide on this later. I've got time anyways," the snap of your shutting laptop rings out after a few minutes, alongside a soft laughter, "I'll give you a runway show once it gets delivered too."
Rin's chest hurts, but he snorts with amusement as he sits down with his food, phone in his free hand, "Fine. I'll look forward to it."
"I hope you look forward to it. Because I do." You state at the same time before pausing, and it's dead silent. Not just on your end, but with Rin too.
His apartment feels bigger—emptier—than usual. It's dimly lit where he's seated at his small dining table. Across from him stood a single, empty chair.
"But maybe that's cause I miss you."
You chuckle as the sentence falls off your tongue, meant to be light-hearted.
It's quiet though—too quiet—with an underlying hesitance, like you saying that was the equivalent of confessing a sin.
Rin swallows hard, releasing the grip on his spoon to trace his thumb over his phone like it was your hand.
But it wasn't your hand. It could never be.
No matter how much he tried to delude himself into believing it.
"...Fuck—I miss you too. I swear I do." His chest squeezes even tighter as his voice cracks, the words flowing out in broken pieces like his heart.
His other hand covers his eyes—shielding his impending tears—as he continues, "I think about you so much. It's so difficult to do anything when—"
"I think I'll end it here for today." Your voice perks up again, like you couldn't hear how you had cracked a hole that opened Rin's reality once again.
"Call me back when you can. Good luck with your match! Love you. Take care."
Rin can practically hear—see—the sweet smile that's on your face. One that used to light up his world, but now haunts him with its absence.
"Wait—"
The voicemail ends with a beep before the apartment goes back to silence. Rin just stares at the list of voicemails from all the times that you've called.
All the times that he never answered.
His food is long forgotten—appetite disappearing.
Yet, he still craved something.
He craved you.
Any piece of you. Any trace of you.
Like a wild animal searching for scraps, Rin thinks he will always cling to the memory of you. Even if it's poison.
And so his finger quickly presses the message he just listened to, and allows your repeated voice to lead him to his destruction.
"Hi Rinnie! Remember that wedding I'm attending in a few months? Well I'm trying to figure out what dress to get but I'm not sure about the color. The only thing is—"
Author's Note:
First time posting angst and it's kinda mid 💔
It's fine though (probably)
Just wanted to post something to get rid at least one of the like, 50 drafts that I have...
pairings- stepbrother! Sukuna x f! Reader (lil bit of Toji/reader)
summary - Sukuna’s dad married your mom while you were in high school, and you hated each other on sight. He endlessly picked on and tortured you. So much so that he became a fucking YouTube sensation from prank videos starring you! You come back home for summer break after a bad breakup, and of course annoying ass Sukuna is there, with his stupid smirk, ready to pick on you again, only to be derailed when he sees you're going out with his old friend Toji for a date. Turns out, Sukuna has had it bad for you for a long time, and making you hate him was the only way to guarantee you stay far away, but can he keep up the act?
content/warnings - MDNI, tw- stepcest, lots of pining, kinda one-sided lol, Sukuna is an asshole to you, reader hates him. Enemies to ????- ton of sexual tension, jealous ass Sukuna. This chap - fingering, Toji saying what's up, Sukuna masturbating and being just depraved and pathetic tbh, panty stealing, taboo relationships
part two (coming soon)
part one
It was junior year of high school when your mom remarried, and you can't forget that day, the first time you met that pretentious little shit Sukuna. Who was now your 'family' you guess?
He was a couple of years older, already in freshman year of college, he'd come home on break and torment you endlessly, a whole fucking bulky. He'd hide shit high where you can never reach it, jumpscare you constantly, woke you up to fuck with you, and even filmed his pranks and put them on YouTube.
The jerk was actually YouTube famous from the amount of pranks he'd pull and your golden reactions. A mix of throwing shit at him, cursing him out or smacking him while he held his phone and recorded it. There was no doubt in your mind you just hated the giant asshole of an older 'stepbrother’ you had.
Now you're graduating this year, back home for summer break, and luckily Sukuna almost never visits anymore. He's running his stupid YouTube channel and banking on it, on being a dumb little prankster for his millions of subscribers, so now he lives pretty far thank God.
Let him prank everyone else.
You both don't talk whatsoever aside from holidays and family functions, and then it's just Sukuna picking on you. Not much has changed in five years, maybe his tactics are better. A little sneakier.
You smile and hug your mom, and your step-dad. He's actually pretty fucking cool, and your mom and him are cute together. "Hey hunny, I'm so glad you're here!" Your mom is going on and on about a party she's throwing, as you settle into your room, nothing's changed really. Your mom keeps it all the same.
"Mom, you don't have to keep all this out," you tease, looking at your old posters that adorn the walls, scattered Polaroids pinned to your corkboard. "You could make it a guest room?"
"We have a guest room, we love having your stuff here. And Sukuna's room is the same."
"Ugh don't say his name, you'll summon him!" Your mom laughs a bit as you shiver in feigned disgust.
"He's family honey."
"Not even. I get dad, I really do, but I think Sukuna and I will never get along."
"Ah shit that hurts sis." You hear his pretentious voice and panic as he leans in the doorway, stupid fucking smirk on his far too attractive face. You glare at him.
"Yuck don't call me that, weirdo." He flips you off behind your mom's back, putting his hands away as your mom comes up and hugs him tightly. He smirks over her shoulder as you flip him off back.
"She's so mean to me, why can't she be nicer like you," he pouts, and your mom laughs a bit, leaning on her tip toes to ruffle his light pink locks.
"You're both mean to each other. Maybe a couple weeks at home will help you two learn to get along."
"He's staying for a couple weeks!? Ugh." You sigh and he scoffs. Your mom shakes her head and looks at you both.
"Dinner in thirty. Get settled and don't kill each other."
Sukuna eyes you then, ever so slowly up and down, while you start setting things down. "Really filled out huh?"
"I'll punch you." He grins again, you wall up and shove at him, pausing when you feel just how hard his chest is. Blushing a bit, he notices apparently, raising a brow.
"Feeling me up?"
"Gross no. Gym rat." He glares now and you smile right back.
"Yeah how's that loser boyfriend of yours?" He asks so casually. Walking in your room and touching all your shit like he does. You follow him and put everything back in its place as he skews every position of any item.
"We broke up," he pauses at your tone, eyeing you then. You're so pretty you make his heart pound in his chest, not like he'd ever fucking tell you. He calls you a gremlin and worse, knowing you're a whole knockout. "Yeah, rub it in."
"Wasn't gonna," you pause then, as his ruby eyes glint and catch yours. For a moment you see a rare softness in them, making you falter. "He got tired of your bitchiness?"
"Oh fuck off." You roll your eyes, sinking on the white day bed, hands brushing the soft sheets that smell like your mom's favorite fabric softener. But you also smell him, Sukuna, so manly and taking over your space, he leans on your dresser, eyeing a picture of you.
"What happened?"
"Like you care," you lay back, shorts sliding up your thighs. Revealing far, far too much skin, he barely tears his eyes away. "He left me for my best friend."
"Oh shit..." he doesn't know what to say, all he's ever done is pick on you, prank you. Be a whole ass. How does he... comfort you? Without getting too close, feeling shit he can't?
What you didn't realize, is Sukuna has had it bad for you for years now. He knows he can never act on it, so the next best thing was to make your life a living hell. To make you hate him and stay far, far away.
It worked, you hate him.
But it's still not enough to stop the raging thoughts always inside him, of the filthy things he thinks of when he's alone. Stroking his cock to memories of you rather than porn, finding himself comparing others to the traits he loves about you. Traits you'll never know.
He can never ever tell you.
"I've got a date this week though. Old friend of ours." You lean up on your elbows, eyeing him then. He feels that familiar pang of fucking jealousy he also can't feel, remembering the ridiculous amount of men he's chased off over the years.
"What old friend?" He asks curiously, you smile a little then.
"Toji. Weren't you two super close?"
"Toji!? You are not going out with Toji." You sit up and glare, Sukuna crosses his thick arms. "Absolutely not."
"I'm twenty one. I'll do what I want, but don't you like him?"
"Tch, you're such an annoying fucking brat," his words make you stand up, as he sets down your polaroid, it's a pretty picture that's always burned in his brain. You at the beach all happy and pretty, he'd been so hard that day he'd had to jerk it in the fucking bathroom stall.
Why do you have to be so pretty? It's so annoying, and your shit attitude. Toji would be all over you, he always found you hot, but he never dared make a move once Sukuna let him know you were off limits. Was Sukuna not as imposing now that he's a YouTube star? Toji acted as if he couldn't still beat his ass down.
“Put the picture back, you’re so weird.” He holds it up high, smirking down at you, while you jump up and try to grab it, his big grin growing on his face, while he runs around your room with it.
“Too short, aww.”
“Anyone is short you giant, lord of the rings ent.”
“Nerd!”
“Give it!” You’re bouncing again, and he’s far too enamored by your pretty tits jiggling for a moment, his hand falls as his eyes catch them, you snatch your picture up then. “Hah! Now go.”
“Like I wanna be in here.” He’s scowling as he walks out, you lock your door with a little click when Sukuna stands in front of it, sighing and resting his back on it.
Why is it worse than usual seeing you? Typically he could hold his composure somewhat, why do you have to smell so good and -
Shit he needs to stop.
*****
Dinner with Sukuna is the worst. He's devouring everything on his plate before leaning over, starting to slam down your food too. You scoff and shove the whole plate at him. "Yuck, just have it, now it's covered in Sukuna germs."
"You should count yourself lucky to have any of them from me, brat."
"Will you two stop," your mom and Sukuna's dad say it simultaneously with a big sigh, it's an automatic response when you both have to be in each other's vicinity.
"Why don't you just stay somewhere fancy, rich boy?"
"Tch, you really would miss me if I didn't come over, can't have you all upset." You roll your eyes as your mom gives you an entire other plate of food. Sukuna's already downed your plate and eyeing the new one.
"Let me eat holy shit," you turn away from him, about to stab him with the fork when he goes for a piece of chicken. "Sukuna!"
"Stop it, go get another plate." Sukuna's dad instantly has Sukuna resigned just a bit, he rolls his eyes and leaves your plate alone. The two of them look more like brothers than father and son really, he's a spitting image of him.
Sukuna is handsome, you suppose, though he knows it and is so pretentious about it, that it's just annoying. You'd never tell him he was, either, not when he calls you a little gremlin. That started the first year you lived here, along with dweeb, shrimp and brat, he was a classic bully.
You nibble a bit as you stare at your phone, swiping away the annoying notification that he posted, only for him to eye it, smirking. "Aw you do love me, following me and everything!"
"You wish, I keep ignoring it and it won't stop. Conspiracy or some shit."
"Honey, no cussing at the table."
"Sorry mom," she laughs at you two, shaking her head, while Sukuna leans over, peeking at the phone you're now bringing to your chest. "Will you fuck off."
"Language honey. Ow!" You stomp right on his foot, earning a scowl landed at you. "Brat!"
"Jerk! I don't want to eat, I lost my appetite." You stand up then, plate almost entirely untouched, walking up the stairs as your mom asks you to come back down.
God you can't stand him.
You get a knock later, and he's holding a plate in his big ass hands, frowning a bit. "What, dad yell at you?"
"Just eat," he shoves the plate at you, you notice it's been warmed up when the glass touches your skin. You blink a bit in surprise. "You didn't eat anything."
"You ate all my food like an ass, and I'm not hungry." You shove the plate back at him and his eyes narrow, your fingers touching as you try to put it back in his hands.
"Will you just eat? Now."
"You don't tell me what to do.
"You're such a-
"Brat, I know." You tug the plate back, rolling your eyes now. "I'll eat if you leave me alone."
"I don't want to hang out with you anyway," he says, lying his fucking ass off - god he wants to just spend time with you, not that he ever would say it or do it for that matter. “You better eat it all.”
“Oh Jesus.” You shake your head at him, sighing and nibbling some of it when he walks away, you hate how good his ass looks in those stupid gym shorts. He catches you staring damn near, looking back at you with a raised brow, you quickly scowl and shut the door.
Why does Sukuna look so good? You can’t think the shit.
After eating you’re washing up, bumping into Sukuna as he heads to the bathroom, shirtless just to distract you, surely. You’re breathless when you see his bare chest - has he gotten more chiseled? More tattoos? There are many sliding across his chest, his flat brown nipples, dipping down his rib cage and tracing his obliques. For a moment you can’t even say anything, just standing there.
“Did you eat?” You blink a bit, looking up and nodding a bit. “Nothing smart to say?”
“I’m just tired.”
You’re far, far too close to him then, just standing there, cheeks heating up at the proximity. He’s always been gorgeous, he’s always been buff, it shouldn’t bother you now so much. Without another word, Sukuna walks into the bathroom and you head out of it, shoulder brushing one of his biceps, the contact alone making your tummy tense.
The fuck was going on with you lately?
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t originally have a crush on Sukuna when you met him, how couldn’t you? He was so hot, especially to a younger you, before you realized what an ass he was as soon as he opened his mouth. After that first prank you knew he was just your enemy, not that you could have ever acted on your stupid crush anyway.
He’s family now, honey.
You cover your face with the blankets, avoiding any thoughts of that tattooed body on top of you. Maybe it’s your break up, maybe it’s the date coming up, maybe you’re ovulating, fuck… Whatever it is, you’re undeniably clenching around nothing from being too close to that asshole.
*****
Your date with Toji is tonight, you had a little crush on him when he’d come visit with Sukuna over the summers, but of course he never left you alone with Toji. He was annoying as can be when it came to making sure no one talked to you, because no one wanted to fuck with Sukuna, it’s just now gotten easier, since he’s out of college and some of them have gotten a little braver.
He hated your last boyfriend when you brought him over, on sight, though you have to admit he may have been onto something with that one, he really was a complete dick now that you look back on it. But he hated everyone you dated, making sure if he ran into them on campus to threaten them for no good reason, most of them just gave up.
You ran into Toji the other day randomly, and he was looking really good. He's that dangerous bad boy that your mom tells you to stay away from, but you never listen. Good guy you were just with fucked your former friend however, so you’re truly not so sure what everything means right now. Giving him a chance for a date seems like the perfect way to forget two things.
One, your shitty ex.
Two, your annoying step brother.
You’re eyeing your outfit in the mirror, turning this way and that, before brushing your hair out, you’re dressed in a lacy little black bustier and a pretty pleated skirt, you two are going to a concert so you figure you’ll look cute for it. You’re popping on a little gloss, slathering it over your lips until they’re glistening, doing a little spin and then checking Toji’s text.
You’re running down the stairs, hand on the rail, cool under your touch, when you pause, almost running into Sukuna and nearly tumbling off that last step. Sukuna curses, catching you quickly, until you’re pressed against him. He is steadying you with his hands, huge fucking hands that feel way too good on your skin, when you’re eye to eye with his chest, looking up at him slowly.
“Clumsy brat…” He grumbles, pushing you back then, but his touch lingers for a little too long. When he looks at your outfit slowly, you feel those ruby eyes like a physical touch, slipping down your body and making you tremble just a bit.
Sukuna never looks at you like that.
It’s quiet for a moment, it goes on way too long, his gaze trailing down your breasts in that top, seeing the way your nipples press up like they’re dying for him. You look too good, too pretty, too much of that body revealed, and for another dude to look and touch? His old friend at that- it fucking infuriates him, his fists clenched on either side.
He barely composes himself, while you’re just looking at him under your lashes, doing too much to his brain, his heart pounding in his chest as desire hits him right in the stomach. He’s seen you in all sorts of shorts, bikinis, you name it, but he’s never really seen you dressed like this, and it’s fucking his entire mind up, short circuiting momentarily.
He finally composes himself, crossing his arms and scowling as you smile at him, arms behind your back. “Like the outfit, Sukuna?”
“Like it, fuck no. What’re you trying to dress like that for?”
“Because we’re going to a concert!”
“Tch,” he goes to the coat stand then, yanking his down from it and scowling right down at you. “Put on the jacket, now.”
Sukuna’s throwing his jean jacket over your shoulders again, you yank it off and shove it at him, pretty breasts just heaving in that slutty little fucking top again, he’s torn between being furious anyone sees you like this, and irritated it affects him this bad. What he thought was shoved far down is prominent as ever, fuck it was even worse than before.
“No! Don’t want your stinky jacket.” He is stepping even closer, when you inhale him - and you hate to admit the fucker smells good.
“This cologne is a hundred bucks a spray, you know it smells good.”
“I don’t give a fuck, it’s nasty. As is your giant jacket, it’ll swallow me, he won’t see my outfit at all!”
“Good, no one should.” You scoff at that and shake your head at him.
“You’re fucking ridiculous.”
“Am I?”
“Yes! You’re not some big brother, and I’m grown. I’ll wear whatever I want- I look hot actually.”
“You look slutty.” His whisper is too close, you haul back and smack him then, hurting your hand and gasping, shaking it out as the tingles shoot through it, while the asshole smirks. “Hit like a little girl.”
“Oh fuck you, with your big ass head.”
“Honey! Ready for your date? He’s um…” your mom looks outside as she walks up to you two in the entry way,, where Toji is revving up his mustang. “He’s here… I guess.”
“Can’t come to the fucking door?” Sukuna says, you scowl at him.
“Like you do that for girls.”
Sukuna raises a brow. “Like you know what I do for girls.”
“I’ve heard plenty,” he smirks then, shaking his head. “Oh you’re notorious, how many girls have you dated? Manwhore.”
“Me, a manwhore?”
“Mom,” you turn to her now, as she still eyes Toji standing outside of his mustang, you can tell all her motherly instincts are telling her to intervene, but she has always let you make your own decisions.
“Yes sweetie?”
“Tell him I’m fine in this,” your mom pauses, lips parting as Sukuna’s dad comes out, and looks at you briefly before he takes off his jacket from the rack, earning Sukuna’s chuckle. “Really now!?”
“It’ll be cold,” he tries to play it off, clearing his throat as he covers you up with his jean jacket instead. “You’ll catch a chill. And why isn’t he at the door?”
“Exactly-”
“Shush.” You put your finger to your lips as Sukuna is about to gloat at the fact that your parents are in agreement. “Suck up.”
“Me? You!”
“Okay,” your mom takes off the jacket, earning the two men’s scowls. “She’s an adult, she chooses what she wears. Even if… she should wear a jacket.”
“I love you.” You kiss her cheek, grabbing your purse and phone then, walking outside. Sukuna walks to the porch with you, much to your irritation, glaring over at Toji who’s whistling across the yard.
“What’s up, Sukuna?” Toji’s voice makes Sukuna want to take him down, he’s grinning as he looks at you in ways he shouldn’t. “Long time no see. Oooh, don’t you look hot, doll.”
You’re giggling, giggling!? Sukuna is about to lose his mind.
He grabs your wrist, long thick fingers with black painted nails taking it over, you pause at the warmth, at the rough palms, looking up then. The night is humid but there’s a breeze tossing around his light pink locks, as he grips just a little tighter, making you turn to him.
“What is it?” You ask then, your voice for a moment is soft, Sukuna looks at you, then at Toji, sighing. “I’ll be fine.”
“Right.” He lets you go then, you’re bouncing down the stairs practically, Toji’s hand is at the small of your back, his fingers itching to break them, while you hug Toji and he wraps you in his big ass arms.
You’re opening your door, it’s not like Toji would do that, shit Sukuna’s not one to do it half the time, but the fact that it’s you makes him unreasonably angry. You look at him across the driveway, expression unreadable before you slip in the car next to him. Toji zips off so quickly Sukuna’s also worried about you driving with him.
He’s been jealous before, many, many times, but today is just too much, seeing you again, and knowing you’ll never be his, hits harder than it should. He stomps back in the house, your mom thanks him for being so caring - hah - if only she knew what he really thought about you.
Sukuna really isn’t proud of any of the next thoughts or actions that night, no he really isn’t. When he heads up to his room but lingers by yours instead, staring into it and seeing black lace on the ground. He knows he’s just horrible when he walks in and shuts that door quietly, eyeing everything in there, the sweet lingering scent of your perfume hitting his senses.
Sukuna is also not proud when he’s in your room, when he takes those panties you slipped off before you left, just sitting on the carpet by your dresser. He’s not very proud when he picks them up to his face, inhaling your scent - fuck, his ‘stepsister’ has the sweetest pussy. He has done this before, and you just get sweeter tasting, as he desperately laps your slick off them.
He’s so not proud when he’s right in your bed, putting them to his face and releasing his thick cock then, red tip leaking precum and smacking his stomach as it’s released. He knows this isn’t a good thing to do, he’s Sukuna, he could have any woman he wants, they’re all after him, and he’s stealing panties and jerking it on a friday night.
He’s furious that Toji gets to touch you.
If Sukuna touched you, he’d grip your breasts, squish them in his hands, have you littered with his hand prints, show you what it is to really get fucked, and fucked so good you’re delirous from it. Bend you over, grip your wrists with one of his hands, stretch your cunt the fuck out. God he bets it’s so pretty, too, his mind vividly pictures it as he touches his tip, exhaling.
What is he reduced to from you!? In your bed, so big he hardly fits on the fucking thing, sprawled out with his long limbs as he strokes his thick, veiny cock slowly. Your panties are right against his face, he’s perverted and depraved for doing it, especially in your bed, but he can’t stop himself. He’s moaning softly into them, as your scent fills his mind, while his hand jerks it faster and faster.
He’s whispering your name, sweat slicking his muscled body, a thin sheen glimmering under your pretty fairy lights while he’s being fucking filthy on your bed. Picturing your tummy bulging with him, stroking slowly in and out, making you squirt cum all over him till your sheets were soaked. He’s jerking faster and faster, wishing it were you, so desperate and pathetic you make him.
He hates you more for making him this way, him, fucking Sukuna, pathetically cumming in his ‘step - sister’s’ bed, as if he could call you it. He barely knows you, aside from being a dick every break, pranking you to watch your pretty face so angry, getting off on it in far, far too many ways.
He didn’t have to be home for the summer, he actually put himself out doing it, just to see you, to fucking torment you, but it’s you who torment him, when he imagines tasting your pussy from the source. He’d lap his cum out of your cunt, then fill you up again, over and over, until there was no room for anymore, just messy and dripping all down your pretty thighs.
“Fuck,” he whispers it, muffling his moan with that fabric, as his cum pumps from his huge length, dripping in white ropes down his hand, pulsing in his hold. He’s gasping at the release, picturing putting it inside your bratty little fucking mouth.
He’s cleaned up then, right with your panties, whimpering the tiniest bit as they hit his sensitive tip, jerking as he lays there now, sooty pink lashes fluttering, furious as he thinks of you on your stupid date. You’ll never know what he really thinks, it has to be that way, but it doesn’t make it easier, not when he’s cuddling with a pillow that smells like your shampoo.
*****
“I had fun!” Toji smiles, that scar curving up just a bit, his big hand on your thigh as his engine hums.
“You did, huh?”
“I did, I needed that.” He chuckles and leans close, tilting your chin up now, inky locks falling over his brow. “Thank you for tonight.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he practically purrs the words, you gather their meaning quickly, heart racing just a bit as his lips descend. “Been thinking of this all night.”
Toji’s kiss is nothing like your ex, it’s a rough kiss, his tongue tracing your lips and slipping in your mouth when you gasp a bit. You hear his moan when he drags one of your thighs closer, spreading you, you feel your body reacting quickly, a mix of nerves, thoughts, and clearing your pussy is reacting too. She’s already been soaked for two days, and now she’s way too excited.
“God, doll,” Toji hums as he kisses you deeper, you’re trembling when his fingers slip up your thigh carefully, teasing and leaving goosebumps everywhere. His dark green eyes lock with yours as he pulls back. “You feel s’good, ya know that?”
“Do I?” You tease, he moans and kisses you again, while in front of your childhood home, it feels so… thrilling but terrifying.
Was Sukuna watching?
No way…
And if so, what would that make you feel?
You’re contemplating that as Toji finds you over your panties, you moan softly when rough fingers slip up and down them. “So hot, fuck…”
“Mnh!” You’re spreading your thighs for more, he feels so good, kisses taking over your addled mind, and you wonder if it can shove down the thoughts you’re having about your dumbass step brother. Thoughts you can’t have, shit you can’t do - even if either of you did want to.
Sukuna would never want you like that. He’s never called you pretty, not that he should, but he’s said the opposite all the time. He doesn’t know, calling you a fucking gremlin or whatever sucks sometimes, you don’t expect his compliments, but deep down a part wants them anyway. You get looking extra pretty for him, a fact you’ll take to your fucking grave.
Toji slips under your panties, you’re gasping when he touches your wet slit with expert fingers. “Soaked, huh doll? Need me to make ya feel good?”
“I’m… ah! Toji…” you grip his wrist, his thumb is circling on your clit now, it feels really fucking good, twitching against his touch. “Mnh…”
“Wanna cum f’me, pretty?” He’s rolling quicker, more pressure now, while he drags messy kisses on your neck.
“Um, I don’t fuck on the - ngh - first date, Toji.” He pulls back now, a smile tugging on his mouth.
“Was just gonna have you cum on my fingers - fuck, mouth if you want,” you’re blushing and he notices, chuckling again. “You’re cute.”
“Cute, huh?” You wonder what it would be like, you’ve always pictured it with Sukuna, his long fingers and black nails in your cunt, things you should never, you shove it back, focusing now. “You wanna finger me?”
“Wanna have you cum,” his voice is gruff, he’s not fucking around when he slips a finger in your soppy little cunt, your nails press into the leather of his jacket as he kisses you again. “Mmm, that’s it.”
Your eyes shut as he massages your cunt with his fingers, stretching you out and making you tense, thighs trembling on either side. For whatever stupid reason you can’t get fucking Sukuna’s body in a towel out of your damn mind, no matter how many times you shove it down, instead just getting wetter. You focus on kissing him, on feeling him, the squishing wetness loud in his car still running.
“That’s it, cum, I can feel it.” Toji’s words urge you on, as he sucks along your shoulder, sinking his teeth in as his fingers curl just so, and you feel yourself cum then, pressure building and releasing in your tummy.
“Ah!” You’re whining out, earning Toji’s grin against your skin, you feel his teeth lines along you, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “Toji, god…”
“You’re so wet.” He puts your panties back, a hand entangled in your hair now. “See, I wasn't gonna go that far.”
“Are you a gentleman?”
“Fuck no,” you giggle a bit. “But we don’t have to rush things. Are you gonna go out with me again?”
“I’d like that.” He kisses you once more, you’re a little dizzy, from your thoughts, your mind, when you walk back to the porch and Toji takes off.
Why do you feel bad?
Surely not for his ass.
Surely not for a man who is just… a jerk, who’s hot sure okay, Toji is too. You need to shove it down, all of it. You try to do just that, it’s still warm outside so the jackets were a silly idea, you unlock the door with your key, stepping inside and sighing as you feel the cool air conditioning hit your skin.
You slip off your shoes by the front door, picking them up and carrying them as you walk back up the stairs, yawning a bit. You know it’s late, so you try to be quiet when you finally walk into your room. You’re taking off that top and skirt, fingers touching the knobs of your dresser so you can find some comfy clothes to sleep in. Mom has everything you’ve ever owned in here still, so you have to sift through the old clothes.
Suddenly, you hear a rustle behind you, making you jerk and eye the mirror, nearly fucking screaming as you see something turning under your goddamn blankets.
“What the fuck!?” You walk over there now, seeing the tints of pink hair in the dark, as none other than Sukuna is in your goddamn bed.
You shove at the big lug of a fucking man, only for him to stop snoring and peek at you with eyes almost black, you tense as they hit you, as you realize you’re just in a bra and panties now. They drift down your body, when he leans up, yawning now, his look making you feel even wetter, even more needy than earlier.
“Are you pranking me? Get up…” Your voice is quiet, as he yawns, gripping your wrist then, tugging you until you almost straddle him over those sheets. You gasp at it, at how his hand brushes across your shoulder.
“Let him mark your perfect fucking skin?” He demands in a scratchy, husky voice, shocking you so much you blink, leaning back. You’re far too close to his hard length you feel under those sheets, against your inner thigh.
“Are you having some weird dream? Sukuna, it’s me…” You say your name, but he hears nothing with the blood rushing in his own ears, as he eyes that damn mark Toji left on your pretty shoulder. His thumb brushes it, while he pictures leaving marks everywhere. “Sukuna?”
He tugs you closer, until you’re sprawled over him, and he’s too fucking tired to stop it, to stop how badly he wants you - the girl he shouldn’t but can’t fucking help but want over anyone. You have no clue, he sees it in your shocked gaze, when he eyes your other shoulder, pristine and free from any marks.
“Did you like it, brat?” He asks softly, you don’t know what to say at that moment, you just look at him, at his lidded eyes and parted lips.
What do you say to that?
“Would you be mad if I did? I’m a grown up, y’know that?” He scoffs then, huge hand slipping up your bare spine, watching as your eyes flutter shut. “Sukuna…”
“Can’t answer, brat?”
“What’re you even doing in here?” You tug back a bit, but he just drags you back down, and soon you find yourself completely straddling him - Sukuna, your enemy, your… what is he exactly?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Synopsis. The five times Gojo Satoru would rather díe than marry you, his (infuriatingly pretty, oh-so-irresistible) arranged fiancée - and the one time he comes back from déath to.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, arranged marriage AU, enemies-to-Iovers, 5 + 1 things, PINING, Geto and Shoko cameos, matíng press, big D, tummy buIges, GOJO’S POWERS, creampíes, maIe squírting, oraI (fem rec.), face-sítting, he’s FÉRAL, fíngering, chokíng, spítting, p talking, down bad Gojo, slight exhíbitíonism, making him PÚSSYDRÚNK, those Gege sketches, slight spoiIers, HAPPY ENDING, swéaring, pet names.
Word count. 11.5k
A/N. Oh y’all don’t know how those Gege drawings had me, I just had to…
“I’m never marrying you.”
“I’d rather marry a special grade curse than you.”
“Huh- I’m much hotter than a fuc-”
SLAM!
That sharp, pointed noise of a ceramic teacup hitting the winding table you were seated at had almost become ritual at this point. The first few jabs of an argument escaping the mouths of both you and the other heir being a signal for at least one of the grim elders to interrupt before either of you could ruin a four-hundred-year-old contract.
And with a stubborn huff, you’re leaning back into your seat on the tatami mat to appraise the boy opposite you.
Everything from his cropped, snowy bangs to the way his summer-blue eyes blazed into you. Honestly, if you closed your ears every time he spoke, he could almost be- nope, he was sticking his tongue out at you now.
The ever-mature Gojo Satoru; new head of the ancient Gojo clan, freshly-enrolled student at Tokyo Jujutsu High.
And your soon-to-be husband.
All cooped up in this traditional meeting room, one where generations of matches had been made and very rarely broken.
A coming-of-age ceremony, where the two of you had officially been declared leaders - and an engagement.
Your engagement.
It was a business transaction of sorts. One that didn’t require any input from either marrying parties, according to the council of elders who sat upon either side of the table and stroked their beards in smug success.
You’d heard that several clans had physically fought over this chance, before the Gojo clan ultimately chose you. And you knew why - you were one of the very few that had something to lose.
The chance to attend Tokyo Jujutsu High.
In short, play sorcerer all you want for three years, and in return they’d be free to enforce an old betrothal alliance between your two clans and demand a powerful new heir to jujutsu society - a win-win.
Though- looking at your reluctant fiancé, still donned in his dark silk robes from his ceremony, you wonder if you really should have just run away as your friends from Kyoto had urged you to.
And one look at Gojo’s scrunched-up face told you he might just be thinking the same thing. Delicate features marred. Pouty lips nothing of the whispered legends you’d heard of the young prodigy—a monster. A blessing. The strongest.
He sounded very much his age as he echoes, “I’m never marrying you.”
You open your mouth- “And I-”
“-will be part of young Satoru’s high school journey!” Your father puts a hand on your shoulder, lightly squeezing. Becoming part of the Gojo clan was just as big of an opportunity for him as it was for you. Apparently. “We’re sure the young couple will get over their pre-wedding jitters by the time they’re back from graduation to continue their duties- right?”
A tap on your figure, that was your cue to answer.
Instead, you just turn your face towards Gojo, look him serenely in the eyes, the sweetest practiced smile on your face- and flip him off. Pre-wedding jitters your ass.
The gasps that cloud the stuffy summer meeting chamber atmosphere were almost comical. As if you’d just sprung out of your seat and made an attempt on the poor, sheltered heir’s life. Out of the corner of your vision, you think you see one member of the council clutch his heart and faint-
“Pffft–!” That slight snigger rips through the air in sheer contrast, and every pair of eyes in the room peaks curiously over at the way Gojo muffles a slight chuckle.
Your eyes widen, you think you liked him better like this.
Almost as if he’d just sensed your thoughts, he’s schooling his face into one of a steady lack of emotion, lightly clearing his throat.
Though, you catch the pointed tips of his ears scorching cherry-red.
“Where is the ring, boy.” Gojo’s father was a stern man, and his commanding voice was just as cut-throat. Seated right beside his son in a mirror image of you and your own father, he didn’t have to be loud to make Gojo’s spine stiffen almost unnoticeably still.
Ramrod-straight, silent- the younger version of the former head stuffs one hand between the fabrics of his yukata.
And you weren’t sure what sort of ring might be bestowed on you by the famed Gojo clan - you didn’t allow yourself to imagine it. Perhaps a clean silver to match their emblem? Perhaps studded with sapphires for their new head’s irises?
Whatever it may have been, you don’t get to find out.
Because in that moment, Gojo Satoru flashes you with the obnoxious plastic pink of a ring pop. The very same kind you’d sneak out of your estate to buy from that little corner shop down the road, fifty yen maximum.
“Satoru.”
Make that twenty yen.
“What?” His voice almost lilts into a whine as he responds to his father - trying oh-so-hard to pretend nothing was wrong, and this was totally the silver heirloom engagement ring of his family. Just…smelling slightly of artificial strawberry.
Gojo senior pinches his nosebridge, “I swear to- if you are not serious about that damn- school-”
“It’s alright!” Your fiancé seems just as bewildered at your interruption as you are, and you narrow your eyes enough to tell him that if he messed up your chances at going to Jujutsu High then his blood would be on your hands. Strongest or not. Reaching out your left arm, “I don’t mind, truly.”
And while the rest of the chamber murmurs, Gojo leans over the table to slip his mocking engagement ring onto your finger. To be married. To be his.
Holding your hand in his larger, slightly roughened ones, “I’d rather die than marry you.” He’s crouching to whisper in a heated pant, each syllable sticking to your skin. Only mostly meaning it.
And you whisper back into his furiously pink ear—“And I’d rather marry a special grade curse.”
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru met you in the summer, like one of those heat-induced fever dreams.
Okay, perhaps that wasn’t the best comparison- but in his defense, penning flowery literature was never his best subject after he nearly caused a clan rift by comparing Zenin Jinichi to a bullfrog.
It was a compliment, really!
But you were a whirlwind, one that left his world tilted and his skin sizzling with heat in the aftermath- in a bad way, of course! You were a bad fever dream - a pretty one, sure, dressed in your most decadent cerulean robes and a withering glare - but still one of those you think back to even months later.
Even nearly a year later when he’s sixteen and had insisted on walking up the ancient stone steps of Tokyo Jujutsu High without his entourage of attendants and elders.
“Hello hello—” Gojo’s running his pale fingers through even paler, short hair to free it of pinkish cherry blossom petals. Looming around the naturally green gardens of campus, “Where is- oh!”
Just as soon as he was about to tug his opaque, round sunglasses off to inspect whether it would impress his fellow students- that lady working at the store said so, so it must be, he bought twenty-five! Gojo spots a figure leaned against one of the ancient oaks by the dorms.
That velvety blue of the dress code was one that he could recognize anywhere after so many years of yearning for it.
And before he can stop himself, he’s sprinting towards the dark blob as fast as his lanky legs could take him. Calling out, “Yoohooo–! Your one and only favorite classmate is here~”
“Ieri–!”
“Wait-”
“You-”
So caught up in both your excitements to meet your new classmate - one of Utahime’s friends who happened to be your age - you two didn’t notice the one, single thing that you two couldn’t deny. Right by your side.
Your betrothed.
You snarl, stopping short. “What are you doing here-” And he does, too, hands haughtily planted on either side of his slender hips as he leans in close.
Snapping at you, the brief glimpse of his electric blue eyes sends goosebumps down your body. “I could ask the same from you. Couldn’t resist my charms so you had to follow me, hm~?”
“I’m here to learn, obviously. Why are you here- to get exorcised?”
“Take that back! I’m here to learn, too.”
You knew that it was part of your betrothal contract that the two of you would attend Tokyo Jujutsu High, you knew that the two of you would end up seeing each other one way or the other. And you already knew your clan stowed that stupid pink ring away deeply at the bottom of your suitcase (where you’d hopefully never have to see it ever again).
But you still raise a brow at the flashy designer stamping on his shades. “…Really?”
And Gojo could’ve taken disgust- hell, he would have even welcomed anger.
But that genuine, wondering confusion in your tone as you swept your eyes up n’ down his defensive stature made him flush- “H-how dare you- duel me. Right here, right now.”
“Haaah? You would duel your future wife?”
“Scared?”
“No, just wondering why you didn’t ask sooner.”
Scoffing, both of you dart your heads in unison to the girl with the shortly-cut hair that was following your argument like the fiercest of tennis matches. Immediately turning ashen-faced at your attention, and damn near devastated when Gojo happily keens. “Bob girl! Can you keep score of-”
“No.” She deadpans.
Frankly, you wondered just how she managed to sound as if she’s seen every horror there was to see in the world already. Possibly because she already had, right there, but Shoko doesn’t spend her time answering your unspoken question.
Too busy digging in her jacket pocket for-
“Cigarettes!” Gojo squeals, never having seen someone his age take a puffed-out drag of one so close-up before. The clan always detested anything that would ‘stain the purities of the body’- and right now, Ieri Shoko looked like she couldn’t handle sitting there one more second longer if she didn’t have one.
He points a lengthy finger your way, accusatory. “I blame you for this- somehow- you must have corrupted her with your ways and made her feel all strange like you did me.”
You roll your eyes, “Yeah? I blame you for our marriage-”
And he’s uttering for the second time, “Oh yeah? Well, I’m never marrying-”
But just as Gojo was about to whirl on his feet and flick out a few cursed tendrils of energy like he’d taught himself. He was thinking of calling this one ‘Blue’ after that shade of your robes the first time you met, and the way you were about to be it’s first-
A deep voice cuts off his train of traitorous thoughts- “Yeah- mhm, I’ve gotta go. My new classmates are here.”
A new-comer.
And the black-haired boy looks as if he’d no sooner flip his cellphone closed to end his ongoing call and pretend he never walked out of the dorms than join whatever mess he’d just walked in on.
Amethyst eyes slowly swivelling underneath his tied-back bangs to look at a fuming Gojo…to an equally-matched you…to Shoko, already chain-smoking her fifth cigarette away by now.
“Actually…could you stay on the line for a bit longer, momma.”
.
.
.
“It’s legal if it’s personal property, isn’t it?”
You groan, “It’s not your personal-”
He quickly taps the polished handle- “Now it is.”
“That’s…” You’re squinting your eyes, as if it will somewhat blur and spare you the sight of Gojo Satoru attempting to steal that shiny red moped parked at the outer edge of campus. If anything happened, you didn’t want to go through the hassle of getting called in as a witness, at least.
Shoko puts you out of your misery as the one voice of reason, “Yeah, that’s a lie.”
Geto cups a hand over his gaze to fight off the breaking rays of sunset, voice amused. “Well, I don’t see any cameras here.”
“Perfect—!” Gojo sings, clapping his hands together as he stares over his ridiculously gaudy glasses. It was nearing the end of first year, early December wind your fifth uninvited guest as the four of you chose to stay over in the dorms for your first high school holidays. “The key’s still here so we can sneak out, buy me the best birthday cake in Tokyo- no, in all of Japan, and sneak back in right before grump ol’ Yaga-”
“Sneak off from who-”
And, there, was aforementioned grumpy ol’ Yaga.
Running at full speed toward your deviant little group from the top of Jujutsu High’s stairway. Which, considering the tough, rocky path, wasn’t too fast at all- but the four of you just bolt.
Faster than you’ve seen anyone move during any cursed mission, if you’re being quite honest.
Shoko running, phone in hand with a suspiciously blinking camera light that meant she was recording the entire ordeal. Geto urgently twisting his fingers into what you’d learned was his summoning technique - he’d meant to call his Rainbow Dragon for a rapid escape, but ended up manifesting the massive, sleek form of his Giant Catfish who scooped him up into the murky depths of its mouth and slithered away.
And Gojo?
Oh, Gojo was letting out the most impressive high pitched squeal before he’s slamming something hard, and helmet-shaped on top of your head.
“Wh- hey!” Before you can even register it, two massive hands are grabbing onto your waist to sit you down on the cushioned back of the moped. Backwards. “Wrong way-”
“I don’t know how to drive!”
Your feet hitting the side, your back hitting Gojo’s larger one, it takes only a singular split-second for him to jam that lil’ key and speed off down the stony path of the campus. With Professor Yaga yelling from behind and you yelping, “Gojo I’m gonna kill you-”
“My bad, I meant to grab Yaga.” He’s grumbling at you from the front, the roll of his eyes practically carrying on the whipping wind.
“Yaga would’ve known how to seat a kidnapee-”
“You want to touch me?”
“…No”
“Scared?”
Your wide eyes watch the disorienting way the lush nature of the Jujutsu High passes by, as if you were stuck in a kaleidoscope. “No.”
He only hums, finally getting used to controlling the vehicle enough that he was mostly sure he wouldn’t crash into every upcoming tree. “Prove it~”
Wordlessly, Gojo slows down enough that you won’t be part of his definitely-opportune traffic accident as you shift your body ‘round. The faux leather cover creaking! once you rover your palms onto his shoulders for balance- “There.”
“Ever seen anyone hold onto the driver like this? Ya prude-”
“Fine-” You’re cutting him off- cutting yourself off by clinging your hands in a neat knot around Gojo’s firm core. And through the flashing shard of the side-view mirrors, you catch the way his ears burn. “You better not get an erection.”
Okay, only partly sure he wouldn’t crash into an oncoming tree.
The deep timbre of his voice cracks- “H-hey!” You knew how to push his buttons just so. “Gods- why’d it have to be you?”
“And why’d it have to be you.”
The part he doesn’t say out loud is that it would’ve been stranger if it was anyone else.
Not that you needed to hear it- of course not, you were still his infuriating, bold- stubborn fiancée who was forced onto him, after all.
Yet, to Gojo who’s held close by you, and to you who was clinging onto him for dear life as the haven of Jujutsu High melts into the bustling city, he doesn’t think he’s had a more peaceful birthday.
It takes fifteen minutes for the two of you to ride to that cozy convenience store on the outskirts of Tokyo, and what felt like hours (but in reality was five minutes) to give up on convincing the elderly clerk that you both were totally not a couple out for an after-school joyride.
And then - as if the universe was directing its very own prank at your expense - only three for Gojo to grow impatient and throw a tantrum swerving the moped to and fro until you finally tore open that packet of sparklers bought as birthday celebrations.
Honestly, what else did you expect from a man who organized his own surprise birthday party?
“Cake? Check. These things? Check. Happy birthday to me~” He’s tipping the starlit firework upside down to draw bands of gold in the darkening air. “Must be in the top seventeen birthdays I’ve ever had-”
You scoff, your breath emitted as a small cloud. “You’ve only had seventeen.”
“It just dropped down to eighteenth thanks to you-” And you swear you see the strongest outline a dick in the air with his sparkler, you swear he purposefully made it bigger than the one you’d drawn. “And nineteenth if we get arrested for the moped.”
In response, you draw the biggest dick. One with his face.
You were parked on the side of a lazy road, only the occasional car and Gojo’s wonderment breaking the tense silence - perhaps the most civil one you’ve had in years.
It was odd being out with Gojo Satoru. No sniping over your betrothal, and if he tried hard enough- he could pretend that there was none. That there might be. But for now, the two of you were just two classmates sneaking out to ransack your local stores, “If we do get arrested, I’m blaming you.”
He nods, dramatically. Bumping his broad deltoid against yours, “As husband, that would be my duty.”
“So…” You’re blinking, your own sparkler’s ashy ends drooping onto the ground. There was no doubt on your mind that Geto would not have mercy on the two of you for finishing about half of these sticks. But you had something else on your mind right now, “You’re saying you don’t mind-”
“Wait. wait, no, that’s not what I meant. O-of course I mind!” And Gojo doesn’t give you the time to call out the way his breath gasps- the way his voice shakes, the way he’s flushing. Furious, “Never- in my right mind- would I marry you.”
A ring of gold from the dying sunlight wraps around your irises and irritates him so much when you finally look away to rustle your hand inside the numerous shopping bags.
Airily musing, “Then, I guess as my not-ever-husband you wouldn’t want your not-ever-wife to gift you this-”
“I take it back, I’m marrying you.”
If the elders of your clan knew that all it took for Gojo Satoru to accept the betrothal would be a packet of extra, extra-caramelized popcorn then they would have had the two of you married off by yesterday.
“Make no mistake, this was meant for me.” It wasn’t. You did eye this particular brand too long before swiping it off the shelf and paying when he wasn’t looking. You did think of nothing but the plastic ring burning a hole deeply inside your skirt pocket. And the way he’d whined and thrown himself on the floor of the nearby theatre on your last outing to the city, when Geto refused to buy him caramel popcorn.
So you’d bought it- to shut him up and spare your poor throbbing temples, if anything. Of course.
But you can’t help the words that tumble out of your mouth at the glowing expression gracing his features. “But- here- happy…birthday. I’m not getting you anything for the next ten years.”
He’s silent.
Pondering.
And he can’t think of anything more flat than a little ‘thank you.’
The red, red metallic bag with enough sugar content to put anyone but Gojo Satoru into a coma sits carefully where you’d plopped it into his arms. And he looks at it with the sort of twinkle in his eyes that you’d never seen before. “Well…If I brought Yaga instead of you, he wouldn’t have bought me this.”
“I take it back-”
“Thank you.” Almost as if realizing those awful, treacherous two words himself, he backtracks with a sputter. Strange, he should bug Shoko into doing some sort of heart check-up on him soon. “W-we’re married for as long as I eat these. And after that? Divorce, sweetheart.”
Pretending to wipe your forehead in relief, “Thank goodness-”
“Oi-”
“What-”
And with your grumblings and partially-filled bags in tow, he’s fastening the singular helmet on you - so fast that you think he might’ve just taken advantage of his powers to do so.
Just to watch you strangle out in what was definite annoyance as he pets the plastic top as if you were a child. Smack, smack!
“I’d be a good husband- not that you’d ever know.” Gojo sticks his tongue out at you, vrrrrr—ing the moped engine so that your snarky reply gets drowned out. “And next time I am bringing Yaga instead.”
He takes back those words soon enough when Yaga catches the two of you right at the gates of Jujutsu High. Trying to race back away on his brand-new moped.
.
.
.
“So- you see” Long, white lashes flutter rapidly, “Take pity on your poor, sheltered student. The Gojo elders really didn’t teach me-”
“I should’ve set the mission sooner so that I could be rid of-”
Geto pipes up above Professor Yaga’s booming lecture, a hand raised in every ounce of solemn discipline that his best friend didn’t show. Another mission. Constant. “In my defense, it was his idea.”
Valentine’s day. Also the early first day of second year; and it only brought about more missions, a couple more students as first-years, and a slightly-longer haired thorn at your side betrothed. And, apparently, this - three annoying, grating voices muffling through the gaps of your dorm’s front door.
“I call shots on not answering to that.” Utahime pipes up where she was sprawled out on your bed and knitting her brows at your interrupted girl time. It’s not often that she gets time off from Kyoto to bother her only friends in Tokyo.
Snickering at Shoko’s absent-minded ‘ditto’ and Haibara’s- why was he even here, anyway - “I could! But maybe you should do it, he is your fiancé!”
Utahime cackles, face twisting from mirth to disgust when she inspects that plastic ring from where she’d dug it up from your drawer. “On Valentine’s day, too- oh I would rather die if I were you.”
It takes you a few moments to realize that all three occupants of your bedroom were staring at you for an answer. Pointing at yourself, “M-me?” Facing Haibara, “And why do you know that- you’ve been here for a day.”
He smiles, dazzling. “Ah, Gojo-senpai was telling us- it was why Nanami was trying to call home and leave.”
“Oooo, you heard the man.” Shoko presses a few buttons on her phone, and you hear the suspicious beep–! of the camera starting. Only incriminating herself further when she’s raising it upwards and flapping her hands forwards to urge you to open the door.
You groan, “Next time, we are not having girl’s night in my roo- wait.” And it had never caused you any trouble to leave and enter your dorm, it had never taken you more than a gentle push to open your door. So why was it that it just refused to open right now- “What the-”
It’s as if the door was locked from the outside somehow.
Shoko leans in further with her recording camera as you prod, as you turn your shoulder to hit the wooden pane and shove-
“Why- isn’t this-” You’re hissing through grit teeth, feet planting firmly on the surface and cracking open the bedroom door inch by inch. Gasping, “-open-ing–!”
And the sight before you was one you’d remembered for years.
Not just because smack-dab front n’ center to your vision was a pathetically kneeling Gojo Satoru, cowering in front of your looming teacher- but because of what was actually blocking your entryway.
It wasn’t some lock on the outside as you’d suspected, it wasn’t a large desk or anything of the sort. It was a massive, heaping pile of buttons.
Gold with bits of purple. So many that it was almost as tall as your door.
“What. The. Hell.” Your deadpan voice cuts Gojo off in the midst of some complaint to Yaga about ‘why is it named the Vessel Mission anyway, that’s stupid.’ And three sets of eyes snap to you as they finally register your entrance.
“Ah…” Geto’s the first one to break the silence of your impromptu staring match, even though Gojo was pointedly staring away. Eyes twitching the longer his best friend stared at the mountain of buttons on your doorstep, he looked exhausted. “Satoru, care to explain?”
He’s gulping, “You see, this all has a very reasonable explanation and a very reasonable line of thinking-”
“It’s all Satoru’s fault-”
“What-”
“Of course, it is.” Yaga rubs his aching temples, as he often seemed to do whenever he was around his group of second-years for just a minute too long. The older man turns to you with a weary, tired expression - and you make note of his dark circles, “This is the fifth pile of second buttons I cleaned from your door today- this hour.”
Ah, that explained it.
And it feels like your brain had just short-circuited, “Oh…wait- second buttons-?” Nevermind how he’d come across so many. Bought, most likely.
“I told you the elders taught me nothing-” Gojo squawks, scrambling onto his feet. He’s flailing his hands about, it was not his fault he didn’t know that second button meant…a confession. Or the fact that Geto hadn’t bothered to tell him and only watched with an easy smile as he made a fool of himself. “It was a prank- a prank! And his idea- he helped! I was going to block your door with buttons-”
“-second buttons.”
“-and make you all huffy and puffy that way you get-”
“-on Valentine’s day.” You’re finishing off, arms crossed. Carefully scrutinizing up at him- he hadn’t come across a growth spurt since last semester, he’d rammed into one at full speed. You shudder, in disgust, surely. “Did the elder’s hypnotize you or is there something you’re not telling me…”
And he hates it.
He hates how you look right through him in a way that induces some sort of heart condition in him- and Gojo would know, he’s visited every doctor in Tokyo just because of it. They all laughed.
One even wrote up his letter of resignation.
Sputtering, ears pink in anger- and Gojo was glad that his pale hair had grown out just enough to cover it. Strangely. “Y-you wish, ex-wife.”
You’re swatting the back of his soft locks, and Geto doesn’t note how Gojo seemed to have put down limitless so you could swat him.
“Dickhead.”
“Delinquent.”
“Blind mouse-”
Gasping, he clutches onto the frame of his shades. “Oh, now I really don’t wanna marry you-”
Yaga’s had enough.
“Enough!”
One of the veins near the side of his forehead nearly pops, and you step back with a wince at the oncoming scream- Gojo shuffling behind as if he was bravely offering you up for sacrifice.
“Enough- enough with the- the confessions-” Yaga spears a finger straight at Gojo’s directions and speaks over his protests. “-and the flirting! Flirt after the mission-” Then at you, and you could hear your friends cackling from either side. “Detention for everyone!”
Dammit- another line on your divorce document.
.
.
.
You didn’t get to ‘flirt’ after that Star Plasma mission - not that you would, but still.
In fact, you didn’t get to do all that much after tasting death so close to your little haven at Tokyo Jujutsu High.
And life goes on, sometimes leaving those behind.
And other times honing others who choose to stay and snap-
“It’s Suguru.”
“I know.”
The defection of Geto Suguru. The murder of his parents. His mother.
Your voice was more empty than he’d ever heard it- and he wanted you to scream at him, he wanted you to sob. Anything and everything other than the trained, stable tone that clashed against everything he was feeling right now.
But you only stare out into the yolky yellow tint beaming over the sprawling grounds. Sat on the flat, stone staircase of campus with your knees hugged to your chest- and he was close enough on the steps to hear your low mutter. “I’ll be leaving, too.”
Gojo’s head snaps to you- “What?”
“It’s my clan.” You’re swallowing, refusing to look at him directly. And that in and of itself almost hurt as much as when you did- and, for perhaps the first time, he’d rather have his heart race in those strange little palpitations. Right now, it was just heavy. “And yours. They don’t think it’s safe for a ‘future Gojo bride’ to be so close to danger.”
“Then we won’t marry.” He’s declaring, snowy brows set stubbornly.
“I know.” You lilt your head back to watch the sluggishly swimming clouds above, likely the last time you will from here. The council will be here tomorrow, and with them, your departure. You had that silly pink ring on your little finger, he notices. “I’m leaving.”
“I already said we won’t-”
“No, dickhead. I’m leaving.”
Widened, quivering blue peripherals lock onto you- and Gojo’s rosy lips part into a soft oh!
He knew what you meant- hell, when he first wanted to enroll in this damn school, he’d threatened to leave the clan over and over until they’d finally relented. And suddenly he’s hit with the loss of his little group - no more missions, no more convenience store runs, no more you.
You were to graduate in a year, with only half the students left in both your grade and the one below. Nanami wasn’t even going to become a sorcerer anymore, not after Haibara.
And he knew - he just felt - that you won’t be there for it. That you might never be.
How he wished to run, too.
“Utahime’s friends with that one special grade sorcerer- Yuki Tsukumo. I’m leaving with her today to continue training my own way.” You’re continuing, hands flexing in your lap. “And leaving the clan. Officially.”
Huffing, “What? Gonna leave your poor husband at the altar—?”
“Like I’ve always wanted to.”
“Without even a kiss for the bride?” And he doesn’t know why he says it. Even more, he doesn’t know why he holds the line of your gaze and can’t bear to look away, even as his heart starts up that familiarly strange ba-dump–! rattling his chest.
The tips of his ears tinging the very same blood-red as the sun now, Gojo thinks he can hear his eardrums whistling once you lean in. Once you close your eyes. And once you press your lips to his plush, soft ones for a mere single second.
“There-” You’re murmuring, trying to sound stern even though the waver in your voice gives you away. “Now you’ve been deflowered and can’t complain. You’re an absolute curse, you know that?”
And, suddenly, he gets it.
Oh, so that was why all those cardiologists he visited laughed at him for about a year straight.
He gets it.
Chuckling bitterly, of course. Of course, he has to understand now. Of course, he loses every shred of sun just as soon as he closes his hands- because for what reason should a weapon crave normalcy? Crave sealed fate? For what right should he demand that you stay here to bind you to him?
His mouth quivers, head turning so that you won’t see the wet glitter of his eyes in the dying daybreak. “So now I’m a special grade and a curse? Does that make me the special grade curse you want to marry?”
Your flip phone buzzes, and he already knows it’s time. Standing up, “You had the curse part down pat even before you were a special grade. Probably why your bride’s running off, Satoru.”
It was the fifth and last time that Gojo Satoru would be declaring that stupid sentiment. Smile only half-true. It was a cruel summer.
But he always was good at waiting.
Gojo tugs on that cold second button of his uniform, calling out in place of a goodbye. “Good thing we won’t be getting married, sweetheart~”
.
.
.
Itadori Yuji has spied on his teacher’s phone before.
He didn’t mean to–he swears it! And was it even that much of an invasion of privacy if he simply glanced over at the glaring lockscreen wallpaper? Surely, it wouldn’t have been as bad as if he had peered over Gojo’s shoulder when he actually unlocked his phone…
…Okay maybe he had seen a snapshot of the older man’s home screen as well, but like he said- it was an accident. Flickering his curious eyes over as he opened up his catalogue of movies during their training together.
But what wasn’t an accident was just how vividly he remembered each wallpaper.
On his lockscreen; taken from the inside of what looked like one of Tokyo Jujutsu High’s dorms, with a massive pile of toppling buttons in the center and a much younger Gojo Satoru (and someone who looked faintly like Kenjaku?) kneeled on the floor. Clearly being punished.
Yet, what was most interesting was the scowling, arms-crossed figure of another student he was staring up at. Unable to tear his eyes away, even through his shades.
It was you.
That familiar face also featured in Gojo’s home screen - a more blurry photo, this time, as if it was still in motion. Of his teacher in the process of scrambling onto a shiny red moped, keys turning, with you stowed away in the backseat - yelling and sat backwards.
And Itadori tried not to think much of it, but he saw you in the small framed photograph that Principal Yaga pretended not to have on his desk, yet, polished every day.
He saw you in the postcards that Professor Shoko pinned up on the packed bulletin board of her infirmary, amongst diagrams of dissections and slaughter. He saw you in the brief, blurry facetime that the other teacher, Utahime, from Kyoto was on during parts of the exchange event.
And he saw you at the foot of Gojo Satoru’s bed, after he’d won.
Older, more mature now - but inevitably you.
Itadori could tell, even in the forlorn way you were slumped over the side of the mattress in Shoko’s clinic, body half-seated on a chair like you’d been there all night.
“You…” He’s breathing, making you stir against his will.
You blinky your teary eyes up in groggy confusion, fingers instinctively tightening on the large, callused fingerpads of Gojo’s digits. “Huh? Oh, you must be Yuji. And Megumi, and Nobara.”
Itadori was just about to open his mouth and answer that no, he was actually just Yuji- when a disgruntled voice behind him makes him realize he isn’t alone. “We apologize for the trouble, we can come back later if you-”
“Oh, no no.” You wave Fushiguro’s words off as the three enter - well, as Fushiguro enters and Kugisaki shoves Itadori inside. “I’m sure he’d want everyone here when he wakes.”
Gojo had won in Shinjuku, but Satoru was still sleeping.
Famed eyes closed. Bundled in the arms of bandages and reverse cursed energy ‘round his toned middle, he was breathing in slow unison with the beep! of the nearby heart monitor. Alive.
You really did have Shoko to thank later.
And Itadori knew that as a student he should be more invested in how his unconscious teacher was doing, but he just couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances over and over. Wondering just who you really were-
“So, is the wedding going to be anytime soon?”
Fushiguro speaks, and the rest of the trio gapes. How dare he ask something like that from a sorcerer so lovely. And wait- why were you chuckling? “Oh right-” Nodding down at Gojo’s large form, of course, he told his honorary son everything. “I am his fiancée.”
“His what-”
“How much did he pay you-”
“Kugisaki, don’t be rude-”
Fushiguro nods, “No, she’s right.”
“Unfortunately, only this.” You’re scrunching your nose as you answer Kugisaki’s question- pulling out a tiny chain from underneath your uniform with an aged, faded pink plastic ring pop.
And she responds like she’d been personally wronged, dragging her hands carefully down her eye-patched face. “Ohhh- I knew it- not only is he a deadbeat teacher, he’s a deadbeat husband, too.”
“To be fair I did leave him. Of sorts.” You wave a hand airily, already having heard from Ijichi about the fate of the higher-ups. The clans. Over the younger girl’s ‘understandable!’ “I just landed in Tokyo today, I wish I could’ve come sooner but- ah, well.”
“B-but…” Everyone looks at Itadori as he stammers out, cheeks burning a slight rouge once your hand drifts over Gojo’s exposed core. Whispering in one breath, “How did he get a wife so pretty…”
“Hey- that’s my wife you’re talking about.”
You could recognize that smug, simpering tone anywhere. You’d be able to pick it out from a crowd of thousands.
Laughing- as he’s tackled into a hug by an overeager Itadori, and the falsely reluctant rest.
It was quite strange to see Gojo Satoru like this - not just laid barren and sprawled over some hospital bed, but without any of his usual blindfolds and sunglasses. Just like when you’d met. And he always was so honest with his eyes.
And he was back.
And you were back - after ten years.
Which is why Itadori and Kugisaki have to fight the urge to look away at the expression settling over Gojo’s serene face. Wondering how you - his fiancée, of all things - would react. Winning against the King of Curses was quite the accomplishment, even for the strongest.
Would you cry? Would you throw your hands over him as they just did? Should they actually get up and leave the room-
“You- you complete idiot.” Gojo half-wonders whether your strength could rival Sukuna himself once you strike down a punch to his scarred shoulder. Yelling, glaring- crushing him into a hug.
Your voice is suspiciously thick once you’re gurgling out into the pale crook of his neck, “I thought you said you’d rather die than marry me.”
And they don’t know what they’re more surprised about- the way that Gojo had the audacity to say those words to you, or the way that Gojo had the audacity to listen to those very words and laugh. Head thrown back, “Sweetheart, I’d come back from death just to marry you.”
Pulling away, you take the longest look at your betrothed that you think you ever have.
Everything from his longer, still-snowy hair, tickling the tips of sparkling sapphire eyes. Slightly slicked back to reveal shyly red-dusted ears, and a cute lil’ dimple at the edge of his boyish grin.
He was still the same Gojo you’d left behind - even though he was taller, stronger. So much bigger that you could feel the flex of his deltoids underneath your palms, and the ripple of his beefy forearms looped around your waist.
He was still Gojo. Always beautiful.
SLAM!
“O-oh.” You’re jolting at the sudden closing of the clinic door, clearly his students had left the two of you to some privacy, and you’re almost embarrassed. “We’re an awful example.”
“When have we ever been a good example?”
“Well, I could say that about you-”
He only tugs you closer, breathing out as if the first breath he’d taken in a while since Shinjuku. Since you’d been gone. “I missed my wife.” And the two of you knew you should alert Shoko by now, but you only stay still- with you nearly in his bed by now.
For what felt like hours. Years.
“Yeah? Well, I- I missed you, too. I thought I lost you.” You wince, “I’m sorry for departing so suddenly.”
It was sincere - but the feeling of Gojo’s smirk pressing up against the side of your thumping pulse almost makes you reconsider it. “I know how you can make it up to me, wifey~”
Scoffing, he was really ramming up the ‘marriage’ part of your relationship by now. “Nothing with buttons or mopeds or-”
“No no-” Lurching back slightly, the plush, puckered fringes of his lips lean in oh-so-closely. Until you could practically taste the saccharine sugar of his heated breath, “You know, I never got to kiss the bride.”
Oh.
Oh.
Then he’s kissing you- and you’re kissing him. And it’s all that you’ve ever wanted with the sharp, pointed ends of Gojo’s canines digging into your bottom lip to drag you back.
Drinking you in like a man parched- he’s finding life in your mouth. Slipping his tongue in past the spit-glossed crevice of your mouth and uttering a hot pant. “Please-” Manhandling you with his strong, scarred arms up to straddle him on the rickety mattress. “Please.”
And you’ve never heard the strongest beg like this.
Never heard him flutter his droopy lashes and look at you through starved, feral eyes. A translucent bubble of spittle sparkling by the end of his swollen lips, “P-please.”
Never heard him stutter.
Clearly he’s reading something in your sultry eyes because Gojo’s hastily shuffling the two of you down the bedsprings. Head hitting the puff of his pillows, your ass hitting his sharp pelvis.
Your fiancé holds you upright and rubs a clawing hand doooown the back of your spine, toying with the metallic zipper on your sorcerer’s uniform skirt. “Fuck that about hah- not marrying you.” He’s crooning out in a throaty tone, strands of white nearly covering his greedy gaze. “M’ready to consummate our marriage right here, right now.”
“B-but Satoru- you just woke up-”
“So?” There’s something deep n’ dark in his tone that made shivers skitter up your spine. Attempting to clench your thighs together but all it does is make your outer pussy push against the smooth path of his white happy trail. “Your husband’s the strongest, sweetheart.”
And then you’re being roughened up- then your skirt’s bearing the brunt of being almost torn clean off your hips.
Gojo barely even registered his power, not giving two shits if it meant that he got to admire your pale blue panties up close and personal. A firm hand groping your right cheeks help push your clothed pussy up until your slit strikes the edge of his chin, thighs now straddling his pretty, pretty face.
Rosy lips purring over that darkening wet splotch between your legs, “Bon appétit.”
“Shut up and just- oh, fuck!”
He’s flopping the pinkish crown of his tongue out just enough to dab a lil’ dewdrop of spit between your swollen pussylips. And it’s just all that it takes for the first taste of your saccharine pussy to coat his tastebuds-
“O-oh!” He gasps, his hazed peripherals widen. You’re faintly registering the way that the shiny overhead lights of the private room flicker-
Gojo grins as you gape, “Did you just…”
“Guess m’not in control anymore.” He’s snickering, stuffing himself nose-deep into your cunt. And there’s such a primal hunger in him, the way he’s not even caring for your poor, sodden panties before he’s hanging his jaw open and slide-slide-sliiiiding the edge of his mushy tongue up n’ down your folds. “Heh-” A light goes out somewhere down the corridor. “Whoops.
He’s whacking his jawline on the soft inner parts of your thighs and it still isn’t close enough. Tilting his head just so to slip his damp muscle between your ruined fabric.
“Shit- shit, your tongue is sooo big.” You find yourself keening, hips rocking back and forth at a mindless pace. And, truly, you now knew why Gojo talked so much because his tongue was so-very-lengthy, already circlin’ your sticky hole, “Like you better- hck! better like this.”
And the way he looks at you gets you even more drenched, haplessly watching as Gojo opens his throat wide enough to let the cloying droplets of your slick fall down to his maw.
“Oh yeaaaah–?” Gurgling already with the beads of sap that soak the lower half of his face, he’s starin’ you right into your fluttering eyes once he’s tugging your panties to snap! back on your heated core with an index. “Whaddaya gonna do about it?”
Before you can answer - before you can even think, the very tippy-top dome of his fingertip coils slimily down your naked slit. He feels you - so soft n’ warm - for the first time and pants. “Gonna ngh- argue with me from here to make up for it? Hmmm—?”
Almost as if on cue, your pert pussy is letting out the rawest lewd squeeelch at his touch. Bucking wildly, “Are you all talk or what ngh-”
“Looks like you’re all talk.” And you seriously were so wet that it was dripping down Gojo’s handsome chin, rovering a few more solid inches of his index to keep pryin’ your cunt apart with a wet plap!
Then a second inch- and a second finger.
His probing fingers are so big that the gummy channels of your walls have to mold to each size and measurement just to take him. “Look at ya- taking me in sooo well but ya don’t even- sit-” One of his hands claws on your left ass cheek to hold you down where you were hovering your weight, the other sinking in—
You’re squealing at the press of his thick, knobbled middle finger curving against one of your most tender spots. “What if I suffocate-”
“Then suffocate me.”
“You just came back to life.”
“I came back to life just to ngh- see this pretty pussy.” Gojo snarls up at you, tugging you down. Pulling you. Manhandling you. He just wanted to French kiss your pussy until he had that smart mouth of yours stupid. And those silly lil’ panties were a barrier-
Within seconds, he has shreds of your underwear tattered and ripped between his pearly whites.
Looking like a fucking animal once he’s finally sitting you down properly and stuffing himself so deep that you nearly see his pale, straight nosebridge disappear between your folds.
Snaking his tongue to stuff and stuff where two of his fingers were pumping in n’ out in n’ out in n’ out. You were being dually stuffed open, the sting of him stretchin’ you out and swiping the gooey bottom of your core just delicious.
“Don’t mind- haaaa-” Breaths ragged, movements sloppy. Gojo wastes no time in pursuing his delicate lips and spitting, “-dying now that I got ta see her. Now that I got to- hck- taste.”
Hand shaking where he slides it along your thigh, breaths stuttered.
He’s feeling your slick waterfall down with every lap and slash of his tongue, bearing no mercy. Your thighs rendered all jittery and sleek with a sheen of syrup every time he flicked the tip of his tastebuds on top of your clit.
“I’ve been so fucking thirsty- sooooo fucking thirsty.” Gojo whines, and you swear his baritone voice cracks. Hitches. Hips rutting up into the empty air, “You know how long I’ve wanted this- do you have any. Fucking. Idea?”
He sounds genuinely ruined, spitting back into your treacly pussy just to follow the wad dooown the seam of your pussy with his tongue.
A third finger puckers ‘round the edge of your entrance, and you’re whining once Gojo lazily slugs the first pad inside and scrapes the roof of your cunt. “Please- since when- ngh- s-since…”
Giggling, higher-pitched than usual. “Oh, sweetheart- you don’t even wanna know.” You’re whimpering when he’s swatting down the velvety edge of his tongue on your sensitive nub three times before pulling away. Smack-smack-smack. “Spit in my mouth n’ I’ll tell you, h-heh.”
Breathless, “What did you just ask—?”
“Scared?”
And Gojo’s pale brows raise when you’re hunching forwards just enough to grab his clammy cheeks, streaming out a glittery streak of spittle straight into his ajar mouth. “Not if it gets you t-to- shut up-”
You spit in his mouth, and from the slightly-angled turn of your head you catch the way that his throbbing erection twitches.
His fingers thwack so hard your very bones rattle, and Gojo drools the knot of slick straight back through your hole. Letting the jointed bumps of his digits stretch rub your pussy all red and raw from the inside.
“That’s it that’s it.” He’s goading you on, scouring the searchlights of his digits inside of you for that one fragile target. And you’re feeling him poke his fingertips into the nooks n’ crannies near your g-spot, making you see stars. “I’ve wanted you to shut me up- use my ngh- face since I fucking knew what it was. Heh- if you’re not scared-”
“As if I’d be scared-”
“Prove it. Ride me.”
“I am-”
“Not enough.” Within just a single blink of your glassy eyes, Gojo’s raising his non-dominant hand up with enough cursed energy that the neglected ol’ blindfold strewn on the edge of his bed flies into his grasp.
Twisting his thick fingers over the silken fabric, circling it over your neck and immediately hauling you further down- “Ride me. Ride the st-strongest like you own it- h-haaaah- I’m your husband, aren’t I?”
With every word, with every second he’s thrashing four exact strikes of his fingertips scraping your poor g-spot. Slurring out a damp sluuurp every time your sheeny pussylips are gobbling him up.
“Yes- hck! yes.”
Grumbling, sleazy grin just glued to the knobbly tip of your clit. “Yeah- yeah, then use me like I am.”
Kissing right back every time he’s surging his head up and mazing the flexible ends of his tongue muckily. It’s so wet n’ long that you’re damn near feeling the scrape of his tastebuds by your favorite spot, sloppily—“D-don’t think m’gonna last, Satoru.”
Gojo audibly, pornographically moans as you start carnally hastening your tempo.
Cumming on his face- fuck, this was the wettest of his dreams all those long, lonely nights. In response he only latches his strawberry-pink lips against your cunt further, feeling every hot gush flood his throat.
And you were so close that Gojo was drooling- pupils stirrin’ around the whites of your eyes with every circle of his thick tongue, throat cracking with whines every time he’s slushily spearing your pussy with his fingers. Over n’ over.
Rovering alllll around to prick your tenderest areas with- fuck, now four of his fingers.
Your husband spikes the edge of your g-spot, hard. Pulling you down with the corner of his blindfold just to dig his finger in deeper, “W-wanna cummm— ngh- please.”
“Call me husband.” He cockily smiles over the rim of your cunt where he was devouring you like a feast. “Call me- nghh- husband and I’ll let you cum.”
“Please-” Grabbing a fistful of his hair to shove him deeper and hopefully quieten his teasing. “-h-husband.”
Gojo groans like he’s the one cumming, “Ohhhh- again. Louder.”
“Husband-”
“Again.”
“Husband– Toru–!” Pouting stubbornly, “Unless you fucking can’t- oh, fuck.”
Both you and the protesting bedsprings sing out in embarrassing synchronization once he’s shoving you into your high with a soft, sudden zap–! of one jujutsu-coated fingerpad across your g-spot. “Cumming- nghhh- m’cumming m’cumming–!”
And it feels so good you lose your vision to pure white, it feels so good that you can only throw your head back and ride him through each one of your peaks.
Milking the highs of your orgasm in repeated, filthy drags of your hips that knock the top of your glazed slit against his buttony nose. Whack!
“O-ohhh—” Gojo throws his head back at the sheer, sensual motion. It just feels so good having you slickly rovering your pussy over his gaping maw, chasing the heat of his tongue slithering across your clit. Your sweet insides squeeze around his long fingers that Gojo thinks he could just cum right then n’ there.
And he almost does.
Almost- with almost inhuman reflex, he’s sneaking his free hand underneath the covers to plug up his leaking, red-hot orifice. Drivelling out a few creamy cobwebs of pre before he can plop his thumb over it. Close one.
You ogle with a parted mouth as he grits his teeth hard enough that the plane of his neck throbs with a few veins, “Fuh-fuuuck–!”
And if you didn’t know any better, you’d have claimed that sounded like a whine.
A whimper.
But before you can call Gojo out on it, he’s sitting nearly ramrod straight against the cool metallic headboard. Starchy blankets - all drenched and coated at the hem with your trickling sap - all but thrown to the bottom of the bed.
“Don’t worry- hah-” Suddenly, you feel something hot and moist gliiiiide between your puffy core. And it was so thickly curvy that your folds are being smeared apart as much as possible, “Made sure to save the big one for when m’inside, sweetheart.”
Mewling, “Big one?” Pathetically swaying your mouth open the moment he starts suckling on your tongue like some cute candy, “You sure about that?”
“See for yourself, my wife.”
You don’t know what to gape at more.
What Gojo Satoru looks right now - eyes hooded, face flush, ivory tendrils of hair slicked back with sweat, several layers of sickly sweet slick stuck from the tops of his cheeks and gleaming down to his jawline - or the way that his cock looks like right now.
He was completely naked underneath, and you’re mentally counting about nine inches- possible even ten. Ten inches of solid, barreling length scrubbed all red n’ raw with ribbons of precum. Bursting out from the hole at the top of his fat mushroom tip and all the way down to the soft white hairs at his base.
Drenched.
And Gojo gives the left of your ass cheek a good spank when it seems like you won’t be talking any time soon. Too hypnotized. “There there- big, huh?”
You’re huffing, “Y-you wish.”
“No need to liiiie- s’all yours.” Something in him cracks when he bucks up ever-so-slightly to let the shiny bulge of his cocktip scrape down your slit, mixin’ a heady concoction of white pre and slick that makes him salivate. “Look at her- she’s sayin’ she wants more.”
“You’re pussydrunk.” Such loud squelching noises that he jerkily lurches his head closer to listen to, as if his favorite song.
“Hell yeah I am, my wife.” With a raspy chuckle, Gojo slips the circle of his divot just underneath your swollen folds and hisses. “Now- I won. Your husband ngh- won today, why don’tcha gimme my reward, sweetheart?”
Oh-so-ready to make him cry on your tongue, you eagerly start snaking your hand downward.
Fist almost enclosed around the bulky cylinder of his hilt before he stops you right there. V-line hitting your pelvis as he fucks up, up, up-
“Nononono- another time. Right now…” Gojo slouches back, liiiicking that candied glaze of your juices off of his right hand. One by one. Before cushioning it underneath his head and watching you through sexy half-lidded eyes. “How do you want me?”
You hum, pretending to tap your chin in thought. “How you’ve wanted ta- ngh- have me, Toru–”
How he’s dreamed of having you.
Of shoving his thick cock between your pussy folds and fucking that smug smile off of your face while you tried to snap back at him. And his body moves before his brain.
Your back hitting the dampened sheets, your shirt and bra puddling onto the floor.
He doesn’t think he can breathe, he doesn’t even think he can think—especially when he sees that pink plastic ring pop as a pendant on your necklace and leans down to kiss it.
Every ounce of blood sprinting down from his hotly melted mind to balloon up his shaft so hard and cherry-red. Gojo’s tip is practically bawling by the time he’s flipping the two of you over and swiping the hard, aching bulge of it down your cunt.
Your thighs on his shoulders, his pelvis against your ass.
Eyes widening—a mating press. A fucking mating press.
Gojo’s barely even done folding you completely in half before he aligns the round, spheroid edge of his cockhead to crown your sloppy hole and rut. Gasping, he shuts his eyes firmly at the warmth. “Wanted this.”
“O-oh fuck–” Coming your jittery fingers through Gojo’s sweat-splattered hair. He’s just so big that just the feeling of his globular tip makes you see white.
“Wanted this wanted this- wanted this.” Gritting his teeth, furiously. He’s hiking his thighs up so that yours are pushed all the way up to hit your tits, bending you with all his powerful strength. “Have no idea how long- I’ve wanted you like this. Always in this position.”
“Why this one?” It was so filthy - even for him.
“What? Your husband’s the ngh- strongest and you expect him not to put you in a mating press the minute he sees you?”
Spanking the slivery slit of your cunt with one hand, Gojo fucking angles his head and grins at the slight puddle of sap that collects on his wrist.
“So soft n’ sweet-” He bends his knobbly thumb in to twist the button of your clit, licking his pink lips lazily at the way your arousal glitters further soaked. And it wasn’t just that- your husband was just so girthy that he’s tuggin’ your entrance apart to fit his heavy shaft inside. “Oh, always wanted this pretty hole begging f’me.”
Just as he speaks, Gojo slips yet another inch inside and makes your oversaturated pussy keen. “B-bold of you to assume- ngh- I’m the one begging.”
“Ohhh- she’s not?”
“She- fuck!”
Before you can even speak, he’s rolling his sculpted hips and slamming your spit-glued mouth shut. Cooing down with fluttering lashes, “What was thaaaat–?”
You feel a damn sob break at the back of your voicebox at the feeling of his rounded slit lodging against the treacly roof of your cunt. So wet that he’s constantly rubbin’ his veins back and forth on your walls, half-ruts. Half-thrusts. Just to fit in. “Fuh-fuck you!”
And then you’re swearing that Gojo grows harder. Bigger.
The corner of his head swelling up to an even thicker circumference that strikes your soggy cervix with a plop!
He’s bottoming out with a breaking tone, “Who’s fucking who now?”
And now that you’d given him an inch, he was taking a mile.
Fucking you into the rickety clinic bed like he was trying to stop your cute, arguing mouth from shrilling out. Every swab of his bulging cock enough to make your tongue flood with cockdrunken spit, he pounds his entire length into you like he hates you.
Slap!
So hard that the skin on his prominent v-lines stains completely red. And Gojo isn’t even feeling the pain, he’s only spanking hard abs into your front again. And again. And again.
Mouth falling into a sagged oh! as Gojo tilts his head down and watches when your geysering cunt swallows him up from the ruby-red tip to the bulk of his base. Heavy balls just peeking out cheekily.
All the way up until his pure white tufts of hair scratchily massage your clit and make you rut. “There- there.” The flat mountains of his palm come creeping down your tummy to press as he sliiides inside. With a smile, “Inside. Fuck- it’s inside. Can feel me all deep inside, s’like you’re hngh- made for me.”
“S’just s-sooo big, though!” You’re whimpering once he rubs over the callous of his thumb right at the bumpy point of his mushroomy head spearheading in.
Gojo grunts, “And what happened to me being small~”
You clench in response- the only thing you can do. And it’s like the entirety of the chamber tenses with something thick coating each atom of the air.
You just had to clench once and his cursed energy was lapping. Out-of-control.
So powerful that it might just be enough to cause alarm-
“Oh.” As if alerted by something invisible, Gojo raises his free arm towards the door. Lengthy lashes coating with a flicker of blue lightning- before, like nothing ever happened, he’s back to rutting and rutting. In long, methodical strikes of his bashing, bulbous head. Probing deeply into every ridge.
Before you can ask what was the matter, there’s the metallic jiggling of the hospital doorknob. Locked - by his power.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“I-is anything the matter in here?” Someone- you think it might be Ijichi - calls out from the other side. “The cursed levels were just so high that-”
“Listening to the voice of another man when I’m the one fucking you?” Gojo snarls out, two of his battle-hardened fingertips swatting the side of your cheek so that you’ll stop staring at the door.
Not when he was looking at you like that.
And not when he was the one unsticking your left hand from the side of his muscular obliques, gently kissing your ring finger even though he was drilling into you ferally. “Don’t you think of anyone else when- haaah- I’m the one fucking you-” The fangs of his canines bite in to the flesh of your digit, “Not when I’m your husband.”
“Wh-what if he hears—”
The end of your whine is caught up in his mouth, gnawing down on your lower lip and draaagging. “So let him.” He melts his glissading abs down onto your core, making you feel every bump and scar. “Let him- fuck. S’our long overdue honeymoon- and you’re gonna fucking- take- it-”
Mewling, “Fuck- fuck yes. More.”
It’s like those words have him going mad.
Gojo’s slick orifice grovering into the very bottom of your pussy, he tugs back on the blindfold dangling ‘round your neck to arch you further. Letting his zig-zagged veins creep down your g-spot, precisely.
“Yes- fuck. Your husband.” Repeating and repeating every time he hits your sweet splotchy areas. “M’your husband” And then he clings onto your clit, then he twists his wrist and lets the pads of his digits buzzzz–! with cursed energy. “Your husband.”
Almost as if he couldn’t believe it.
He’s departing his breath out in a scalding breeze every time you squeeze. Bodily shoving apart the inner parts of your legs with his large, flexing shoulders.
“Please- please please-” You’re wailing out utterly raw, the top of your throat feeling like it was clogging up after every ba-thump–! of his sweetly leaking cock probin’ every space inside your cunt. Swelling up so big that it was almost hard for you to clench- “Feels so ngh- good–”
“Yeaaaah–? Your husband’s makin’ you feel all good, huh?” The strongest couldn’t even give a shit about the way your screams were reaching a fever pitch.
Faster, sloppier.
Fingers starting to stain with a bright syrupy coating of your slick, he doesn’t even mean to- but he can’t help the way that the air touching his skin crackles with energy. Drawing out hearts on your perked clit like a lil’ bullet vibrator.
“Go on- say it.” He outlines a very obvious ‘S’ on top of your rugged nub that makes you quiver like a leaf underneath him. And then an ‘A’, a ‘T’, ‘O-R-U.’ Coaxing out your tiny whimpers, “Say my name—”
“Toru- hck! Satoru.”
He twitches, syllables taking on a shaky manner. “O-oh right, that’s my name.” Chuckling, fuck- did he forget his damn name? Just that drunk on your pussy that he’d rather just be called your husband forever and ever. His flushed face pushes forwards to bite on that blindfold and pull you back down, “Call me your heh- husband again.”
Just uttering those words makes him jolt his mushroomy, flared tip inside you until the ridge hits the door to your womb. His balls on your ass. Bruising.
You almost felt shy as he hastily brings down one of your hands to caress his rippling core. From each washboard ab to scar, sensually. “H-husband. My husband.”
Shit- he needed to make you cum now or he was going to, already feeling a steaming drop of pearly liquid empty out from his balls.
“There- there we- go-” And by now Gojo’s fucking you so hard that he’s starting to scrunch his partially-closed eyelids with the weight of big, sparkly tears of sensitivity. “Whatever my wife wants.” The crowned tip of his shaft red and swollen enough to burst, pushing and pushing. “Anything my wife wants.”
“I’m close-” You’re sobbing, reeling him in so close with a grasp of his tensed back muscles. And it was true, his Six Eyes was showin’ him the way your nerves were sizzling, the way your mouth flooded with spittle.
He counts underneath his breath. Five. Four.
Lips wobbling oh-so-adorably, “Toru, m’gonna cum. Let me cum.”
“Ohhh— s’that what you want, sweetheart?” He rolls his thumb over your overstimulated clit until you scream a yes. “Cum then.” Three. Spitting on the hills of his crowned fingerpads, Gojo makes sure they’re tight with particles of cursed energy. Two. Before spanking down- “Cum, my wife.” One.
You don’t know who cums first.
But to Gojo Satoru it doesn’t even matter- all he needs is to make sure is that you were creaming all over his ravaged cock, and that he was there to pump all his columns of wadded seed inside.
Room lights shattering, somewhere in the distance sounding with a sonic boom! Gojo fucks himself hoarse on your pussy until the expanse of his skin was littered with pure power and lightning.
“O-oh my god s’too mmm–” Your mouth dribbles with sap, gooey walls of your cunt sticking to the sides of his veiny shaft. Every tiny drag of his winding lines makes your high explode- “There’s so- hah- so much of it-”
So much that it was overspilling.
And Gojo can only glide the planes of his digits down the saccharine white sap that leaked from between your legs. Gluing his fingers to the stray gaps of your hole, and they were buzzing. “No wastin’ now.” He bites down on the plush gum of his bottom lip and still can’t hold back his snickers. “Gotta g-give you the ring- and my second button. Then take you out for a- a ride-”
He could almost laugh at the dazed confusion on your face, arching up his spine just so that his cock pummeled into you deep and stayed there.
“A ride and then a real ride. On a moped.” Giggling at his own joke, “Take you to eeeevery sweet convenience store in Tokyo you ngh- missed out on. Tell each one m’your husband and we’re having a summer wedding.” Kissing you softly, “M’thinking theme colours blue.”
That in and of itself is enough to make his drivelling orifice stream out yet another jetstream of cum, wadding up the entrance to your womb with clingy sap.
He finishes off with another lecherous slurp that makes you feel so hot inside that it was almost feverish. “A-and then what? S’this all for you big- ngh- honeymoon idea?”
“And if it is?”
“Should’ve left you at the altar-”
Gojo’s red, raw cock jolts. “Ohhhh- just for that m’gonna fuck you in every hah- convenience store, too. Maybe they’ll hear- doesn’t matter.” Grinning, he hikes up a thigh until he is gyrating just enough to swirl his pummeling length in circles. The plump curve of his balls digging into your ass, eyes glowing with blue in the darkness. “Your husband’s the strongest.”
You don’t know if you can do anything but scoff through your embarrassment, “A-and real humble, huh?”
“Well…” He tilts his head with a dopey smile, “Did I tell you that was my first time? Been savin’ myself for heh- marriage, my sweetheart.”
Fuck.
“I love you. Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”
Oh- “I love you, too.”
And something in you told you that this was far from over.
Maybe it was the way that Gojo’s cock strikes the back of your cunt with a splosh of sap, slimily mazing through until it feels like he streams out a squirt of something. You’d just made him squirt- or maybe it was the way that he kisses your plastic engagement ring.
Gaze delirious. Ears red. Fucked-out.
“So…what was that they said about a Gojo heir, my wife?”
.
.
.
“The electricity has been suspiciously unstable today.” Shoko wrinkles her nose up at her completely shattered office lightbulb. The sixth today.
Urgently flicking through her notes before she made a break for her most important patient as of late - the strongest.
Or, as she knew him, that damn Gojo with a penchant for tantrums and harboring a hopeless love for his betrothed. Often both at the same time. Speaking of said betrothed, she’d already shared a hasty greeting with you once you’d first arrived here- before you practically ran to the idiot’s room, that is.
Two peas in a pod.
“We have been getting strange him-level readings on cursed energy levels in this area since a few hours ago.” Utahime grumbles, barely out of the hospital herself but already steady at work as one of the new higher-ups.
“That so? Strange.”
“Yeah, and when I asked Ijichi about it he only looked pale and ran like he saw a-”
The two gasp. In unison.
“He finally proposed.”
A/N. Wrote this with a fever (Gojo was just that hot aha).
sfw, hurt/comfort, an extra to the home collection 𖠋
"Mama, a boy or a girl?"
A tiny voice speaks and you're woken up from your little daydream.
Your daughter's gentle voice bounces off the wall of her quiet yet peaceful bedroom. The loud ringing in your ears are put on pause and blood stops rushing to your head -- you feel as if you're sucked back into reality. It disrupts you from the mindless, ruthless picking of the skin around your thumb that's starting to bleed and all of a sudden you're back in the present again -- a wife and a mother, sitting in her daughter's bedroom on a Tuesday night with the sole mission of checking in on her.
Wide, glossy purple eyes that so mimics the man she calls her father and he whom you call your lover, stares up at you from your chest and you smile a little at her expression.
"Dunno yet, 'Kiya. It's still early to know." You reach a gentle hand up to brush her bangs backward and reveal her forehead. You lean down to press little kisses on her tofu-like skin -- two smooches and three pecks -- and she pouts at your reply that has refuted the answer she's wanted to hear. "Mama, Sakiya wanna know now."
"A little longer, 'kay?" You pull away from her head to run a thumb over her temple. She gives slow blinks at your gentleness -- you know it has always succeeded in making her sleepy. But Sakiya seems to know of your little trick, so she leans back, away from your thumb, straightens her spine up a little, and she hums in defeat. But your baby still giggles a little when larger hands of yours move to tickle her sides gently -- an attempt to distract her from making a fuss.
She doesn't, and instead, your baby decides to rest her head back down on your mounds with small arms tightening around your frame and your nose sours a little at her gesture -- it reddens, and suddenly you're reminded again of her father.
And then you hear soft padding behind you both. You don't need to turn around to know who it is, and Rindou plops down beside you both on the floor -- he's still in his work clothes, most probably still working on some leftover paperwork he's decided to bring home with him tonight.
No doubt he's been standing there the entire time. You sort of knew he was there the moment he had decided to eavesdrop on the two of you -- the cologne that was sprayed onto his work clothes selling him out -- instead of coming in to say what he's wanted to say.
What more can he say, anyway?
You can feel his deject before he even opens his mouth, and he doesn't -- Rindou doesn't say a thing and he sits there while relishing in whatever he is currently feeling. Perhaps it is guilt. You don't know at this point, you don't want to assume -- not after the tone he's chosen to pick up with you earlier after coming home in what seemed to be annoyance. Not at you -- at his coworkers. You know that much, but you seemed to have received the end of it. It didn't feel nice -- it made you feel like nothing despite the way he still finds it in him to put away your laundry back in the closet after passing by the couch.
Sakiya doesn't acknowledge his presence outrightly. You don't look at him.
He sighs.
You hear a small clatter against the parquet, and your eyes move to take a quick glance. Your heart stops beating in your chest for a long minute, but you don't make it known.
You've half-expected him to see it -- it's placed in such an obvious place, he'd be an awful fucking husband to not notice. But you did not expect him to bring it to you; to look at you after with so much emotion held that almost makes you want to give in and cry when you peep at his eyes.
The pregnancy test looks so small in between the three of you on the floor compared to how big it seemed when it sat in the safety of your palms back in the morning -- shaky hands belonging to you who was alone, unsure of what to do, with no husband to yell for, and a girl eating sliced kiwi by the breakfast table who is still so young that you don't know what to tell her -- if you should be telling her this soon in your pregnancy that is still yet to be confirmed by a doctor.
But she finds out anyway. Sakiya has always been a smart girl. A gifted one too -- many would say.
And she suddenly tugs on the strap of your nightgown.
So you decide to ignore. You ignore him.
You continue indulging in Sakiya's little blabbers of telling her more about babies and you kiss her cheek after every sentence that you speak. You try to keep it as simple as possible -- that Mama and Daddy fell in love, had her together.
And you think your baby is so sweet when she flashes a toothy grin and soft almond eyes fold into thin crescents at the mention of you and her father -- she's always loved listening to the stories that you and Rindou tell her about the past; your youths, your memories that are still so vivid when playing in both your heads, your love for each other that had eventually blossomed into a little girl named Sakiya . . .
And Rindou's heart cracks a little more underneath those ribs and bones when you still don't acknowledge him, even though he is sitting just there -- right beside you -- and holding his pointer out to which Sakiya had immediately wrapped her little hand around it after seeing.
You aren't looking at him but he knows you are so much more than upset -- you are heartbroken -- and he notices how you try so hard to look at everything but him (you want to look at him), choosing to play with your daughter's hair and nosing at her chubby cheeks instead. He sees the little quiver of your lips that grows a little more rigid when Sakiya turns to him and asks if he knows -- because his eyes has never once left you the moment he'd entered the room.
"Did you know, Daddy? A baby in Mama's belly, again."
He didn't.
Rindou had only found out that you were pregnant again just ten minutes ago when he'd entered the bathroom after finally finishing his paperwork. He pushes the door open, and the first thing that meets his eyes is the white pregnancy stick on the counter with two bold red lines slapping him in the face after he moves closer to take a look.
And his heart drops to his chest.
It all connects, and Rindou leans back against the wooden door with a soft thud, a towel bunched up and sits messily on one folded arm as he holds the test with both hands carefully and thinks about all that he's done.
Because Rindou had been mean to you earlier -- you were clearly trying to tell him something from the way you've been attempting to drag him off to where Sakiya couldn't hear, and he'd brushed you off.
You tried talking to him when he finally came home after work -- smiling ear to ear when you greeted him at the front door and kissing his collarbone as a silent yet intimate welcome home.
Welcome home to us.
And you say while scratching at your scalp that you've just finished cooking dinner -- if he wanted to eat first or to shower first -- while throwing in a remark that you need a shower too, maybe we can talk in the bath. He tells you he isn't feeling that hungry despite the message being sent to you earlier -- asking if you could cook some curry because he has been craving for it lately -- and you nod when he walks away despite feeling a little weird from his sudden change in behaviour because Rindou seldom ever comes home like this, moody and . . . curt.
So you follow behind after making sure that Sakiya is entertained with her TV show that you say in brief and short sentences about you and your daughter's day. You know he is always overwhelmed and tired after work -- you don't want to bombard him with too much information, so you keep it short and simple.
It's a habit how you decide to shift your attention away from your husband who is putting away your laundry in the closet and instead, fidgeting with a pile of his clothes that's yet to be hung up. You figure it's because you're nervous of telling him about the news, so you're finding ways to distract yourself while making the atmosphere less tense and Rindou sighs a little too loudly when you pause to hear his reply to your genuine question.
"Did you finish the bento today? Was the shimeji nice? I got up earlier to make it because it takes longer to cook."
He turns to you and purses his lips before laying a hand flat out with his palm facing the sky, and you stare at it. You blink a few times, unsure of what is it that he wants, so you figure to place your own in his with a cheeky smile. A tease is about to fall out of your mouth until he sighs again.
Rindou clicks his tongue, "the clothes." A deep frown forms on his forehead while he stares at the pile of fabric in your hands, and under the intense atmosphere that he's planted in the room, you're feeling warm everywhere. Not the kind of warmth that makes you all giddy on the inside though, but the one that sends a hurtful pang to your chest and you're forced to hand him the clothes when he snatches it out of your grip.
Why is he being like this?
You grow awkward when he doesn't say anything further after turning his back to you. And you must've been a fool -- a fool to not realise his growing agitation, when you open your mouth to tell him you'll be getting dinner ready.
You should've left. You should've just left him and his stupid attitude in there to get as mad as he wants. You should've went back to Sakiya and helped her in changing the channels -- your baby was calling for you and her father both. You realise then that he hadn't given Sakiya her forehead kiss that she looks forward to everyday.
But a loose thread from presumably one of his clothes swirls around in the air and ultimately, it finds its place on Rindou's hair.
So you don't leave. You and your stupid heart don't.
"Baby, I'll scoop rice. Come eat when it's still warm." You inch closer to pick away the white thread. You're only millimetres away from it -- it is so close to your fingertips. You'll pick away the thread and then leave him alone -- but Rindou turns back around before you're able to do anything.
It was all so sudden. You hadn't expected it. You never saw it coming.
And it seems that your sudden closeness to him had agitated him further.
"Fuck,"
You wanted to end the conversation.
"Can you stop talking?"
He thought you were going to speak more.
And that, with an angry, dark glare, paired with a very deep frown that you don't think you've ever saw this look of absolute anger and annoyance being directed at you before, is enough to make you step back, all silent.
"I'm tired. And you keep on talking. Can you do it later or something?" He spits, words a little mumbly but with a hurtful tut to it. You know he is never one to raise his voice at you or his daughter no matter the situation, especially now that Sakiya is here with newfound emotions that she's still yet to feel and learn how to regulate, but he did it today, and he clicks his tongue another time before swiftly resuming to his task at hand.
So the laundry was a means to ease his mind off things.
But you can see the slight falter of his demeanour when he turns around again -- not fully, just enough for him to look at you, to see the hurt in your eyes as you look at the floor, and upon feeling his attention, you lift your chin up to stare back at him. You gaze into his eyes that once held so much anger and annoyance in them -- it is now full of guilt and shame. Perhaps he is sorry for raising his voice at you, he is sorry for cussing at you, but he doesn't say a thing, and he turns his back to you again.
Though Rindou didn't outrightly yell at you, it doesn't mean that it hurt any less than having someone do it. You think it hurt more than that.
Your hand rests by your side, fingers twitching as you feel sweat gather in your palms.
The pain in your heart is suffocating.
You turn your back and close the door with a loud pang. It was a fury of thought, and it scared Sakiya. You immediately regret the action upon seeing the shock in her eyes, the stutter in her breath as she tries hard to regain her peace. "Sorry, baby. Mama's sorry." You apologise with a shaky voice while carrying her up from the couch and towards the kitchen. She nuzzles her nose in your neck with wide eyes after feeling your comfort while looking back at the door to your bedroom, where Rindou is not present.
He hadn't followed you out. He still hasn't tried to apologise.
So you don't talk to him the entire evening -- not even when Sakiya was tugging on the end of your shirt gently and asking if Daddy wants to eat dinner too through a mouth full of rice and curry. You'd simply wiped away the excess off the corner of her lips and adjusted her napkin hanging on her neck, "Daddy will eat later. We'll eat first."
And it's when you figure that you're done for the day and headed into your daughter's bedroom to check on her and give her some affirmations that Rindou finally heads into the shower and notices the stick on the counter.
It was a slap to reality. He hadn't realised until then that he was being unfair to you earlier -- those mean words and the ugly expression he's given you, it makes him want to punch himself for making you feel so unwanted, because he's always the one who tells you to keep talking, and listens closely as you do. Rindou had promised not to bring work and its emotions back home, and now he's gone and done this. He's gone and hurt you.
He broke your heart.
He'd stared at the stick for quite a long time, with vibrating eyes deciding to take a quick glance at the bin just beneath the counter -- filled with boxes and boxes of pregnancy test kits and they all have the same results.
You are pregnant again, and he sure is a big fool for not noticing it earlier -- how you've been starting to crave the same things you wanted when you were carrying Sakiya, how you've started to speak less as to not get emotional because he knows your sensitivity must be heightened and everything would seem sad to you, how you've been feeling more and more tired lately because of your hormonal change . . .
And he also knows that you aren't ready for a second child -- you'd said it to him one night before falling asleep that even though it's already been 4 years since you've given birth to Sakiya, you don't think your body is ready for another baby yet. The trauma, the pain, the healing for both mentally and physically, it is all too much for you to handle, and he understands. Your recovery process was rough and his heart hurts when reminded of the days you'd cry in his arms that you don't think you're cut out for this -- for being a mother. Baby blues had hit you hard and it'd took a long time for it to wear off on you. And yet he thinks that here you are, being the best mother one can ever ask for.
You've not made any plans together for a second child either, and though it may sound a little harsh and mean, but Rindou doesn't think he is suitable to be a father of two. Sure, his baby is well-behaved, but there are still days where Sakiya herself can be a little bit too much to handle -- she is still a toddler after all.
So to add in another in the family? Rindou is not sure if he can handle it.
His train of thought gets disrupted when Sakiya curiously shakes his hand a little. He gets pulled back to the present again with the motion, and finds that she's staring at him with wide eyes that mirrors his own. She's waiting for an answer. He brings her hand up to place a kiss on the back of her palm before rubbing gentle circles at it.
His gaze focuses back at you before choosing his words -- you're staring at the parquet while playing with a loose thread on Sakiya's Hello Kitty onesie that you got for her a few winters ago. She still fits in it, surprisingly, and it sure is her favourite one to wear to bed while her father pats her back to sleep and you're beside to run a palm over her hair.
"I didn't. Just found out." He decides to tell his daughter honestly. You bite at your lip to stop the quiver, the sadness in you growing tenfold when it finally sinks it after his words -- that this is how Rindou finds out about it. You wanted to be the one to break it to him. You wanted to be there to see the initial look of shock on his face when he realises. But that wasn't how it went, and instead, the reveal of your new happiness growing in your belly was found out by its parents separately, both alone, along with emotions of anger mixed in with a little fear.
This isn't how it should be. I'm sorry.
An endearing giggle breaks you both out of your minds with Sakiya shaking her father's hand and tugging at your dress at the same time. She's so happy at her father's response. "Sakiya found out before Daddy, Mama." She turns her head at you, laughing.
That alone is enough to have you crumble. And you start to weep when Rindou leans forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder. He then presses his cheek to your arm, scrunching his nose playfully at his daughter who is finding joy in pinching her father's cheek, while a hand of his snakes around your frame to find solace on your waist. It moves up and down, slowly, warmly, and he moves closer and closer until he's fully hugging you now. Despite the previous anger and sadness, you still let him do it though, and you too fight the urge to lean back against his chest and cry.
You instinctively hug your daughter close to your chest and press your face in her neck. She is so much more smaller than you are, but you don't think you have felt so safe holding someone in your arms. There is your husband, but he's been feeling a little distant lately.
Sakiya wraps herself around your neck a little tighter at your sudden movements -- as though she had sensed something was wrong, and something is wrong. "Mama." She calls out softly as a habit and you hum, albeit a little broken and hoarse, but she knows that you've responded to her -- she knows that you're here with her -- and it is all that matters.
His chest tightens when you fix yourself quickly -- a little sniffle, a wipe to your eyes, and you choose to push away your emotions. You are still avoiding him -- his eyes -- choosing to focus on your 4 year old who is babbling mindlessly into your chest instead and you're grinning brightly when she tries speaking in English. She's started picking up the language from you, perhaps by listening in on a few of the conversations you'd have with Rindou on the dinner table in a foreign language still not taught to her yet because there are things you don't want her to hear, to know. Bills, taxes, the car loan, are we getting groceries on Saturday or Sunday? Baby's birthday is coming up, do you have any ideas on what to do?
Rindou's moved so close to the point he has his chin on one of your shoulders with both hands securing around you and Sakiya as he listens to the two of you converse, with you trying so hard to avoid his steady breath as it fans over the expanse of your skin. It's so tempting, but you stand your ground.
Sakiya then spurs out a little something cheerfully -- you don't know the word she's trying to say, but it is cute and lovely to hear her try and you pat her butt with another soft kiss to her forehead.
And for a split second Rindou thought he'd seen you in your arms -- your face in your arms -- because despite what you and so many other people tell him, he thinks that Sakiya looks much more like you than she looks like him -- she's got your smile, your chin, your hair, your grace, your silliness . . .
Yet she also looks so much like him, and he finds his fleeting mind wandering further and further whenever Sakiya would sit on his lap and look straight into his eyes with a big, toothy smile. It is as though he is staring into a mirror -- at a reflection of himself, and through her eyes he sees so many things, like the young boy from Roppongi who is still so little with so many high hopes to so many new things in life, and always, the one thing that stands out the most is love: a warmth that has a bit of a red and orangey tinge to it when she hugs him as he carries her around, the flower of her father's name that she scribbles with coloured crayons on A4 papers daily to practice her 4 year old handwriting, and she's calling for you to come look at this 'new' scar on Daddy's eyebrow that has actually been there for the past 20 years.
He'd smile a little at the vision -- he doesn't think it's weird. Of course he'd see love in her.
Because Sakiya is love. It is evident with the times she'd randomly high five strangers in public, in restaurants with other kids her age, in daycare where she's almost friends with everybody her age due to her cheerfulness, and especially the times she'd sleep in your bed -- squeezed and coddled between the both of you -- with small arms still holding onto the bunny her father got her when she was still a newborn. She refuses to let you wash it too.
A total contrast of her father, and yet she's so much like him.
"Baby, you look so much like your Daddy." He hears you whisper to your daughter who is grinning widely in your arms with both little hands now covering yours that cups her cheeks. It makes him start chewing off the skin on his bottom hip when he sees the soft look in your eyes as you point out the similarities of him and your daughter. He was so mean to you earlier; mean for no damn reason at all, and his guilt starts eating him alive when Sakiya lulls her head to the side with eyes that are about to close.
"Mama, dodo." "Dodo? Okay."
You start moving at it, and Rindou watches with a careful yet loving gaze hidden behind half-lidded eyes as you carefully manoeuvre her body properly into your arms and stand up. He notices that you're avoiding your lower abdomen a lot, and despite being sleepy, Sakiya is also careful when positioning her little legs -- he figures that you've already briefed her a little by yourself on what not to do now that you're pregnant and your body is a little more vulnerable than usual.
A part of him screams for him to do it instead -- to stand up and put Sakiya to bed instead of letting you who is in a much more vulnerable state to do so.
And the other part of him doesn't let himself move to put your daughter to sleep despite it being something that he always does -- he is always away during the day for work, so you let him have a little space for himself to spend some time with his daughter alone at night. The sick part of him wants his eyes to admire the pretty outline of your body -- your alluring back, the way your neck looks when faced under the moonlight from the curtains that you leave open just a little because Sakiya doesn't like the dark a lot, your bottom that he loves touching at so much but he resists his itchy hands for now.
You're cradling your daughter warmly as you bounce her gently in order to coo her into sleep faster and his mind travels back to the times when Sakiya was still a newborn -- all those sleepless nights of waking up abruptly at 3 in the morning to her cries, and you'd shush her gently with a kiss before pulling up the top of whatever you're wearing to breastfeed and pat her back to sleep with tired yawns and droopy eyelids.
Caring for babies were still new to the two of you and yet Rindou would always stay up with you while rubbing your sore back despite being told to go back to sleep because you can handle it. He remembers vividly the way you've always looked like an angel when cradling your newborn in your arms as you hum a soft lullaby that Granny had always sung to you when you were still her age.
And Rindou thinks you look so pretty when your nightgown sways a little with you as you bounce and rock your baby in your arms, humming the same lullaby to her ear as she finally falls asleep.
His wife, the mother of his children. His lover -- you.
"Goodnight, 'Kiya." You kiss her forehead before placing her back in her crib and she hums tiredly. "Night night, Mama."
Sakiya doesn't say it to Rindou. He feels a little hurt, but eventually accepts that he deserves his daughter's neglect tonight to have treated you in such a way. You pick up your things in one hand and move to exit the room, so he quickly reaches down the crib to place a kiss on Sakiya's forehead while rubbing a few slow circles on her temple, to which she starts snoring gently at it.
And he follows silently behind you as you head back into your bedroom and sit by the dresser. He doesn't dare enter; he doesn't want to overwhelm you. So he stands by the entrance and watch as you take off your earrings, dump it into a container and untie your hair. He watches as you comb through the locks and put on some oil, as you pat down your dress and crawl into bed. He watches intently as you avoid laying on your stomach, you're careful when manoeuvring yourself under the sheets and he watches as you get comfortable and lay on your back with a huff.
Youdon't talk to him, and you turn off the lamp.
He walks, and he switches it back on.
You feel the dip of the mattress and open your eyes.
"Hey." Rindou finally says as he sits by your leg and sigh. You don't feel like talking to him, but you want to look at him -- so you do. You watch him hold the stick in one hand and the other rubs softly on your ankle.
"Can we talk?" You blink tiredly at his request and he moves down to rest his head on your lap. He's peering up at you now, eyes staring so intently into yours that you choose to look at his forehead instead. Somehow it felt a little scary to face his eyes, his intense stare, his pretty purples -- you're afraid you're going to see the same expression being directed at you again, but you see the little frown on forehead and your thumb itches to rub it over his skin.
You stop yourself after being reminded of where it got you both when you didn't leave it alone.
That sparked a small anger in you.
"You told me to shut up, and now you want to talk?" You're starting to feel a little petty, and you know it is passive aggressive -- not a good way to communicate after a fight -- but the anger is starting to take over your emotions and before you can stop it from taking its final form, you push his head away from your thigh gently.
"I'm sorry." Rindou sits back up in one swift motion, face full of his apology and you throw the blanket covering your legs away to the side with a huff. He's never one to apologise.
"Are you?" You scoff a little, "or are you only saying sorry after seeing that?" You jut your chin towards the stick in his hand and he sighs at the realisation of your thoughts, your brain, while furrowing his brows in the process of trying to get you to calm down just a little.
He's majorly fucked up.
"It's nothing like that, fuck." Rindou scoots closer to your body, panic evident in the way he moves and a warm hand covers your cheek. "Please, baby. Shit, it's not that at all." He pleads, thumb running over your eye bags and you close your eyes at it. You're frowning, you're angry, you're upset, you're tired -- it's everything all at once. Lips pouting, nose souring, and when you open your eyes up again you find a stray tear rolling down your cheek.
You feel so sad.
"Rindou." It's a desperate call, and you're sobbing fully now. Just five seconds was all it took for you to break down and cry and he panics a little when wobbly fingers peel his hand away from your skin. All the pent up emotions -- mostly of sadness and anxiety, finally breaking free from its facade and you choose to shuffle into his lap.
He is still in his work clothes, you're already showered and changed into your nightgown, but you don't care. Though he's upset you, all you want to do is to have him hold you and cry. He presses you close immediately and cups both of your cheeks, thumbs swiping away the many tears that follows.
You cry harder at it, because Rindou is the only one who can ever give you this much comfort, and yet he was also the same person who'd taken it away from you with just words and an ugly expression casted your way.
And you're honest when you say it to him.
"Baby, I can't do this if you're only in it for the children."
Rindou's world crumbles around him.
Sweat starts forming on his skin and he feels his cheeks burn stingily from your words. He is absolutely devastated when you said you can't do this -- do what? His breath stutters in his mouth as you sob silently and you cover your palms over your eyes to cover yourself from his. Overflowing tears escapes your hands as it rolls down the sides of your cheeks, and he finally processes your words then.
It's nothing like that.
"Baby," His eyeballs vibrates and blown out pupils flickers back and forth between you and the test kit in his hands. He needs to actually know what you're trying to say -- it can't be what he's thinking, right? He loves you and your daughter too much for anything bad to happen -- he knows he's fucked up. He didn't mean what he said to you earlier.
Please talk to me. Please. Don't stop talking.
"You're only making up to me because I'm pregnant, right? You want the baby. I know you do. All men wants them." You hiss through broken cries and his heart clenches at it -- like a chain filled with thorns and needles tightening around his flesh and it sends such a throbbing pain through his chest; but he knows that what you're feeling right now is ten times worse than that, and it is all because of him -- solely him and his major fuck up where the anger and frustration shouldn't be aimed at you at all. He should've never brought the work home with him -- it's done nothing but stress and weigh on his mind all evening.
"It's nothing like that." Rindou repeats his words and he attempts to kiss your cheek but you turn your head away from him; from the warmth that you crave so eagerly from him.
"How can I know? You were so mean to me earlier, I'm starting to think you don't want me anymore. Husbands don't talk to their wives like that."
You cry, you wail, your heart breaks in your chest even more, and he doesn't think there's anything he can do that can make up for it.
"I'm sorry." He slowly turns your head back to him. "Are you? Or are you only saying sorry just because you want me to stop crying?" You glare at him.
"I'n sorry, baby." Your cheek is to him, and he finally gets to kiss your fat now. One kiss and it's got him placing more and more on your skin. "So sorry." Again and again, as a way to display of his apologies that he's begging to your heart but you shake your head in denial with a pout.
"Men only stay with their wife for kids. They don't love them, they only want children." You spit with an angry sob.
Rindou knows it is your trauma speaking, and he doesn't blame you at all -- he knows the kind of father yours is, the kind of father his was, and hot tears spring to his waterline at the connection. He'd swore to himself to never become the men the two of them were, and now, he seems to be following in their footsteps . . .
Or perhaps Rindou is being a little too rough on himself -- because deep down he knows he is nothing like the men who have left a dark imprint on both your upbringings; that he is so much better than who they were in your lives -- a better man, a better person, a better father. And after releasing your anger it seems you also know that he is nothing like them too. So you cling to his neck and pull him closer to your body while placing wobbly kisses on his jawline as an apology for comparing him to them.
You're nothing like them. I'm sorry.
"I love you." Rindou whispers against your skin. It's heartwarming, the way he dips his head down to press his lips on your throat and squeeze at your hips until you're nothing but a wailing mess.
His heart cracks loudly in his chest. "I'm sorry. I was mean, I'm sorry. Didn't mean it, baby." And Rindou keeps on saying it again and again until your cries finally die down just a little and you start breathing properly again.
So much mucus in your nose and he pulls out a tissue from the nightstand for you to let it all out. It's messy -- your face is wet from tears, snot is still dribbling down your nose as he helps you to wipe them off with another clean sheet of tissue, and your lips are so red and quivery from the cry, the sadness.
There's still a hint of doubt in your eyes when he pulls away to take a good look at you. Rindou tries kissing it away, "love you, Mama." Your bottom lip juts out a little at it and he kisses on it softly, "love you." Rindou says it again and you knock your forehead against his cheekbone. It's a little gesture to show that you've acknowledged it, but you're going to need some time to say it back. Not now -- at least when you're finally okay enough to look him in the eyes again.
And it's when his vacant hand intertwines with your sticky ones that you finally ask him the question you've been wanting to this whole time.
". . . Are we keeping it?"
He's silent for a minute. A puzzled look on his face has fear running through your veins, afraid of what he's going to say.
But Rindou simply blinks down at your panic form instead.
"Why not?" He asks, warm hands running down your back, your neck, your cheek.
Rindou is truly confused by your question.
Relief washes over your body at his reply. You sigh into his chest, ". . . We haven't had plans for another." You state, and he picks away a torn, wet piece of tissue just beneath your eyes.
"Well, it's here." He fiddles with your strap next, fixing it in place. "And we're keeping it . . . right?" He looks at you while he asks it, wanting for your confirmation as well. He needs to be ensured that you want this just as much as he does. He's the one giving them surname, but you're the one giving them life -- a home -- with eyes to open to the world, and touch to feel the universe.
You nod softly at it, albeit a bit hesitant but you feel a little bit better when he soothes a hand down your back to ground you. "I wanna."
Rindou smiles -- it's a little shy, but you're shy too, and he pulls you closer to his chest with a warmth that only you can plant in him.
"Then I'm okay," There's still a cry left in you but you hold it in. "We'll figure it out as we go." He says with a nose to your cheek and you blink away the tears. "'Kiya is here with us too, no?" You nod again and he nods at you. "We'll figure it out together."
It's not perfect -- he knows his apology isn't complete, but he's got you calmed down for now, and you've figured out an answer together. He'll find more ways to make it up to you tomorrow, or at least when you're not as tired as how droopy your eyelids are right now -- you're sleepy and he knows, so he gently helps you to lay on your back carefully and he kisses your forehead.
You fall asleep in an instant with him kissing you every once in a while, and Rindou lays with you just a little bit longer before he finally gets up, off the bed. A small part of him knows it is not the correct way but he wishes that hopefully a warm shower will be able to wash away his guilt . . .
He carefully places the pregnancy test in an envelope, writing down the date and some other details before peeling off a yellow post-it from his desk.
Call Fujita for appointment
Buy mango rice
Rindou slaps it on the fridge. He steps back a little to look at it and eyes the big calendar hanging off the wall.
A few bites at his fingernails, a few more clicks his tongue, he decides to jot down the same things on there too, in the box of tomorrow's date -- he doesn't want to forget it.
He steps back again and his left foot hits a toy.
And all of a sudden Haitani Rindou is 31 again, a nervous first-time parent who'd just found out about your very first pregnancy together. The raw emotions running through his veins as he looks up on research online with shaky hands, as he held your hand while you consulted with your doctor for the very first time, as you both sat on the floor in the bathroom together wondering about the future.
Now, standing in the middle of his kitchen alone as he fidgets with one of Sakiya's toy he'd picked up from the floor, Rindou thinks it is okay despite the little worry about handling two kids now.
You'll figure it out together -- as parents, as a family.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
