especially when he’s got you pinned beneath him, buried so deep inside your tight, dripping cunt that you can barely think straight.

every brutal thrust has him dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you, slamming right into that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back and your toes curl so hard they cramp.

his hips is snapping with that cocky, practiced rhythm, stretching you open around his thick cock like he owns every inch of your body.

the wet, filthy sound of him pounding into your soaked pussy fills the room, your juices coating his length and dripping down your ass with every deep stroke.

and he just can’t help himself.

the moment you start clenching and fluttering around him, moaning like a whore, that feral side of him takes over.

he leans down with a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with pure mischief and hunger, and sinks his teeth into your skin very hard.

he bites down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, teeth digging in so sharply you yelp in pain, your whole body jerking violently beneath him.

“fuck- satoru!” you cry out, but he just moans like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

he thinks you’re screaming because it feels that good.

“shit, baby… you’re so loud for me..” he groans against your bitten flesh, voice husky and dripping with arrogance.

his tongue laps over the fresh, throbbing mark before he bites down again, harder this time, right above your collarbone.

the sharp sting blooms into burning heat as he sucks hard, leaving a deep purple bruise while his cock keeps bullying that perfect spot inside you without mercy.

you scream again, a raw, broken sound that’s equal parts pain and overwhelming pleasure and it only makes him worse.

satoru chuckles darkly, the vibration traveling through your skin as he grinds his hips in slow, filthy circles, stirring his cock deep in your guts.

“yeah? right there, huh? keep screaming like that, sweetheart. you’re clenching so fucking tight every time i bite you… makes me think you love when i get rough.”

he shifts his angle, folding you nearly in half as he drives even deeper, another harsh bite lands on the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before clamping down.

the pain shoots straight to your core, making your pussy gush around him.

satoru’s lost in it, he pistons into you faster, harder, the headboard slamming against the wall as he chases his own high.

he bites your neck one more time, right as his fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing tight, mean circles.

the mix of pain and pleasure shoves you violently over the edge.

you shatter around him, screaming loud enough to make your throat raw as your walls spasm and flutter wildly.

satoru groans in satisfaction, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release while still nibbling and sucking on your abused skin like he can’t get enough.

“Mmmfgh-!”

His head is thrown back against the pillow, snowy hair sticking to his damp forehead, eyes rolled halfway up in pure bliss. Your worn black panties are stuffed between his lips, the crotch pressed right against his tongue so your scent and taste flood his senses with every desperate inhale. He’s lost every ounce of composure, he's a whimpering, trembling mess beneath you.

It had started barely twenty minutes ago in the laundry room.

You’d walked in absentmindedly, only to freeze at the sight of Satoru hunched over the hamper, face buried in the same pair of your dirty panties he’s gagging on now. His blindfold was pushed up, cheeks tinted prettily, cock rock-hard and twitching visibly in his sweatpants as he inhaled you like he’d die without it. He’d startled when he saw you, pulling the fabric away with a quick, surprised blink of those striking eyes.

“Well… fuck,” he’d said, a low chuckle slipping out even as his cheeks stayed faintly warm.

“Didn’t expect you to be back so soon...”

You’d felt your own face burn, surprised and a little embarrassed by the scene before you. Instead of scolding him, you’d stepped closer, plucked the panties from his fingers and dragged him to your shared bedroom.

Now he’s paying for it in the best way. You brace both hands on his broad chest, nails digging into pale skin and ride him harder, lifting until just the fat head of his cock stretches your pussy, then slamming back down, again and again.

His muffled moans vibrate against the fabric in his mouth, drool slipping from the corner of his lips. His hands clutch the headboard above him exactly like you ordered, knuckles white, veins standing out on his forearms as he fights the urge to grab your hips and fuck up into you.

“Such a needy boy, sniffing my dirty panties like a pervert.”

He whines loudly around the gag, hips jerking helplessly beneath you. His cock throbs violently inside your clenching heat. You don’t let up, grinding in tight, nasty circles that rub your clit perfectly against his base while your walls squeeze him tightly.

His whole body suddenly goes rigid. A desperate cry tears from his throat, muffled by your panties, as he starts to squirt, hot clear fluid floods deep into your pussy. It’s filthy, warm and slippery, leaking out around his shaft with every frantic twitch of his hips. He shakes hard through every spurt, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, moaning as he’s completely lost in the pleasure.

You keep grinding on his cock, hips rolling desperately as the warm, messy load he squirted inside you pushes you right over the edge. Your pussy clenches hard around him, thighs shaking as you cum with a soft moan, slick gushing out to mix with his own fluids and dripping down his balls on the sheets.

Panting, you slow down and gently pull the soaked panties from his mouth. He gasps for air, chest heaving, lips swollen and shiny. You brush his white hair from his forehead, still seated on his cock.

“You knew I was coming,” you murmur, watching his face. “You let me catch you on purpose.”

Satoru meets your gaze, still flushed and breathing hard. A little smirk tugs at the corner of his swollen lips.

“Yeah… I knew,” he admits, voice rough and smug.

“Wanted you to walk in on me like that. Wanted you to take over and fuck me stupid.” He lets out a breathless chuckle.

Smiling, you lean down and kiss him.

“You're so dirty...” you whisper. He shivers under you, that smirk still on his lips as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer.

꩜ ◞ PUBLIC DISPLAY OF IMPATIENCE

Gojo Satoru really wants to kiss you but he keeps getting cock (well, lip) blocked.

content ꩜ 1.9k words ， fluff n slightly suggestice ， university au ， romcom stuff ， no plot ， kissing and making out ， shameless flirting ， established relationship ， gojo learns delayed gratification ， jaaonese equivalent of fratjo i guess

“Can you not stand so close?”

…Is the first thing you say when Gojō Satoru, 3.98 GPA in information science and economics, representative of PULSE, a.k.a. the Campus Event circle of your university—which is really just a circle that plans bang-for-buck end of semester blackout drunk on Friday parties—certified freak of hackatons, and much more importantly, your addicted to being unable to exercise restrain boyfriend, comes to your side after your shared probability elective. He’s standing right behind you, hands shoved in his jeans’ pockets looking so carefreely after finally being freed from the shackles of academia.

Satoru is faced with a dilemma.

It’s not really that uncommon for Satoru to stare at you constantly with an impatient little expression while standing too close for public decency. Over the several meet ups you’ve had at Sadaharu Aoki especially after you first started dating, Satoru has shown himself to be inexplicably not privy to your personal space. Not that you mind. But today, Gojō Satoru is stupidly needy.

Satoru huffs, clicking his tongue, moving his fingers like he’s tapping in the inside of his pockets.

You turn your head around, looking at him with the mild annoyance you’d have for a stray strand of hair sticking to your lip gloss. Despite this. you know exactly what he wants and you want it too. Satoru quirks a questioning eyebrow up, stepping away from you. The lecture hall is filled with the squeaks of shoes from above and someone says excuse me in the flattest tone as they brush by you. Everyone scatters out in hushed murmurs, either spewing about how grateful they are that class ended early or how horrible that worksheet you got was. Your friend’s eyebrows shoot up to accompany Satoru’s and his face churns into a knowing, disbelieving smile.

Shaking his head, he shoves his hands into his hoodie. “Anyway, did you get question four?” he asks.

“No,” you shake your head, glancing at Satoru. You tap on your thigh. Beside you, Satoru gives your friend—technically his too—a noncommittal grunt. You can’t decipher whether he’s saying yes or no.

“Bayes,” sighing, your classmate slumps down. You’re pretty much certain that your entire worksheet will bring your average down. It’s okay though, nobody got the worksheet correct anyway. You don’t really care all that much right now, you’re mostly preoccupied with something else. “And uh, you got whatever he said about the assignment next week?”

“…Oh,” you grimace, not having anything else to say. Waiting patiently, Satoru taps his foot on the ground in rhythmic four-by-four beats. Hands still shoved into his pockets, earbud in one ear, and looking usurpingly bored or impatient over something. You scratch your arm, thinking of what to say about the lecture that doesn’t make you sound like a complete idiot or totally uninterested. You force out something academic: “I think Professor Tanaka said—”

“…and apparently we need citations from—”

“Mhm.”

“Gojo?” your classmate calls out, face contorting into another amused expression. Satoru only lets out an inquiring hum, far too distracted on whatever it is to keep his eye. “You’ve been staring at her for like three minutes, dude.”

“…Have I?” he questions lowly, and entirely sarcastically. You sigh, giving your friend an apologetic yet ridiculing smile, entirely directed at your boyfriend. Despite this, you glance at the exit door yourself; Satoru’s eyes follow suit as if you have some secret language nobody else understands.

Eventually, you get back into rhythm and talk to your friend politely, enough that you don't need to think, but enough that they’re kept happy. Yet there’s only a small amount of time before you apologize and wave at him, dragging Satoru by the wrist.

“You have the patience of a toddler,” you shake your head, letting his wrist go with enough momentum for him to sway, smugly smiling at you. You don’t talk to many people when it comes to school and Satoru’s expecting this to be the end of this. You’ll go to a private place, maybe get a coffee at the café down the street then get back for another class. He spins his heel, regaining his balance. At that, your glare deepens and you step on his foot.

Satoru snorts, then hums. “Is it bad for me to wanna spend time with my girlfriend?”

“Yes,” you reply flatly, hand extending to grip at his forearm, lip accidentally catching between your teeth. “When you look like you’re timing everyone with a stopwatch,” you add reason. Satoru watches the small dent that forms when your teeth sink into the bottom lip and with the motion, Satoru slyly smiles. Your eye twitches. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Wasn’t doing anything,” he lies, the smile worsening into a grin, eyes briefly flickering to your lips. It’s not much of a secret that Gojō Satoru is extensively into PDA. It’s also not a secret, especially to you, that he likes kissing a lot, even publicly. But still, Satoru still has the concept of shame, even if photos of him downing beer down from a keg circulated proudly on Instagram. As annoying as he is, your body betrays you either way. Your eyes avert from his face and heat crawls up your neck.

Satoru has been waiting since probability class. He steps into your space again.

Before he can do anything though, a voice crawls through the empty, spacious hallways of the campus building and you both turn around to the sound. One of his friends from his circle speed walks towards you. “Gojo!”

Satoru closes his eyes for exactly one second. He gives him an easygoing smile, and you realize now that it’s one of his friends from the economics department, Haibara or something. “Yeah?”

“You free Friday? PULSE still needs someone to call the venue,” he says, worried and sheepish little smile plastered on his face.

"Already did.”

“Already?”

Satoru nods. You’ve realized not long ago that Satoru, while seemingly the most outlandish, most infamously popular person ever, with the reputation of a demon, is stupidly reliable. You simply observe the interaction, patiently waiting. “This morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re a lifesaver, dude,” Haibara says, expression washed with relief.

“No problem,” he says, eyes momentarily flickering towards you. Haibara nods at him, raising his fist up for a small fist bump; he turns towards you and gives a sheepish smile. You return it and he leaves right after. Satoru immediately turns back. “…Now.”

“Satoru—”

“I’ve been waiting since probability,” he cuts you off.

Before you can answer, someone else calls out your boyfriend’s surname with the urgency and enthusiasm of a high schooler. You snicker, which earns you a side-eye from Satoru. “Gojo!”

His smile doesn’t disappear, it just becomes painfully practiced, something you find stupidly hilarious because you know exactly why it’s like that. “…Yeah?”

“Did you send me the sponsorship spreadsheet?” his friends asks. He’s slightly panting, which you find abnormal because who runs in college hallways? You shake your head, making a small, private expression to yourself at the minuscule detail.

“I’ll send it tonight,” Satoru replies curtly, smile still not gone from his face. You understand his impatience, to be fair. You’re not that far off from being touchy yourself today. But sadly, your academics needed more attention than Satoru at that point so you weren’t very keen on kissing every second even if you did want to. You had rules and shame as well, more than Satoru.

“You’re the best.”

“Mhm,” he airily waves to him. Silence. He waits until the person is actually gone. Satoru turns his body physically towards you for the upteenth time today, like muscle memory at this point.

“You sound oppressed,” you state simply.

Whining, Satoru grips at your wrist firmly, some way you believe is transferring his complaints towards you. You wait for whatever he wants to say next, tapping the tip of your shoe on the ground. He doesn’t say anything for a solid fifteen seconds and at this, you cross your arms. “Nobody has interrupted us for—” he glances at his watch, smirking, “thirty-two seconds.”

“You’re counting?” with a snicker, you lean against the wall. Out of curiosity, you glance towards the hallway behind Satoru then look behind your shoulder, finding nothing, no one in sight. Stupidly enough, you feel relief. Stupidly enough as well, you suddenly want Satoru to get on with that same thing you’ve been quietly postponing and refusing to let Satoru have for the past two hours.

“I’ve been suffering,” he corrects.

“You’re so dramatic,” you murmur, face turning disappointed. Satoru only hums at this, not disagreeing at all. Because who would disagree that the loudest and most unserious man on Earth isn’t dramatic?

Satoru mirrors your movements. With a simple lean, he lets gravity take over and his body lands on the surface of the reinforced concrete. His eyes go back down to your lips. “I’ve earned it.”

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he smiles, real and yet again sly this time.

“You’re thinking about it,” you insist. Satoru’s lips flick up into a cocky little simper and you have to avert your eyes again. Your gaze lands on the hallways once more

Satoru answers and for a moment you really think about the possibility and probability of someone walking in on you two flirting in a public place. You’re a statistics student. You can figure that out. “…Maybe.”

“We’re still in the hallway,” you mumble, knowing exactly what he wants from the seventh time he’s glanced at your lips.

“Exactly,” he nods, looking to his left to see if anyone’s there, then turning back towards you, stepping near you until your shoes touch. “High risk.”

“…That’s your argument?” you snort.

“Makes the reward better,” you hiss at his answer but your body betrays you. You turn to look at the corridor again and then the other way. Satoru doesn’t even make fun of you. “…Nobody?”

“Nobody.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs. Satoru’s already leaning in, but he stops. His body retreats and surveys the area once more and he blows air between his teeth. Eventually, growing tired of waiting, you grab his hoodie and tug him down.

Satoru takes it as the sign that it is. Man, was he waiting. At your pull, his lips immediately crash down onto yours and you find yourself squeaking out a sound you are entirely too ashamed of to admit to. “Dude,” you laugh out which he muffles with his mouth.

Your back hits the wall with a small thud and you let out a small whine of complaint against his mouth. Satoru simply presses deeper. Pure white silence fills the corridor with complete apathy and the only thing you can hear besides it is your lips smacking against his. His tongue brushes your bottom lip and your hand’s grip on his sweater tightens while you open your mouth to let him in. Air doesn’t seem like much of an issue to you; you separate anyway, panting with your mouths open and looking at each other like two people who had just made an objectively terrible decision and were already considering doing it again. When you want to join again, yet another voice echoes through the corridor.

“GOJŌ—“ the voice yells his surname, which has been said far too many times today, before it abruptly halts. “Christ!”

Both of you spring apart like you’ve committed tax fraud. Satoru instantly steps away from your vicinity, clearing his throat; but his friend had already turned around. “…Yeah?”

“Nevermind, just do your thing!”

◟ ㅤ© kayuekou, 2026 𖥻 do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on other platform nor feed my works into generative AI.

notes ꩜ hi i have nothing of importance to say. i just wanna experiment with my prose (this was a very stream of consciousness thing so not proofed as always, but even more not proofed, also scenario i just kinda went along with it). so i’m dumping all my short vignettes here. anyway, i have a taglist (or u can ask manually), i have an ao3. comments and reblogs appreciated. byebye 𖹭

taglist ꩜ @tiffi26 ， @teaspecifically ， @v4mpyyb4tzz ， @nightmarenyxx ， @spectranix | typical taglist form

quiet time

pms? tender breasts? don't worry, your ꒰devoted꒱ boyfriend satoru gojo is happy to be your personal bra for the day ౨ৎ 1.1k fluff ; crack ; suggestive art by @/Rezijellyfish0

It was a morning like any other.

You woke up curled right into your boyfriend Satoru Gojo's side, practically on top of him on the comfortable double bed. You didn't really have much room, not with his habit of lying down like a starfish, but you couldn't blame him – his long limbs just needed to take up all the space every night, and so you were forced to use your boyfriend as a pillow, of course.

Your favourite pillow.

You were awfully comfortable like this, nuzzling into his broad chest as the morning light started to bleed in through the half open window. Yes, so comfortable you could just drift away again... until.

Until those long limbs started to close in towards you.

That was another one of his morning habits, you see. Even for how spread out he liked to sleep, as soon as Satoru started to drift back into consciousness – you were the first thing he'd search for.

In his half asleep haze he closed his arms around you, squeezing you into him with all his might, letting out the most satisfied of hums. Not you, however – the sound that escaped your mouth was somewhere between a yelp and a cry for help.

"Baby?!" Satoru sprung into consciousness in a second. "What's wrong?!"

“Looking so beautiful.” You hummed, watching him wear those kimonos. They are tied with a velvety purple band, his hair down. Eyes so unimpressed you wouldn’t believe this same man, ten minutes ago, was whining while laying his face between the swell of your breasts about how he hates the clan & the clan meetings.

You wouldn’t believe this same man cried last night holding you, because you had a nightmare where you lost him… again. Promising he’s right here, he’s never going anywhere. Never leaving.

“I love you.” Is all he responds, reverent, unhinged and suffocatingly true.

“I love you too.” You look into his eyes through the mirror.

“I’ll get some chocolate pastries… with salted caramel.” You purred, meeting his gaze like you’re doing foreplay. “And when, my Toru comes back, we will dip that shit in hot chocolate & have it together, I’ll dress in a robe.”

His attention is so fixated you almost feel dizzy. “Hmm?”

“Just a robe.”

A wicked grin plasters on his face when he realizes what you’re doing. You’re trying to lift up his mood. Part of him feels bad that it grows on you, too. His mood… he has never felt this way. Never felt so loved, so matched in his devotion that the worries of his mind are unweeded by you. Over and over and over again.

“You know, little star of mine…” he walks closer, almost leisurely so. Tilting your chin up as he encapsulates your very soul, every breath with his tongue in your throat. Letting you helplessly gag on it. Feel how much he holds back. He always… makes you feel how much he holds back. It’s a peacocking of it’s own.

I could destroy you… but I worship you instead.

And then there are times when he just cannot hold back. And he does destroy you, but you love it. You love how he spends hours and days after it, mending you in ways that are more than physical. More than emotional.

He leans back, smiling softly like a vulnerable dog again. “If you want to lift my mood, you can just let me eat you out.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him away gently.

“Mmm.. maybe I will.” You tease, watching his smirk grow fonder.

“Maybe I will squeeze you till you pop.” He grunts, pouting. He has innate cuteness aggression when it comes to his wife.